#wednesday goes as soft as butter for her

[sinsday]

wednesday’s so whipped for enid it’s comical like. “go apologize to thing” fine. “this crime board is gross i don’t want it in our room” yes ma’am. “you have to wear this goofy ass cat costume” give me the ears. “let’s wear our snoods!” whatever you want cara mia

[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

I wrote this over a few days. I’ve been so busy but tomorrow I can get on and really get digging into this. I know it’s been up and down, but there is a distinct reason for that! Thank you for being here with me. I love you! 🖤

Warnings: Angry smut. Also, brief description of animal violence/death. (Used in a metaphor, but still…)

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc @knivesforapro @diabolicdiatonics

Part 6 - Chemical

Two months is a long time. It’s longer when you’re trying to right the world back on some kind of normal axis, preventing it from spinning out of control. It’s a very long time to live and breathe when you’re not entirely convinced that you want to. It’s a long time.

But you know what they say about time.

Slowly, I was starting to feel like a human being again. It was with effort, but I didn’t have a lot of a choice. Mileena and I split time with Addison, I had her three days, she had her four. Sundays through Tuesdays were my days, and Mileena picked her up Wednesday mornings.

Seeing Mileena was becoming…easier? Bearable is probably a better word.

Make no mistake, I pined for Leena each time I laid eyes on her. It was still just a true chemical reaction. But after several weeks, the searing hot pain that burned through my chest had dulled to a throbbing ache, only subtly reminding me that happiness was still living at Laura’s, wearing the t-shirts I let her keep.

Didn’t mean I didn’t think about it. Picture her naked anytime I saw her. Thought about her perfect, plump lips wrapped around me while I touched myself. Played the song of her begging me to fuck her in my head on loop at random moments of the day. That wasn’t going away anytime soon.

There had been no repeat incidents of our single moment of weakness, much to my dismay. I understood. How could we be broken up, when we’re fucking? How badly would that confuse Addison? Or ourselves?

It made sense.

So when I pulled up to Nick's, and saw Leena's Tahoe in the driveway, I only let myself sit and sulk for three minutes before I promptly hopped out, heading for the front door.

"Honey! I'm home!" I called from just inside the doorway.

"In the kitchen!" I heard Nick's voice call to me. I kicked my Vans off by the door, and walked at a natural pace into the kitchen. As expected, Nick stood staring into the fridge, and Mileena was stood in front of the stove, slipping the end of a spatula under a grilled cheese sandwich in a skillet.

"We're out of Cheddar. I've got American?"

Leena nodded toward Nick, then glanced over to me. Her smile was comfortable, soft. "Hey, you."

God, that voice is going to fucking kill me.

"Hey." I leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Didn't know you were going to be here?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Sorry? I didn't know you were going to be here either."

"Kids, play nice." We both looked over at Nick, who was lifting a beer bottle to his lips.

I promptly balled up a paper towel from the holder, and chucked it at him, bouncing it off of his forehead. He glared, and I smiled as widely as I could.

"I just mean, I don't want to intrude." I looked back to Leena, who was plating the sandwich, another already prepared to cook.

"Oh no, I'm not staying long. I just had to drop off a few things, and Nick can't cook, so I decided to make him lunch before I left."

I didn't say anything, just crossed my arms. Simple.

"You want a sandwich?"

I wanted to say no, but my stomach was whining at me.

"Sure."

"Still like two slices of cheese with ham in the middle?"

I just stared at her, because it was always small things like that - knowing how I liked my grilled cheese, or my mashed potatoes (extra butter, chives, no sour cream), or brussel sprouts (which I will only eat if she cooks them) - that punched me straight in the gut, reminding me that she was mine. Somewhere, deep down, cosmically, she was. And always will be.

I swallowed my sandwich in four bites, sitting at the table with Nick and Leena, just listening to their calm conversations.

"Our album is almost finished, I think. The label isn't putting pressure on, so we've had room to just focus."

She smiled at him, tearing the corner off of her bread and eating it in pieces.

"Yeah? How do you guys feel about it?"

She was technically talking to Nick, but he glanced at me to answer.

"Well, it's hard to say until it's done."

"You guys sure busted that out." She said between bites.

"We've had a lot of free time." My words were laced with sarcasm, which she caught.

The table grew quiet, which prompted Mileena to stand up, picking up her plate. Nick still had half of a sandwich left.

She pointed to my plate. "Done?"

I nodded, and she grabbed it from in front of me, turning back into the kitchen.

She reappeared less than a minute later, wiping her hands on her jean shorts. I raised an eyebrow, noticing the black edge of a tattoo outline just under the denim on her left thigh.

That was new.

"Well, I've got to get back." She looked at me. "See you tomorrow? 10AM okay?"

I nodded, giving her a thumbs up.

She looked at Nick. "See you next Saturday?"

He also nodded. "See you then."

Her smile was so sugary sweet, it made me want to lick it right the fuck off of her.

"What's happening Saturday?" I asked Nick after I heard the front door shut.

His eyes dropped to the table. "The party."

I raised an eyebrow. "Party?"

He shrugged. "Look, I'll be honest, we were debating on telling you."

Now my mouth was hung open, bewildered. "The fuck?"

"Just because you never come to stuff anymore, dude. And we didn't want you to feel obligated."

My mind slotted the pieces together. "Saturday is the 4th."

He nodded. "Yeah. We were going to have a 4th of July party. Food, drinks, fireworks. You know, the normal stuff."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Am I not invited?"

He shook his head. "No man, you absolutely are, if you want to come!"

I smiled, like a real asshole. "Maybe I fucking won't, since you weren't even going to tell me."

Nick rolled his eyes. "You're the fucking worst, you know that?"

You are insufferable, Noah Sebastian.

Ugh - fucking stop it. Not everything has to make me think of her.

"Nah, I'll come."

-

There was a knock at the front door at 10AM sharp. I opened it, my face brightening when my baby girl beamed at me from Mileena's hip.

"Hey! There's my girl!" I grabbed her, pulling her cheek to me for a dramatically long kiss. "I missed you!"

Angel slipped in past me. He was also coming back and forth, anywhere Addie was. She would get upset without him. That was a valid feeling, given I hated not having him home, myself.

I turned around, moving back into the house, and Leena followed, shutting the door behind her. She dropped the diaper bag on the coffee table as she always did.

"I packed lots of diapers, but she's ripping them off more and more. I almost wonder if it's time to start potty training." She was pulling items out of the bag, likely making sure she hadn't forgotten anything.

"You think so? This soon?" I was fixing Addison in her walker while also getting Bluey turned on.

"She's almost two, Noah. If she wants to try, why not?"

I nodded, looking down at the baby. "You want to go to Target later and pick up a training potty?"

She squealed in response, which I affirmed with a thumbs up.

"Well, that's settled."

Leena was making her way back toward the door, giving Angel's head a scratch on her way. "Also," She pointed to the dog. "Vet has him on allergy meds. He's been itchy. Once a day at dinnertime. Please make sure he eats beforehand, or they make him puke."

I nodded, taking mental notes. "Where are the pills?"

She slipped her hand into her pocket, handing me a blue prescription bottle.

"Okay, I think that's it." She stopped, bending down to give Addison a kiss and a tight squeeze, saying her regular goodbye. "See you Wednesday!"

I walked her to the front door, opening it for her. "Yep." She began walking away, but I spoke up before she got too far. "Oh! I'll also see you Saturday."

She stopped abruptly, her head turning around. "You will?"

"Yeah, Nick cracked and told me about the party. You're going, right?"

She didn't physically react when she spoke, her face expressionless. "Yes."

"Getting a babysitter?"

I could see her swallowing dryly, which had me curious.

"Yeah, uh," She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. "Laura's little sister. She's nineteen."

I smiled. "I know. I've met her. Andrea, right?"

She nodded, a bashful smile spreading. "Yes! Sorry, I forgot we brought her to a show, once."

"You okay?"

Her eyes bugged out. "Yes, why?"

I narrowed mine. "You're acting strange."

"Nope. Just..." She paused, but laughed at the end. "spaced out. I need a nap."

I was skeptical, but could hear Addison getting restless, so I decided to accept that answer.

"Okay. Drive safe."

She just waved me off before heading to her truck.

The following day, I was enjoying the rare quiet in my home while Addison napped. I used the time to pick up the living room, eat something for lunch, and listen to the songs we had demoed for the album, making notes in my phone about potential edits.

Nick was right, we were so close, and once Addison was in bed, I could head into the studio and make some tweaks to this track before sending it to Jolly for his opinions.

My song stopped, making me look down at my phone while I ran the dish in my hand under warm water. Mileena's name flashed on my screen. I had removed her photo a month ago, deciding it was healthier not to look at her face every time she tried to reach me.

I tapped my earbud to answer the call. "Hey."

"Hey! I'm sorry to bug you. Is this a bad time?" She still had that same jumpy tone in her voice.

"No, just doing dishes. Addie's napping. If you want, I can Facetime you when she wakes up. Should be anytime now."

"Oh, uh," She was hesitant, which made my hands stop. "I actually called to talk to you."

I flipped the faucet off and leaned my hands on the sink.

"Okay?" That was rare. Leena and I didn't just talk anymore. "What's up?"

I heard a hard sigh on the other end of the phone. "It's about Saturday."

I had dried my hands on a dish towel, heading for the back door to sit at the table on the porch, not wanting to risk waking Addison.

"What about it?"

"Well," She kept pausing, which was making this anxiety build inside me. "there's something you should know."

The lack of substance coming out of her was getting annoying.

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to get upset." My stomach was knotted like a noose. She's not actually about to say what I think she is...is she?

"Spit it out Leena."

"I'm bringing a date."

There's this documentary on the Discovery Channel. It's about snakes. Not just any snakes. Predatory snakes. It goes through a series of species of these serpents, and the unique ways they hunt and kill prey. This one, which I couldn't remember the name of, had an affinity for tracking it's prey for hours on end, understanding it, learning it, making it more efficient at capturing it.

Once it knew it's habits, it would corner it, constrict it, and, while it was still breathing, crush it's head until it's brain popped like a grape. It was honestly one of the most vile things I had ever witnessed.

And in that moment, that exact moment, Leena's words were the snake's jaws, and I was the mouse.

I guess I had been silent for a while, because I was pulled out of my thoughts by her voice calling me.

"Noah? Are you still there?"

"Did-" I had to clear my throat, the words not wanting to form. "Did you say a 'date'?"

"I did."

"You're...dating?"

My brain was empty. A wasteland.

"Noah, we don't have to get into that."

Oh, there's the snap I was waiting for.

"What?!" I stood out of my chair. "You brought this up! The fuck do you mean 'we don't have to get into that'?!"

I heard her huff out a breath. "Please don't yell at me."

"You're kidding, right?" I was still hollering, just not as loud. "You tell me you're fucking dating, and I'm supposed to stay calm?!"

"Well, it shouldn't be that surprising, should it?"

I had to be hallucinating. There's no way this was real life.

"It's been two months, Mileena! You haven't even moved all of your shit out yet! Way to let the fucking paint dry!"

"Oh, grow the fuck up, Noah!"

This stopped me, her voice sharp and stinging. I felt that familiar lump forming in my throat.

"We are both adults. We aren't going to be single, miserable over each other, forever, are we?!"

"I guess fucking not." My voice was even now. Emotionless. Dead.

"Look," She growled in frustration. "I just didn't want to blindside you. We haven't been seeing each other long. He just-"

I had to cut her off, for fear I may actually vomit if she continued. "Addie's up, I've got to go."

And I ended the call before storming inside, having to catch myself on the kitchen table before collapsing. This time, I let the tears fall naturally. I was so fucking tired of hurting.

-

“Yeah, I’m not going to the thing on Saturday.” I did my best to sound casual as I popped a french fry into my mouth. Laura was sipping her soda loudly, staring at me from across the restaurant table.

“C’mon dude, you said you’d go!” Nick was annoyed, having set his sandwich down on the plate.

“Yeah, well that was before I knew Mileena was bringing her boyfriend.” This nearly made Nick choke on the residual food in his mouth.

I took it Laura had not filled him in.

She rolled her eyes at me, setting her cup down. “Noah, he’s not her boyfriend.”

I deadpanned at her, my eyes low. “Sure.”

She picked her fork up to continue munching her salad. “They’ve only been on, like…” She thought for a second. “four dates?”

I was going to vomit. If the third date was the home run date…

“I really don’t need to know.”

“It’s not going to be the same without you there.” Nick was nearly whining at me, clearly over my flakiness.

I didn’t respond, only leaning back in my chair and staring at both of them.

“Noah, why don’t you just bring a date of your own?”

Laura’s words stunned me. Was she actually suggesting I, her best friend’s ex, bring a date to this party? How awkward did she want this to be?

I shook my head. “I’m good. Not interested in playing this game with her.”

Laura shrugged. “Well, it would still mean a lot if you came. The guys miss you. And you don’t have to hang out with Leena and Justin.”

I physically cringed at the name. “Justin?” Scoffing, I pulled my napkin off my lap. “She’s dating someone named Justin? The fuck does he do? Coach little league?”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t want to know?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t.”

She stared at me, and Nick went back to his sandwich, clearly not wanting in on this conversation.

“Fine. Maybe I do.”

Laura smirked. “He’s a contractor. Some shingles blew off my roof in the storms recently, and I had to hire someone.” She was popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. “That’s how they met.”

“So…what does he look like?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “Like a guy?” This earned her a glare, and she sighed. “I don’t know Noah. White guy, like six-feet tall? Blonde hair. Green eyes. Taurus.”

Nick looked at her through the side of his gaze. “How much do you know about this guy?”

She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to me. “He’s just a guy, Noah.”

“Yeah, a guy who’s sleeping with my soulmate.”

Laura stopped chewing, realizing the gravity of what we were discussing, and how much weight it held for me.

“I don’t think…” But she stopped herself, likely not wanting to put her foot in her mouth.

“It doesn’t even matter.” I ran a hand through my hair, staring out at the window of the diner. “Has he met Addison?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. When he came to fix the shingles, it was your day. All of their dates have happened when Addie was with you. And he hasn’t been back to the house.”

I nodded, at least satisfied with that.

“Angel didn’t seem too fond of him.”

I snorted. “That’s because he’s my dog.”

“He’s technically Leena’s.”

“That was before.”

“I’m sorry, I just need to cut in. But I’ve got to ask again, how much do you know about this guy?”

Nick’s comment made both Laura and I chuckle.

“Dude, they’re girls. They tell each other everything.” I picked up another fry. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Right. You’d be surprised at the amount of inappropriate information I know about Noah.”

This made him and I both stare at her.

“Like what?!” I was mortified. What did she know?

“Oh, just, you know, normal girl talk stuff.” She tried to play it off, but I wasn’t having it.

“No fucking way. She wouldn’t tell you that stuff.”

She looked up at me from under her lashes, smiling a wicked grin at me.

“Oh no?” She flashed her teeth at me. “Daddy?”

The cough that punched out of my chest was visceral. I had to drink half of my water just to get it to stop. Nick was dramatically gagging next to her.

Laura was cackling like a hyena.

-

The following day, I was sat in my living room, trying to focus on the television, but my mind was wandering. I couldn’t let this Justin thing go. There was so much to it that was just unknown.

What kind of dates did he take her on? Did she have fun? Did she plan to introduce him to Addie? Had they fucked?

Was she going to love him? As much as she loved me?

After wasting a solid episode of The Mandalorian thinking about this, I finally broke down, picking my phone up from the coffee table, and opening our text thread. We hadn’t spoken since Monday, and did hand-off with Addison with help from Laura, per my request.

I stared at the empty text box, trying to decide what I wanted to say.

Me: Hey.

Well. That should be okay, right?

I had to wait another half of an episode before I got a response.

Leena: What’s up?

I guess I should’ve expected that the niceties were over for now.

Me: I’ve been thinking about the other day.

She read the message, but no typing bubble.

Me: I’m sorry.

Leena: For?

Typical Mileena, not willing to let me get away with a blanket apology.

Me: Freaking out. Yelling at you.

I waited a painfully long time before she typed again.

Leena: Thank you.

She immediately started typing again.

Leena: I get it, though. I sort of expected it.

Me: Well, it was shocking.

Leena: I’ve been thinking too, and if it’s too difficult, I can just not bring him? I want to be considerate.

I wish I could’ve said I was shocked, but I wasn’t. That was Leena. Always going out of her way to make me happy, even if her happiness was sacrificed in the process.

But that ends now.

Me: Not a chance. I’m not going to let you do that.

Leena: What? Why?

Me: That’s not fair to you.

Leena: You having to go through that isn’t fair either.

Me: Maybe. But if we’re keeping score, I think you’ve been dealt more unfair situations than I have.

She didn’t respond immediately, which made me relax a little. I didn’t want to argue with her. I was tired, and just wanted to begin the process of moving past this.

Leena: That’s really big of you, Noah.

Me: What can I say? I’m growing.

Leena: LOL maybe you are.

Leena: You’re still going to come, right?

Me: Yeah, Nick will throw a fit if I don’t.

Leena: Good.

Me: Can I make a request?

Leena: Sure.

Me: Can we maybe not do the introduction thing with him, though? I’m growing and all, but I still want to knock his teeth out.

Leena: That’s fair.

-

Who the fuck plans a 4th of July party to be held outside?! Why is that the norm? Ninety-two degrees outside, and we’re just supposed to stand near smoldering barbecues and laugh about nonsense bullshit while simultaneously getting sunburnt?

Clearly, I was cranky. It took at least an hour to talk myself into going to this sad excuse of a party, and another hour to convince myself that I was not allowed to rip Justin’s head off, tossing it on the grill, and serving it to Mileena personally.

Sitting at the picnic table in the backyard, idly chatting with Jolly, I continuously scanned the crowd of people for her. She was late, which wasn’t like her at all. She hated being late, it agitated her.

“Alec said he got a call from Elizabeth. I guess Rachel hired a lawyer to help her with this whole thing. Talking about wrongful termination.” He sipped from his beer bottle.

“Yeah, I don’t see that holding up in court.” I took a pull from my Dr. Pepper can, lowering my sunglasses to get a better look around the people.

“Who knows. They mentioned they’d entertain an offer from Sumerian.”

I sneered. “We made her an offer.”

“They mean a cash offer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, whatever. The lawyers can deal with that.”

Jolly kept speaking, but the world fell silent. There she was, stepping through the back door, raven hair curled loosely and hanging over her shoulders. She wore a plain white dress, cut up to the thighs, and cut low in the chest, straps thin as string. She had black flip-flops on and she wore more makeup than normal. False lashes clung to her lids, soft brown eyeshadow blended above them, and deep cherry red lipstick. That was new for Leena, typically staying natural or with a soft nude.

She was beautiful. Words didn’t even exist to describe how badly my heart squirmed for her, threatening to burst out of me.

But just behind her was what I had hoped would stay home - or get hit by a train on the way over. Whatever worked.

Justin was definitely taller than six-foot. Maybe not as tall as me, but he was fucking stacked. His black t-shirt was fitted to his torso, making it clear he was a gym rat. His jean shorts came down just below his knees, showing his right leg completely tattooed with some Japanese artwork.

His hair was combed back, and he wore dark Aviators over his eyes.

Guy was attractive. So, naturally, I wanted to rip his throat out.

They approached Nick and Laura, but I couldn’t hear what they said to each other. Leena hugged Laura, and Justin shook Nick’s hand. Nick smiled warmly at him, which I can’t logically fault him for, but a sting of unwarranted betrayal still pinched my back.

Leena’s eyes searched around inconspicuously, landing on me, and her lips turned up in a tiny smile. She waved at me gently, and I just gave her a grin in return that I didn’t exactly mean.

She gave me a look of concern, silently asking me if I was okay. I gave her a curt nod in return, which I know she was only forced to accept as good enough.

The party passed slowly as I tried to keep busy with making small talk with random people around the house. I did, however, end up around the fire pit once the sun began to go down, by myself. I sat there for a while, just staring into the flames, and throwing pieces of wood on whenever it got too low. The evening breeze brought the temperature down to a bearable level. My white tank top kept me cool enough that being close to the fire was comfortable.

I heard footsteps coming behind me, and I turned slightly to see Folio approaching, sitting on the bench next to me.

“What’s up, man?”

I shook my head slowly, stoking the flames with the metal poker.

“Not a whole lot.”

He grabbed another chunk of wood, tossing it on the dying fire.

“How you holding up?”

I pressed my lips together and breathed out an audible sigh. “Managing.”

Folio leaned in close to me, so only I could hear him. “I met the guy.”

I glanced over to him. “And?”

He shrugged. “He’s alright, I guess. Seems nice enough. Doesn’t strike me as her type though.”

I snickered. “Her type?”

He grinned, staring at the glow in the pit. “Yeah, you know; tall, dark, and messy.”

I laughed, shoving him in the shoulder, eliciting a giggle from him.

“Nah, she seems alright.” I let my eyes wander to Mileena for a second, seeing her standing at the table with Laura, laughing at something, Justin standing next to her.

She hadn’t approached me at all, which wasn’t surprising.

“When are we doing fireworks?”

Folio bit his lip. “Probably soon? It’s getting dark.”

I nodded. “I could go for blowing shit up.”

He pumped his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah, dude! Like real men!”

We both laughed, continuing an easy conversation. We sat there alone for at least fifteen additional minutes before bodies started gathering with us, seeking the warmth of the fire as the night grew colder.

“I say we start the fireworks in ten?” Nick looked at me, and I gave him a thumbs up. “I’ve got five boxes of mortars. It’s going to be fucking great.”

“Aren’t those illegal?” Leena’s voice piped up from across the pit. She was sat in a white plastic chair, Justin behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

Nick and I shot looks back and forth, smirking.

“Us? Participating in illegal activities? Pfft.” Nick waved a hand at her. “Not in a million years.”

She rolled her eyes, causing Nick and I to bust out laughing.

“Well, when you dumb boys get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.” She scoffed at us.

“A night in jail? Worth it.” I smiled at the fire, not daring to make eye contact with her.

“You know, Leena and I were at the beach the other day,” Everyone’s heads snapped up to Justin, who was speaking to the entire group. I took note of Leena’s hand now on his, their fingers interlocked. “and these teenagers were setting off fireworks.”

He chuckled, and Leena was grinning up at him, recalling some memory.

“Before the lifeguards busted them, one of them put a bottle rocket in one of the trash cans.” He shook his head. “The can fell sideways and the rocket damn near caught the kid in the chest!”

Everyone around was laughing, but I couldn’t find it in me. Sure, the story was funny…just not coming from him. No, to me, it made me cringe, my stomach turning. I couldn’t even register what he was saying, just that he was holding her hand, and she was smiling at him.

A loud, shrill laugh fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. A switch in my brain that I had nailed down had broken loose, flipping on all of the rage and hysteria I had been locking away the entire day.

“That’s fucking hilarious, dude!” Everyone was staring at me, Mileena looking absolutely mortified.

I slapped both hands down on my knees, making a show of my sarcasm. “As fucking much as I want to hear more of that story, I think I’m going to have to pass!”

I stood then, glancing at Nick. “Let me know when you’re ready to start the fireworks. I’m going to go take a second.”

He didn’t respond, he just stared at me with the same horrified expression everyone else had.

Everyone but Justin, who looked as though he had just been challenged to a duel.

I quickly turned, and jogged into the house, not listening to the abrupt conversations happening behind me. I slipped through the back door, and stopped at the kitchen counter, gripping the edge and leaning my stomach against it, trying to calm my breathing. It wasn’t working.

I made my way to the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing water on my face. I kept my eyes closed, not at all interested in what I would find in my reflection.

During my focus on trying to control my breathing, I had missed the sounds of footsteps coming into the house.

“Noah?”

I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know it was her. I didn’t respond, I only stood there, shame filling the crevices of my person.

“Are you okay?”

This almost felt like a panic attack. Like something I couldn’t just will away by thinking or wishing hard enough. My breathing was shallow and my muscles were rigid.

But she didn’t need to know that, so I nodded, eyes still closed.

I heard her step closer, and the door closing. She hadn’t left, and I knew that. I could smell her. I used it, the familiar scent that still made me feel home, to let my nerves go back into place.

A hand was placed on my shoulder, unexpectedly, causing me to flinch backward. I finally opened my eyes. Although her voice sounded so tender and concerned, she was absolutely fucking fuming.

Great.

“Please just go.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was borderline yelling.

“No.” She crossed her arms, and put all of her weight on one leg. “Not after that stunt.”

I sighed, leaning my back against the wall.

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t have anything else to say.” I had no will left to fight.

She scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s supposed to just fix it?”

She was pressing me, which wasn’t going to go over well in my current state.

“Leena, please.” I squeezed my eyes closed again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Noah! If I’d have known you were going to act like this I would’ve just stayed home!”

Press.

“This is why I offered not to come! Because I knew you’d act like an ass!”

A little harder.

“And for once I thought you were going to be considering me, but I guess I was fucking wrong!”

Almost there.

“I should’ve fucking known you would do this.”

Boom.

“Shut the fuck up, Leena!” I screamed over her, making her mouth snap shut with a click of her teeth.

“I’m doing my God damn best here! I am sitting here, doing the best I fucking can to watch you sit there with another fucking guy, so if you could just shut up, I’d greatly appreciate it!”

I pushed off the wall behind me, waving my hands in the air.

“I have considered you, so don’t you dare tell me I haven’t! I gave you fucking space, I did everything you asked. And you,” I took a step toward her. “had the audacity to bring another man here, introduce him to my brothers, all for…what?!” My stare must have looked absolutely insane. “Just to fuck with me?! Get a reaction?! Or to prove that you’re moving on better than me?!”

I was in her face now.

“I don’t know what sick fucking game you’re playing here, Princess. But when I don’t act exactly the way you want - like a good fucking dog - you don’t get to come in here and scream at me!”

Less than half of a foot away from her now, I knew I was terrifying her. My teeth were ground together as I looked down at her, my chest heaving.

“Was this what you were fucking hoping for?” My voice was venomous, just shy of a whisper.

All I could hear was her shallow breathing.

“I…” But her words were lost. I continued to hold her with my eyes, having boxed her in against the bathroom door.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s that?”

The softest, slightest whimper left her lips, and I couldn’t help the smirk that curled my lips, my eyes growing dark.

“What’s wrong? You had so much to say. Now you’re so quiet.”

She was staring up at me, her mouth parted.

Oh, I fucking had her.

“Was that the whole reason you brought him here? To get a rise out of me?” I bared my teeth. “To get me worked up?”

“No.” But she wasn’t convincing, her word coming out almost sounding like a question.

“No?” I dared to lean my body in closer, testing my luck. “I don’t believe you.”

Her eyes were stunned, as if I had caught her hand right in the cookie jar.

“You don’t?” She was trying so hard to sound stern, it was adorable.

“Nah. I think you enjoyed watching me squirm.” I inched my face closer to hers. “Every…” I pressed my nose gently against the skin on her neck. “fucking…” Deep inhale. “second.”

She let out a haggard breath, and I almost didn’t catch her legs pressing together.

My throat released a deep, raspy laugh. “Have you fucked him yet, Leena?”

I let one hand slide carefully down the wall, letting the tips of my fingers graze the side of her bare thigh.

“Have you let him touch you?”

She didn’t answer, but I felt her tremble beneath my hand. I pressed my palm to the front of her thigh. “Let him feel how fucking wet your pussy can get?”

My words were muffled against her neck, my lips now grazing the soft skin.

I dared to let a finger trail up to the crease of her leg, under her dress, where her panties covered her.

“Or does it only get that wet for me?”

And then, by the grace of whatever God exists, she moaned.

I let my hand graze over her, feeling how damp she already was.

“God, baby, I can’t even think about it. I get so fucking hard anytime I think of your body. Moving.” I hooked a finger inside her underwear. “Riding me.”

I pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

“More addictive than any liquor.”

Her hips pressed against me, pushing herself closer.

“Noah…”

I slid my hand down her folds, pulling her open slightly.

“You know the rules, baby girl. You want me to stop, just got to say so.”

Her hand snatched my wrist, stopping me, pulling me from my trance. I careened backward, looking at her face, panting.

I was ready to pull away, figured I had hit the boundary line. Until she spoke again.

“Fuck me,” Her eyebrow raised, a look of desperation on her face. “please.”

Without any shred of hesitation, I grabbed her shoulder, and spun her body around in front of me, pressing her against the sink. The hand I had in her panties now pressed against her back, and pushing her forward.

Her waist bent over the sink, I pulled the back of her dress up, revealing her black thongs pressed tightly between her cheeks, and used one finger to pull it to the side.

My hand snaked around the front of her, grabbing her throat and standing her back up. My free hand had already unbuckled my belt and pulled my jeans down, and I was pressing my erection against her.

“You fucking miss me, Princess?” I breathed into her ear.

She snarled at me. “Noah, quit talking and fuck me.”

I chuckled. “No problem.”

I pushed up inside of her, her tight walls clenching around me. In the reflection of the mirror, I could see her eyes rolling back in her head. She moaned again, louder than the last time, and I flicked the switch for the fan to kick on, hoping to muffle some of the sound.

I snapped my hips forward, over and over, still holding her tight to my chest. Her eyes had fallen closed, so I gripped her by her chin.

“Look.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at me through the reflection of the mirror, her mouth open and eyes half-masked, looking entirely blissed out.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mileena.” I pressed a hard kiss to her cheek, and she leaned into it. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

She reached her hand back to grip the back of my neck.

“Noah, ugh,” She fell forward, pressing her hips back into me. “God, I’m going to come.”

“Not yet, baby. Let me have this for a second.”

Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, her hair spilling into the bowl of the sink.

“I…I can’t. Please, I’m going to-“ But it was too late, she was tightening around me, pulling me over the edge faster, my cock pumping into her hard.

My hips stopped moving, and I let a hard slap fall on her right cheek. She gasped, standing up straight at the sensation.

I stepped back, quickly pulling up my jeans and leaning back against the wall.

She took a second to right herself, pulling her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her panties. Her eyes bore into mine, an unreadable look inside of them.

“This didn’t happen.”

Her words were cold, but I didn’t question them.

It didn’t happen.

Except that it did, and she couldn’t take that away from me.

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

8:00

So I wrote a short piece of writing about Lorabetta a while back, and figured fuck it, why not post it. Hope you enjoy.

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

8:00

Wake up. No need for alarm, the morning light through the curtains is enough to wake you. Get up, get in the shower. Brush teeth whilst showering, saves time. Today’s Wednesday, a hair wash day. Pick up the apple-scented shampoo and conditioner. Take note that it’s almost empty, must buy a new set tomorrow. Maybe strawberries and cream scent this time, it’s been a while, and it’s a favourite.

8:30

Hair and fur have been washed and dried, now for brushing. Take 15 minutes just to be sure it all looks soft and silky. Nothing fancy to be done with it, just enough that it looks and feels nice. Go downstairs for breakfast. Buttered toast. Tried a new butter last week, it wasn’t any good, so back to the old favourite. Toast bread to perfection. Whilst it’s doing that, pick out what’s for lunch. A muffin and an apple, that should do. Pack it up, toast is done. Butter it, then eat it. Delicious.

9:00

Heading to work. It’s a 20 minute walk. Your employers know that, they know your home address. You know theirs. They know this. That’s why they hired you. Neighbour has planted some new flowers in their garden. They’re nice, all pink and yellow, fitting for the season. You quietly make your way to work, barely looking at your surroundings. You know it all, it’s all just background, you’re more interested in the people around you, and even then, barely so. They’re all perfectly normal, heading to work, the same as you. Take note of someone in the crowd. Their fur is bright blue, but they’re hiding it with a long black coat and a hat to match. It’s, technically, one of your coworkers. You slightly shake your head to yourself; so none of the field agents have learned how obvious they make themselves. Well, obvious to you, at least.

9:30

You’re at your desk. You showed the receptionist your lanyard, not that you need to. She knows you, she knows everyone here, it’s her job to know. She’s skilled at her job, you respect her for it. You’ve made yourself tea and are waiting for it to cool whilst you load up your workload for the day. Take note that Donathan is late. Again. On the one hand you should probably warn him that if he keeps this up, the higher ups will have some very painful words for him. On the other hand, he surely already knows this. He chose to work here, he knows what they’re like. He’ll have brought it on himself. Besides, would it truly be that bad if something happened to him? You don’t like him. He won’t stop trying to court you despite clear disinterest. That’s too harsh, isn’t it? Nevermind, the computer is fully loaded, tea is cooled to perfection. Take a sip, and get to work.

11:00

Mezzie has tried to engage you in conversation. Ignore her. Continue working. She keeps talking. Apparently it’s her birthday next week, make mental note to buy her a gift. Nothing fancy, nothing big, nothing expensive, nothing that’ll let her mistake the two of you as friends. Something that simply acknowledges the day, shows you heard what she said. You know she likes frogs. You recall a small ceramic frog in a charity shop just across the road from that diner you like. It’s cheap and ugly. She’d love it. It’ll do.

She’s still talking during all of this. Your lack of eye contact  hasn’t deterred her. She’s telling you that she and some friends are going out for drinks after work to celebrate. You don’t know how this is relevant to you, until she asks if you want to come. You tell her since you are not her friend, you should not go, so you won’t. She’s surprised. Can’t think why. She insists it’ll be fun, and says to think about it, before she goes to grab another cup of coffee. You notice she takes your mug without asking. You say nothing. You know she’s refilling it too.

12:00

You’re still working, slower than usual. There’s less work to be done today, which is odd. Means more time to kill. You reach into your second drawer down and snack on some chocolate buttons. That’s not your only indulgence you’re allowing yourself at this moment. You keep your eyes on the screen so your coworkers don’t notice you listening to the annoyingly loud conversation they’re having next to you. They might try and engage you. You don’t recognise half of them. You vaguely know the tall pink one. The large grey one. The quote-on-quote handsome lavender one. He reminds you of your mother. They’re talking to Mezzie about her upcoming birthday and where they should go. She’s excited. You’re indifferent. They’re trying to decide how they’ll make it different from their usual Friday after-work hangouts. The pink one’s bringing cake. Vanilla sponge and buttercream. It’ll be blue. You like blue. You like cake. You remember the muffin you have ready for lunch. It’s not the same. 

The conversation stops when the others return to work. Mezzie is smiling. She’s always smiling. You’re not.

13:00

Lunchtime. Get up from your desk, head for the break room. Make your third cup of tea today. You see a coworker here. A field agent. They rarely show up, especially not this one. She’s like you; closed off, says little, not here to make friends. You respect her immensely. You grab her a mug and make her a drink too. It’s only polite. You set it in front of her as you sit down to eat. She gives you a nod. No other words are exchanged. Good.

Others show up. They ignore you, you ignore them. You take your muffin wrapper and apple core and put them in the bin. For once you still want food, it’d kill the time. You decide you’ll go out for dinner today. Maybe you’ll see her. Head back to your desk. There’s work to be done.

17:30

Work is done. Time to leave. Walk out without acknowledging anyone. Don’t listen to their inane conversations, you don’t care about Marwynn’s new felt puppy or Lorkom’s upcoming anniversary. Walk out into the cool evening air. Take a breath. Decide where you’re eating. You already know. What will you have? Pizza sounds good. You know she likes it. You head off. It’s within walking distance, about 30 minutes. More time for people watching. If only the charity shop was open longer, you’d kill two birds with one stone. Better have lunch outside tomorrow, get the frog whilst you’re there. Eat at a different place, though. That cheap bakery you like. 

18:00

She’s not here. Ignore the disappointment you for some reason feel. No matter. Sit down, peruse the menu. You know what you’re having, you enjoy reading and looking at the photos. The waiter seems to recognise you. Can’t think why. He tries to make friendly chat, yet seems almost relieved when you simply order what you want. When he brings it, quicker than you expected, you thank him and begin to eat. You look out the window into the shop opposite. The frog is still there. Good. Finish food. Pay the bill. Head home.

18:30

You’re home. Take off your lanyard, put it back in its spot. You haven’t called your mother in a while. You decide to do that. She answers. She’s not been up to much, she says. She’s taken up dancing on Thursdays and joined a book club on Wednesdays. She tells you everyone there is ever so dull, except this one Grump. They’re very funny, apparently. She asks what you’ve been up to, and you tell her even less than what she does. She hmms in understanding. She’s used to this. You tell her you intend to visit Thystle on the weekend, you’ve missed her. Your mother says the feeling’s mutual, and the tiniest smile perks your lips. You consider talking about Mezzie’s birthday or the disappointment you felt at dinner today, but it hardly seems relevant. You don’t want to bore your mother. It’s not a long chat, but it’s nice. You’re going round there on Sunday. You should call your father. You don’t want to, so you don’t. You say goodbye to your mother and hang up. Search the cupboards for snacks, a packet of biscuits. Chocolate digestives. Six should suffice. You put them on a small plate, a simple thing, white with small purple flowers and bees around the edge, and go to sit on the couch. Tonight you feel drawn to watch your favourite superhero film, a genre people wouldn’t expect you to feel strongly about. It’s strange, you only really seem to find yourself watching it when you need comforting or cheering up, which isn’t something you often experience. You’re not even sad, so why are you putting it on? It doesn’t matter. You love this film. For all its flaws, it's earnest, and makes you happy. You wonder if Mezzie would like it, or that pink one, or the grey one, or the lavender one. Not that it matters. You think maybe she’d like it. You’d like to watch it with her. Here. On your couch. Sitting next to you. It’d probably be nice. You hardly notice you’ve gotten the rest of the biscuits until you’re halfway through the packet. You start the second in the trilogy. You finish it. You want to watch the third, but you’ll save it for tomorrow.

23:00

You’re at your mirror, brushing your hair once more before bed. You go to brush your teeth. Take your glasses off, climb into bed. The heating’s off, so it’s cold at first, but you soon warm up under a duvet and two extra blankets. You think about today, and what the rest of the week has in store. Run through your mental notes again. Close your eyes. Go to sleep, knowing tomorrow will bring more of the same.

Do you want it to?

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[narakurosaki]

title: buckled

summary: ed returns from the west with one thing on his mind—making love to his fiancée. what neither of them had counted on, however, was the consequences of edward failing to properly maintain his automail.

or, ed and winry have sex and edward falls flat on his ass.

rating: m

words: 1670

read on ao3!

His hands roam the familiar planes of her body; the map etched into his mind from two years of exploration laid out before his mind’s eye. The colors have not faded, nor have the intricate details or the notes scribbled beside key areas. Kisses to the hollow of her throat make her squirm. Ghosting of his fingertips along the inside of her thigh result in whimpers. He knows the areas that, when given adequate attention, make her wet like the back of his hand. He knows that she enjoys his mouth on her nipples, accompanied by a gentle grazing of his teeth, and that the pad of his thumb pressed against the bundle of nerves between her thighs makes her cry out his name. He could locate a certain spot inside of her that, when stimulated by either fingers or cock, makes her scream. No amount of time spent apart would eliminate the knowledge he had acquired from his memory, and he’d proven this, time and time again whenever he’d returned home from his travels in the west.

His hands grip her exposed ass, knuckles slamming into the wall upon every thrust. He’d been home all of two minutes before they began undressing one another. He’d heard that distance made the heart grow fonder, but he was beginning to believe that it served only to make his dick harder whenever he’d arrived home.

He’d buried it deep within her after tipping her over the edge with his tongue. She’d struggled to stay standing, and the bed was much too far for his liking, so he’d hoisted her into his arms and went to town. It was nothing new for them—her bed, the bed he’d slept in prior to their relationship, the shower, the tub, her workbench, the sofa, the kitchen counter, the basement, and various walls within the home; they’d fucked on or against it all. And while Edward proudly proclaimed that his favorite places had been the tub, the beds, and her workbench, Winry declared her love for being pinned against the wall. “It’s sexy,” she had told him one evening, legs wrapped around his waist, the smell of sex in the air. “Making love while you’re holding me up? You’re strong, Ed, and that’s incredibly hot.”

He’s lost himself to his most primal desires. Never in a million years had Edward Elric thought himself to become some sort of sex-crazed maniac, but his first experience had created a beast. He’d felt repulsed by his urges, ashamed of picturing Winry beneath him, clawing at his back as she moaned his name. But, one Wednesday morning, when Pinako had set off to run errands, and Al had tagged along, Winry had pounced. He’d been munching on a piece of toast when she’d backed him into the counter and kissed him. “You taste like strawberry jam,” she’d murmured against his lips, her fingers tangling themselves in his loose hair. He’d dropped his toast on the floor after that and grabbed her by the waist. She’d led him into her workshop and planted her ass on her workbench, where he’d promptly fucked her. It was then that he’d realized their sexual appetites matched one another; he had nothing to be ashamed of nor feel repulsed by. Winry wanted him just as much as he’d wanted her.

He’s close, and judging by the way her nails skid down his back (she’d certainly drew blood), she is, too. He captures her lips in a messy kiss, failing to maintain any sort of rhythm as he thrusts into her. Her body moves every time he pushes inside of her; her breasts bounce against his bare chest, her thighs squeeze his waist tighter, and her mouth detaches from his to cry out in ecstasy. He can feel the pressure building in his lower abdomen, his balls clenching as he brings himself closer and closer to release. Her inner walls squeeze his cock repeatedly, his name uttered like a chant. He needs but a few more thrusts to give her what she so desperately needs.

It’s on his third that she collapses into him, lips parted in a silent scream. The sudden shift in weight forces him to take a step backward, even as he reaches his climax. The world goes dark as his eyes shut. Stars explode behind his eyelids, his fingertips dig into her skin, and he moans wordlessly beside her ear. He feels his flesh leg weaken as his tense muscles begin to relax.

What he isn’t prepared for, however, is the buckling of his prosthetic.

His automail collapses beneath the weight of two individuals. Edward falls backward, landing on his ass with his dick still inside of Winry. He feels the tip forcefully press against her wall upon impact. Atop him, Winry moans, distinctively different from what noises she’d made just a moment ago.

She hangs her head and places her palms against his chest, muttering a soft, “Ow…”

He stares at her, bewildered. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I think… my vagina might be bruised…” Her blue eyes look up, and their gazes lock. She’s clearly vexed by the situation. “What… what happened?”

Beneath her, out of the focus of his vision, is his automail. The prosthetic lies straight as a board upon the wood flooring. Ed tries to bend his knee but is unable to. His pupils constrict, mouth contorting as he struggles to find the appropriate words. “Um,” he cups her cheek, a (possibly) futile attempt at calming the storm before it erupts. “My leg gave out.”

The words are slow to register for Winry. Edward observes her, as though he’s watching her work with the gears in one of her automail pieces, carefully testing each one to find the source of the malfunction. While she would grin and proudly state, “Got it!” when working with the metal, he is met with a much different response: her brow furrows, she frowns, and her eyes hold the annoyance she feels. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Oh, how he wishes he were.

He shakes his head.

Winry groans, this time irked. “See, this is what you get for not letting me check it, first.”

“Oh, like you were complaining.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other. Forgive me for wanting to have sex with my fiancée.”

Her upper lip is pulled into a snarl. “A routine check-up wouldn’t—”

“Take long? Yeah, yeah. Thirty minutes isn’t exactly long, but it’s long enough that my balls will start to hurt!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He’s prepared to throw his hands in the air but opts against it. Truth be told, ten minutes would make his balls hurt beyond belief; it was extremely rare that he and Winry had forgone the physical act of love when both of them wanted it, no matter how busy they may be. And, out in Creta, he could simply jerk off in the shower, if need be. “You try having a dick and balls and doing nothing when you’re hard. We’ll see how you like it.”

Her eyes widen, a scoff tumbling past her lips. “Oh, so you don’t think having a vagina is just as difficult? The clitoris gets erect, genius! It aches just as much as your stupid testicles.”

“You don’t think they’re stupid when you’re touching them…”

Her face reddens. “God, you’re such a child! You lose an argument so you say something stupid to make yourself feel better.”

She unwinds her legs from his waist, moving into a straddling position, and pushes herself up. He falls out of her, still somewhat erect. They both stare at it for a moment before Winry groans and rolls her eyes. “I was really looking forward to you staying inside of me while we cuddled, but, no! You had to go and break your damn leg.”

He gapes at her. “Oh, like I did this on purpose?!”

She snatches the button-up shirt she’d removed from his body earlier and shrugs into it. As she works on fastening the buttons, she says, “You could’ve maintained it better!”

Sadly, he couldn’t argue. He’d slacked on oiling the joints.

She opens the door and beckons him to follow. “Come on, let’s fix it before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind?” He blinks, pushing himself off of the ground and onto his flesh leg. He leans against the wall as he hops in her direction. “When have you been known to change your mind about fixing someone’s automail?”

“Oh, don’t push your luck.” She helps him from the wall the positions herself beneath his arm, wrapping her own around his waist to support him. “I never had an idiot fiancé until now.” She sighs. “Of course I had to fall in love with the man who is known to neglect his automail and has the sex drive of a teenager.”

Edward purses his lips. “We’re both eighteen, y’know. Still technically teenagers.”

“You expect to magically lose your libido when you turn twenty?”

“Well, no. It’ll probably stay the same for the rest of my life. How could it not when I get to have sex with the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Even after two years of being in a relationship, he could still make her blush. “Now you’re just buttering me up to make up for bruising me on the inside.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs.

“Sheesh. Leave it to me to—”

“Fall in love with a weirdo, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it many times before. But,” Winry leads him to the examination table where he takes a seat, “this weirdo loves you.”

“This weirdo is also going soft with his condom still on during his spur-of-the-moment maintenance appointment.”

He flashes a toothy grin as he removes the condom, ties it, and tosses it in the wastebasket across the room.

“Ew, Ed! This isn’t our bathroom! I have patients that come in here!”

All he can do is laugh.

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 10- Recipe for Love

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bookshop/Bartender AU)

Word Count: 2,064

Summary: You and Bucky decide to host dinner for your friends and afterwards you get the best idea ever...

Author’s Note: Thank you all so very much for sticking with me and continuing to read! This has really been such an escape for me and I can never thank you enough for reading and being so kind and supportive. Thank you all for reading and much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: sweet fluff, soft smut, fluffersmut, fun with friends :) 

Previous Chapters 

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble

Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Chapter 4: Read Between the Limes

Chapter 5: Secrets on the Shelf

Chapter 6: Love Between the Covers 

Chapter 7: Love Lines & Soul Finds

Chapter 8: Drunk in Love

Chapter 9: Pour in onto the Page

The rest of the night goes on in a blur of soft touches, heated kisses and whispered, “I love yous.” Now that the words are out it’s as if neither of you have anything else to say. The uber ride back to Manhattan is as sugary sweet as the cotton candy you’re licking off your fingers. “Oh my god, Bucky! I forgot how good this stuff is!” you exclaim as you pull off another chunk of the spun sugar. “I know!” Bucky replies, kissing some melting pink sugar off your lips.

You giggle, trying to refrain from poking him with your sticky fingers. “Sweetheart, if you get that sticky crap stuck in my hair, we’re gonna have a problem.” Your fingers reach toward him as you hold back laughter. Bucky quickly grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth, slowly sucking the sugar off the tip of each finger. “I wish we were home already,” you breathe out.

When you finally fall through the door of your apartment, you’re surprised you’re still dressed, Bucky’s hands groping you from the moment you got out of the uber. He walks you backward until you bump the small island in your kitchen, his arms lifting you up and sitting you on the countertop. Your hands card through his hair as he kneels between your legs, pushing up the skirt of your dress.

His eyes watch you as he trails kisses up your thigh, his soft hair slipping through your fingers as you try to find a hold on something. With the languid movements of his tongue he takes you apart, your body completely sated as he stands to unzip his jeans. You waste no time, helping him get them to the floor.

He enters you slowly and you feel every inch, his forehead pressed to yours while you relish in the feeling of each other. The lights from the city cast a soft glow on your skin as Bucky’s hands and mouth explore every inch with a newfound reverence.  It isn’t long before you come undone, his name a quiet plea falling from your lips.  

The next morning you find the other side of the bed empty, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. With a satisfied hum you throw off the covers, covering your nakedness with Bucky’s shirt. “Do you always walk around shirtless?” you ask as you enter the kitchen, Bucky’s back to you as he stands over the coffee pot.

“Are you complaining,” he croons, throwing you a look over his shoulder. “Not at all,” you say, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist. “That smells so good! I’m so glad someone is finally using the coffee pot. I usually just get it from the café down the street.” He turns and hands you a steaming cup, asking, “you mean the little spot on West 22nd and 9th Ave?” You nod as you take your first sip, moaning at the taste.

“It’s going out of business!” You nearly spit out the delicious coffee, “WHAT?” Bucky frowns, holding you against his chest, “yeah, the new Starbucks that opened nearby is killing them.” Now it’s your turn to frown, the realization you may have to start brewing your own coffee or paying way too much for one making you angry. You take another sip, eyeing Bucky over the mug, “that’s awful. I really liked that place!”

Kissing the top of your head he says assuredly, “you have me and since you seem to approve of my coffee making skills, I think you’ll manage.” With a contented smile you reach behind him for your cookie tin, picking it up and noticing it feels way too light. “Bucky. Did you eat the last of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies?”

Hanging his head, he doesn’t answer but it’s all the confirmation you need. “I can’t believe you didn’t even leave me one!” He tries to look sheepish but fails terribly as he checks for crumbs along his mouth. “Well, they were amazing! And I was hungry this morning!” he says in defense. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that” you say. He takes your unfinished coffee from your hands and places in on the counter. “Actually, I’m the lucky one and I love you too,” he says, before stopping any further conversation with his lips on yours.

You spend Sunday afternoon at the bookshop with Bucky, organizing some shelves and just enjoying each other’s company. As per her usual Sunday visit, Grandma Betty strolls in shortly after lunch, her smile bright at the sight of you both. “Look at you two. You’re practically glowing today! I knew a night out would be good for my boy. Was it as fun as you remembered?”

Bucky sends a heart stopping smile your way before launching into a full recap of your night and how perfect it was. Grandma leaves with a smile that matches yours and a promise of some of your now famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies.

After the visit you can tell that Bucky’s mood has dampened slightly, his teeth working over his bottom lip and his forehead creased in thought. “Hey baby, you think Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam would want to come over for dinner next weekend? Maybe we can do it early before you guys have to be at the bar?” His spirits seem to lift at the idea, and he sends out a text to see if everyone is available.

Once your plans are made and you all settle on a time you ask him, “what do I make for dessert?” He laughs, raising his brow before he speaks. You cut him off, “I’m not making you any more of those cookies. In fact, I’m going to make a whole batch, give them all to your grandma and you can’t have any!” He pretends to pout which makes you laugh, his antics hard to resist. “I’ll bake something new! A surprise!” you exclaim, winking his way.

You spend almost every weeknight at Bucky’s apartment, except for Wednesday night because Nat insists she needs some girl time. “So. Does it feel different now that you guys said I love you?” she asks, sitting on the couch with her legs stretched out over yours while sipping her wine. “It just feels right. I can’t really explain it. It all seems so cliché when I really think about it, but I’ve also not felt surer about anything before.”

Nat tilts her head in understanding, her hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I get it. I’m so happy for you.” With another sip of your wine you reply, “thanks, I love you. Now stop stalling and tell me about your weekend with Sam!” She giggles and you squeal when you see a light blush creep over her cheeks. “OH MY GOD! WELL??” She kicks you with her foot, scowling before she says, “it’s the wine! I swear!” You laugh, knowing full well she’s full of shit. “Yea right. You can’t fool me. SPILL IT!”

Saturday morning rolls around and you and Bucky leave his apartment together, you’re heading out for baking supplies and Bucky heading to the bookshop to open and prepare for his early departure. “If you need me to pick anything up on my way back just let me know, doll. I can easily make a stop.” You pepper his cheek with kisses, saying thank you in between before planting a good one on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, watching you walk down the street until you’re out of his sight.

You decide on making a coconut cream pie for dessert, checking beforehand that everyone is a fan of the fruit. It’s the first time you’re making it and you’re both excited and nervous. Once you have everything you need you head back to Bucky’s and start preparing, making sure to send him plenty of silly texts as you bake. Thankfully the two of you had made a sauce and breaded chicken cutlets the night before so all that had to be done other than the pie was frying up the cutlets and cooking the pasta.

Bucky arrives home right on time. “Wow. It smells amazing in here baby.” He gives you a tight hug, picking you up off your feet and kissing you soundly before running off to take a quick shower. Once he’s clean and ready you finish up the cooking and put the pie in the oven. Bucky sets the table and you prepare some small appetizers.

Steve and Peggy arrive first, and Peggy joins you in the kitchen for some gossiping and wine. You look over her shoulder to see Bucky and Steve on the couch plowing through the snacks. “Hey boys! Can you please try to save some for Nat and Sam??” They both look up guiltily, trying to hide their mouthfuls of food. “Sorry,” they mumble simultaneously.

Luckily, Sam and Nat show up only moments later and Sam can snag a few bites. Dinner goes off without a hitch and everyone sits with their glass of wine while they wait for dessert. “Nat has been going on and on about y/n’s baking all week! I can’t wait to eat this pie!” Sam shouts. “I know, Bucky said her cookies are better than my mom’s!” Steve chimes in, raising his eyebrows.

Everyone looks at Steve in shock, their mouths hanging open. “What the heck guys?” you say as you walk to the table holding the pie. “What happened?” Steve quickly speaks up, “nothing y/n! We were just talking about how good your baking is. That looks amazing!” You throw them a knowing smirk and put the pie on the table, serving a slice to everyone.

Sam shovels in a giant bite, moaning around the fork. “Holy cow, this is incredible y/n!” Steve follows suit, closing his eyes and mumbling something about heaven while he chews. Bucky looks up and gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling as he mouths “I love you.”

Before you can answer him Sam snorts, pulling your attention away as you watch him point and laugh. “Jeez, you two are sweeter than this pie.” You scowl at him and try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably when Nat chimes in and says, “that’s the best you could do. Really?” Everyone starts laughing and Bucky pulls you into his lap, feeding you a piece of the pie. “Wow. It really did come good,” you say, only loud enough for him to hear.

While everyone continues to eat Bucky makes some coffee, the smell drifting through the small apartment and perking everyone up. The rest of the evening goes by fast and before you know it, Bucky and Sam must leave for the bar. Bucky tries to help you clean up, but you shoo him out, looking forward to a little alone time with Peggy and Nat. “It’s fine Buck, don’t worry! We can definitely handle this!”

It doesn’t take the three of you long to clean up, afterwards getting comfy on the couch with a glass of wine. You hang out for another couple of hours before the yawning starts, the wine and good food catching up to all of you. “Thank you so much for coming, this was so fun!” They enthusiastically agree, telling you for the hundredth time how delicious the pie was.

An hour later you’re in the bath, relaxing under the bubbles and teasing Bucky by sending him sexy pictures. ‘Doll, this is so unfair…I know what’s under those bubbles and I want some.’ You giggle, placing your phone safely on the towel next to the tub. Grabbing the plate of pie you brought into the bath you take a bite, savoring every flavor as it swirls over your tongue. You mentally give yourself props, loving how much everyone praised your baking abilities.

Finishing the last bite, your eyes suddenly go wide, and you blurt out, “that’s it!!!” You drop the empty dish to the floor and grab your phone, trying to text Bucky as quickly as possible. “Shit, shit, shit!” you curse at your slippery fingers, wiping them off on the towel. ‘BUCKY! I KNOW HOW TO SAVE THE BOOKSHOP!’ The text goes through and you smile to yourself, excitement coursing through you while you wait for his reply.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @azurika-writes @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @devynsdiary @eurynome827 @hailmary-yramliah @godofplumsandthunder @hawksmagnolia @hiddles-rose @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewelofwinter @jewels2876 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelgirl7​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines @metal-armed-cuddly-dork @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @when-the-hell-is-bucky @throwmyheartawayagain @flyawaybay @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods​ @inflxmes 

[pinestripes]

Quiet Day (The Last of Us)

Summary:

The last few months in Jackson have been paradise compared to the hellish cross-country road trip that came before. But scars still run deep, and shadows can lurk around even the brightest corners. 

Ellie has a bad day. Joel wants to help.

Rating: T for a bit of language

Can also be read here on AO3 and here on FFN.

Author’s Note:

I liiiiive! Feels good to publish something for the first time in...a year, actually, as of yesterday. I've had a busy and stressful year, though I'm sure a lot of you can relate. Anyway, I just love TLOU (as much as someone who has only watched playthroughs of it can), and I especially adore Ellie and Joel's dynamic. Thank you for reading!

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

Joel is a light sleeper and an early riser. The latter has been a trait of his for most of his life; the former, however, developed by necessity once not being able to jerk awake the instant something went bump in the night became a death sentence. Both of these qualities together means that he rises before the first rays of sunrise stream into his room.

He throws on stained jeans and an old shirt. Scrubbing a hand across his bleary eyes, he lumbers into the bathroom. Once done in there, he heads downstairs and to his front porch, sinking into the rocking chair there with a sigh.

He opens the worn science fiction novel he’s been making his way through for the past week or two, quickly thumbing through the brittle brown pages before finding the one he dog-eared the day before. He wasn’t a big reader, back before everything went to shit, but he had been known to pick up a sci-fi or western, sometimes even a mystery novel, every once in a while.

Joel reads in the soft morning light for half an hour or so before he exchanges the book for the guitar that has been resting by the front door. He lazily strums a few bars of a couple different songs, humming. Ellie will be awake soon, and it’s their morning ritual that when she comes down he helps her practice for a little while before breakfast.

Contrary to his expectations, Ellie doesn’t make her appearance. A familiar anxiety, one he feels less and less often the longer they stay in Tommy and Maria’s compound, clamps down on his chest. He stands and leans the guitar against the wall, the instrument making a discordant twung when he drops it less than gently in his hurry. He stalks into the house and through the barebones living room, eyes on the stairs to the second floor as his footsteps quicken and the clamp squeezes, squeezes, squeezes—

He jerks to a stop when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around to peer into the kitchen. Ellie is sitting there hunched over at the table, nibbling at a piece of buttered toast.

Suddenly Joel feels a little foolish. His heart is pounding, breathing shallow and quiet. He forces himself to take two slow breaths in and out, feeling the clamp slowly release, lungs expanding and taking in air once more. Finally, he says, voice nearly steady, “There you are, kiddo. Thought maybe you were still asleep.”

Ellie startles, looking up at him with a sharp intake of breath. (He’s surprised she didn’t hear his heavy footsteps into the house from the porch, actually.) Her shoulders relax again when she sees him. “Morning,” she says and returns to her toast.

Shaking off the last of the adrenaline rush and deciding he may as well join her for breakfast, he pads into the kitchen and starts getting out supplies for omelettes, thanking his lucky stars the hydroelectric plant has been providing the town with electricity, and therefore refrigeration, consistently for the last few weeks. “What do you want in your omelette?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Ellie?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want in your omelette today? I got some more green peppers from the garden yesterday, and we’ve got some ham, believe it or not—”

“I’m just going to have the toast today.”

“That all?”

“Yeah, I’m not really hungry.”

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He leaves it alone and goes back to making his own breakfast. Usually Ellie would be chattering up a storm by now, but when he’s nearly finished with his omelette and she still hasn’t said a word he finds himself speaking again. “So, didn’t want to do guitar today?”

Silence.

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

He sets the omelette on his plate and brings it to the table, taking a seat to her left. “You alright? You seem kind of out of it this morning.”

She shrugs. He notices she hasn’t made much headway on the piece of toast. “I’m fine. M’just tired. Didn’t sleep much. What did you ask?”

He quirks a doubtful brow. “I asked if you didn’t want to practice the guitar today.”

“I just thought we could...take a break today.”

He nods, and returns to eating, deciding once again not to push the issue. By the time his plate is clean she’s finishing the last few little bites of the toast. They both stand to wash their plates and utensils. Per routine, Ellie washes and Joel dries.

Concerned with the continued silence, he decides to give one last try. “So. It’s Sunday. Got any big plans?”

“No, don’t think so,” she responds.

“Not gonna go see Jessie, or, uh, Dina? Or anyone?”

“Nah.” She scrubs at a pan mechanically. “I think I’m just going to stay in and read a book.”

“Alright, then.”

They finish up, and Ellie heads upstairs to her bedroom. He goes to bring the guitar back in from the porch, then stands in the middle of the living room for a minute, feeling a little lost. Finally he sighs and heads out back to weed the vegetable garden. He can tell it’s going to be a quiet day.

Every once in a while, something—a nightmare maybe, or maybe a bandit attack, he can’t always figure it out for sure—will shake Ellie. She’ll retreat into herself, go quiet and distant. She’ll be spacy and—well, he isn’t sure what else to call it but flat. Which is decidedly not Ellie-like.

He’s learned that if he tries to push too much, if he tries to convince her to get out of the house or to talk to him, she gets cagey and defensive. So, even though he hates to see her light so dim, he gives her space and makes sure others do the same. Sometimes she’ll reach out to him of her own accord, looking to talk or a distraction in the form of a guitar lesson. She’s usually back to herself by the next day.

It’s lunchtime once he’s weeded the garden and patched up a few wobbly posts on the porch railing, a continuation of his ongoing attempts to renovate the house. He heads up the stairs and to Ellie’s door. He raps his knuckles against it twice. At her affirmative response, he opens the door and pokes his head in. “I’m thinking I’m going to head to the mess for lunch. You hungry?”

She’s laying on her bed in a loose fetal position, facing the door with a book lying open in front of her at an angle that suggests she hasn’t actually been reading it. “I’m okay.”

“You sure? You didn’t eat much for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself, then.” He almost shuts the door, then remembers something else. “Hey, Tommy mentioned something about a roof needin’ fixin’ yesterday. He might try and drag me into helpin’ him with that after we eat, so it could be a couple hours before I get back. That okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He doesn’t worry; he knows it’ll be a few hours at least before she wants company. “Alright. See you later.”

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

Tommy does drag Joel into helping fix a roof, and it takes almost three hours, but he finally finds himself at Ellie’s door again.

He knocks on it, twice again. “Hey, uh...just wanted to let you know I was home.”

“Okay,” she responds through the door.

“...I’ll be downstairs.”

When she doesn’t respond, he walks away, intent on continuing his ongoing Sunday project—fixing the floor in the downstairs bedroom. He’s been replacing the busted up hardwood in the downstairs bedroom little by little on Sundays—when everyone gets the day off in town, with the exception of a regular rotation of necessary jobs like patrol duty. It gives him something to do.

When it gets close to 5:30, according to the cracked, flickering display on the oven, Joel squares his shoulders and heads back to his familiar place outside Ellie’s door.

He knocks, asking “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He opens the door to see that she has shifted onto the floor, leaning against the side of the bed that’s facing the door, a book in her lap. He thinks she might have actually been reading it, which is a good sign.

“About time for supper. Ready to head over to Tommy’s?” Sunday night dinner at Tommy and Maria’s place is a regular part of their routine. Joel and Ellie host dinner on either Wednesdays or Thursdays, depending on the schedule.

She shrugs. “Eh, I’m not really hungry.”

Joel’s already decided that he is going to press the issue this time. She seems a little perkier, so he figures it should go over okay. “All you’ve had today is some toast. And they’re expectin’ us.”

Ellie pulls a face. It’s not as exaggerated as usual, but it’s close. “Do I have to?”

He jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

She sighs and pulls herself up off the floor before shoving her hands in her pockets and trudging out the door. He follows behind, the twitch of a smile on his face.

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

Ellie’s still quieter than usual at dinner, which earns Joel questioning looks from both his brother and sister-in-law. He just answers with a shrug and a meaningful look, which they accept, already having witnessed a few of these days before.

As they finish up their lasagna, Joel goes ahead and suggests watching a movie. He knows Ellie loves the compound’s movie nights just as much as the little ones.

“Can we?” she asks eagerly, a familiar spark flickering in her eyes.

Tommy and Maria look at each other. “Well, sure. Why not?” Maria says.

They clear the table quickly after that and select an action movie that Joel is pretty sure he caught on TV one night ages ago when Sarah was at a sleepover. The pang the thought sends through him is quick and biting, but the way Ellie bounces in her seat on the couch with anticipation helps him put the thought to rest once he recognizes it.

He takes his seat next to her. Ellie starts out resting against the arm of the couch, chin propped in her hand, but by the beginning of the movie’s second big action sequence she’s shifted to lean into his side. He adjusts so they’re both a little more comfortably settled into each other, his arm draping around the back of the couch.

Neither of them move for the rest of the movie, except for when Joel’s arm shifts to settle around her shoulders.

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

By the time the credits roll, it’s dark out. They walk through the cool fall night back to their house. Joel is glad to see that the movie night has helped Ellie perk up to her normal self. She babbles about the film’s effects and discusses the story’s various plot holes and inconsistencies. For his part, Joel mostly just listens and occasionally responds in agreement.

“I mean, what even was the bad guy’s plan?” she asks. “The bald asshole kept babbling about missiles or something, but I’m pretty sure he never actually said what they were going to do with the missiles. Right?”

“Don’t believe he did,” Joel responds.  

“And why did that one agent think going in without backup was a good idea? I mean, yeah, it was badass, but it was obviously going to fail from the beginning.”

“Don’t rightly know.”

“And for pete’s sake, why did the woman agent not have pants on for half the movie?”

“Because the people who made the movie were gross old men, probably.”

Ellie snorts. “You’re probably right.”  

They lapse into a companionable silence for a few minutes before Ellie suddenly leans over to nudge Joel’s arm with her elbow. “Hey.”

“Hm?” he questions, turning to give her his full attention from where it had been scanning the night sky—as far as he can tell, the single positive effect of the apocalypse is the decrease in pollution, including light pollution, which means the sky is blanketed in stars no matter where you are.

She sticks her hands in her jacket pockets, looking away with flushed cheeks and scuffing the heel of her shoe in the dirt before turning to look him in the face. “Thanks, Joel.”

He doesn’t need to ask what for. “Anytime, baby girl.”

[doctorthasmin]

It’s a chilly autumn afternoon when Sam walks up the garden path to Ryan’s front door, smoothing their shirt down and checking their hair wasn’t too messy. The bottle of wine feels cold in their clammy hands as the doorbell rings out, there seems to be a big racket before the door swings open and a blonde in a striped T-shirt and shirt trousers answers.

“Hey! You must be Sam, come in come in, Graham’s cooking, I’m the Doctor by the way.” The Doctor says cheerfully, shaking their hand guiding them into the living room where Ryan and Yaz are yelling at each other playing tekken.

“Hey Sam, nice to see you mate, thanks for coming round.” Ryan wheezes as he crushes Yaz to the sofa in order to beat her player. Sam grins and hands off the wine to the Doctor.

“Yeah thanks for the invite, I love a Sunday roast.” Sam swallows nervously, watching as the Doctor presses her eye super close to the bottle watching the liquid.

“Oh yeah me too, Graham’s especially.” The Doctor agrees, taking Sam’s hand gently pulling them into the kitchen to see a flustered Graham with two tea towels over his shoulders.

“Sam’s here, they brought wine.” The Doctor states happily, hearing a loud ruckus in the living room she darts off to defuse the situation.

“Hi Sam nice to meet you, so glad you came, Ryan’s friends never usually want to come round for food.” Graham grins, taking the wine with a soft squeeze to their shoulder.

“Oh I love roasts, and Ryan talks about you a lot I wanted to meet you.” Sam smiles, handing Graham the tongs he was reaching for.

They spend the next ten minutes or so plating everything up and chatting about Sam’s job and Graham’s career as a bus driver. Soon enough Graham whistles loud and the three gangly fam members squeeze through the archway trying to get to the table first.

“Right, everyone sit down, I want no more roughhousing whilst my good crockery is out.” Graham warns sternly, smiling as Sam sits down beside Ryan, who heaps a load of roast chicken slices on Sam’s plate.

“Gotta get the protein in.” Ryan jokes as Sam hands the mashed potatoes over to the Doctor, who sprinkles what looks like sugar on top. Mind Americans do that don’t they, Sam wonders before shaking their head and filling their plate.

“I must say I prefer the carrots steamed with butter and a little mint you’ll have to thank your dad Yaz, he gave me his recipe on the back of a business card, when I saw him down the shops yesterday.” Graham notes biting into his bright orange carrot.

“Sometimes dad hits it out the park and other times it’s a car crash.” Yaz shrugs, pushing some of the assorted vegetables towards the Doctor, who seems pretty content with her mountain of mash potato, a pool of gravy in the top like a volcano.

“Yeah well that’s universal, don’t ask Grandad to make tinned soup he’ll find a way to make it inedible.” Ryan says through a mouthful of chicken, earning a kick under the table from Yaz.

“What about you Sam? Like to cook?” Graham asks, leaning round to pour Ryan and Sam a glass of wine, Yaz and the Doctor abstained as always. Sam shrugs, biting into another forkful of tender juicy meat nearly groaning.

“I’m single, so it’s mostly baked beans on toast for me, especially being an electrician, pretty much always on call these days.” Sam explains, smiling back at Graham who’s beaming.

“Nothing wrong with baked beans on toast that was my speciality too before I met Ryan’s Gran.” Graham chortles, looking up to see the framed picture of Grace, Ryan and himself on the wall.

“Yeah Grace was a great cook, remember that barbecue she did for your 16th birthday, football and hotdogs but she’d got all the side stuff too it was great.” Sam recollects, smiling as Ryan chuckles taking a sip of his wine.

“I remember later that night when she gave you a telling off for not telling her about your pronouns.” Ryan smiles, bumping his elbow against Sam’s who rolls their eyes.

“Yeah she was pretty upset, she boiled the entire kettle and we talked through six cups of tea.” Sam recounts, watching as the Doctor watches the four of them carefully, like she wasn’t party to the conversation.

“My gran was the same when I came out too, I don’t know how much chai she forced down my neck in aid of talking it out eh.” Yaz grins, lifting her glass of juice up to clink with Sam’s wine.

“Well there’s a good time for a toast, to those we love, may we be thankful.” Graham toasts, raising his wine glass as the entire table follows suit, none more so than the Doctor who drains her glass in one fell swoop.

The rest of dinner goes on with amiable chatter about this and that, turns out Sam and the Doctor are in complete agreement in the renewable energy advances (of the 21st century) and it takes all the Doctor’s might not to take Sam to the reaches of the energy age and all the glorious technology that would be developed after their lifetime.

Sam leaves a few hours later after an epic game of scrabble in which Yaz and Graham won handily. They’re not allowed to leave until Graham has packed them enough left overs to see a small family through the week, and as they leave with one more wave to the group they notice, these group of friends are unlike anything they’ve ever seen, closely bonded by something Sam just can’t put their finger on. But whatever it is, they’re family.

Sam fancied a roast, so do I! I went back and forth about writing this but just decided to fling it out there and hope it lands. Felt weird not writing centred on one of the fam but still I hope everyone likes it! Replies and reblogs are really appreciated! Stories every Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

[matrixaffiliate]

Endeavor

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

Next chapter goes up on August 15th! =)

Chapter 3

"I swear, Lupin, you work more now that you have this job than you did when we were taking a full semester and you were working two jobs." Kalil sat down at the kitchen table where Ted had laid out his old school notes to try and come up with a clearer direction forward for what he had spent the last week coming to think of as his company.

"It is not that bad, Ghanem," Ted laughed. "I've got a good chance here to build this into the launching pad of my career. But I've got to get Vic up to speed too, so I'm also teaching her business classes after work."

Kalil sat down at the table, "Now when you first said your coworker's name was Vic, I thought their name was Victor. But you keep referring to them in the feminine connotation."

Ted laughed, "Vic is short for the French name Victoire."

"And, she needs some personal tutoring after work because…" Kalil smirked at him.

Ted shook his head, "It's not like that, mate."

"Really? Because you haven't been this willing to work outside of your shift in the three years that we've been friends."

Ted looked back at one of his books. "Yeah, well she has a boyfriend."

"Wait, she's taken?"

"Yep." Ted huffed.

"She says she's taken or you know she's taken?"

Ted looked up to glare at his friend, "My second interaction with her was walking in on her snogging the bloke, so yes, she's taken."

Kalil raised his eyebrows. "And you're not happy about this."

Ted sighed. "Sorry, she's pretty amazing and it's just frustrating to meet a girl that I could see myself with, and for her to be in a relationship."

"Well, if she's taken, she's taken, mate," Kalil put a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should protect yourself a bit here, back off on the time you spend with her, like only being with her during office hours."

Ted nodded, "Yeah, I'll think about it."

Kalil moved his hand away and shook his head as he walked back down the hall to his room.

"Don't be that guy Ted." He called out.

Teddy didn't respond. He needed to get this business figured out and then he needed to head out to get some shopping done before he went to his parents' place. They'd been excited to have him over on a Saturday. Ted hadn't had a free Saturday evening in years.

And honestly, he had already realized he was that guy. Ted was flirting and looking for every stolen moment he could get with a girl that wasn't available. If he were in Sean's position, he'd probably want to pummel him.

But Sean wasn't treating Vic like he really cared. Vic had disclosed that Sean canceled a day trip to the White Cliffs for the chance to compete in a pub quiz league. He was so certain he and his mates would win that he decided it was worth canceling the trip, and he was vague with her when it came to rescheduling it.

Ted wanted to pummel the idiot.

That was obviously not an option, and so Ted settled for teaching her business after work a couple of nights a week as they ate dinner and goofing around during the workday. Ted lived for those stolen moments; those moments where he felt like it was them, no unnecessary significant others involved.

Maybe he'd get her to teach him to speak French. He took a few classes in before uni, maybe he could get her to spend a little longer with him in the evenings teaching him something after he taught her business.

A part of Teddy wanted to cuff himself upside the head, but the more time he spent with Vic, the easier it was to ignore that part of him. He had set some physical boundaries for himself, and that made Ted feel like he wasn't really crossing any lines. He was making friends with Vic, taking an interest in her life outside of work, and spending time with her. That's what friends did. He was her friend. That was it.

And if he took advantage of those moments to feel closer to her than he should, well, that was for him and no one else to know about.

OoOoOoOoO

"So, you're liking working with Ron?" His dad asked as he handed Ted a drink and set the pitcher down on the table in their back garden.

"I don't work much with Ron. Between me and his niece, we run this operation on our own." Ted sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. He liked having evenings off. He'd forgotten what it was like to be able to decompress before half eleven, let alone have a Saturday to himself.

"It's just the two of you?" His mum set some cheese and crackers down on the table.

"Unless we need the big boss, yeah," Ted nodded.

"Which niece of his are you working with?" His dad pulled the cheese tray a bit closer to him.

Ted smiled, "Victoire, his oldest niece. She's Bill and Fleur's daughter if that helps you place her."

His mum laughed. "I know Bill, she must be a firecracker. He fancied himself a rebel, pierced his ear and grew his hair out long; he even bought a motorcycle. Made his mum furious as I understand it."

"How did you know Bill?" Ted tried to not look too interested.

"He and I went to A-levels together," his mum swatted a fly away and nearly upturned the cheese tray but just missed it. "It was happenstance that Harry and Ron and Ginny ended up in school together as well."

"To be fair, it was also happenstance that you and I met." His dad took her hand and kissed it.

Ted sighed. It felt like he would never get to the point his parents were at.

"Everything alright, son?" His dad turned to look at him.

"Yeah," Ted forced a smile, "It's just been a long week getting everything settled at work. And I really think Ron has a second company brewing with this, so I'm trying to get things rolling to show him that this could stand on its own feet. It doesn't need Bread & Butter to hold it up."

"Ron didn't build Bread & Butter in a day, Teddy darling. Make sure to pace yourself." His mum's timer went off and she went to retrieve dinner.

Ted stayed quiet. He knew his mum was right, Ron had built his franchise up over the course of nearly fifteen years. But this didn't need the same kind of organic growth that a bakery chain needed. This was selling kitchen equipment, kitchen equipment branded with the name of a successful franchise across the UK. It just needed the push that Ted was willing to give it.

Plus, he got more time with Vic when he pushed this forward, so it was a win in more than one way.

"Do I get you next Saturday too?" His mum asked as she set dinner on the table.

Ted laughed, "No, I promised Harry I'd take the kids for ice cream to say thank you for getting me in touch with Ron."

"Give them a hug for me. I know they're James' and Lily's grandkids, but I think we all claim them as our own."

"Mum, I'm six years older than Jamie."

"It doesn't change that your dad and I are old enough to be their grandparents."

"I am, but you, my love, are most certainly not." His dad chuckled. "But I've always liked how much those three look up to you, Teddy."

Ted shrugged, he rather liked it too if he was honest.

OoOoOoOoO

"This was a low blow, Weasley," Ted shook his head as he ate his Chinese takeaway the following Friday.

"You left me with no choice. If I hadn't ordered beforehand then you would have paid for it again. I already owe you for five dinners."

"You hide your devious side behind that pretty face, you even knew my order."

Vic kicked him under the table, "Don't announce my secrets!"

Ted laughed, "So tell me, have you ordered the next five dinners as well?"

Vic grinned, "I'll let you sit in anticipation."

"So torturous," Ted grinned back at her and had to put a great deal of self-control into not reaching out to take her hand or run his foot along her calf.

"What are you doing with your weekend?" Vic asked as she pulled a dumpling from the box with her chopsticks.

Ted smirked, "Wondering what my plans are Weasley?"

"I'll tell you mine," Vic shrugged.

"Let me guess, you're going to go home and spend the weekend wishing you didn't live with your parents?" Ted teased.

"No, I'm going to figure out what your last name is." She smirked at him.

Ted tutted, "That would be a shame, my wolf looks rather nice on your desk. I've come to enjoy seeing him there."

Vic laughed and kicked his foot under the card table. "I am going to figure it out this weekend. Come Monday, I'll know more about you than you could imagine me learning in two days."

Ted raised his eyebrows at her. "I think you're bluffing."

Vic shrugged, "Good, that will make it that much better when you walk in on Monday and I call you by your full name."

"Oh, you think you'll find my middle name too huh? Yours isn't even listed on the company roster."

"Did you go looking for it?" Vic laughed.

"Of course, I did, I had to exploit every advantage available to me." Ted shrugged as Vic laughed.

"You're ridiculous you know." Vic's smile was soft again, it was that smile that made Ted's stomach flutter.

"One of my many faults."

Vic tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before letting out a long breath and tossed her takeaway container in the bin.

"We should get started," she pulled her notepad in front of her.

"Right," Ted moved to his desk for his notebook and the notes he'd prepared yesterday after work before rejoining Vic at the card table.

"Did everything from Wednesday make sense?"

But another voice responded.

"Wednesday?"

Ted turned to the open door where Sean stood.

"Sean," Vic's voice conveyed her surprise. "You said you had plans tonight."

"They fell through," he leant against the doorframe. "I decided I'd rescue you from working late."

"Oh, er," she looked at Ted with wide eyes and Ted forced a smile for her.

"Go on, your Casanova awaits."

Vic bit her lip and looked torn for a moment longer before nodding. "We can do this on Monday, right?"

"Sure, whenever," Ted put his notebook away in his backpack.

"Alright, I'll, I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah."

Ted didn't dare look up as Vic walked out. He didn't want to see Sean kiss her.

OoOoOoOoO

"Teddy!" Lily ran into his arms.

"Hey, sweetheart," Ted hugged her. "I swear you're taller every time I see you."

"Grandad says that's what happens when you feed kids. Mum and Dad left for their show already, but come on! I want you to meet my cousin! She's so cool!" Lily pulled him down the corridor.

Ted laughed and kicked off his shoes, expecting to see another twelve-year-old girl as Lily pulled him to the back garden.

He nearly tripped over himself when he crossed the threshold.

"Vic?"

"Ted?"

"What are you doing here?" They said in unison.

"Really? You already know her? I wanted to introduce you two." Lily pouted.

"I work with Vic, Lils." Ted squeezed Lily's shoulders.

"You do?" Al frowned, "But Vic works for Uncle Ron."

Ted chuckled, "And so do I."

Vic was blushing and Ted wondered why his showing up had this effect on her. She didn't blush when he walked into work.

"Ted!" Jamie grinned as he walked out to the back garden. "Dad said you weren't going to be here till five."

Ted grinned and pulled Jamie into a hug. "I thought I'd come a bit earlier to catch up, but I see you lot already have someone around."

"Oh, yeah, Vic this is Ted, he's Mum and Dad's godson." Jamie introduced them.

"They work together, Jamie," Lily rolled her eyes. "And if they hadn't, I would have already introduced them."

Jamie's brow creased for a moment. "Oh, right you both work for Uncle Ron, I remember Dad saying he set you up with the job."

Ted nodded, "Yep. So, I guess everyone knows everyone now."

"Right," Vic stood up, "I should probably let you four go to dinner."

"Can Vicky come?" Lily took hold of Teddy's hand and he tried to keep himself from looking down at her big brown eyes.

He failed, and then he caved.

"If you're free, Vic, you're welcome to join us."

"I don't want to impose," she bit her lip but Lily went straight to her side.

"You wouldn't be imposing, Vicky! Please come! We haven't seen you much at all since you got that boyfriend last year."

Ted rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his socks as Vic spoke.

"Alright, I can come for a little bit."

Ted looked up to see Vic smiling at him, that shy soft smile that made his stomach clench.

"Great," he smiled back at her, and suddenly the awkward way they'd left things the night before seemed to fade away.

"Grab your things, you lot," Ted turned to the Potter kids, "I'm thinking some fish and chips are in order tonight."

"Aye, aye captain!" Al saluted and the three of them went for their things.

"So…" Ted followed Vic as she went back inside the house.

"Hi," Vic moved to the front door and put her shoes back on. Ted followed suit.

"I guess maybe I should have told you my plans for the weekend, huh?" He chuckled.

"Well, this might have been less awkward that way." Vic bit her lip. "I really can just bow out if you want time with them."

Ted felt his whole body react in panic at that suggestion.

"No! I mean if this is weird for you then I get if you want to leave, but I mean, we're friends, right?"

Vic's face took on a relieved cast and she smiled again. "Yeah, yeah, we're friends."

"Alright, well, friends can grab dinner together, right?"

Vic grinned, "Definitely."

Ted took a deep breath and went to say more when the Potter kids came sliding into the front entry.

"Let's go beat the dinner rush," Jamie opened the door and ushered everyone outside.

"Jamie, you're sixteen, will you stop acting like you're the adult here. That's Ted and Vic's job." Lily rolled her eyes.

Jamie shot her a glare and Ted intervened in what was a pretty regular fight he'd seen between the two of them.

"It's normal for Jamie to care enough about you to want to help guide you Lils, and it's fine to not want him to as well, right Jamie?"

Jamie rolled his eyes, "Right."

"Is Vic riding shotgun?" Al asked. "Dad and Mum say that when there's another adult, the front seat always goes to them."

Ted unlocked his car and looked over at Vic. "That's completely up to Vic."

She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes for a moment before looking back up at him. "Sure, sure I'll sit up front."

"There you go, Al, your parents' are always right." Ted grinned, and let their little group think it was in response to Al's eye roll.

But in reality, he couldn't have stopped smiling if his life depended on it, because Vic was sitting shotgun in his car.

"So, Vic," Ted asked as he pulled out of the Potter's drive. "What brought you to my godparents' home tonight?"

Vic immediately blushed. But before Ted could ask further, Al answered.

"She said she had a question about Dad's family."

Ted felt his eyebrows shoot up. The Marauders were Harry's family, and that included him.

"Really?" Ted smirked at Vic, who turned to look out her window. "I could have answered any questions you might have had."

Vic shrugged. "I didn't have your number."

"What did you want to know?" Lily asked.

"Wait," Jamie leant forward. "I thought you wanted to know my thoughts on your rough draft of your book you sent me. That's what Mum told me when she mentioned you'd be coming over."

"Right, so it was that too, and, er…"

Vic's face was bright red now and Ted found it adorable. He also felt a bit guilty, so he gave her a way out.

"Pull out your phone, I'll tell you my number." Ted smiled over at her.

She mouthed thank you and pulled out her phone. Ted rattled off his phone number and then got Al and Jamie talking about the latest Zelda game for the rest of the car ride to the restaurant.

"I can buy my own dinner," Vic protested when they were waiting their turn to order.

Ted rolled his eyes at her, "I'm sure you can, but if Harry finds out you bought your own dinner, he'll have my head, and then he'll send the rest of our family after me, so just do me the favor and let me pay for everyone."

Vic glared at him, so Ted played dirty.

"I gave you my phone number." He ignored the way Jamie eyed him.

Vic huffed and then nodded, "Fine, you can buy my dinner."

Jamie looked back and forth between the two of them. "It's not a date, Vic. Your boyfriend can't be upset about this."

Vic turned bright red and Ted sighed. Leave it to these three to find ways to unintentionally make Vic feel called out.

"I'm sure her boyfriend is a reasonable bloke, Jamie," Ted tried to redirect the conversation with the lie. "Now, why don't you lot find us all a table?"

"Won't you need help with the food?" Al asked.

"I've got Vic to help," Ted glanced at her and she smiled at him. "You three find us a good spot."

Jamie ushered his siblings further into the restaurant and Ted leant back against the wall while they waited for their order to be ready.

"Sorry," he looked over at Vic as she leant against the wall next to him. "They can be a bit much sometimes."

"They're my family too, Ted." She smiled at him. "I'm just embarrassed. I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"Is it a bad thing to see me tonight?"

"No, I just won't be able to complete my master plan now." She bumped his shoulder.

"You had a master plan? And I wasn't included? I'm offended!" Ted bumped her shoulder back and smiled as their easiness finally returned.

"I couldn't include you! You wouldn't share the information!"

Then it clicked and Ted laughed.

"You were going to use your cousins to figure out my full name, weren't you?"

"I thought I could sweet-talk it out of Lily. She always talks about how much she likes you and I thought I could just show up and get her talking about you and then casually ask what your full name was." Vic chuckled, as her blush deepened.

Ted felt like his chest was trying to take flight.

"I have to give you full marks for creativity."

"Yeah but it won't work now," Vic bit her lip. "If I ask anything about you after tonight, she's going to think I fancy you."

Ted swallowed hard, "Well, don't lose hope yet."

Vic looked over at him, "You've had a change of heart?"

"If you send me a text, I can come up with some clues so you can guess my full name." He kept his eyes focused on the kid behind the counter calling orders.

"Alright," Vic's voice was quiet. "I'll text you after we get my cousins home."

Ted smiled.

Then the kid behind the counter called his order number.

[thadelightfulone]

The Firm - Chapter 14

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Summary: Erik has been hired to find an embezzler for an old friend. Will Erik and LaNyah finally talk? 

Pairing: Erik x Black!OC

Genre: Suspense

--- One Week Later ---

Since LaNyah has a late afternoon meeting with Stacey, she chose to go into work later than usual. A perk she decided to take advantage of since all her bosses wanted her at her best. She treated herself to a long and leisurely breakfast before going into the office.

LaNyah is offered a seat by the window, overlooking one of the many man-made lakes throughout the city. Before she sits, she changes her mind and requests a table outside. The waiter takes her out to one near the railing, as the wind blows through her skirt. Perfect. She nods at him as he sets her menu down and takes her drink order.

While sipping on her cranberry juice, she looks around her. It is a lovely and kool morning, and the weather should only reach the early 70s today. The sunlight is slowly rising into the sky, and she smiles. Already have placed her order, Nyah listens to the sounds around her. Parents asking their small children what they want to eat, the little excited voices asking for pancakes or juice. The wind blowing around, causing tiny ripples on the nearby lake.

Another waitress arrives with her Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream and side of bacon. She quietly squeals to herself, dancing in her seat as the waitress leaves to bring back a refill on her water. LaNyah digs in, dragging bacon through syrup and humming along with the soft music playing from the speakers above her.  

Breakfast finished, LaNyah sets her utensils down and leans back in her seat. She takes a few moments to close her eyes and some deep breaths. She looks at her watch and jumps up. She needs to leave now since she has another stop to make before going in to work.

Parking in the garage, LaNyah texts Stacey that she has something for her. She grabs her purse, tote, and lunch bags, with everything she will need for the day out of the back seat. She goes to her passenger side and picks up a pink box, before locking her car and heading for the lobby.

Riding the elevator to the 31st floor, she walks towards her office. She starts laughing upon noticing her visitor as she turns the corner. She shakes her head and hands her keys over to Stacey, who unlocks and enters before her. LaNyah takes her time, putting everything away in its rightful place before turning to grabby hands coming from her guest chair.

"Stace?” She gives her the pink box. Stacey rips off the top of the box, inhaling the pleasant scent of blueberry, cherry, and cinnamon.  

“OMG,” she looks inside of the box, “All three? Nyah, are you trying to butter me up?” Stacey immediately reaches for the cherry Danish.

Sitting down behind her desk, LaNyah smiles while watching as Stacey moans around the freshly baked treat. “Not at all.”

Licking her fingers, “So, what’s with the bribery?” Stacey sets the box down and takes the napkin Nyah is holding out to her. Wiping her fingers, “You do not just do things. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Stacey eyes her, “Really. I just woke up in a good mood today. The late arrival allowed me just to enjoy the morning and take some time for me.”

"You know Green would still let you take more time off if you need it."

"Not like that, Stacey." LaNyah pauses as she searches for the words, "You know, like when there is a temporary change to your daily schedule.” Stacey nods at her, “Well, I used to not enjoy that. It always made me feel out of control. But today, it felt like exactly what I needed. Just some time to take in the morning since I am usually in the office as the sun breaks through the sky.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. That’s like when you have a weekday off from work. You get to see what you would normally miss at that time because you are working. It’s always nice to get a glimpse of that.”

“Exactly. I have never taken the time to do that. Even when I was off, I focused more on finding my way back to my routine.” Stacey nods before standing

“Well, I am glad to hear you had such a wonderful morning.” She picks up the box from Nyah’s desk, “I’ll see you this afternoon at the meeting.”

“Late lunch?”

“Nah, I can’t. What about dinner?” Stacey asks while opening the door.

“Sure, I’ll be ending the day with you anyway.” LaNyah waves to Stacey as she walks out while waiting for her computer to turn on. Stacey stands outside the door, looking in the window as LaNyah starts working. She turns on her heels, hoping that her boss and his wife know what they are doing.

---

Picking up the file folder from the passenger seat, Erik locks his rental. He decided to park on the executive level of the parking lot since he had a flight to catch after this. He was headed back home, and this allowed for a quick getaway. The embezzlement case for Alex wrapped up two weeks ago. He had other matters to attend to, and other people needed his help. It was time for him to leave Cali and move on. There is nothing more here for him, and no reason for him to extend his stay. The only thing Erik needed to do was send Alex the report. Which brings him to this moment, Alex wanted him to deliver it personally.

He approaches the building from the elevator, entering the code Stacey gave him for the private entrance. Erik went back and forth with Alex over the phone Friday night. His original flight was scheduled for the previous Saturday, and here it is Wednesday afternoon. Alex couldn’t see him any earlier and brought up Ashley wanting to apologize for upsetting him at dinner. Erik tried not to laugh at the man; he knew they just wanted to see him one more time in case they never saw him ever again. He couldn't blame them; he wasn't sure there was ever going to be another reason for him to return to California. Besides, if Ashley wants to apologize for souring the mood at the table, he definitely wanted to hear this face to face.

Hitting the button for the 35th floor, he stopped quickly and hit the button for the lobby. Two stories later, he stepped out and took in the familiar surroundings as the doors opened up. While standing in front of the building directory, a memory flashed before him as he saw two women running for the open car. Erik closes his eyes, thinking about the first time he saw LaNyah. Flustered and late for work, she never once looked up at him. Super focused on collecting her papers and waiting for the next elevator to arrive. It wasn't until she was getting out of the elevator that he finally got a chance to look at her when she spoke her first words to him —an apology for running him down.  

Erik hears the ding for a nearby elevator car and looks down at his watch. He pushes the button and walks over as the doors open back up. He presses the 35, moves back, and stands with the folder in front of him as the car fills up. All the stops will give him time to relax and get LaNyah off his mind. He just needs Ashley and Alex to understand that he was here for a job. He did it, and now it is time for him to go even if that means burying his feelings.  

He arrives on the floor, and it’s about 3:50pm, and he knows that he is early for his scheduled meeting with Alex and Ashley. But he doesn’t want to drag this out any longer. The plan is to have one last conversation with them, hand over the file, and take his leave. He can be in his own bed tonight. Erik walks over to Stacey, who didn't look up from her computer when the elevator arrived.

He taps on her countertop, startling her, "Hey Stacey, is Alex ready?" Stacey removes the headset from her ears.

“Sorry, working on a training.” She looks over at Alex’s office and notices that he is on the phone. “Not yet, it looks like he is still on the phone. Why don’t you wait in the conference room? Ashley will be here soon, too.”

Sighing, Erik nods at her and walks into the conference room. He sets the folder down where he plans to sit and continues over to the windows. Erik stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands behind his back as he waits for Alex and Ashley to come into the room. It'll be the last time that he gets to enjoy this view overlooking downtown Irvine. Even though it is mainly buildings at eye-level, he can see a few residential areas and parks a few streets over. He takes a few deep breaths as his mind starts to wonder.

---

LaNyah cannot wait for the elevator. She is already running late for this meeting with Stacey. She decides to take the stairs instead of walking across the department floor to wait for the elevator. She locks up her office with her notebook and a few pens in her hands. Turning left outside of her office, she opens the doors to the center stairs. She is unsure where these will open on the 35th floor, but she takes the time to think over what Stacey told her about this meeting.

Mr. Green wants to meet with both of them to discuss her future in the accounting department. LaNyah is not too nervous; he probably just wants her input on who he should get to oversee it. She knows Stacey would be the perfect choice for the position, but she knows that Mr. Green would rather keep her as his assistant. So, who knows what he is thinking about the situation.

She makes it to the door for the 35th floor and takes a deep breath. She opens it to see that she is across from Stacey's desk. Great. When the door closes behind her, she starts to walk past Mr. Green’s office when Stacey looks up at her and rushes across to her.

"Hey Nyah, I thought you were coming from the elevator," Stacey exclaims, shielding her view into the conference room. Her appearance from this side means she has to walk across the floor.

"I was running a bit late and decided to take the stairs." She stops for a moment to catch her breath. "Give me a minute." She looks down at her watch, 4:05pm. She is late. Damn.

“You’re fine. Mr. Green’s last meeting call ran over; he’s preparing to move into the conference room now. Go ahead and meet him in there, I’m on my way over.”

"Thanks, Stacey. See you inside." LaNyah walks over and notices Mr. Green's office is empty. She sees a man already standing with his back to her near the windows when she enters the conference room. She doesn't think anything of it and begins to set her things down. "Hey Mr. Green."

Erik tenses up as LaNyah’s voice reaches him from across the room. It can’t be. Why is she here? He slowly turns around and walks over to the table. She gasps and throws her hands over her mouth as he approaches the table. She takes in the neatly tailored navy suit, broad shoulders, and braided back dreads.

“Erik?” LaNyah whispers out in shock. He is standing across the room, with his hands in his pants pockets. He looks much more professional than the last time she saw him. No military fatigues covered in blood but as the businessman that she was initially met. He looks just like he did the day she met him. The day she figured out that she was attracted to him. But there is a look of surprise on his face.

He nods her way and opens his mouth, but no words come out as he looks her over. She is in a purple blouse with navy blue pants. Her light brown curls are down and framing her face. He watches as LaNyah rapidly blinks to make sure her eyes are not deceiving her, her wide eyes behind a matching purple set of glasses in a stunned expression.

“Wh- what are you doing here?” She timidly asks. And right when he is about to answer, he looks behind her and groans. All three instigators are standing at the door.

“You should ask them?” He points behind her and follows as she looks back at Alex and Stacey. Ashley is behind them and steps forward.

“We think you two should talk.” Ashley pronounces, and Erik scoffs from his end of the table. He opens his suit jacket and takes his seat at the table. LaNyah has not turned back towards him; she is stuck looking at her boss and friends.

“I- I don’t understand. What is going on?” LaNyah has a death grip on one of her pens. It suddenly snaps in her hand —the sound echoing through the quiet of the room.  

Alex speaks up, "It is as Ashley said. We just think that the two of you should have an open and honest conversation with each other." He looks over at Erik. If looks could kill, he knows he would be a goner. But it was the only way they could think to get them together.

LaNyah looks them all over, Mr. Green and Ashley do not look ashamed of their actions. But she shakes her head as she gets to Stacey, who is looking anywhere but at her. Wow, so she knew this morning and didn’t say anything at all. Without a word, Nyah drops down into the seat in front of her. It is conveniently all the way across the room from Erik. They will have to project to hear one another. So what, she doesn't care.

Ashley grabs Alex’s hand and taps Stacey’s shoulder as they make their way out of the conference room.

LaNyah’s hands are in her lap, playing with the belt tie on her blouse. Erik watches her for a few moments. What is he supposed to say to her? She hasn’t even looked up at him since she sat down. He closes his eyes and runs his hands over his dreads. He never thought they would blindside the both of them, just to get them in the same room. He opens his eyes and discovers she is still staring a hole through the table.  

“Uh, hi LaNyah.” He starts, “How have you been?” She quickly glances up at him then drops her eyes again. “You look good. Real good.” Erik can see her mouth curve up and then just as fast straighten out into a tight line. "How have you been? You know, since we last saw each other." He tries again, but there is no reaction from her now.

LaNyah follows her fingers as they move along the peplum edges of the blouse. He is here and for her, but why. She continues to hold her head down even as he tries to talk to her. She knows he is trying, but she doesn't know how to feel right now. How is it that she is both relaxed and scared at the same time? Her eyes glaze over, and she starts sniffling. She doesn't know when it happened, but hot tears land on her hands. Her breathing is calm, but Nyah can't help the little sounds she makes as she silently cries.

He hears LaNyah’s quiet sobbing and watches as she pulls her glasses off to wipe at her eyes. She is crying, and it's all because she is not comfortable with the situation, and with him. He figured she wasn't ready, and now he doubts if she ever will be. Erik knows he needs to let her go. There is no more significant sign than what he is witnessing.

Erik gets up and walks out of the conference room, making his way to the coffee machine. He waits as the water heats up and pulls down a mug. Looking over the choices, he grabs lavender and chamomile tea putting it into the machine as Stacey taught him. As Erik observes LaNyah replacing her glasses on her face, he gathers all the other things that he needs. Some honey packets, a spoon, and a few napkins.

The machine chimes letting him know the tea is ready. He collects all the items and brings them into the room. He walks over to LaNyah, and standing off to her side; he places them all next to her. Erik walks over to where he was sitting and grabs the report from the table. He walks to the inner door leading to Alex's office and puts the folder on his desk.

He looks around the office before walking to the elevator. While he waits for the elevator, he turns back to LaNyah in the big conference room. She was drinking from the mug, which makes him smile a bit. As the bell of the elevator's arrival chimes, she looks up in his direction. "Sorry, I'm not the man you wish I was," Erik speaks low, unaware that LaNyah could hear him.

---

“How do you think things are going?” Stacey asks Alex and Ashley. It’s been about 20 mins since they left Erik and LaNyah upstairs together.

“Only one way to find out,” Ashley replies as they all get off the elevator to the 35th floor. Looking through the windows, they all notice LaNyah standing in front of the windows, staring out with a mug in her hands. Ashley rushes forward into the conference room first. “What happened?”

LaNyah slowly turns around, her eyes puffy and red from her tears. She sets the mug down on the table and takes a tissue from the box; she blows her nose and walks towards them. “You want to know what happened?” They all nod their heads in unison. “Nothing. Absolutely, nothing.”

“Where’s Erik?” Alex asks, and LaNyah shrugs her shoulders. “He just left you here? Did he say anything before he left?”

LaNyah stops right in front of the trio, shaking her head. Her small hands curling into fists beside her as she looks at them. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Her chest is heaving as they all return blank stares in her direction.

“LaNyah, what are you talking about?” Stacey speaks first.

“I WASN’T READY!!!” She stomps her feet on the carpeted floor. “I wasn’t, I wasn’t ready. And you all knew that.” She points her finger at them accusingly. “But you knew that and tried to force the issue anyway. And you!” She turns to Stacey, “Why didn’t you say something to me?” Stacey can no longer hold Nyah’s stare and looks away.

“We just wanted you two to talk; you know after everything.”

“There is something you should know.”

“We didn’t mean to push so hard.”

“No, you don’t get to try and explain yourselves after the fact.” She moves away and sits down, picking up her mug of tea. Drinking it, she smiles through her anger. She waves to the chairs near them; they all move over and take seats across from her.  

Nyah tells them about Erik trying to start the conversation and her being non-responsive. How she started quietly crying and him hearing it from across the table. He got up and made her a cup of tea, even included anything she might want. She takes another sip while discussing his thoughtfulness. She tells Alex he left something in his office and then headed for the elevator, finally leaving. "He mumbled an apology for not being the man I wanted him to be or something like that."

“Oh Nyah,” Stacey exclaims, “I’m so sorry about this.”

“Don’t be mad at her, Nyah.” Ashley speaks up, “I talked these two into it. And you know how forceful I can be. They only did it for me.”

“Stop. Just stop talking.” LaNyah stands up and starts pacing near the windows. “I-” she takes a deep breath, “I, I haven’t been completely honest with you. And I think that came out today.” She plays with her fingers while looking out over the city.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, but what is going on?" Alex gently asks.

“Well, I have been having nightmares about the kidnapping.” They all share a knowing look. Ashley explained it would be a normal response for someone like her. This was the reason she was happy about her keeping a new journal for the incident. "Erik saves me from Gina every single time." LaNyah turns towards them, "It doesn't matter where I am or how I got there. He always comes to my rescue."

Ashley and Stacey smile at this confession. She didn’t hate him, and she probably wasn't even mad at him anymore. She just didn’t know how to deal with her growing feelings for him. Ashley stands up and walks over to LaNyah. “That was Alex for me. He has always been my greatest protector.” She looks over at him, her love shining through her gaze.

“Yeah? So, even when you aren’t talking to him because maybe you are mad about something. You still feel safe in his presence?” LaNyah questions.

"Always. I may be mad at him, but that doesn't mean Alex will stop protecting me or making me feel safe whenever he is around. That doesn't go away."

“LaNyah, how did you feel with Erik just now?” Stacey asks.

“It was the safest I have felt since you all rescued me from Gina," LaNyah admits. She looks at Ashley, who is standing next to her, "Can I ask you something?"

“Sure anything.” Ashley sits down, “Why don’t we have a seat?”

Nyah sits next to her. She looks at Mr. Green and then back to Ashley, “Was Gina telling the truth? You know about the assault and Erik killing her brother.”

Ashley closes her eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply, "Yes, she was." She takes LaNyah's hands, "Remember when we first met, and I told you I had my own story." Nyah nods. "I was going to tell you when we found out Gina was involved with the embezzlement, but that was the same day Erik discovered that you were missing."

Ashley tells LaNyah about Alex and Erik watching over her from day one when they were first assigned to McCoy's team. She explained her history with him and how she was grateful that they took to her like they did because she felt safer with her brothers in arms around. When they found her after McCoy sexually assaulted her, the two of them did their own investigation into his background and knew he was guilty. While she was recovering back home, she found out that he was killed during an ambush.  

Alex chimes in and tells Nyah that he actually found Erik right after he killed their commanding officer and helped him cover it up. He had stayed in touch with Ashley even after the team was separated and sent home. Eventually, telling Ashley what she already knew, that Erik killed him for her. Alex walks over to LaNyah and sits on the other side of her.

“I didn’t hire Erik to work with you, LaNyah. I hired Erik to protect you from whatever we all uncovered during the investigation.” He tells her that he knew someone was stealing from him long before she discovered it and brought it to him, and he knew they were trying to pin it on her. He was too close and needed someone completely outside to keep her safe while he continued his investigation.

“Oh, so he was my bodyguard?” She giggles at that.

"Well, he prefers personal security, but yeah, he was." Alex laughingly replies.

“Is.” Stacey tries not to laugh at Ashley’s interjection.

"Wow. So, all of Erik's actions were him taking care of me and keeping me out of harm's way."

Everyone nods at LaNyah while she sits in thought.

---

Erik exited the front doors of the building instead of heading to the parking garage. He wasn’t ready to leave just yet. But he needed to get out of there. He closes his eyes as the afternoon sun shines on his face. He decides to take a stroll down the main street to get a little fresh air.

While making his way into the more residential area of the city, his mind drifts to LaNyah. The reason that he is running. When he met her a few months ago, he just thought she was cute, and that would be the end of that, especially after Green explained her connection to him and his real purpose for being there. It was easy for him to lock her in a Do Not Touch box and never overstep those boundaries. But he never expected to fall for her.

LaNyah wasn't the only person shocked by what happened this afternoon. Erik was just dropping off the report and saying his final goodbyes. He didn't plan to say anything about leaving since LaNyah hadn't spoken to him unless it was work-related for a while now anyway. Why should it be different now, even if he did lead the effort to rescue and save her from Gina? It was all a part of his job. He chuckles to himself.

Erik figured he would be back home, back at work, and could put LaNyah back in her original place in his mind – Do Not Engage. But seeing her again after everything that happened. He wasn't ready for any of that. He runs his hands over his face, it had only been a few weeks, but she looked really good. Well-rested and back to her old self again. He meant what he said to her. But he didn't know what else to say to her. If he wasn't expecting her, then there is one thing he is sure of, that she definitely wasn't ready to deal with him either.

Yet being there together, in a room that they have both spent a lot of time in, he could think of nothing else but her. Something about being near her—the best way to describe it was the energy that she carried into a room; it was dazzling and always seemed to put him at ease. He could have stayed there in comfortable silence, and it would not have bothered him because he was near her. The only thing that changed that was hearing her in distress. It reminded him of everything that she had been through recently.

The last time she saw him, he was covered in blood, and he was someone who hadn’t surfaced in years. He was not the Erik she grew to know even if she was mad at him for being unnecessarily callous during the investigation. She did not know the man who showed up to rescue her a month ago. And he never wanted her to know him like that.

Erik has no idea what altogether Gina told Nyah about him and what he had done as Killmonger. He knows what he heard and saw when he was in that basement. What he does know is the looked that has haunted him for weeks. LaNyah's deer in headlights expression as they rush forward guns trained on Gina and, by extension, her. The way she flinched whenever he came near her.

He shakes those thoughts from his head. Erik stops in front of a sidewalk bench surrounded by trees marking the entrance of a park. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it behind him before taking a seat to watch the cars drive by. LaNyah was still afraid of him, and he couldn't blame her for not wanting to be in the same space as him. He never wanted that for her, but he doesn't regret his actions for one moment. If only, he had the opportunity to explain what he did for Ashley all those years ago.

Erik is good at a lot of things, but caring for someone while protecting them is not one. It is foreign territory to him. It has always been so straight forward. When someone hires him for protection, he cares about making sure he keeps the person safe per the contract. It was all good when Green told him that she was the favor – he wanted him as her personal protection/security. That was something he could handle; it left her off-limits. But for some reason, he never found his footing during this case to keep things separated.

She found a way into his heart just like Ashley did, but in a way that only Green understands. Cute, jumpy, and innocent LaNyah Cole captured the affections of cold-hearted Erik Stevens. He found her beautiful immediately, even with their first interaction in the lobby. Then he got to know her, and all he could think about was keeping her out of harm's way. Never letting anything happen to her and not just for work but for however long she needed it. He watched her try new foods, build a friendship with Stacey, her growth as an individual during Ashley’s absence – finding strength in herself.

He knew the moment he fucked up in her eyes, but he couldn't take it back, and she wouldn't talk to him long enough for him to apologize. But what could he really say, I like you, but you are a job and I shouldn’t. So, I am doing this the only way I know how; I need you to hate me. And yeah, I know you like me too. Erik slaps his thighs, “IDIOT!” He chastises himself.

If only he had found the courage to tell her how he was feeling, he could have been there like he was supposed to and prevented her from being kidnapped. Instead, Erik came clean to everyone else only to find out Gina already had her. The first job he ever fucked up, and it would be because he couldn't deal with his own damn feelings about his charge. This was why he had to leave and forget all about LaNyah.

---

Suddenly, LaNyah’s eyes go wide as she looks between Alex and Ashley. She stands up from her seat and walks over to the windows. She stares out of them before looking back to the trio. Fiddling with her hands, she asks, “How much does he know about what happened to me?”

They all exchange looks and silently choose the one who will answer that loaded question. Alex looks at LaNyah, “He completed a background check on you.”

"So, he knows about the incident that brought me to Ashley's care, too?" Ashley sadly looks at LaNyah, confirming her worst fears. She blinks away the tears, "Of course, he does."

“What do you mean by that, sweetie?” Ashley looks up at her.

LaNyah walks towards the door, and everyone follows her. “I need some air.”

“Nyah?”

“I’m ok. I just need to think outside of this space.” She hits the elevator button, “I promise I’ll be back. I just need to be alone right now.” She quietly waves at them as the doors close.

“Does it sound like they just switched positions?” Ashley asks.

"What?" Alex looks at her, confused while Stacey moves towards her desk.

"Yes, yes, they did," Stacey responds to Ashley's question, turning towards them. "Erik is gonna continue to avoid LaNyah, and she is now afraid that someone will not want her if they know her history."  

“So, we made it worst rather than making it better.” Alex states. The ladies nod at him.

LaNyah makes it to the lobby of the building and decides to take a walk. Her autopilot leads to her favorite park a few blocks away. She didn't think she was walking that fast, but she made it in record time. She usually sits at one of the tables to eat her lunch or read. But once in a while, she comes for the swings. Today was definitely a swing day, and no one is over there, so she walks over and sits on one.

Placing her hands on each chain, she slowly pushes off, pumping her legs a few times to get some height. LaNyah just swings back and forth, steadily climbing higher in the air. As she feels the breeze against her face, she feels herself calming down. She swings and enjoys the quiet surrounding her. Since it's late in the afternoon, there is no one around, and she has the little park all to herself. As she inhales, she swings back and swings forward on her exhales. She keeps this up for a few minutes before crossing her legs and turning the swing side to side.

As she changes direction, her mind goes back to what Alex said to her. Erik was hired as her bodyguard. She laughs, thinking about how horrible a job he did on that part.  But then again, Nyah wasn't talking to him when it happened although he had been trying to apologize. Who knows how things may have gone if she just spoke to him instead of running away and letting her anger control her response to him.

She knows there is more to her reaction than just being angry about his accusations. I like him. I have always liked him. That’s why it hurt so much. LaNyah had never actually liked someone before, and this was new for her. She was never truly angry at him, but mainly disappointed in how he turned on her.

It didn’t make any sense though, Mr. Green made it clear to him that LaNyah was not involved, and Erik said he believed her. So, for him to do what he did even if he didn’t know about the crush, really bothered her. Maybe more than it should have. The betrayal she felt at that moment, she knows it was ok to feel that way. He caused that, but he had been trying to do right by her ever since. Almost like he knew he fucked up somehow and wanted to make things right.

She stops twisting on the swing, and to now find out he knows about everything that she has been through. LaNyah focuses on the ground below her. But Erik never once treated her like she was fragile, unlike Mr. Green, who was getting better about that. He just didn’t act like anyone she knew, and along with Stacey became someone she trusted. Nyah always enjoyed being around him even if it was for work. She giggles as she drags her feet along the ground. Yes, even when she was not talking to him, she wanted to be around him.

Erik was always a place of comfort for her. And honestly, he still is. LaNyah had no idea how much until she was in the same space as him this afternoon. She made herself scarce for weeks just to avoid running into him. But for what? Ashley’s right. He is still acting as her protector.

When he noticed that she was not gonna talk to him and was clearly uncomfortable, he made sure she was ok before he left. He is still taking care of her, even though his job was over. She flattens her feet at that thought. Why did he leave like that? And what did he mean before he got on the elevator? “I have to talk to him.”

LaNyah stood up from the swing and looked up towards the sky. The sun was setting, and she could see the beautiful swirls of orange, pink, and purple along the skyline. She exits the park and walks along the main street back to GBI. Stacey is probably waiting for her since they were supposed to do dinner tonight. "I bet Erik is on his way back home. I scared him away."

She walks past another of her outside spots. It is the same lake from this morning, in the middle of a section of houses. Sometimes, she stares out into the water, which was moving due to the air around them. She senses something around her and slows down to take in her surroundings. Looking around, she spots some business guy walking down the street far from her. LaNyah turns back around, satisfied that it is just someone else taking a late afternoon stroll.

---

Erik notices the sun setting. He looked at his watch; he had been sitting on that bench and watching cars for over 20 minutes. He stands up, grabbing his jacket to put back on, and stretching his limbs out. He needs to go back to GBI and figure out his plans for the evening. It's time for him to leave California finally. His phone has been on silent, and he forgot to send a message to the pilot. "Damn," He checks his voicemails while walking back towards the building.  

Standing at a streetlight waiting for his turn to walk across, Erik looks up, noticing he is about three streets away from the building. The pilot just told him that he could pick him up in the morning because he took another ride when he didn't hear from Erik by their scheduled time. He makes another call to see if he can go back to the condo for the night when something sparkled across from him. He looks up the street towards a lake in the middle of the houses.

The lamps on the walkways on either side of the lake are what caught his attention. They were casting shadows on the rippling water. As he continued walking, he saw someone walking along the same main street as him just on that side. The woman looks like she is dressed in business attire like him. She stops at the crosswalk, and Erik can just make out her features in the low light of the overhead street lamp. Glasses and curls, it can’t be?

He runs to the lights on his side, catching them in time to run across the street towards her. "LaNyah!"

Nyah looks around when she hears her name, stepping back from the edge as she notices Erik running towards her. He must have been the guy across the street. She smiles at him as he slows down and steps up onto the sidewalk with her.

Erik looks down at her as she continues to smile up at him. A genuine smile towards him -- the same smile that captivated him from the beginning. He can't help but smile back at her. He was about to ask her what she was doing out.

“Can we talk?” LaNyah blurts out now that he is right in front of her.

“Uh yeah. Yeah, we can.” He sputters out. Before he can ask where they should go, LaNyah turns around and walks off. She looks back at Erik, waving for him to follow her.

They fall into step together as LaNyah leads him to a bridge near the lake that they both passed. Walking onto the bridge, it leads to a gazebo with a couple sets of benches around. They are alone at this of day. He follows LaNyah to the railing, where they stand in complete silence for a few moments looking out at the water.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” They both speak at the same time and then look at one another.

“What are you apologizing for?” Erik asks LaNyah.

“Why are you?” She responds. They both laugh uncomfortably. Erik nods to her, letting her lead the conversation. “I’m sorry for how I have been treating you since the interrogation. I had every right to feel that way at that moment. But I dragged it out a lot longer for reasons." LaNyah starts playing with her hands before looking back at Erik. "I know now that you were just doing your job, protecting me."

Erik closes his eyes at that, “So, you know why Alex really hired me?”

"Yes, and I appreciate you shielding me from all that you did. I just didn't understand it, and I have been making you pay for it. And for that, I am sorry."

“You have nothing to apologize for, and I should have told you about that. But I didn’t want you to worry any more than you already were about what was happening at GBI. And it was going well until the interrogation,” Erik shakes his head looking down.

LaNyah grabs his arm, “It’s ok, Erik, I understand now, and I am glad that I had you as my protector through this whole ordeal, whether I knew it or not."

Erik leads her over to a bench close to them. He helps her sit down and looks at her, “LaNyah, are you sure about that? You may know that part now, but I know what I saw when you looked at me when Gina had you.”

LaNyah quickly blinks and runs her hands along the edge of her peplum top. "I'm not afraid of you, Erik." He lets out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. "I feel safe with you."

Erik slowly stands to his full height, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall. He starts to pace, “LaNyah, there is something that I need you to know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I need to, I need you to understand.” Nyah looks at him, and she can tell this is something that has been weighing on him heavily. She nods at him to continue, “I did kill Gina’s brother, but I did it because of what he did to Ashley. He deserved to die.”

“I know.”

Erik looks over to her, “You know?”

“Yeah, Ashley and Alex told me before I walked out.”

He stops in front of her. "Why are you out here anyway?"

“I needed some fresh air after everything they told me. It was a lot.” Erik nods in understanding. “I know you know my history, Erik. Alex told me you ran a background check on me.” He exhales loudly, about to say something when Nyah stops him. “It’s ok, why wouldn’t someone investigating an embezzlement case look into everyone including the patsy.”

Erik is stuck watching her and how calm she is about everything she learned today. This is the woman he has grown to care so much about over the last few months. LaNyah, who has become stronger both mentally and emotionally right before his eyes, but he was too focused on the job to see it. And the best part, she’s not scared of him. She said she feels safe with him. Nothing he has ever heard sounded so good to him until hearing those words come out of her mouth. There is no way he could ever forget a woman like LaNyah.

Nyah is watching him back, just as intensely. He looks like there is so much on his mind. She has been there before, lots to say, and no idea how to start it. She wants to be that peaceful place for him as he has been for her, even if it is as a listening ear. She pats the open space on the bench next to her, "Sit down and let me know what's on your mind. You look like you are about to bust."

Erik takes the seat, and while getting himself together, he takes a deep breath before making eye contact with her, “I need to apologize for my actions during my interrogation of you. I didn’t mean to attack you like that.”

“Erik, that’s not necessary. I get it.”

“No, no, you don’t. I did that to protect me, not you.” LaNyah looks at him, confused. Erik continues, “I thought if you were mad at me that I could do my job, and nothing else would get in the way.” He looks down and away from her.

It is quiet for a few moments before Nyah taps his shoulder, getting him to look back at her, “I am not good at this kind of thing, and I was scared.”

“Scared of what, Erik?”

“My growing feelings for you.”

“You like me?” LaNyah looks up at him to see if he was serious, the look she saw on his face took her breath away. “Ummm, really? Wow!” She exhales, and Erik softly laughs at her reaction.

“Yes, really. I like you, LaNyah. And since I don’t know how to do feelings and relationships –“

“You tried to scare me away.”

“Yeah.” He takes her hands, intently looking at her smaller hands in his – Nyah's palm side down and his palm up under hers.  

Nyah's heart starts beating faster, and she feels her heart bloom. He likes her, too. This gorgeous man who can have anyone he wants, but he wants her. Even with everything she has been through and how she is. She looks as he holds both of her hands in his. His much larger hands encasing her smaller ones with such tenderness and care. She looks up to see a matching look in his eyes.

LaNyah hums, nodding her head. Erik looks out at the water. She squeezes his hands, bringing his attention back to her. “You almost succeeded.”

He sighs, “I know, and I regret that because my actions left you vulnerable. I couldn't protect you when it mattered the most, and that bitch got to you.” Erik weaves their fingers together.

She scoots closer to him, “But you immediately dropped everything and came looking for me, right?” He nods “and saved me from a crazy woman hellbent on destroying every person I cherish.”

“Yeah, Ashley and Alex.” He says.

Looking down at their interlocked hands, she clears her throat, “And you.” Erik looks over at LaNyah, who is smiling at him. “I like you too, Erik. But something tells me you already knew that.”

He smiles back at her, “I figured as much.” She bumps his shoulder, not wanting to let go of his hands. "Ok, ok. Yeah, I knew."

“So, am I the last to know?”

“About what?” He knows what she is asking but wants to hear her say it.

“Erik,” she groans. His shoulders shake as he tries to hold in his laughter. “Am I the last to know that you like me?” She suddenly stops, “Wait! Am I the last to know that I like you?” The look at her face as she asked the latter questions brings tears to his eyes.

His deep dimples appear, and he can no longer keep it together, “Yeah, you are.” Erik's full robust laugh reaches her ears, and Nyah shakes her head, of course.

LaNyah snatches her hands away from him, laughing as she stands up and walks back over to the railing. Erik walks up beside her, and they both peer out over the water, watching the lights turning on along the walking paths. She shivers as the cool night air settles over the two of them. He takes his jacket off and drapes it over her shoulders, and watches as she pulls it closer, inhaling his scent.

“So, what now?” He watches her big brown eyes gaze up at him, as she wonders where they go from there.

“I don’t know,” he opens his arms, and Nyah walks into them, “but why don’t we figure it out together?” Erik wraps his arms around her and settles his chin on her head.

She turns her head to the side against his chest and replies, “I’d like that.”

Epilogue

Taglist: @killmongersaidheyauntie @muse-of-mbaku @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @princessstevens @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stark-red19 @kreolemami @bidibidibombaclaat @iamrheaspeaks @missumuch1918 @simplyyamberr @cherryblossomgirl20 @ajspencer1892 @chrismarcs @loosewindmill @sydneebleu @semianta @eyeknowmywrites @alexundefined @itsjustmezari @goddessofthundathighs @guccixcucci @kissmyafropuff @gimmeface @fd-writes @jozigrrl @soufcakmistress @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @shaekingshitup @localtrapgod @post-woke @theesotericqueen 

[acelikesturtles]

“For The Love of Cake”

Prompt: Bakery AU - Mikey x Gender-Neutral Y/N

Warnings: Profanity

Word Count: 3,885

A/N: Okay so despite what the screenshot looks like, the original prompt came to be from a conversation on discord, but @wacheypena was the one that officially came up with the prompt, @dw-im-just-sad just sent it to me because I consistently have the memory of a goldfish, so credit for the idea totally goes to wachey. @dw-im-just-sad also wrote her own version of this prompt so go check it out on her blog and give her some love!

“Fuck.”

A blast of warm air from the oven hit your face and pushed the stray hairs out of your eyes. Despite how delicious the freshly baked poppy seed muffins smelled, there was no way in hell that these met the signature Paisley's standard. You tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear with your free hand as you set the tray down on the steel counter behind the oven. Two other perfectly top-notch batches of muffins from 45 minutes ago sat only a couple inches away, freed from the confines of the muffin tray and sitting pretty on the tabletop cooling rack. You popped one of the new muffins out of the tray and set it on the counter as a half-pout began tugging at the corners of your mouth. All the muffins here were caved in on the top and looked dense and chewy instead of moist and soft like they were supposed to.

You racked your brain, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. You poked the muffin with a toothpick to check the center then sliced it open with a fork to check the inside. Little tendrils of steam escaped from the muffin’s tortured core; a squashed, condensed, pathetic looking center that seemed ashamed of its own existence sitting beside the high and mighty rises that all its cousins had managed to achieve. You figured that in a moment of absent-minded baking you must have put too much baking powder into the batter, thus creating the chewy texture and the catastrophic cave-in on the tops. With a firm frown and a short sigh through the nose in defeat, you picked up the muffin tray and headed towards the back door quietly.

Normally you wouldn’t be so secretive about bad muffins and tossing them in the bin outside, but the manager, Heather, had been cracking down on all the wasted ingredients that went into batches of bread and cupcakes and muffins and cookies that ultimately ended up ruined beyond relief by new-hires. Admittedly these muffins weren’t as bad of a mistake as per the other new-hires’ usual (like leaving whipping cream mixing until it turned into butter), but these sad excuses for poppy seed muffins were still a recognizable mistake that could easily be attributed to you rather than Rosetta, who always managed to forget at least one egg when she made cake batter.

You opened the door to the back alley behind Paisley’s and kicked the rubber doorstep underneath the gap to hold it in place. You balanced the tray in one hand and used the other to lift the lid off the unofficially named “Fuck-Up” can. With a few small taps against the rim of the bin, the muffins tumbled out of the tray and into the trash, only leaving behind the faintest lingering scent as you returned the lid. You wiped the sweat that had gathered on your brow with the back of your hand. Looking up, the sky had turned a shade of pinkened violet that felt reminiscent of the childhood summer sunsets you had enjoyed back home. You checked your watch. Five minutes until the end of your shift. You hauled yourself back inside and began cleaning up your work station with the torn and stained damp rag assigned to your work space.

Your mind felt full with thoughts, heavy even. Five months in New York and aside from securing a relatively nice apartment with only a mildly concerning roach problem and an “only kinda-severely-cramped” bathroom, you weren’t feeling as if you were making much progress like you had maybe anticipated when the opportunity to move had first arisen. You had moved, after all, in the hopes of starting your own café. It would be something small and quiet, a safe space in the heart of the city for people to come and bask in the welcoming atmosphere and enjoy the soft sounds of Lo-Fi playing above their warm cups of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. You’d donate food to the homeless on Wednesday evenings after closing time, and on Sunday nights the café would host Bingo and Trivia competitions for charity like they did at some of the local bars. The thought of being able to make your dream come true here made you feel immensely grateful to be on the path your heart had been calling you to. Paisley’s was better than being stuck in your hometown selling discount jeans. Right now though, working these grueling hours made you feel even farther away from the finish line than you had thought it would when you started. Rather than a feeling of excited and determined immersion in a career area that would someday be a part of the larger puzzle you longed to complete, Paisley’s felt like a chore that truly nobody enjoyed aside from Heather’s domineering managerial attitude.

You tossed the dirty rag into the laundry bin on the other side of the kitchen and began making your way towards the time clock to punch out for the night. Your aching feet were relieved just knowing that rest was coming soon.

“You headed out for the night?” A coworker asked, bumping into your shoulder while you punched in your employee number.

“Yep,” You stifled a yawn. “Poppy seed muffins at my work station still need to be stored for the catering thing tomorrow, so have somebody do that when you close.”

“Sure thing, on my way to do that right now.” They responded.

You finished clocking out and lazily shuffled back through the kitchen towards the rear door again, now fully caught in a yawn. You opened the door and took two steps outside before waiting to hear the slam and the click of the lock behind you, finalizing the official end of your shift. Now that you were outside though, something felt off. You glanced down at the “Fuck-Up” bin. The lid was ajar instead of firmly placed like it had been when you had messed with it earlier. Perplexed, you picked up the lid and peered inside the can only to find it empty of the muffins you had tossed in there before. Bizarre, but not unheard of. Paisley’s didn’t donate any of their leftover food to homeless shelters and you had heard from your coworkers that the homeless often peruse through the large dumpster behind the bakery for scraps hoping that the trashed food wasn’t as bad as employees thought. You could hardly blame them for trying. One company’s terrible batch of cookies is another man’s saving grace. At least someone was making use of your mistake.

You yawned again, shuffling down the concrete steps towards your neon green motorbike. You knelt down to unlock the chain holding it to the company bike rack, absently humming some commercial jingle that had been stuck in your head for the last day or two. Once the lock was completely freed you stuffed it into your bag, kicked the kickstand back up, and fished your keys out of your pocket to turn the ignition. Just as the motor began to sputter to life, you heard shuffling feet and a faint and stifled cough echo in the alley around you. It was near impossible to not feel spooked or even just a little bothered at the thought that the person from earlier could still be lurking in the alley, even if you had no real proof that they were harmful. You had heard too many horror stories and seen too many documentaries to be foolish. Not taking any chances, you hopped onto your motorbike and immediately hit the gas, taking a sharp turn into the street and not daring to look behind you. You could have just been paranoid of course, squirrels and other animals liked to dig through their trash and make noise in the alley too, but when confronted with the silliness of the concept of hundreds of rats carrying the muffins away you found yourself instead hoping that the person that had fished through their trash had gotten what they needed (and that they wouldn’t still be there by morning).

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

The next morning as you came up the back steps to the kitchen you noticed a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the lid of the “Fuck-Up” bin that hadn’t been there the night before. At first you hesitated to read the note. There was an anxious pang in your gut that made you feel uneasy about it in a way that you couldn’t put you finger on. You reached your hand forward to open the door to the kitchen, but found your hand only hovering over the knob with no real intent of going in yet. You needed the closure that would likely come with reading the note, even if it was a little intimidating, the thought of someone interacting with you by way of your ruined poppy seed muffins. You plucked the sticky note from the rusty lid and held it up to your eyes, squinting to read the chicken scratch.

“Hey dude! These ones were not my favorites but still yummy! Get me some oatmeal cookies next time, the crispy ones! Those are fuckin’ delicious! -MC Mikey.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. Was this person seriously asking for more rejects? The only crispy oatmeal cookies that Paisley’s made that ended up in that bin were overcooked or half burnt, unless…did they think that this was a donation bin? Confused, you pushed your way through entrance and into the kitchen, claimed an empty work station, and headed over to the time clock to punch in your employee number. You were suddenly feeling a little bit more concerned for this individual than you did afraid of them. Maybe this was just someone ridiculously naïve. Maybe this was a kid that didn’t know any better and liked the smell that the trash behind Paisley’s had. Your sympathy had kicked in alongside a compulsive desire to bake those requested oatmeal cookies, and once you’d returned to your station you began flipping through the company cookbook for the recipe so you could sneak a mini-batch in-between actual requests.

After about 20 minutes, you pulled the first batch of cookies out of the oven and pushed the next sheet in. The smell was heavenly, an intoxicating mix of warm vanilla and cinnamon that made you salivate at first whiff. You picked up a cookie to check for the soft texture that was so characteristic for the recipe and sighed in relief when they pulled apart just like desserts did in those viral Instagram videos, softly and delicately. Hopefully these cookies would become this stranger’s new favorite. Whoever this was could have the experience of a real oatmeal cookie without the element of burnt edges interfering with the flavor, and the thought of being able to provide that joy was enough to put a little more pep in your step than was there before.

Several hours, a lunch break, and a couple run-ins with your bitch-of-a-manager later, you found yourself in front of the time clock again with a small Ziploc baggie of oatmeal cookies secured in your bag. They wouldn’t be as fresh as they were when they first came out of the oven unfortunately, but they’d still taste better than burnt and crispy cookies--that you were at least certain of. Once you’d finished punching in your employee number you made your way towards the back door as quickly as you could with aching arches and a stiff lower back. You stepped out onto the concrete stairs and waited for the latch behind you to click before making your way down the steps with one hand firmly grasped on the chipped railing beside you while the other dug around in your half-zipped bag for your keys and the Ziploc filled with cookies.

Your sneakers hit the alley and you let out a loud yawn while rolling your neck from shoulder to shoulder. You turned towards the “Fuck-Up” bin and gently placed the baggie on top of the lid. Should you have left a note? Would this person even care if there was a note as long as the cargo inside was sealed away from the elements? You let a puff of air out through your nose and let the worry roll of your shoulders as you turned back towards where you had parked your bike, keys jangling in hand. Just as you were about to reach your bike, you heard the shuffling sound again. Without hesitation you turned on your heel and looked back towards the garbage bins. Nothing had changed, nobody was there, but the noise of muffled footsteps said otherwise. This time you didn’t feel like running as much as you did like investigating the source of the noise to ease your curiosity to rest. You kept one hand firmly gripped on your pepper spray, and slowly stepped forwards, stopping at about the halfway point between you and the trash.

“Anybody there?” You called out. Your voice sounded particularly sick and crackly from the long work day. There weren’t any response and the sounds in the alley went dead quiet to underscore the sound of your own breathing instead. “If you’re the one who came by yesterday digging through our trash-” You started, wincing at your own condescending tone. You sounded so harsh, especially considering the fact that this could easily be a child based on what the handwriting had seemed like. “Sorry, I…I left you some oatmeal cookies. They’re on the lid.” You spoke softer, gesturing towards the “Fuck-Up” bin vaguely. The silence persisted. Now you were beginning to feel uneasy. The hairs on the back of your neck were practically standing up and you were beginning to think that you had either gone crazy or that maybe you were dealing with some kind of back-alley ghost.

Do ghosts even eat? Can ghosts even eat?

Without warning, a large hand partially cloaked by shadows broke free from the dumpster and began swiping in the general direction of where you had left the Ziploc bag. It would almost be comparable to a scene from a horror movie if the hand and the arm didn’t seem so clueless and desperate to get to the baggie. You fought back a smile and took a couple steps closer. You still had a grip on your concealed pepper spray just in case, but the thought of the stranger assaulting you was fading from the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t until you got close enough to see that this person’s hand was noticeably malformed—only two large fingers and a thumb—that fear was pushed onto the main burner once again. Clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal, the head and shoulders the appendage was attached to slammed up against the top of the dumpster and pushed the lid up against the wall behind him. That’s when he made almost immediate eye contact with you. Crystal blue eyes clashed against orange fabric and scaly green skin in a way that shocked your system to your core. This wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t a human, and it wasn’t, as far as you could gather, anywhere in between. A large shell was fused to his skin in a way that further broke your perception of reality as you tried to rationalize what you were seeing without thinking about costumes or special effects makeup or even aliens. You stood in shock for a moment, unblinking, watching as he strained to reach the baggie in front of him. He poked his tongue out and grunted as he stretched over the side of the dumpster, just barely missing the Ziploc with each swing of his arm.

“Dude, you could at least help!” He groaned, collapsing his upper body over the side of the dumpster in defeat.

You blinked and suddenly you were forced back into reality…or at least, whatever reality this was.

You took several more steps forward and snatched the Ziploc up in your hands, gently handing it to the…creature that was currently in the company dumpster. You had so many questions you needed to ask, too many questions, and without even opening your mouth the turtle began answering at least some of them one-by-one while shoving oatmeal cookies down his throat.

“I see you’re kiiiinda freaked out, and that’s okay! I get it, Mikey’s just so overwhelming to the ladies,” He said with a smug grin. “Turtle, mutant, ninja, sex god, what isn’t there to love angelcakes?” Your carefully baked batch of oatmeal cookies were disappearing in seconds, miniscule in comparison to the size and capacity of his stomach. “Oh, also?” He spoke through a mouthful of crumbs, spewing half-chewed chunks of oats and sugar all over the concrete beneath them. “These could use more cinnamon.”

“I-“ You hesitated for a moment. Your mind was filled to the brim with unfinished thoughts and rabbit trail theories about how Mikey himself was even possible (that is, if you weren’t dreaming) but they all came to a screeching halt when his comment about the cinnamon broke through your occupied mind. “Wait, really? I thought there was plenty, let me try that.” You huffed, snatching a cookie from one of his oversized, mutant hands. Within the first bite you were able to tell that he was right. The cinnamon flavor was more subtle than you had intended; a mere hint of warmth rather than the overwhelming comfort that you had been aiming for. “Oh. Yeah, I-I guess you’re right…Mikey.”

“Yeah, and those cupcakes the other day were-“

“Too much baking powder, I know,” You laughed and shook your head. “Those must’ve tasted gnarly, sorry,” You stopped mid-breath. “Wait. Cupcakes? Those were muffins.”

“Oooohh! So that’s why they didn’t come with frosting,” Mikey laughed. “Well that’s disappointing, I thought I was getting cupcakes. No wonder.” As the turtle crawled out from the dumpster with his empty Ziploc in hand, you became dwarfed beside him. He was tall, but not as menacing as you may have originally assumed. A half smile gradually worked its way onto your face as you looked up at him, trying to avoid grimacing at the smell of liquid garbage dripping all over his body.

“Next time I...I could make you cupcakes if you’d like.” You responded.

Mikey’s eyes looked alive with excitement as he nodded in complete agreement, musing aloud all his favorite flavors and fillings and frostings to you with a childlike delight. First there was snickerdoodle with extra cinnamon, then there was lemon meringue with more meringue than there was lemon. Red velvet with a whipped cream filling, double chocolate fudge with a gooey peanut butter center, tangy orange creamsicle with a tangerine wedge on top. You weren’t taking notes, but you figured that your personal investment in listening to a mutant turtle talk about his own takes on classic (and invented) flavors was enough to hold onto what he said in your memory, even if in the morning it may all seem like a hazy, drug-induced fever dream. You actually found yourself so intrigued with some of his flavor combinations and substitutions that you barely noticed that the grip you had been holding on the pepper spray had been entirely released, instead allowing that hand the freedom to gesture in a more relaxed manner as you articulated.

It wasn’t until the sound of a distant police siren echoing several streets away that the conversation stopped rather abruptly. The sound had grabbed the turtle’s attention in a way that stopped him in the middle of a sentence and replaced his excited expression with one of worry and concern. His eyes fell back towards you. You were searching his expression for a reason behind his troubled gaze just as much as you were looking for a clear answer behind what it was that made him who he was.

“Do you have a Sharpie?” He asked urgently. He looked behind him and over both of your shoulders nervously, as if he was waiting for someone to pounce, and that alone was enough to make you feel on edge again.

“Why?” Bewildered, you began digging in your bag again, searching for a permanent marker. You couldn’t find one but after clarifying that something similar might work, you managed to fish a red ink pen from the depths of your disorganized mess of a bag. Mikey snatched the pen from your hands, pulled the cap off with his teeth and spit it out onto the concrete, then stretched your forearm out in front of him. He scribbled a bunch of numbers rather messily onto your skin. He had accidentally smudged the undried ink a time or two and had to correct it, but when he was finished the string of numbers came out looking exactly like a standard, New-York area phone number. If this was a dream it sure was a detailed dream, you had to at least give it credit for that.

“My digits,” Mikey beamed while making the oh-so-stereotypical ‘call me’ gesture with his hand. “Call me, angelcakes. Unless you don’t want to, then like, don’t call me.” He shrugged. His confident aura practically dripped off of him as he began backing away into the shadows, shell nearly flush against the wall behind him. His hands rested on his holstered nunchakus as the police sirens faded away into the distance.

“Wait,” You faltered. Seeing him leave just as quickly as he had arrived made the flood of jumbled and confused thoughts come rushing back to you all at once. He couldn’t leave now, not when you were just beginning to get a grip on having him be a part of the same reality you were in. “Where are you going? What’s going on? What about the cupcakes?”

“Orange dreamsicle,” Mikey called back with a song in his voice. “Extra orange!” He said with a wink, while gesturing toward the cloth that covered his eyes.

Mikey had vanished into thin air, and just like that, you found yourself immersed in relative silence again. You pinched your forearm but didn’t wake up. You pulled on a singular lock of hair really hard, but didn’t wake up. Whatever you had just witnessed was still your reality, as evidenced by the smudgy red ink on your skin. You blinked once, then twice, then wiped the sweat off of your keys and your pepper spray and began shuffling towards your motorbike again. You turned your keys in the ignition, but when the engine started you didn’t feel the relief that you normally did when you were getting ready to head home from a grueling shift at work. If anything, your energy levels had peaked alongside your need to satiate your newfound curiosity aching in your bones. You pushed the kickstand up, removed the lock, pulled your phone out of your back pocket, and took your seat. You glanced down at your forearm again. The messy red ink was becoming clearer the more you stared at it. Perhaps it was just natural human tendencies at work, or maybe even fate, but the words just seemed to naturally tumble onto your keyboard once you’d copied the smudgy numbers into your contact list.

“Hey, Mikey right? I forgot to tell you my name. It’s Y/N.”

[thekracken]

for the soft summer prompts, 13 with Jeff and Britta!!

Britta is all sharp wit, sharp tongue, sharp attitude, but there’s something that calls out at Jeff like a beacon home.

Watching the sun rise/set

Jeff knows Britta. 

He thinks he knows her better than most people do. (He thinks she knows him better than most people do, too, but he’ll never admit it). 

He’s seen every version of Britta that exists: the bright-eyed student who just wants to do well, the rebel with wild energy and nowhere to direct it, the disappointing daughter that just wants to make someone proud; the Britta that smiles sleepily and openly, the Britta that crosses her arms with sharp looks of disapproval, the Britta that tilts her head just a little when she sees something she wants. 

He knows the stupid little facts about her that don’t matter. 

He knows that when she was thirteen, her oldest brother told her not to climb the tree in the backyard and she snuck away, climbed it, and broke her arm. He knows that when she moved to New York she lived in the back of her car for two months until she met up with a girl on Craigslist who was trying to steal her kidneys. (Or maybe she wasn’t, but she definitely stole the small George Forman grill Britta found at a garage sale). He knows that she tried to give up coffee and drink tea, because she saw a documentary on how rainforests are being chopped down to harvest the bean, but it doesn’t help her focus like coffee does and she hates herself a little for that. (He knows that if he buys her coffee then it helps alleviate that guilt a little; so really, remembering how she takes her coffee is helping her and has nothing to do with the smile she gives him when he sets it down in front of her or the way his chest gets tight at the sight of it). 

He knows the stupid little facts about her that do matter. 

When she was eleven her parents had her drug tested because of the way she experienced happiness, so she learnt to swallow her laughter. When she was in high school she watched a documentary about food farms and decided she’d never eat meat again. (Her parents didn’t support her decision and for two years she existed on peanut butter sandwiches and various vegetables until she could afford to buy her own food). 

Jeff knows Britta has two married parents, two older brothers, and a group of self-proclaimed vigilante friends, but she’s always been alone. He knows she hates this. 

He knows when she lived in New York she started running because she was afraid to walk home alone at night. He knows that habit followed her across the country to California, down to New Mexico, over to Michigan, and back to Colorado. He knows she hates the fact that she’s ever scared. 

Britta is all sharp wit, sharp tongue, sharp attitude, but there’s something that calls out at Jeff like a beacon home.

And so it’s no one’s business if he buys her coffee every Monday and Wednesday and the morning of exams, if he goes out of his way to make snarky comments and facial expressions to make her snort in amusement, if he buys her an expensive, funny looking tofu dish when he goes off campus to get lunch.

If, sometimes, he hangs out at The Vatican until the bar closes so he can walk Britta to her car, it’s absolutely no one’s business. 

----

“Last call,” Britta says, wiping the counter down with a rag like she’s in a movie. Abed would appreciate the moment and not for the first time, Jeff wishes he were here. Jeff grabs his glass and quickly downs the remains of his drink and she takes it from him with a smile. “Don’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here.” 

They’re the only two at the bar, a few stragglers are making out in the booths and Jeff spins in his seat, watching Britta move across the room and tap on the table, shooing them out. The door clicks shut once they exit and Jeff stands, blinking past the way the room tilts, and moves to lock the door. It’s become such a regular occurrence, Britta doesn’t even acknowledge it anymore. He tidies up the floor lazily; straightening chairs and centering the candles on the table until Britta’s finished with her closing chores. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says once she’s emerged from the back, like usual, a beaming smile overtaking her face. Jeff blames the scotch for the warmth that fills his belly at the sight. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do much.” He looks away and can feel the weight of her gaze on him. He wishes there were more people here, wishes the music was still playing over the speakers, wishes he couldn’t hear his own heart racing in his chest, wishes he’d drank a little more or a little less because the buzz he’s feeling right now is encouraging him to do something dangerous and he’s finding less and less reason not to give in. 

Britta moves first and Jeff’s heart leaps in his throat, but she just moves past him, her hand grazing his arm and he unfreezes, moving beside her and resting his hand on her lower back as they move through the door. The heat swallows them as the door shuts with a click and Jeff lets his hand fall; if it were colder he’d have a myriad of excuses to grab her, tuck her against his side and walk with her pressed against him, but the heat is stifling enough as it is and he can’t think of any excuse to put his arm around her shoulders. 

Their cars are parked together in the back of the lot and Jeff glances around the empty lot, checking for anything unusual. His eyes are drawn to the top of Britta’s head and he wants to be close enough to lean down and kiss the mess of hair there. 

“Y’know,” Britta says abruptly when they get to their cars. She presses her hands against Jeff’s chest and his breath catches. 

“I don’t want to go home,” he interrupts and her head tilts just barely to the side. 

“Me either.” 

----

They end up laying on the hood of her car, watching the night sky. The metal’s warm and the breeze is warm, but Jeff still extends his arm for Britta to rest her head on. He knows they’ll be sore; his back will ache and he’ll probably have a headache until he catches up on the sleep he misses, but that doesn’t really matter right now, not when he can’t stop looking at the way the moon lights up Britta’s profile. The small curve of her nose, the sharp angles of her cheekbones and jawline. He wants to lean down and press his lips at her jaw, but that would involve shifting and moving her off his arm and it feels wrong to move from her side.

They spend a long time in silence, watching the stars move across the sky and occasionally jumping, then laughing, when a bug startles them. 

Britta’s quiet and still, her breathing is steady enough that Jeff wonders if she’s fallen asleep and his own eyes feel heavy in the warm summer air. It feels right, having Britta stretched out at his side and if he shifted, just a little, he could run his fingers through her hair. 

The sky slowly goes from black to dark blue to grey. 

“Would you ever go to space?” Britta asks eventually, jolting Jeff in surprise. Her voice is deep and rough with sleep and Jeff wants to say yes, wants to be the kind of guy that would accept the thrills and dangers of space travel without hesitation. 

“I’ve never even left Colorado.” The admission escapes him without thought and he feels Britta look at him, her hair making the crook of his arm itchy. 

“Never?”

He wants to lie and say he was joking, say gosh Britta you’ll believe anything. Instead, “never,” slips out. “My mom couldn’t afford to take us on vacation and then I never had enough money of my own until I was at the law firm and well,” old Jeff would have said now I’m stuck here; Jeff finishes, “why would I want to leave.” 

Britta shifts to lay on her side and Jeff can see the discomfort pull at her face before it softens again when she looks up at him. 

“We could go somewhere.” The words come out a whisper, like if she said them soft enough she might be able to take them back. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Maybe the east coast, drive across the country.” 

Jeff thinks of how uncomfortable driving across the country would be; thinks of the gross rest-area bathrooms, of the mediocre fast food, and of the lumpy roadside motel beds. Then he thinks of being able to see Britta relaxed with her feet on the dash, with the wind blowing through her hair as they drive down the highway, waking up with the worst bedhead possible, laughing over a wilted salad. 

“Okay.” 

The sky erupts in golden pink streaks of light. It stretches across them, bathing her in gold and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss her, long and slow and he can feel her smile against his lips. When he pulls back, an answering smile on his face, he feels golden inside. 

“But we’re taking my car,” he says and she rolls her eyes with a huff of laughter, curling into his side and resting her head on his chest. He folds his arm to hold her closer to him. “I’m serious. If we take your car we’ll end up broken on the side of the road before we leave the city.” 

“Shut up,” she says nudging him. He shrugs in defense and she smiles into his chest. 

“Fine, we’ll take your car.” 

The sky turns from pink to blue. 

[100storiesin2020]

Chapter 11: the first week

Come read on AO3!

It was only the first day of official college for Blue, and it was not going well. She’d been secretly relieved when she learned that it was tradition for the older Foxes to walk the freshmen to classes. Campus was big, the buildings were weird, and she hated asking for help, so hopefully with her teammates’ help she wouldn’t get lost.

Her hope was in vain.

“I’m pretty sure we are at least in the right building,” Dan said.

“Then why are these doors all labeled with thousands instead of hundreds?” Blue demanded. “We need room 255, not 2250!” They’d been having this argument for about 10 minutes now and had still not found the room despite lots of wandering around. Blue strode back down the hall purposefully, noting the changing tile patterns below her feet. Why did half the building have purple tile? It made no sense.

Dan gave up and waved at a person who clearly knew where they were going. “Excuse me! Can you help us find-”

“Room 255 is down the hall, take a right at the end.” The girl pointed back the direction Blue had come from. “Everyone misses it. It doesn’t even look like there’s a hallway over there, does it?”

“Not really, no,” Blue said. “This building is a mess. What even is up with the numbers?”

The girl laughed. “This is actually two buildings smashed into one. See where the tiles change from gross to less gross?” She gestured behind them. “When they expanded the building they gave it a whole new name but also kept the old one.”

“Business majors,” Dan spat. The girl laughed again and shrugged. “Thank you!” They went around the corner and, as promised, found a hallway they had somehow missed, with a big sign for 255. “This is your stop, Blue.”

“I’m glad I insisted on being 20 minutes early,” Blue replied. “Who is walking me next?”

“Allison. See ya!” Dan ducked out, and Blue took a seat in the giant lecture hall.

*

Allison appeared shortly after the class ended, dolled to the nines as usual but - for once - not wearing heels. Blue gave her feet an exaggerated surprised look. “Sneakers are fashionable too,” Allison said indignantly. “And I am not walking you to the engineering building in heels. We have 10 minutes to go half a mile, and then we have to navigate the maze that is that hellhole of a building.”

She wasn’t exaggerating, either. Her next class was on the farthest corner of campus, and the lower level where her class was located was even more confusing than the business building had been. At least Allison seemed to know where she was going. She led the way down some stairs and through a maze of corridors until Blue was completely turned around, but they arrived at the correct classroom on time. 

“Aaron will be here to walk you back to Fox Tower,” Allison said. “Good luck with your class! 

Blue took a seat and pulled out her knitting needles, glaring at anyone who came close enough to stare at her. It was going to be a long day.

*

Blue flopped dramatically onto the bean bag at Henry’s feet. “I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday,” she groaned. “If this is what college is actually like, I should never have wished for it.”

Henry smirked. “Practices getting to you?”

“I’m used to practice. It's the early mornings that are killing me! And the classes.” She threw a pencil at the wall. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Katelyn laughed softly from her desk. “That sounds par for the course,” she agreed. “But if you’re going to complain, can you go elsewhere, please? I have a boatload of homework.”

“But it’s only Tuesday!” Blue was aghast.

“Junior and pre-med. Get out.”

“Is that any way to treat your new best friend?” Henry asked with obviously fake dismay. “You wound me!”

Blue laughed. “I’ll get this rascal out of your hair.” She reached out a hand so Henry could help her to her feet.

“Please.”

“See you at practice tomorrow!” he called as they left the dorm. “Thanks for the cookies!” To Blue he whispered, “run.”

They booked it down the hall as Katelyn shouted after them. “You better not have eaten my cookies you little -” They slammed the door behind them, cutting off what seemed to be an impressive stream of curse words. Blue raised an eyebrow; Katelyn could apparently give Ronan a run for his money.

“I didn’t actually eat her cookies,” Henry confided as they descended the stairs, footsteps echoing. “She’s just really fun to prank.”

Blue rolled her eyes. “You’ve known her for all of a week and a half. How does she rank pranks when I don’t?”

Henry gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I prefer to keep my fingers.” She laughed. “Also, it’s a Vixen tradition to haze the newbies with harmless pranks, but no good deed goes unpunished in my book.”

“Ah. The Exy team doesn’t really have anything like that.”

“The Exy team doesn’t know the meaning of harmless.”

“A fair point,” Blue conceded. She opened the door to her floor and pulled out her keys to open her dorm door. “Speaking of the Exy team, are you looking forward to the game on Friday?” She nodded hello to Renee and Nicky, who were having their Tuesday Bible-study session at the desks, and flopped onto the love seat. Henry chirped a hello to them as well before flopping across Blue’s lap dramatically.

“I really am,” he said, deliberately ignoring Renee’s disapproving look when he put his feet up on the armrest. “I just wish I knew the routines better. A week and a half is really not enough time to learn everything, even if one week was an intense boot camp.

“A week surrounded by pretty women in short skirts sounds like a dream,” Nicky chimed in. “Not that I could relate.”

“I could,” Renee said with a snort.

Henry laughed. “I can’t.”

“I knew it!” Nicky shouted. “Allison is going to have to pay up!”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “I see I’ve been subjected to the famous Fox bets.”

“Famous??” Nicky squeaked.

“In certain circles,” Henry replied with a smirk, nodding his head towards Blue. “What was the bet, exactly?”

“Gay or straight.”

“Well you all lose.”

“What?” Nicky almost screamed. “Dang it. I thought I had it in the bag.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Henry said with a salute. “I’m aro/ace.”

“Or Henrysexual, as he likes to call it,” Blue said dryly.

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“That he’s not interested in anyone either sexually or romantically,” Renee answered. “They’re both the A in LGBTQA.” Nicky gave her a bewildered look and Renee sighed. “You really should look into our history more, Nicky.”

“You’re right as always, Renee,” he said. “Seems like a shame though.”

“Why you little-” Blue started to reach for her knife.

“And on that note I’m out of here!” Nicky yelped, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll look it up tonight!” He slammed the door behind him. Blue and Henry looked at each other and laughed.

“Sorry, Renee,” Blue said contritely. “I didn’t mean to ruin your Bible time.”

Renee shrugged. “He’s going to need to learn to control his mouth at some point.” She smiled with perfect sweetness. “Better you threaten him than me.”

Henry gave her an appraising look. “You do knives too, I think Blue said?”

“Did. Did knives. I try to use other weapons now.” She held up her Bible. “I’ve thwacked a boy with one of these and I can do it again.”

*

Blue wasn’t fond of having people babysitting her, but she had to admit it helped her learn a lot about campus as a whole. Allison and Nicky knew all the gossip, and how to get in with the best professors. Dan knew all of the school traditions and kept her from doing “unlucky” things like walking under the clock tower. Aaron knew all of the best study spots, and Neil had escape routes for any given situation. And Andrew?

Andrew had just introduced her to the best smoothie she’d ever had.

They were in the gym - the student one, not the athlete one - and Blue had had no idea there was a smoothie booth here, let alone one that accepted her food card. Andrew had shown up in Aaron’s place after her Environmental Science class and marched her over here without a word. He’d ordered them two chocolate and peanut butter smoothies (with protein booster) and a third mango strawberry one and marched them over to a table, still not even truly acknowledging her presence. And tasting her smoothie, Blue didn’t even care.

Then she realized he had paid for the smoothie. She stared him down across the table, hazel eyes meeting hers. She set her cup down with a small thump. “What do you want.”

He appraised her for a moment before nodding and sipping more smoothie. “I want to know how Ronan got that damn spider into our dorm.”

Blue snorted. “Prank war or not, sometimes a spider is just a spider.”

“It was the size of a dinner plate.”

“Point.” She sighed. “I helped him sneak it into Kevin’s bag when he was talking history with Gansey,” she admitted.

Andrew huffed. “Kevin has no survival instincts.”

Blue laughed. “Not off the court, he doesn’t.”

Neil appeared out of nowhere, as he was wont to do, and took a seat next to Andrew, who slid the mango smoothie over to him. “Thanks, Drew,” he said with a soft smile, and his eyes lit up when he took a sip. “It’s my favorite.”

“As you said.”

“Like 6 months ago!” Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, eidetic memory. How are you finding campus, Blue?”

“Too orange and with badly designed buildings,” she replied, “but at least the smoothies are good.” Andrew’s lip twitched, she was sure of it. “What is Aaron up to today? Normally he walks me back to the Tower around now.”

“His classes are different on Wednesdays,” Neil answered. Andrew gave him a look. “You’re not the only one with everyone’s schedule memorized.”

“I know why I know them,” Andrew drawled, “but why do you?”

Neil shifted nervously in his seat. “In case something happens and I need to find everyone.”

“Something as in a zombie apocalypse?” Blue asked, purposefully derailing the conversation. It worked. Andrew launched into a spiel about saving his family, and Neil argued for the benefits of rescuing all the Foxes until Andrew gave in. Blue sipped her Knockoff Reese’s smoothie, her own nickname (much better than the official one), and watched them. It was rare that Andrew talked in front of others, even to Neil, but she always enjoyed seeing this side of him. They weren’t friends, exactly, but they had an understanding after the whole lake incident. These two had seen the supernatural and hadn’t run away. That was kind of nice. They were assholes, yeah, but so were all of her Raven boys.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a question from Andrew. “Sargent sews. What do we need to keep an apocalypse survival village clothed?”

Blue grinned, and jumped right in.

*

Blue took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of the lockers. Behind her, Allison and Renee were chatting and Dan was reviewing the notes on their opponents, the Badgers, one last time. Their first game was going to start in 45 minutes and Blue was terrified. Not that she’d ever willingly admit it.

She took another deep breath and straightened up, turning around. “Ready?” Dan asked. Blue nodded, and they all headed over to the team lounge where the boys were already waiting. Blue sat down on Gansey’s lap, ignoring the conversation about the Badgers that he was having with Neil, and put her feet up on Ronan’s lap. He pushed them off and she put them back. He left them that time, apparently defeated for now.

“Now that you’re all here, it’s pep talk time,” Wymack boomed. The chatter immediately silenced. “Here’s the thing, kids. We had a close game with these guys last year, and no doubt they’ve improved. You guys are the reigning champions and they will be coming for your throats. But we are not the same team we were last year.” He stared them each down in turn. “This year, we will work together. This year, we will fight as a team. Do you understand, Lynch?” Ronan sneered, but Wymack continued like he’d responded affirmatively. “This year, they won’t even know what hit them. Are you ready?”

*

Henry loved being part of the cheerleading squad. He was in the best seats, decked out in orange, encouraged to scream at the top of his lungs. He got to chant and run and flip and show off, and watch his friends play. None of his friends had been in the starting lineup, which was unsurprising, but it gave him a chance to see some of his heroes up close. He’d been rooting for the Foxes since they’d started to turn around last year, and it was fun to analyze each player’s style. It was also fun to see how his friends ranked among them.

Kevin Day was always the best. He was known for his precision: impossible angles, trick shots, balls moving just fast enough to squeeze through and not a hair more effort. His opponents knew what kind of tricks he would pull, and yet they still couldn’t stop him.

Neil was the fastest player in the entire NCAA, and was probably faster than all the professional players as well. And he was good. He’d come a long way in the last year, going from a rookie to better than average, and adding his speed into that - he was an unstoppable force.

Then, fifteen minutes before the end of the first half, Blue went on the field. Henry had watched her games at the end of last year, after they’d become friends, and he knew her style (as well as anyone could). She was strong. She was accurate in her shots. But Blue’s strength? It was that she was unpredictable.

With most strikers on the field, Henry could learn within a game or two how each player would move in almost any scenario. How they would block, how they would dodge around. With Blue, it was hard to say. She switched up her game on purpose but also by instinct, unwilling to let herself get boxed into a way of playing, a way of life. It made her difficult to face, according to Gansey, because she never acted like any other players on the field. When you expected her to strike, she dodged. When you expected a dodge, she hit you head-on. She’d duck around and through and could not be stopped.

And so it was today. Blue ducked around a ginormous linebacker and feinted for the lower left corner, a logical place to shoot based on the placement of the goalie. The goalie anticipated that shot and moved to block it. Blue scored in the upper middle part of the goal right as the buzzer for the half rang out.

None of his friends were on the field long, due to their status as newbies, but they all played well. Adam got a chance in the first half, and Gansey took one in the second. Ronan’s time in the goal coincided with Blue’s time on the field. He let in one goal, but blocked several more than that, and Henry was very proud of his friends.

The game ended 6-4, Foxes favor, and Henry cheered with the rest of the Vixens.

*

The team was in the parking lot, talking about the game and the plans for a party that evening, when suddenly a short blue blur ran through and tackled Ronan. Renee watched in alarm before realizing that it was a child- a girl? - in a white shirt, baggy overalls, and a flat cap. “Kerah! Kerah!” the girl shrieked, and Ronan laughed as he picked her up and gave her a big hug.

“Opal! What are you doing here?” he asked.

Just then a tall, handsome boy in a gray suit ran up to them, panting. “There you are,” he wheezed. He straightened up when he saw Ronan and gave him a nod. “Good game.”

“Oh fuck off, Declan, it’s not like you’ve ever liked Exy.”

Declan shrugged. “It got you into college, didn’t it?”

“Be nice!” The girl said to Declan without letting go of Ronan. “Kerah! I got to see you play! It was so fun!”

“It’s good to see you too, squirt,” Ronan said with a soft smile that looked out of place on him.

“Can I stay with you?? I don’t want to go home!”

Declan looked pained. “Please take her,” he said. “I don’t know if I can survive another car ride.”

Ronan squatted down to the girl’s level. “Just for the weekend, then you have to go back to Aurora,” he said. She shrieked inhumanly but joyously and latched onto his neck. “And you have to keep your boots on.” She pouted. Ronan stood up and looked around at the Foxes, who were all staring at him.

“So, um, who is this?” Nicky asked.

“Opal,” Ronan replied.

[afanoftheglassscientists]

The Glass Scientists Read-Through Chapter 1 Pages 10-23

Before we begin I just want to remind everyone that Sabrina sometimes posts sketches/drafts she’s working on for future pages on her twitter account, and recently she posted some of Jasper and Jekyll who are queer, awkward and uncomfortable (which honestly, mood) that almost made me cry.  Werewolf Jasper is huggable and shaped like a friend but Human Jasper is also really endearing.  If you don’t have a twitter account (which I don’t) there’s a link to it in The Glass Scientists webpage.  I highly recommend you check on her twitter every once in awhile.

...Okay I guess I’ll do the Read-Through now.  This’ll be finishing up Chapter 1, where we get a look at how Jekyll usually resolves problems through talking with sparkle effects.

Page 10-23 - Jekyll’s Demonstrating His Sparkle-Speak

This time I’m going to look at this segment as a whole before going page-by-page.  

Overview - This chapter is meant to set up a lot.  The first part (pages 1-9) sets up Hyde’s character before we’re properly introduced to him through his narration, Jasper’s character as a werewolf and a scientist, how he morphs between wolf and human due to something he did, the civilians dislike for magical creatures and the policemen’s dislike for magical creatures as well as mad scientists, which in this world are seen as more regular occurrences.  This part mainly sets up one thing - how Jekyll operates.  

His borrowed carriage and horse, his postures, his way of greeting by name, his flattering and his promises.  Its all calculated to make you think of whatever Jekyll asks for as reasonable.  Brokenshire is probably somewhat aware of this, which is why even though he speaks politely with Jekyll he recovers from his flattering and goes straight on the defense.  Jekyll knows Brokenshire will go on the defense, which is why he’s ready to talk his way through the sergeants defenses until Brokenshire can’t find the means to fight back anymore.  Its not so much about what Jekyll says, but how willing he is to continue to push until his opponents will to fight is dwindled.  Brokenshire absolutely had the power to put his foot down and put continue his arrest, but he knows Jekyll would have kept pushing through until it was no longer worth fighting against.  After awhile Brokenshire just had to admit defeat, not because he lost the debate per say, but because he no longer saw the point in continuing it.  

While Jekyll is sparring with Brokenshire its noticeable that while Jasper’s not on the defense at all he’s not as taken by Jekyll the way even Brokenshire falls into being.  I think given these past few chapters an argument could be made that Jasper can be pretty observant, but he’s always distracted by his own concerns.  He’s in places where he gets rare tidbits of info, but he never really puts the pieces together.  I mean he has reason to be distracted because he almost died so he’s kind of busy here.  I think he notices Jekyll is a bit strange (hehe) and he’s confused by the situation, but he doesn’t really account for that observation until he has to directly interact with Jekyll.  

Pages 10-11 - Waiiiiit For It...

I can practically hear the cartoon “shing!” sparkle sound effect alongside the angel’s choir sound effect.  Against the warm torch-wielding mob comes a cold and bright light.  A pure-bred white horse proudly leading an elegant carriage.  A sharply dressed footman (I think the terms a footman?) halts the horse in front of the crowd.  Ignoring the Jenkin’s (one of the policemen) complaints the footman opens the door for the carriage passenger...

Pages 12-13 - First Move - Buttering Up Greetings

The door opens and the mob are in awe.  Jasper notes the change in the air (i.e. the peppermint smell.)  Jekyll has a nice pair of shoes as he elegantly steps down.  His first part of the strategy is to greet all the policeman.  Since Jenkins was the one who was on the offensive when his carriage arrived he targets Jenkins first.  Jenkins recognizes Jekyll’s voice, but he stumbles at the response.  Next Jekyll greets Wipple, who’s the most relaxed looking of the group.  Wipple doesn’t even hesitate to respond cheerfully to Jekyll’s greeting.  Then Jekyll greets Brokenshire, who’s the most challenging of the group.  But Jekyll knows how to work his magic on Brokenshire, and Brokenshire knows it too, because the moment Jekyll directs his attention to him his face turns red.  

While the policeman asks why Jekyll is here of all places, Jasper’s taking a moment to get a close look at Jekyll...

Page 14 - A Charming Mysterious Gentleman, But Not Mr. Darcy Kind of Mysterious

Jekyll’s first appearance in the flesh!  In the latter chapters Jekyll’s jawline changed and his hair is a bit lighter, so he looks a lot younger and more “innocent” looking in his first appearance than his latter ones.  Here though, this goes in line with how Jekyll wants to be seen: someone who has not a single bad bone in his body.  He’s doesn’t look charismatic in a forceful way.  He’s soft.  He doesn’t have unpleasant discussions, his tea is always sweetened just right, and he weeps for every bug he steps on by mistake.  His power is that no one can see him as a threat to them.  He’s someone you’d invite into your home without a second thought.

So of course, when Jekyll says he wants to speak to Jasper, the policemen assume Jekyll is the one who will endanger himself.  Poor Dr. Jekyll has no idea what danger he could be in!

Meanwhile that night Jasper probably predicted a few things may happen to him.

A. He gets killed by the mob.  Shot, skewered or burned alive.

B. He gets arrested by the police and thrown in jail.

C. He gets arrested and THEN the police kill him.  Probably shot.

He could not have predicted there being a fourth option to his fate.

D. A strange gentleman halts his arrest and directly asks to speak with him.

So needless to say, Jasper has no idea what to make of the situation from this point onward.  He’s just going to hang in his trash-pile and shiver in fear while they talk to each other thanks.

Page 15-17 - Second Move - Argument

Jekyll’s next move is to while staying cordial toward the policemen argue his reasoning.  Argue may be too strong a word here.  Its more like he nudges the conversation in ways where he can prove his points.  “Werewolves are only dangerous when threatened!”  He purposely moves closer to the mob because he knows someone in the mood will give him the reaction he desired to prove his point.  Brokenshire then argues that if that’s true there’s no way a werewolf wouldn’t cause havoc.  Werewolves can’t live alongside people.  “Supernatural creatures can, and I have proof.”  Jekyll demonstrates this by bringing along Zosi, a Church Grim pupper.  He knows Brokenshire has a soft spot for puppies, so this was doubly effective to Brokenshire.  But Brokenshire snaps out of it.  The Werewolf tore the streets apart (actually I think the mob did most of that but eh its a chicken or egg kind of argument) so he can’t be let go.  This leads Jekyll into his next move...

Page 18-20 - Final Move - Promises

He makes the move to directly asks for Jasper’s name in front of the police.  That way the police know Jasper by name and not just as a werewolf (aka menace to society.)  He wraps his cape around him, which isn’t really necessary because Jasper’s a ball of fluff, but it could be seen as a way to humanize Jasper in front of the mob and the police, as well as a way for Jekyll to be put in Jasper’s good graces by showing he really is there to help him.  Then he makes a material promise to fix up the streets, which will show proof of his good nature.  Then he makes a promise to take Jasper in and help him reintegrate into society.  An alternative way to read this is he’s saying he’s taking Jasper out of Brokenshire’s hands, so the sergeant has one less thing to worry about.

While Jekyll swore an oath while holding Jasper’s hand I’m pretty sure Jasper’s mind is just making Windows 98 startup sounds.  He’s too far behind to know what exactly is going on, but he’s still not dead or in chains so he’s just following whatever.  

After Jekyll makes his promises Brokenshire’s will to fight back is all but dissipated, and all it takes is an assurance that he won’t get in trouble with the commissioner (since Jekyll is going to meet with the commissioner on Wednesday) to give in and accept Jekyll’s way.

When Brokenshire put Zozi down Jasper immediately went to pet Zozi, and honestly I can appreciate that.

Page 21-23 - Out of the Pot and Into the Carriage

After the police chase after a runaway thief and the mob disappointingly walk away, Jekyll and Jasper are left on their own.  For the first time Jekyll can speak with Jasper without the need to demonstrate to the police, so his first instinct is to offer Jasper tea.  Let’s just de-stress here after the mob.

As Jekyll’s intended appearance is someone who can be invited to people’s houses without question, Jasper agrees without thinking, but he quickly pulls out of it.  His brain booted back up and he’s out of danger, so he has an opportunity to figure out what exactly happened.  A few looming questions Jasper might have is-

Who is this gentleman?

Why did he save me?

What does he want from me?

Where is he taking me?

All these question are pretty valid.  If he was less nervous he might have been able to ask these questions directly, but his first instinct is to accidentally say what was on his mind: Jekyll’s a strange and he’s not supposed to get into carriages with strange people.

Jekyll looks genuinely hurt by that.  He doesn’t want to be seen as strange.  He specifically wants to be seen as trustful, and for Jasper to not see him that way (despite meeting him not even a single minute ago) might be a bit upsetting.

Jasper could probably tell this upset Jekyll because he’s quick to compliment Jekyll.  Like, oh yeah, Jekyll saved his life, so he should show he’s grateful for that.  But at the very least he should know a name.

And so we have Jekyll finally saying his name (after being flustered because he should have introduced himself sooner) and a “Find out NEXT TIME on THE GLASS SCIENTISTS!!!” end to the chapter.

Afterthoughts

Out of all the chapters I’ve read this one I’ve gone back to the most.  Of course, given that this is the first chapter its not hard to go back to.  Every time I got impatient I could read the first two chapters, and I think I could repeat all the dialogue without looking at this point.  Some of the set-up can feel a bit weird, like Jasper referring to his creatures as, “my experiments,” but overall this chapter is still important to go back to and even after the millionth time reading it again I still enjoy.  I wish we saw Zosi more.

I’d say the first three chapters are mostly set-up.  Chapter 1 sets up the place the story’s set in, two of the main characters (two and a half if you include Hyde’s monologues,) and how the public see monsters and mad science.  Next time I do a Read-Through I’ll being looking at Chapter 2, which sets up more of Jasper’s character, the Society of Arcane Science, Hyde being introduced properly and his dynamic with Jekyll, and the looming issues already plaguing the Society.

Next week I’m going back to Sunday Predictions, as The Glass Scientists resumes on May 6th.  I’ll be predicting what may happen in chapter 8 and beyond.  Until then, have a good night!

[centralparkpawsblog]

How Long Can a Dog Stay in a Crate

https://www.centralparkpaws.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/61PzJzb5hzL.jpg Crate training is essential for both puppies and adult dogs when they first move into their new home.

A crate will provide a place for them to feel secure and keep them safe and out of trouble.

Eventually, when a dog becomes trustworthy, they can be given more freedom.

When Daisy was a puppy, I crated her until she was six months old.

However, most dogs are crate trained until at least 12 months old; it all depends on your dog.

There’s no age limit as to how old your dog should be crated for. However, there are limits for the length of time that you should keep your dog crated.

Every dog is different as to how many hours they can comfortably stay in a crate.

Several factors need to be taken into consideration when determining a healthy amount of time your dog can be left in their kennel.

Considerations to take into account when leaving your dog in its crate include:

Age

Health

Breed

Frequency

Location of crate

tl;dr: Don’t crate a dog for longer than they can hold their bladder!

How Long Can You Keep a Puppy in a Crate?

According to the SPCA of Texas, puppies six months old and younger shouldn’t be crated more than four hours at a time[1].

However, remember all that dogs are different, and some puppies may need to build up to four hours.

When Daisy was a puppy, I was working full-time outside of the home. Because she wasn’t old enough to go to daycare, and I wasn’t close enough to come home over lunch, Daisy would have been in her kennel for at least 9.5 hours a day.

My solution to this problem was to hire a dog walker to come in three days a week and my mom came over two days a week to get Daisy out for lunch and a midday walk.

If you don’t have a family member who can help you out, there are a lot of different dog walking services available.

Professional dog walkers can help get your dog out of the crate for a walk or to play and stretch their legs.

Dog walkers are an excellent solution for getting your puppy out of its kennel halfway through the day.

There are several benefits of your puppy getting out of its crate halfway through your workday:

Exercise – Puppies are essentially fluffy balls of energy on legs.

Bathroom Breaks – Puppies don’t have the same bladder control as an adult dog and this will also aid in housetraining.

Lunch – It is best if puppies have an opportunity to eat 3-4 times a day.

Mental stimulation – As puppies grow physically, they also are developing mentally and require more stimulation than eight hours in a kennel can provide.

QUICK TIP

Have a backup plan.

When I was a sales manager, sometimes unexpected things would come up extending my day. I always had a few people I could call who had access to my home so they could let Daisy out if I were running late.

Even if you have a strict nine to five job, you might get stuck in horrible traffic or have a flat tire.

You may never need to use your backup plan, but if you do, you will be happy you had one in place.

How Long Can You Keep a Senior Dog in a Crate?

Doggy diapers can help if necessary but shouldn’t be considered a full solution

Senior dogs cannot be in their crate as long as they once could.

Most seniors need to go to the bathroom more frequently, whether from incontinence or just age.

Seniors are a lot like puppies this way and can be in their crate for about 4 hours at a time.

Not only do seniors need to use the bathroom more frequently, but some seniors have arthritis[2].

Extended time in a crate can cause your dog’s joints to become too stiff, resulting in an uncomfortable maybe even painful situation for your dog.

A couple of solutions for keeping your senior comfortable:

Bring in a dog sitter to give them some midday relief, either from being cramped or from bladder pressure.

Bring them to daycare. My daycare has special areas for seniors. Some of the seniors are in the office, and the more mobile seniors are in a group for quieter, less active dogs.

Provide them with a bigger crate or dog-proof a room in the house, so they have room to stretch their legs.

Other Considerations

Does the Your Dog’s Breed Matter?

Absolutely, your dog’s breed does matter.

Some dogs are more active, like Border Collies, where other dogs like Great Danes are less active, especially once they grow out of puppyhood.

It is far more difficult for active high energy breeds to be content staying in a kennel for long periods.

A dog’s breed can help determine the duration in which your dog can comfortably stay in its kennel[3].

If you are thinking of getting a dog, this is an essential factor to consider. If you work long hours or have a long commute, finding a less energetic breed would be better.

Even with all the best planning in the world, things change, especially jobs.

I have a friend, Shanna, that has as a Vizsla.

She recently changed jobs resulting in a longer commute and longer hours, so her pup, Jasmine, is stuck in her kennel way too long.

At first, Jasmine was fine, but after about a week, she started to show unfavorable behaviors, such as having accidents in the kennel and shredding her bedding.

Shanna called me, we brainstormed on it for a bit, and here’s what we came up with.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Shanna gets up an hour earlier to get Jasmine out for a long run. Then, the neighbor kid comes over and lets her out midday.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jasmine goes to daycare.

Not only did it solve the behavior issues, but Jasmine is pretty tired by the end of each day, especially daycare days.

Not everyone has a neighbor kid that’s able to come over or daycare, but there’s usually always a solution. It just might require a little creativity.

Ultimately, if Shanna still had her Great Dane, Brutus, this change would not have bothered him at all.

Being a Great Dane, Brutus was a very laid-back lazy boy who would have been fine being confined for an extended period.

Does the Location of the Crate Matter?

Pictured: A poor location for your dog’s crate when you’re gone for long periods of time

The location of where your dog is crated during the day does matter.

It is best to keep the crate in a quiet area of your house to keep your dog calm.

Also, be sure to keep the crate out of direct sunlight and away from any drafts. This will prevent your pup from becoming too hot or too cold.

Many people like having the crate in the main living area; however, if you live in a busy neighborhood, the noise from the street could cause your dog to become anxious or frustrated.

The optimal location for a crate is in a darker quiet area.

Usually, the bedroom works perfectly.

The bedroom drapes can be drawn, and a radio can be turned on to drown out noises. The thought is to create a relaxing environment so your dog can rest when you are away.

What’s in the Crate?

What you put in the crate makes a difference.

It is always good to include comfortable bedding that is appropriate for the season.

Also, adding toys and items of comfort like stuffed animals can help your dog relax.

You will need to be sure your dog will not destroy the bedding or toys before leaving them in the kennel with them to ensure they don’t choke or eat things they shouldn’t.

Snacks

When Daisy was a puppy, I would freeze a few Kongs.

Some of the Kongs had peanut butter, and others had canned dog food.

In the morning, before I left, I would put a Kong in the kennel with her.

At lunchtime, when my mom or the sitter would come over, they would use the same Kong, but instead of soft food, they would pop in a hard treat.

I didn’t put a lot of food or PB in the Kong, just enough to give her something to work on in the crate, but not enough that she would need to go to the bathroom or require a drink of water when she was done.

Water

Putting water in a crate isn’t always a good idea.

Free access to water is usually good, but not when your dog doesn’t have free access to the outdoors.

Also, puppies tend to knock over their water bowl, creating a mess and an uncomfortable stay in the crate.

Does the Time of Day Matter?

Photo By: Taro the Shiba Inu (Must have set up a timer) (CC BY 2.0)

Dogs can last in their crate for more extended periods at night unless they are puppies or seniors.

Most adult dogs are comfortable being crated overnight.

Dogs are usually awake off and on during the daytime, making sleeping through the night more comfortable.

However, if your dog is crated all day and not given enough exercise, overnight crating may become an issue.

So… How Long Can You Crate Your Dog?

The short answer is 4 hours for puppies and seniors. For healthy adult dogs, 6-7 consecutive hours a day.

An adult dog can last longer than 6-7 hours a day, but anything longer can become very uncomfortable for your pooch.

If your dog is kenneled for long periods during the day, they may start dreading going into their crate.

Remember, your dog should feel relaxed and safe in their crate.

Final Thoughts

Physically, you can keep a dog in a kennel all day.

However, if you leave your dog in a kennel too long, some dogs may become bored, anxious, and frustrated, which is usually a recipe for destruction.

All dogs require exercise and socialization, but it’s extra important if your dog spends 75% or more of their time crated.

You must count the hours your dog is in its crate and be sure to include your travel time.

For example, when I was working out of the home, I had a 30-minute commute one way in good weather conditions. In Minnesota, that’s only 8 out of 12 months.

Also, I worked eight and a half hours minimum a day, so on good days, Daisy was home 9.5 hours minimum.

Then when you take into the overnight, it was another 8 hours, which is just shy of 75% of a 24-hour day.

I’m not advocating you not crate your dog when you are absent.

But, we must provide enough physical and mental stimulation to ensure we have a happy and healthy pup.

FAQs

Can I Crate My Dog for 12 Hours?

Technically yes, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

It would be best to make arrangements for someone to come over and let them out midway through the day

If you are unable to find someone to help you, you may want to consider dog-proofing a small room in your house to give your dog more space.

If you have a puppy or a senior, 12 hours is way too long for them to be left in a kennel.

Should I Crate My Dog While at Work?

Depends.

If your dog is trustworthy enough to have free run of the house then leave them out.

But if they are still too young or new to your home then it is best to crate them until you are confident they won’t put themselves in danger.

Is It Ok for a Dog to Be in a Crate All Day?

Depends on the age, breed, and health of your dog and how long “all day” is.

Typically, no.

Resources

https://www.spca.org/document.doc?id=126

https://dogtime.com/dog-health/general/687-arthritis-in-dogs-aaha

https://www.caninejournal.com/low-energy-dogs-high-energy-dogs/

The post How Long Can a Dog Stay in a Crate appeared first on Central Park Paws.

from https://www.centralparkpaws.net/dog-training-tips/how-long-dog-stay-crate/