#fuck it's lucky if i can afford to go out for dinner once or twice a month

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

literally what is even the point of trying

#personal #vent #i'm trying so hard to be positive but it's completely unsustainable #basically everything that is supposed to *make life worth living* is inaccessible to me because I don't make enough money #(despite making damn near the average uk salary lmao) #i will never own a property (or at least nothing WORTH owning i.e. not a suicide-inducing mold hole) #i will never be able to keep up with my more normal and successful friends #and i don't mean in a keeping up with the joneses way #i mean if a friend asks me to go on vacation i cannot afford to go #fuck it's lucky if i can afford to go out for dinner once or twice a month #the economy is getting more and more fucked by the day #but my brain doesn't work properly so i can't keep up the career climb because working actively makes me want to die #but also having nothing to do also actively makes me want to die #basically i just want to die and there's no good reason not to #and my brain cannot be unfucked because it just works that way #and treatment of any kind is inaccessible until i'm ~officially~ diagnosed #which could take a year or more to get an appointment #and in the meantime i'm supposed to just... lmao idefk just die i guess #i am so so so terrified of the future i want to die just to escape it breathing down my neck #i'm at the age where my loved ones are building their own lives with their partners and having kids and beginning to draw away from friends #into their own family units #and i do not see how i will ever have a family unit #so either i'll be genuinely alone by the time i'm forty #or (worse) i'll be the pity friend who gets invited as the awkward plus one to gatherings #literally look me in the eye and tell me my future is worth staying for #i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i want to fucking die i want to quit i want to quit #fuck it we ball

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Can you do Getou as a sugar daddy and new professor and the reader as a sugar baby and a teacher at the same university? Also, can you make it that after the reader stays at Getou's house, she is late to the meeting for the "new staff member"?

Job Description: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tw: NSFW

"You enjoy dinner?" You place the to-go boxes on the counter before turning to your thirty-something sugar daddy, leaning on the counter before he leans in to kiss you deeply.

"I did," you reply, tangling your hands through his hair and pulling back a little. Suguru enjoys having you like this, you think as he hoists you onto the marble top and places himself between your legs. "I had a great time." You pull his tie so he kisses you again, his large hands resting on your exposed knees.

"Maybe I could ask for my dessert now?" he wonders, and you laugh, reaching into the bag.

"I don't think you saved any, daddy..." you whisper, and he bites your bottom lip.

"What do you mean? I have some right here." You squeal with delight when he picks you up and carries you to his bedroom, all of the steps from the kitchen to the bed memorized. You've been down this road before, and you know what Suguru desires more than anything is your time and your company. But he also enjoyed feeling your body underneath his for the price of a few fancy dinners, rent, and a new wardrobe. He could afford all of that and more, though.

But he doesn't consider the thousand-dollar price tag on the dress he strips from your body, nor the five hundred dollar shoes. And the hundred-dollar hairdo? Oh, that's gone. Suguru would fuck you so good, you'd forget you'd gotten your hair done at all. You rake your overpriced manicure across his back and toss off his expensive belt and pants, just to see the one thing he didn't have to pay a single cent for: his cock.

You get on your knees and place him in your mouth, and his face goes slack, just like it's supposed to. When you take all of him in your mouth with his dick touching the back of your throat, you think maybe he's gone weak since you last gave him a blowjob (which was two days ago). But then he starts fucking your face, and drool slides down your lips, your throat making noises that you think are somewhat abysmal, but Geto loves hearing them.

"Taking daddy's cock so well..." he breathes, then pulls out of your mouth. "Get up for me, babe. I want to feel you around me." You stand and stretch across the bed, ass up in the air for him to fuck into. There would be no grocery-list making while he fucks you. No, you'd be more concerned about when he'd let you cum all over his sheets.

When he slides between your folds, you moan, and he thrusts into you once, twice, three times before beginning his strokes, pressing into you so hard that his hips smack against your ass. "Fuck," you whisper, angling your hips up so he's rocking right against your g-spot.

"So wet and tight," he moans, leaning back on his knees. "You really know how to make a man weak, huh?"

"It's what you pay for," you retort, and he laughs running a hand down your back and resting in on your hip.

"Sounds like I'm getting my money's worth, then."

_____________________________________________________________

You wake up in Geto's arms and hum softly at the rising sun.

"Mmm; baby, what time is it?" you moan, and Suguru rolls over, looking at the clock.

"It's only nine-twenty."

"Oh..." You close your eyes again, then the memory of the ten o'clock meeting with the new staff pops into your head. "Oh, fuck!" Geto opens his eyes and watches you scramble around the room, gathering your clothes and preparing for a shower.

"What's the rush for?"

"New staff introduction!" you toss back, darting into the shower. "It's an important meeting!"

"Oh, I have one of those, too," you hear him announce while you run soap all over your body. "Should probably get dressed for that."

You two dance around each other after you finish your shower, and you fix your hair as best as you can before dressing in the two-piece suit and throwing on the freshwater pearls Geto gifted to you a month ago. You stop in your haste, adjust Suguru's tie, and press a kiss to his lips before whisking out of the door, tossing your overnight bag and purse into the seat next to you.

You check your appearance multiple times on the way to the school, which - thankfully - isn't too far from Geto's house, and park in your spot before dashing up the stairs to the History department hall. The dean's assistant, Urahime Iori, hands you an agenda for the meeting that you barely glance over before plopping down next to your co-worker, Gojo Satoru.

"Barely on time," he grumbles and you sigh. "Long night with Daddy Warbucks?"

"Very," you whisper, smirking at the man. He wiggles his eyebrows and you try your hardest to contain a chuckle.

"Well, the new Dean of the department isn't here yet, so you're lucky."

"I suppose we'll get started without the new Dean," Urahime murmurs, taking her place at the podium. "Okay, let's start off with some staff celebrations. Mr. Fushiguro just had a son, so let's give him some love. He has some long nights ahead of him." You all clap for him and the man rolls his eyes, grunting nonsense. "And our very own Mr. Gojo presented an award-winning dissertation on the topic of popular Historical Fictions and its... effects on the accuracy of student achievement." Gojo stands as everyone claps for him, bowing his head and waving. "And Ms. L/n sponsored a trip to the--"

The door to the meeting room opens and in walks Geto Suguru, adjusting his suit jacket.

"Ah!" Urahime waves him in. "Our new Dean is here! Everyone, welcome Mr. Geto to our staff!" You stiffen considerably at the sight of your sugar daddy walking through the staff, smiling at Urahime.

"I should start off with the fact that everyone should call me Suguru; you're my equals, not my..." When his eyes land on you, you avoid his gaze and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Not my inferiors. Furthermore, I want there to be open communication between all of us. I'm happy to be here, and I want you to be, too." Everyone oohs and ahhs at Geto's speech, and he takes the empty seat right next to you, to your dismay.

"If I had known we were going to the same meeting, I would have brought you in the Tesla and let everyone get a chance to see you stepping out of my car."

"Um..." you fumble, and he chuckles.

"Meet me in my office after this. I think we have some things to discuss."

#geto suguru #geto x reader #geto smut #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #jjk smut

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[horrorslashergirl]

A yandere Chromeskull with a reader who grew up in a emotionally neglectful home making her really touch-starved and very accepting of the affection Jesse is offering her. 😊

I don’t know if I made him yandere, but I certainly didn’t. Sorry....

Chromeskull x Reader- Don Julio and Childish Flaws

The black Bentley stopped into the parking lot of an expensive restaurant in Jacksonville and Jesse Cromeans got out, adjusting his Versace black dress-jacket, making sure he was as presentable as ever after all looks were very important to him, the power designer clothes and a Rolex were mind-numbing and people would say he was a narcissist, but like hell would Jesse go for cheap at the corner shops.

Fuck what people think!

It was very amusing to him, because people always threw themselves at him, be it for his status, money, tattoos, or very influential power he had. So, of course, it was funny when they accused him of being a prideful egocentric jerk because the next five minutes they were on their knees sucking on his cock.

He smirked at the memories of having a piggy choke on his cock in a bathroom at a gala party.

Despite all of this, something made him think twice about his life and that had to do at the last rich party that one of his partners in business threw. It all started with discussions about wives and marriage.

Jesse rolled his eye at the word wife. He tried marriage and didn't end well...on his deceased ex-wife's part. Hearing all the men at the party talk about their pregnant wives, following weddings and what-not domestic life made his chest constrict and it wasn't the alcohol.

Talk about a middle-age crisis, but that's what got Jesse to be so thoughtful in the past month.

Everyone was getting married, creating a family, and here he was adjusting his silk tie in the black tinted window of his car.

Before his ex-wife and after, he filled that void with piggies of all type, because you don't want a woman to bicker day and night about where you've been, how was work or simply sticking her nose in your business.

It all changed when each night before he went to sleep and in the morning when he woke up, he would look at the empty side of his California king-sized bed.

Now, he should be nervous, because it wasn't his first date with you, but he wanted to make sure everything is perfect, always put on a good impression, and make sure that your ego is being rubbed on.

Maybe that's the reason why this was the fourth date with you, because all his associates, when they found out about the two of you, have said things that made Jesse feel like a king....a winner.

'She's so young. Way to go, stud!'

'She's twice your age! You lucky bastard.'

'Wish I was in your shoes, man.'

Yes, all those words made Jesse's chest puff with haughtiness.

Back to where we are...After doing a once check-over he walked to the front entrance of the restaurant where you waited for him. He could help, but swallow down as he took in your appearance; a nice black Chanel dress with silver stilettos, make-up, and hair perfectly done.

A true beauty, so much more revigorating than the silicone boosted piggies he used to fuck or kill, of course, killing was the last thing he wanted to do to you, maybe kill your mind with nerve-wracking orgasms, but that's perhaps for later.

"Hello, Jesse." You greeted him with a big smile and he returned it with a toothy grin, walking towards you, then he kissed your cheek, a slight blush on them.

'Shall we?' he signed, and you gripped his arm, the two of you step inside and into a private lounge, drawing the chair out for you to sit on.

"What a gentleman." you said with a cheeky smile.

He sat down opposite from you, and a waiter came in to give the menus, asking what you wanted to drink before you would order food. You went with a Don Julio because this time it was your turn to choose the drink.

'I had this drink just once. Crazy night.' Jesse signed as he looked through the menu. After a little time, you both ordered the same thing, then the drinks arrived and you both cheered for tonight.

"So? How's work?" you asked, taking a small sip of the strong liquor.

Jesse was a little tense because to him work had two meanings; basking in mountains of paperwork or chase down women in skimpy clothes with two twin knives.

'Could have been better.' he signed a little reluctantly, avoiding your gaze.

"I can understand that. I am still working on my novel and I kind of have a writer block. It's like a black void of nothing." you told him with a sigh, noticing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere.

This was awkward and you resumed to spin the alcohol in your glass, trying not to act offended by your date's ignorance.

Jesse cursed himself, noticing that his cold attitude wasn't making you feel any comfortable, so one of his larger hands took one of yours, rubbing your knuckles soothingly, his face into a sad furrow.

'Sorry, doll. I'm not that used to this kind of....dating.' he signed, your eyes observing him more.

Yes, in the past dates you had with him he pretty much told you about the awkwardness of formal dating to say so and you could understand. It was so much different from booty-calls and paying a hooker to jump on your dick.

You figured a man of his status was very confident, but here he was acting like a virgin high-schooler. That thought made you giggle and his gaze bore into your skull.

"Sorry." you apologized with a cough and gave him an assuring smile.

"Remember what I said on our first date? Just be natural, yourself, don't try to please me with all the gentleman act, although it's very sweet of you."

Be himself? If he was acting like his true self he would have the waitresses gutted from throat to groin, and the waiter's dick cut off for giving you a not so professional look.

'It's all new for me.' he signed with a shrug, your hand coming to grasp his, and he did what you told him, brought your hand to his lips that brushed the skin of your hand, making you close your eyes, a content sound escaping your mouth.

Jesse also learned something interesting about you in the past dates, that you were touch starved, the simplest touches of affection making you putty in his arms, from rubbing your shoulders soothingly, to holding your hand and kisses on the cheek, you always leaned on for more, but the dates always ended when things got more interesting.

He broke the loving gesture when the food arrived and you eat in silence, continuing to drink and pretty much have a good time, acting all-natural thanks to the strong drinks that went on and on.

"And like I said, my parents, were always working and the divorce didn't help that much. My grandmother used to raise me more, but she died and I pretty much had to live with the fact that affection is a luxury I cannot afford." you blabbered, taking another sip of your drink, brows furrowing at the thought.

'I can give you that luxury.' Jesse signed, moving his chair closer to you.

That caught your attention. Your past lovers always said you were way too clingy and they needed 'space', so you didn't have that much luck when it came to a stable relationship, and you weren't that desperate to resume to cheap one-night stands that would leave you even more touch-starved in the morning after.

You could feel yourself blush more as Jesse looked with intensity at you.

"Don't make empty promises." you murmured and you squeaked when a hand touched your thigh, thumb brushing your bare skin.

'I am serious. This is our fourth date and I really love your company. You're different.' he signed, and you nibbled on your bottom lip nervously.

"I know, I enjoy spending time with you, Jesse....But, I mean...I am kind of young and perhaps I don't know what I want from life and I certainly don't want to burden you with my childish attitude." you explained, feeling all of sudden more self-conscious.

'I always liked them younger. Far more exciting than the stuck-up hags my age that doesn't have a sense of humor.' he signed with a smirk, making you giggle and automatically move closer to him.

He certainly had a strange and dark sense of humor, but it was growing on you, and for a 40-year-old man he sure acted like a teenager, which was unique.

"I know I can be sometimes clingy..." you whispered, his brown eye moving from your eyes to your lips and back up.

'I certainly don't mind. I love my baby girl to be hungry for his daddy.' he signed ravenously with a cheeky grin and you slapped his shoulder lightly.

"Don't speak like that! You make it sound like I have daddy issue." you muttered, glaring at him, your faces so close to one another.

'You do, princess. But let me tell you, I won't neglect you and everything you want I can get you; clothes, jewelry, cars, luxurious vacations. Just say your price.' he signed slowly.

Maybe he was desperate, but Jesse Cromeans is never desperate, but one thing for sure is that whatever Chromeskull wants, Chromeskull gets.

You hummed in thought, then moved your lips to his ear.

"How about cuddling tonight after this dinner, and maybe watching a home movie? I do need inspiration for my book and there is this new horror movie." you whispered, your hand moving to his black-clad thigh, giving it a squeeze.

Jesse was grinning like he won the lottery, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You giggled at his childish self, perhaps more so than you.

You poured another two glasses of Don Julio, handing him one.

"For the start of our relationship?" you asked, raising your glass in salute as he did the same.

'For the two of us.'

#Laid to rest 2009 #Chromeskull: Laid to rest 2 #Chromeskull #Jesse Cromeans #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies

[shreddedparchment]

Colocataire Pt.02

The Surrender

06/29/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader x Steve          Word Count: 7,138

Masterpost     Warnings: angst, drunk sex, smut, unprotected sex, cute Thor

Prompt: Colocataire - Roommate

A/N: This is for @cametobuyplums ‘s writing challenge. Okay...this was supposed to be two parts but I wasn’t able to fit in the other half of this on here so...three parts. That’s it! THREE PARTS! No more. New part coming soon. I hope you all like this one. I’m not sure how well the part at the end works. Hopefully it works okay. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re all alone for two weeks.

Mr. Stark, or Tony as he insists you call him, puts you up in a hotel while he has your building rebuilt.

You’re not sure how he cuts through the red tape to get the site cleared for renovation, but he does.

Usually, as the building was the site of a crime it would have been roped off for months if not years.

Sleeping in a bed that isn’t yours but massively comfortable is confusing. You miss home but you’re grateful for the fancy room and the bed that helps soothe your aching body.

The golden silk sheets are soft and more expensive than anything you could ever afford. So, as you sit on the end of the large king-sized bed, you allow your hand to trail along the fabric, relishing in its cool and smooth texture.

The beige carpet and the gray walls are awash in the orange and pink flames of the setting sun.

You watch it, daring your eyes to burn and blind, as you attempt to feel something. Anything other than the internal pain in your chest. It’s not physical pain. So, you can’t really even heal it the way you’re healing the rest of your body with time and rest.

This pain comes from the keen absence of two very blue pairs of eyes.

“Y/N?” The voice filters in through the opening door.

Tearing your eyes away from the sunset you jump to your feet and scurry out into the sitting room and stop just at the edge of the small kitchenette.

“Hey, you look so much better.” Nat observes, shutting the door behind her.

She’s holding a bag of Stefano's. Your favorite Italian place. You can already smell the risotto and hearty meat sauce for the spaghetti.

Disappointment floods your system, making you slouch.

You have no reason to expect them. They didn’t even come see you in the hospital.

You’re nothing to them, remember? The mission is almost over.

“How’s your arm?” Nat wonders, pushing past you towards the small breakfast table by the shuttered balcony windows.

You haven’t spent a lot of time out of bed, so you’ve kept the sitting room in semi-darkness.

She drops off the bag and begins to pull out the recyclable boxes, setting it up for devouring.

“Fine.” You sigh. “My arm’s fine.”

You raise your left arm. You’re still wearing the sling for the sprain but it’s almost all better now.

Considering the fact that an entire building fell on you, a sprained shoulder is nothing.

Well, aside from the assorted cuts and bruises.

“Well, come eat. I didn’t stand in line for an hour to have you mope through dinner.” Nat gives you a knowing look.

You’re not looking forward to being seen through. Nat reads you easily.

You take the seat across from her and prop up your leg on the seat.

Wordlessly, Nat finishes setting the table. When she’s sitting across from you, only then does she spare you a knowing smile.

“What?” You ask, nervous.

“Your apartment’s done.” She says, popping open her own risotto tray while you sit in stunned silence.

“That's not possible. It’s been two weeks.” You’re stunned. Is this the power of money?

She tilts her head; a smirk thrown your way as she forks up some spaghetti and fills her mouth.

You stare at her, speechless, as she chews.

“Three weeks. You were asleep for like four days, remember? But Thor and Steve were highly motivated to get you back somewhere that’s not a hotel room and Tony was eager to help out. He feels guilty for asking me to ask you to borrow your place.” She lowers her hand onto the table, her fork nimbly balanced between her thumb and forefinger.

The mention of your blue-eyed boys makes your ears buzz.

In the last few weeks since the bombing, Nat hasn’t mentioned them once except to say that they’re out chasing the Late-Night Bomber.

“Have you heard from them?” You ask, maybe a little too eager because Nat narrows her eyes and tilts her head once more.

“Yeah. They’re out in California, still chasing the bastard that blew you up.” She grins at you but takes another bite. “They were both really upset about you getting hurt.”

“So were you.” You remind her.

“Mm, I was but not the same way.” She leans forward, elbow on the table, her chin balanced in her palm. “Something going on there?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously. “No. Why would you ask me that?”

“Just a hunch.” She teases but goes back to her food. “Please eat? It’s really delicious and if we’re gonna move you back in tomorrow, I need you strong.”

She allows you to open your own containers. As the rich scent of thick tomato sauce and the heady aroma of earthy mushrooms assault your nose, Nat gives you one final glance before she takes her final blow.

“Which one?” She asks, gently so as not to offend you.

You bristle anyway. “What?”

“If something was going on, between you and…those two…which one would be the one something is more likely to go on with?” Her green eyes glitter as she waits in tipsy anticipation.

She’s so giddy it makes you sick.

Are you really this obvious? Or maybe they’re the ones who…no. Not possible. The guys don’t…they’ve never actually…they’re not interested in you. Right?

“Ugh, Nat.” You put your fork back down and bring your hands to rest on your lap. Gripping your napkin tight to keep from giving yourself away.

“Come on!” She chuckles, “You have to have thought about it. You’ve been living with them for almost half a year.

Holy—has it really been that long? No wonder you’re so attached. And horny.

Fuck, you need a life.

“In passing maybe?” You relent, stuck thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve been with anyone much less on a date.

“I knew it! The moment you called me all flustered that first day. So, which one?” She presses, shoveling more noodles into her mouth.

Your mind thinks back to Thor’s heated hand. His fingers, affectionately laced around yours. The scent of his breath all tangy from the lemonade he'd been drinking before as it wafted towards you. It had grown closer and closer in the darkness with the promise of a kiss that never came.

Then there’s Steve with his hand on your knee. Those strong, roughly calloused fingers trailing up against the soft flesh of your thigh. He’d snaked them underneath the hem, pushing higher and higher so that you could hardly breathe as his eyes sparkled when you’d told Nat you’d have to thank him for being so helpful.

His touch was also not meant to be.

Both times you’d been interrupted but both moments fill you with the same thrilling excitement. The same possibilities burst forward fresh and your desire for them is renewed.

“I-" You start but you know you can’t finish. “I can’t choose.”

Nat nearly chokes on her Risotto. “Wait, what?! Okay. This is too good. If and I say this with as big an IF as I can fucking manage because I am well aware of how uninterested both of them are in forming romantic attachments right now, but IF you manage to wrangle them both, you’re gonna need to give me details.”

Neither of them has tried anything again and you haven’t even seen them since the explosion.

“With the mission almost over, they won’t be at my place anymore.” You hope you don’t sound as sad as this fact makes you feel but part of you knows it can’t be hidden.

“Oh, yeah. Damn. You’re right. Oh, well. Count yourself lucky. Steve never really got over Peggy and I think he sleeps around, but he doesn’t do relationships and Thor, well, this is the longest he’s ever stayed on Earth.

“You’re better off. They’ll both break your heart.”

The apartment looks almost exactly the same.

Tony walks ahead of you, pointing at certain things to bring your attention to them. As if you hadn’t noticed them yourself.

Your floor is still chocolate brown wood, walls a new midnight blue teal. Your new sofa is modern, in soft gray, your favorite armchair—to your surprise—is right here it belongs looking just as it did before it was blown to smithereens.

“Put in this island. Updated your counters. Appliances. I had to put in a much larger fridge.” Tony moves around the new modern island towards the dining area and then past it to where your desk resides, just as it did before.

“Had to?” Why did he have to put in a larger fridge?

“This is new.” He says, sliding a large glass door sideways.

Warm summer air drifts into the room negating the cool of the air conditioning. Sounds of the city greet you as you cross to the open doors and step out onto a wooden slat balcony with a dark steel and glass banister.

“There’s another door that leads to your bedroom…which is bigger.” He leads the way and your bedroom is indeed larger.

A beautiful lavender wall, deep plum cored sheets with black pillows and silver nightstands decorate your previously much smaller room.

The bed has to be twice as big.

“King sized bed.” Tony says, pointing at it before sauntering towards the bathroom. “And a nice big tub.”

“Mr. St-Tony,” You adjust with a throw of his scowl. “Why make it bigger? I didn’t ask for a bigger room or a bigger bed or a bigger tub.”

Your jaw nearly drops as you lean in behind him in the bathroom’s doorway to get a look at the large and deep smooth cement tub. It could fit four people! Or…two very large people with room to spare.

“Holy-"

Tony turns slightly to look at you, his brow knit in what must be exasperated confusion.

“What?” You ask, suddenly self conscious.

“Nothing.” He turns and walk to the door then points at your guest bedroom as he passes it. “Laundry's a little bigger too. Better machines. Guest room has more space. But most importantly, there’s a panic room at the end of the hall.”

You freeze and turn to look down your hallway which ends with a simple padded bench underneath a large empty picture frame, flanked by two thin modern sconces.

“There’s a button on the back of the sconce on the right. Press that, it reveals a small panel underneath the frame. You press your finger in there and it opens up the room.”

“A panic room?” You don’t want to admit it but it does make you feel better to know it’s there. “But why-?”

“They asked me to put one in.” He sounds exasperated again. “Do you notice nothing? Do you have no insight?”

“Hey,” You huff, offended.

“Where did you go to school again?” He cuts you off.

The question throws you off. “What?”

“You almost went down the same path Natasha did, right?” He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to stare at you as he hover near the front doorway.

“Yeah.” You admit.

It’s not exactly a secret.

“Who pulled you out? I heard you narrowly escaped enrollment.” Even though he’s asking, it almost sounds like he already knows.

“Your dad did. And your mom. Howard and Maria, right?” You move closer to him, curious about the son of the people who’d given you a new lease on life.

“Why would they help you?” He asks, this time genuinely curious.

You shrug your shoulders and shove your right hand into the pocket of your oversized navy hoodie. One guess who it really belongs to.

Your other arm is still in its sling.

“They knew my grandma. She worked with Howard and Peggy during the war. My parents were…like me. They preferred to stay out of the fight.

“Dad did his part helping with bomb building. Mom too. Grandma introduced them all after you were born, I think? I don’t know. I don’t remember the story exactly.

“Only thing I remember for sure is grandma telling me how the world is out to get me and that I should make sure I have a Stark in my corner.” It feels weird that she’d been right.

Had she known all that time ago that you’d need Tony?

Tony stares at you, assessing your words before he clicks his tongue then gives you a quick smile.

“Smart woman.” He moves for the door and pulls it open. “Stay outta trouble kid. Panic room has a button that links up directly to my phone. Push it if you gotta.”

“Wait, Tony?” You call out and hurry to catch up.

He turns and stops with his left hand on the knob, waiting for you to speak.

“Thanks. For…everything.” Your cheeks burn. You’re very grateful even if you’re not so great at showing it.

Tony just makes you defensive for some reason.

He smiles and nods. “You should take a shower. You stink.”

With that he shuts the door and leaves you completely befuddled.

The first week after moving back in is quiet. You have no neighbors yet.

People are afraid to move into the building.

The usual stigma of tragedy in places of residence stick to your renovated building and those who hadn’t lost their apartments completely moved out anyway.

No one wants to live where someone has died.

It’s a sad time though you’ve been almost numb to it since Nat had you stashed away from all forms of media.

You’re finally able to enjoy the freedom of your arm without its sling but watching the nightly news reminds you of how lucky you actually were.

No one else that had been in the affected floors had escaped with their lives.

You’re dubbed the Oakstone Survivor, named after the building that had crumbled around you. Your face—or rather a picture of you off your office website—is plastered on every channel.

You feel exposed and vulnerable. And alone. Mostly you feel alone.

The next night, the news story changes. Finally, you aren’t on the screen but instead you find yourself watching your blue-eyed boys.

They look beautiful. Dirty, grimy Gods. Tired. This battle had been long.

They walk beside a man with graying brown hair, hazel eyes, and aging white skin.

Compared to your heroes, how did he give them the slip for so long? Alien tech.

The Late-Night Bomber Finally Caught the news reel says.

Your heart is in your throat as you wistfully wish they were here. However, now that the mission is over, they won’t be back.

There’s no need.

Your apartment was a cover. A ruse. A safe space for them to keep watch. Now they don’t need it.

They don’t need you. They’ll never be back. Ever.

The click of your front door brings you to your feet and you stare over the back of your TV as it swings open.

You’re sure you’re seeing things. There’s no possible way that Thor and Steve are stumbling through your doorway.

They look cleaner than they did on TV just now. Freshly washed. They bring with them a manly musk of sandalwood and oranges, clean laundry, and that familiar bite of ozone that you know can only come from Thor.

They’re chatting quietly. Thor chuckles at something Steve said as he lets him in and then shuts the door behind him.

There’s no air in the room. The chatter from the TV fills the large room as they stop and finally notice you.

Steve’s storm blues meet your eyes first. Then Thor’s electric sapphire. The atmosphere changes instantly. A stifling charge in the air makes your blood run hot.

Rage. That’s what it is. Utter upset at being abandoned for nearly a month.

They must see it because they exchange one of those loaded looks then move towards you, one down your left, one down your right.

By the time Thor rounds the TV stand he’s smiling again.

When he reaches you, his hands cup your cheeks and he stares down at you with what is clearly affection.

This is so confusing.

“Look at you. You look much better.” He states, and behind you, you can feel Steve’s hand caress the back of your head.

His hand trails down along your neck before coming to rest on the center of your back as he moves around your right to look at your face too.

“She does look less black and blue.” He says with a smile and it’s so heartbreakingly beautiful you frown at him, then at Thor.

“How do you know what I looked like? You didn’t even come to see me.” You tell them, irritated and confused.

“Yes, we did.” Steve says, slightly miffed. “We didn’t leave your side until Helen said you’d be alright.”

He caresses the back of your head again as Thor’s burning touch moves down along the sides of your neck then stop to rest on your shoulders.

“We wanted to wait until you woke up, but we had to pick up the trail. We could not let the bomber do to others what he did to us.” Thor’s soft expression shifts towards his own anger as his passion bubbles up. “We got lucky.”

“Yeah.” Steve agrees and they look at each other. This is a conversation they seem to have had before. “We need to get changed. You’re coming, right?”

He’s addressing you and you’re not aware of that right away. It’s only when Thor’s eyebrows shift up towards his hairline that you realize Steve’s asking you.

“Me? Coming? Coming where?” You look between them as Thor releases you and wanders off down the hallway to the spare bedroom, pulling his t-shirt off as he goes.

Your eyes linger over his exposed perpetually sun-kissed skin before he wanders out of sight.

You hadn’t even thought to go in there and rifle through the drawers to see if they had any clothes here. You could have saved yourself some heartache.

“Tony’s throwing a small party. Mission’s over, so it’s time to celebrate. It’s kind of a tradition.” Steve says, sitting himself down on the sofa.

Now that their greeting seems to be over, he crosses his large arms over his chest, bulging muscles of peach skin. He’s not going to touch you again.

Fuck. What does all this mean?

You sit beside him leaving the usual foot of space between you, but you sit so that you can face him.

“You want me to come?” Astounded, you look towards the bedroom as Thor’s voice chimes in.

“Of course! This is as much your celebration as ours.” He exclaims.

“He’s right. You have every right to party with us.” Steve smiles, a hopeful curve of his lips.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate, thinking about the amount of people that will be there.

Although you don’t want to admit it, loud noises are still a little hard to deal with. Crowds. Erratic music. Drinking.

You wrap your arms around yourself and shake your head. “I don’t think I can handle it yet.”

“Oh.” Steve’s face falls, his eyebrows gather in a pucker as he searches your expression for a giveaway.

Does he think you’re lying?

“I’m sorry.” You sigh. “I just…maybe next time. I kinda just wanna sit in here and get my bearings. Is that okay?”

Steve continues to stare at you, the sadness in his eyes growing larger and more pronounced the longer he looks at you.

You nearly choke out a Never mind. I’ll go. When Thor walks out of the guest bedroom buttoning up the wrists of a midnight blue dress shirt.

“Of course, it is.” He assures you, smiling at you widely. “You still need rest. It’s not easy what you went through.”

Steve looks at Thor before rising to his feet and wordlessly walking away towards the bedroom to probably also change out of his jeans.

Thor moves over to you and plops himself down beside you, taking up Steve’s spot. He sits closer however and his hand finds your knee.

“No worries, my princess. There are always more revels to be had and I will take you to every one if that is your wish.” He promises.

You almost smile but the look on Steve’s face keeps Thor’s words from settling your heart. A glance towards the bedroom has you biting your lower lip.

“Do not worry about Steve. He just hates to part with you so quickly.” Thor whispers.

Does he really? You’re not so sure.

“And you?” You ask him, hating that they’d been gone for so long and now they’re going to leave you again.

“I have missed you.” He says, deep voice nestling into your chest to warm it up.

Flutters roll around the base of your tummy as Thor’s smile burns into you. He gets up with a squeeze to your knee.

“Shall I prove it?” He asks.

“How-?”

With four large steps he’s at the light switch. With a flick of his finger the room plunges into darkness and you’re reminded of that first night under the stars.

Instinct drives your eyes upwards and you gasp audibly as your eyes meet a heaven of glow-in-the-dark starlight. However, this display is so much more brilliant.

It really feels as if you’re staring up at the night sky. Somehow Thor was able to find itty-bitty stars that he’s placed around larger ones. There are huge clusters in certain places and hardly any in others.

This had not been here all week. You know because while you’ve missed Thor you’ve come out to stare at your bare ceiling.

“How did-?” You ask, pleasantly surprised.

“I came by last night. After we got the bomber processed. You must really be exhausted because I kissed your cheek, but you did not wake. They’re in every room again. Just as you had them.” The appraising look he gives the ceiling shines with pride.

He’d been here and you’d slept through it?!

“Not just as I had them.” You point out, because this setup is more amazing.

“Well, I might have gone a little overboard.” Thor says.

You jump slightly as his fingers spread yours and he clamps his large hand around your own. He tucks you into his side and with a somersaulting stomach, you finally allow yourself a smile.

“It’s beautiful, Thor. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He whispers and his lips are on your temple.

You wanna kiss him.

You turn to look up at him, to meet his lips, but the light flares on and he releases you instantly.

“I’m ready.” Steve says, forlorn.

He’s not looking directly at you anymore but rather focuses on your feet.

“Right.” Thor says. “Let’s go.”

“Lock the door behind us, Y/N. And don’t open it for anyone. Thor and I have a key.” Steve assures you, sparing you a fleeting glance before he’s out the door.

What happened to that bold Captain who’d slid his hand up your shorts in the bathroom? Why is he being so cold?

“Bye, princess.” Thor waves and shuts the door behind him.

Once again, you’re all alone.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. You toss and turn. The soft cotton of your high thread count sheets does nothing to help you find rest.

No. You’re itching to see your boys again.

As soon as that door had shut behind them after not seeing them for nearly a month, you’d known that that’s what they are. Your boys.

Men.

Who are you kidding? They’re large as houses and perfect and confusing. You’ve seen them dirty and ragged, dripping with grime and sweat, smelling bitter and tart from days of fighting and hard work. Then clean and fresh. Soft patches of skin and free-flowing hair.

You’ve seen them eat like they’d never eaten a proper meal before in their lives and then clean up after themselves because they couldn’t bear to see you slave after them.

You’ve watched them toss their clothes on your sofa, uncaring and lazy. Then wrinkle their noses and smile bashfully when you’d griped and groaned about their lazy habits.

They’ve whined at you for leaving your books all over the place and glasses of unfinished tea on tables and the floor. Then teased you for not being as clean as you pretend to be after.

They’re complex and irritatingly confusing. Desirable and adorable. Soft and protective. You want to know them completely. You want to know them well. You want to know what they feel like in those most sacred of moments when desire becomes more than just wishful thinking. When their walls come down and they’re laid bare for you to worship.

At some point you drift off, dreaming about their supple bodies. Rock hard abs. Bulging biceps. Sweet smiles. Easy chuckles and teasing, shining eyes. You dream about Steve’s long looks out at the sun as it sets and paints the sky with fire.

You know then that he’s thinking about her and it makes you sad for him but also sad for yourself because you want him so desperately to think about you.

You dream about Thor’s sad smile, always a smile despite the pain and the tears that you see fill the brim of his eyes as he thinks about the home and family he lost. The mother he can never see again.

He’s so full of love to give and he’s showered you with his easy affection so many times that you want the rest. You’d gladly shoulder the responsibility of loving him back. He deserves soft caresses and tender kisses.

Small bounces shake you awake.

Despite the depth of your longing, you wake up normal. No tears. No sadness. Just a small ache at the center of your chest that you realize has been there since almost the moment they both moved in.

You’re on your left, staring at the center of the bed. You’d gone to sleep with it empty but now it’s full. One large bulky body settled on your large soft mattress, sheets pushed down towards the end of the bed and out of the way.

You’re still covered, your blanket having fallen to your waist.

“Hello.” He says, and you smile softly.

“Hi.” You adjust your head, shifting it against your pillow until you can prop yourself up to look at him a bit more easily.

His electric sapphires transfix you, silver gleams in the darkness of your room.

“Do you like your ceiling?” He asks, and you can smell the sweet tang of honeyed liquor on his breath. It’s sharp and it cuts through your sleep, alerting you to the easy flow of his words as he speaks.

“Are you drunk?” You ask, a chuckle passing through your lips as you adjust on your pillow some more.

You have never seen Thor drunk before and this is definitely something you want to be a conscious witness of.

“No.” He shakes his head, a little too enthusiastically but then he chuckles completely countering his flimsy argument. “Of course not. I don’t…I don’t do that thing. That. Drunk?”

He chuckles again.

“You’re drunk.” He tells you.

You laugh once and push yourself up onto your elbows, shifting onto your stomach so that you can look at him properly.

“You’re so drunk.” You accuse.

“No.” He protests. “I might be a little…what was it they were calling it? Tipsy?”

“Ah, I see.” You relent, allowing him to have his moment.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He accuses you, smiling with those drunk, twinkling eyes.

“What question?”

“Your stars. Do you like them?” He presses.

“I told you, Thor. I love them. They’re beautiful.” You shift onto your back, hating to look away from him and his disheveled long blonde locks, but you want to prove that you love the stars. “They’re better than mine were. It really does look like the night sky now.”

As you settle in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, he brings his arms up and crosses them over his chest. The two of you stare up at the fake sky in silence for five minutes.

When you can’t take not looking at him anymore, you turn away from the stars and you take in his form. He’s wearing those same dark gray slacks he’d been wearing when he left and that navy button up shirt. He looks so good though the sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons have been undone.

His dirty blonde hair had been laid in a low careful bun but now it’s spilling out, falling loose around his head with several strands framing his face.

He looks down to meet your gaze and does what you just did and gives you a once over.

Your neck burns, realizing that you’re in those ratty sweats again. A plain white tank top pulled on top. No bra.

His eyes linger there, and your ears are added to the burn of your neck.

“You’re wearing those pants you’d been wearing when we first came here.” He points out.

Fuck.

“Yeah. They’re…ugly. But comfortable.” You explain, hoping that they’re not too terrible on you.

Thor unhooks his right arm and reaches down to give them a small tug where they’re peeking out from beneath your blanket. “I like them.”

You clear your throat, trying hard to restrain the smile that desperately wants to curve your lips.

“Um…it’s a little early. Is the party over? Where’s Steve?” You throw the questions out rapid-fire style to try and distract from the way he’s still giving small tiny tugs to the thinning fabric of your sweats.

“No. The party was still going. I simply wanted to see you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you here alone at home. So, I came.” He smiles softly. “Steve could not come. He has obligations there that I do not have.”

Shit. Obligations? A girl?!

Thor reads the shaky scowl on your face and just grabs the fabric of your sweats up in his fist to pull you a little closer.

“Interviews for the news people. Reports to finish. He wanted to come but he could not get away. That’s all.” Thor explains.

Relief calms you but then you wonder why Thor would care to put you at ease about Steve. Before you can ask, Thor sighs.

“You have no idea how glad we were to find you alive and well that day. We’re both so sorry that we left you alone.” He admits, his smile waning.

“It’s okay.” You assure him, “You two had a job to do. And I’m alive.”

“We got lucky.” He says. “No. Next time, I will carry you on my back into battle if it means that I will know you are safe.”

Drunken ramblings. It has to be. You laugh again, feeling lighter.

“What?” He asks, smiling at the sound of your laugh.

“Carry me on your back?”

“Yes. Like the primates I see on the Animal Planet on TV.” He smiles wide. “You can be my little monkey. Cling to me tight and I’ll keep you safe, my princess.”

Holy fucking hell. You swoon.

With your stomach in tumbles and your chest burning, you push yourself up and let that instinctual pull in your chest take over.

Leaning over him, you rest your hands on his chest and he moves his arms to make room for you. He traces your arms from elbow to bicep, staring up into your eyes with those impossible blues.

“How drunk are you, Thor? Like, on a scale of one to ten on how aware you are of what’s happening, what are we looking at?” You ask, eager for him to say a low number.

“I told you, I am not drunk.” He insists.

“So…if I kissed you right now, would I be taking advantage? Because I don’t think I can wait anymore. I’m going crazy over here.”

His smile vanishes completely as he takes in your pained but determined expression. Calloused fingers dig into the soft flesh of your underarm before he trails the left one up the center of your back until it finds the back of your head.

With strong hands he pulls you down and your lips crash against his with a heated fervor.

“Mmph.” You moan against him, the hot flow of his lips as he parts them and tastes your own.

Something comes over you, passion? Need? The crazies? Something. Because you reach up and hold the sides of his face as you tilt your head towards the right and coax his lips open with your tongue.

He rumbles beneath you, pleased by the brazen move but opens up for you. You rush forward, tasting his tongue with your own. You’re nearly dizzy with the taste of the alcohol in his mouth.

It gets worse as he wraps you up in his arms, pulling you down into his chest, crushing you to him as if he’d been wanting this just as long as you have.

There’s a click. A shift. Something changes and you’re pulling back. You straddle his hips, blanket tossed aside as you continue to kiss him but work the buttons on the front of his shirt. The last two are annoying and you rip the shirt open, sending them flying. They clatter against the wall and then on your floor.

Greedily you roll your hands over the hard mounds of his chest, the cut muscles of his stomach, the slice of V on his hips.

Thor groans and you break the kiss as he pulls your shirt up and over your head.

“Take these off.” He pleads, meaning your sweats.

You sit back between his legs, pushing your pants down along with your underwear before tossing them behind you onto the floor.

Thor quickly undoes his belt, his button, his zipper and begins to push his pants off before you mount him and reach between his legs to hold his big and gloriously hard cock.

It’s hot, like the burning iron that had fallen over you during the explosion, caging you in.

You’re right on him, slick folds pressed against the long stiff shaft of him. You roll your hips, riding him bare. Coating him in your wetness.

Two swift strokes is what you get to give him before he’s grunting and thrusting up into your hand.

He comes undone at your touch and yes, he must have wanted this as much as you have been wanting it because he comes right then, splashes of his release settling onto your stomach and his.

“Oh.” You gasp, flattered and somewhat smug.

“Damn it.” He gasps. Startled by his quick release too.

“It’s…it’s okay.” You assure him.

He gives you an exasperated look and without ceremony wraps his arm around your waist and flips you over onto your back.

You squeak at the rush of movement as you settle into a small bounce on the bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, princess. I am nowhere near finished.” He declares.

You laugh excitedly, watching with pleasure as he strips his shirt off and then his pants with you still pinned beneath him.

Slowly you trace the lines of his muscles, down to that delicious dip of his hips.

You squeak again when he catches your hand and pulls you up towards him. Moving you like you’re nothing but a ragdoll.

He sits, pulling your legs up around his waist before he lines himself up at your core. Both hands grabbing hold of your rear, he pulls you towards him, impaling you on his cock.

Nails dig into his shoulders as you’re rocked by the size of him. You shudder, not expecting to take him in so quickly.

It’s been too long and the fill of him is stupefying.

He growls at your nails. Though you know it can’t really hurt him, you pull your hands up to float by his head as he pulls you back and towards him again. Your hands shake, eyes shut tight as he fucks you hard.

Two more rough pulls where his fingers bruise your bottom and his cock spreads you wide then he stops, and his lips kiss tender circles between your breasts.

They trail all the way up to your lips where he kisses you softly. His tongue traces your lips before he pulls back to look at you, eyes searching.

“I’m sorry. Was that too fast?” He asks, worried at the way your body keeps twitching and trembling.

“No.” You assure him, your body adjusting to his girth. “It’s j-just been a while.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. “I’ll be gentler.”

“No!” You gasp, your yearning doubling. “No. Just-just like that, Thor. Just like that.”

He grins, a quick smirk of a smile, as he reaches down between your legs to flick your clit.

“Like this?” He asks, and you shudder.

“Yes.”

He gives your bottom a squeeze. “Move for me, princess.”

You reach back, hand on your mattress as you pull yourself up off his lap a few inches to give you space to move. You slide back then thrust forward.

Both of you groan, the stretch of him intoxicating as you move faster and faster.

He helps guide your hips forward, nipping at your breasts as you bounce on his cock.

After a while our arm, the right one thankfully, begins to grow tired. Thor notices this and he rolls your right breast in his left hand a few times before hooking his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a kiss.

He pushes you forward, laying you down on your back as he keeps you connected with his lips. He settles over you, then crushes you into the bed. He lays down on you, skin to skin, chest to chest. No space between your bodies as he lines himself up once more and thrusts his cock into your soaked core.

The roll of his hips as he plunges himself into you swirl around your clit, pounding against it as he fills you over and over.

“Sh-shit…” You gasp, reaching down to hold the toned curve of his ass, your legs spread and up in the air.

You pull him down harder, impossibly close.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” He confesses in the heat of his passion. “I’ve wanted you like this. Moaning beneath me.”

The two of you held back for so long that now the sex is crazed. Frantic. It’s a tangle of legs and arms and sweaty flesh. Your dripping pussy and Thor’s swollen cock. Rapid fucking in desperate need for release.

“Oh, Thor.” You moan, giving him what he wants.

“Do you like it?” He throws out, panting as he moves faster. “Do you like it when I fuck you? Have you wanted it as much as I have?”

“Yes.” You gasp, a keening cry as he rails into you harder. “Yes, Thor…never stop.”

He finds your mouth, tongue first, licking and tasting. Lips in a frenzy as his hips begin to stutter.

He slams into you and your body spasms. You’re hit with release. Your body twitching and shaking beneath him as he continues to ram into you despite your climax.

Your nails rake into his back again, pulling and dragging as he pulverizes your clit into another orgasm as he pushes himself up for more leverage.

He growls as he chases his own release, staring at your bouncing chest as he fucks you fast.

With a final thrust, your toes curl as his hands rip into your sheets, his hips quivering against you as he empties himself into you.

His collapse is expected, and you hug him close as he falls on top of you, holding his heaving, sweaty body against your own as the high makes you both feel like you’re foating.

You’re humming with satisfaction and Thor groans, a small chuckle escapes his throat as he trails his hands down along the sides of your body before wrapping you up in his arms.

He kisses your neck, your shoulder, your chest. He licks your nipple then trails back up to bury his face against the side of your head in the shampoo fragrant mess that is your hair.

With both hearts steadily thrumming, the two of you begin to relax.

“I’m sorry that took so long to happen.” Thor says, his deep voice so close to your ear that his whisper fills you up, making your chest burn.

“Why did it?” You wonder, swallowing as you catch your breath.

“Steve and I we…we wanted to see who you would choose. We swore not to do anything that might sway you in one direction or the other.”

Your heart beats rapidly again. Guilt and fear fueling it instead of passion.

Choose?

“I couldn’t wait anymore.” He confesses.

“Thor?” You ask, fearful but determined. “Do I have to choose?”

Thor’s chuckle shocks you and you push his large body up so that you can look up at him to see his face. He tries to shift off you, but you lock your ankles behind his back to keep him in place. You’re not done with him yet.

Inside of you, his cock begins to stiffen once more.

He stares into your eyes, reading something before he shakes his head.

“I know you want him too. I can see the love in your eyes when you look at him.” Thor says.

“I love you, too.” You tell him, reaching up to tuck his long blonde hair behind his ear. You scratch his scalp as you do, and he shuts his eyes.

“I know.” He whispers. “And I have loved you, since almost the moment we met. So, no.”

He opens his eyes and traces your side down to your hip.

“With me, you do not have to choose. You can love us both. It will not be the first time I have shared a love. However, I cannot speak for Steve.” He cups your bottom, reaching up higher between your legs to feel the slick of your folds.

He’s hard again, stretching you once more. Ready to go.

“He is more reserved. I do not know what he’ll do.” Thor admits and you know that he’s right.

“Give me more.” You plead and he leans down to kiss you, tonguing your mouth as he pulls his hips back and this time lovingly strokes into you.

You kiss him back and try to focus on only this love, his love. But the thought sneaks in as Thor shows you that he can make love as well as screw you silly.

Have you lost Steve by surrendering to Thor?

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[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 103

June 22

Tonight's journal is coming to you from my balcony, where it is dark at nearly ten pm and very humid, but still pleasant with all my plants growing and the hum of air conditioners all around me. 

And fucking yikes, those are some large bugs. The inside is also very appealing at this hour. I think I will write from my armchair this evening. 

Anyway, I need to go to bed earlier than usual tonight because I have a very early morning tomorrow. Poll workers need to report to the precinct by 5am, and although I'm lucky to live nearly on top of our polling place, I still need to shower and dress and pack my breakfast, lunch and dinner before I go. We typically don't finish till 8:30pm, sometimes later, so it's a damn long day when you're not allowed to leave the precinct for any reason. Typically we make it nicer by throwing a big potluck of foods people can eat on all day long, but COVID ruins everything once again. At least there's a fridge and a microwave so I won't be stuck with PBJs and tepid water bottles. 

The procedure is going to be different this time, too. I work pollbook most of the time at our precinct, which is the computer we use to check people in. It's not difficult work, but it is exacting, and it must be done right every time. Almost every counting discrepancy in a precinct starts at the pollbook, with somebody who didn't get entered properly for one reason or another. I have not made any major mistakes yet, knock on wood! There is a special precinct captain just for the pollbook, who does not work the pollbook but watches us working the pollbook to make sure we do it right. She's very demanding, for obvious reasons, and insists that we follow a particular procedure that is the same every time, so no steps ever get missed. This time we can't touch anybody's ID, which is going to make things different since we usually hold the ID till we've pushed the key to enter the voter, and we have to hand out the ballot ourselves instead of sending them to a ballot table. I'm hoping we get off to kind of a slow start so we can get the hang of things. I really, really do not want to be the person who causes a counting discrepancy. The biggest thing we've got going in our favor is that it's a simple Republican primary, so only one ballot type to hand out, and attendance is likely to be fairly light.

Going to bed early will be easy, at least, because the new mattress topper is here! Yay! It's very soft and cushy and I love it deeply already. I've only laid on it a little because it needs to recover from being vacuum sealed, but I can tell we're going to be the very best of friends.Our super-old mattress for the past two nights has made my back and neck very sad. We can't afford a new mattress, but this is like a new mattress, or close enough for now. I'm finally looking forward to going to bed! 

Today was grocery pickup day, so we finally have milk and eggs and yogurt and such. The morning routine was disrupted when we realized that the truck's battery was flat after sitting for so many weeks, but I was able to take the battery pack we got for Christmas from my folks and use it to jump the battery, with some Facetime assistance from my dad. I know the principles of jumping a battery, but never had to do it on my own before. It's not too hard. I then had to go over to the post office, a chore that always ruins my day a little. 

I don't understand what is wrong with my post office because I have dealt with many many post offices in all the places I've lived and none of them have been terrible like this one! I went in and told them that I wasn't getting my mail and asked if they might be holding it. Officious Asshole Guy, as he shall henceforth be known, assured me that they did not hold any mail without an order to hold it. I told him that I had a hold mail for the first two weeks of May, but that my mailbox was bursting when I got home May 16, so I assumed that, per usual, the mail carrier ignored my hold. I asked if he could go check, and he did, and came back with a big bundle of mail. He informed me that it was my fault that I wasn't getting my mail because I'd said I'd pick up my mail on May 16 but I hadn't done so. I reiterated that I'd gotten all my mail up until May 16, and that this must be mail from later, after the hold mail expired. He insisted that was not the case, that they never held mail without a hold mail order and never did not hold mail that had been ordered held, and that if I hadn't gotten any mail in a month, it was because people weren't sending me anything. It was useless to argue with him, so I took my mail and left. Everything in the pile was, of course, from after May 16. I went home and reminded all my family and friends on Facebook to please not send us anything via postal mail because the probability of it not reaching us is fairly high. I am sticking with my resolution to not leave any negative comments or complaints for anybody who has to work during the pandemic, no matter how terrible they are, but this guy really, really tempted me. 

Just typing all that out has angried up my blood again, so I'll finish out with nicer stuff. The kiddo is back to using the knitting loom, which is a nice hobby and something good to do while listening to podcasts. He's been a little high strung since we got home, settling back into the routine, but it's getting gradually better. I wish it weren't so hot, so the kids could go out and play distantly with each other. Virginia is on a downswing right now, so it's not too unsafe except for the heat exhaustion part. My husband's summer class didn't make, not enough students signed up, so while that's a little less money for us this summer, it also means more time for him to work on his book. 

And my mail today included two interesting COVID artifacts I will probably save: my son's report card with all V's (not evaluated) for his fourth quarter grades and merely a notation at the bottom that he is being promoted to fifth grade, and my sister's wedding invitation with an "everything could change at any time" caveat right under the RSVP instructions. These are strange days we are living in, but the weirdest thing I saw today was a Crayola Maskpack commercial that looked exactly like a commercial for any other Crayola school products, kids running, jumping, coloring in the classroom, interacting with their teachers, except every single person except one mom at home was wearing a bright colorful facemask. It looked so bizarre I watched it through twice, couldn't look away. It really is a new world. 

#quarantine #crayola #election 2020

[helpinghanikan]

Anything Goes

Avengers (And Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum:  One night, everything and anything goes. How are you going about it?

AN: Purge Au

Steve Rogers:

           It’d be written nowhere on paper or in any database, an offer came to you a day before Purge night. It came in form of someone important’s assistant. A young lady who seemed too eager to deliver the news, gently knocking on your door a little more then a minute after Steve had walked in. She had probably been waiting for him to show up, give the good news to both of at once.

           She says your name first followed by “Captain Rogers?”. As if she’d need a confirmation of both your identities. Even though your name was on the door and Steve was Captain America.

           “You can come in.” You say and she closes the door behind herself.

           “Is everything okay?” Steve asks from his designated chair in the rooms corner. One resting on the other knee, taking over his designated space when there were a few minutes free.

           The assistant was really smiling. Not the fake gotta-make-my-boss-look-good smile but a genuine smile. That was never good coming an employee of a powerful person.

           “Everything is good, great actually. Mrs. Field has invited you, both of you, to her families estate tomorrow night for a dinner and visit.” She says, gesturing to the both of you.

           “Tomorrow?” You ask.

           She nods.

           “Let me guess the time,” You say.

           “Before seven.” Steve answers for the assistant.

           “Six actually,” She seems a little embarrassed to have to correct Steve. “It’s semi-formal but you should bring night ware and clothes for the next day.”

           “All night, that seems about right.” You say.

           There is a silence that comes after your sarcasm starts to kick in. Poor assistant is silent as the two of you. Steve with his arms crossed, chewing on his lip when he’s hearing something and thinking of the best way to respond. You were shaking your head, arms also crossed but out of annoyance than anything else.

           “Mrs. Field told me I had to get an answer,” Poor assistant says, her smile gone. “I can come back.”

           “You can come back.”

           “She’ll be there.” Steve interrupts you, stepping up to the assistant before he can argue. “Thank Mrs. Field for the invitation. She will be there, please tell her that.” He walks her out of the office.

           When the door is shut again Steve is hesitant to turn around. Instead suffering with the feeling of your eyes boring into the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” He starts, obviously not actually sorry.

           “’I’m sorry,’” You say in a mocking voice because you’re a mature grown up. “I had a plan, Steven. I have a plan.”

           “Was your plan hiding in the office with a gun?” He asks.

           You hesitate before answering. “…no.”

           He says your name and you say it back in the same mocking tone. Slamming your laptop shut and sorting papers to be put away.

           “With you there we’ll have somebody on the inside during this. Everyone else will be busy and can’t keep an eye on the guests there.” Steve tries to argue.

           “That a stupid excuse,” You say.

           “What if I get Pepper to go with you?” He says.

           “So, you admit it’s not a mission.” Lawyer voice has come out.

           Steven pinches the bridge of his nose. Saying your name in an annoyed voice that showed he was done trying to sweet talk you into this. Instead going to the next weapon.

           “Bucky was too hard, and I got him back,” his voice is soft. Looking towards the bottom of your desk instead of your face. “I can’t go through that again with you. I don’t know if I’ll get you back.”

           It’s a few seconds before you respond.

           “Fuck you,” Grabbing your bag. Having to now pick out an outfit for the following night.

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Tony Stark:

         You’ve been in a suit a handful of times. Long enough to know how to fly, lift and run, also how to use the immense strength it gave you. All of this was done for the sake of “testing”. This was absolutely a lie and the suit you jumped into had already gone through many tests, but it was enough to get you to shut up. Making Tony wish you could be like his past girlfriends and just ask for jewelry. He only wished this a little, though.

           This suit was the same one you had ‘tested’ before. Copper and brown, the default male style that hid whoever was in it. Where ever you’d go in it no one would know it was you. They’d know it came from Stark, obviously but not that you were in it.

           “GET OUT!” your voice modifier was set deeper then it was naturally.

           So many mom and pop shops were targeted during the Purge. Places that couldn’t afford hardcore security that shut the places down like a safe. Not that those stores were doing much better; those metal doors were popped open like pop cans.

           The group of hooded raiders just started running the moment you landed in front of them. Making using your big girl voice obsolete, it was still fun, though.

           “Are they giving you any trouble?” Tony’s voice played through your helmet.

           “No, they just keep running away.” It’s hard not to sound like a whiny child. “How are things on your end?”

           “Oh, got a few free drinks thrown my way. Glad these suits are naturally fireproof.” He says.

           “Sounds fun, maybe I can join for a drink?” You ask.

           He doesn’t reply for a second. Probably busy doing something useful during this long night. People taking the opportunity to vent their frustration on the “heroes”. Ranging anywhere from shouts to Molotov cocktails. Tony sending you far away from anything that might put you in their line of fire.

           “Nah, there’s more friends out there you get to play with.” He says, finally coming back. “I’m sure they’ll love to see you. Give them a hug for me.” He says.

           Conversation over, time to get back to work. Safely.

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Thor:

         You regressed back to a child, holding your knees in a borrowed dress a size or two too big. Sitting on the second step at the feet of a father figure. You’ve only looked up to him every few minutes, when he hesitates to say something, then encouraged to do so with your look.

           It hard to remember who told you that Heimdall saw everything. Mentioned at some point or another and only now it meant anything.

           He started the stories when you came to him. Sneaking away from your snoring man, taking more strength then you thought to escape his embrace, and waiting in the doorway before he acknowledge you were there.

           “Three cars are going down the street. One is on the wrong side, one in the middle and one on the left.” He says, both hands gripping the sword, staring forward. “People are in the street ahead, they are running in many directions, but several are not running fast enough, a few have tripped as the cars have gotten closer.”

           “Stop,” You whisper, doesn’t matter how quiet you say it, he will hear you. “Is there anyone safe?”

           “Yes, but you won’t want to hear about them.” He says.

           “Yeah,” holding both sides of the dress to be able to walk you stand. “Thank you for talking to me, Heimdall. Good night,”

           “Goodnight, My friend.” He says, letting you walk back to the long trek to the castle.

           You might not have guessed being flown over it, but the rainbow bridge is fucking long. A regular mortal dead sprinting across would take a half an hour to make it. Walking at a regular pace with both hands full of too soft cloth and it was going to be over an hour.

           A quarter of the way there was your man. A messy blond head wrapped in a long red cloak that sleepily smiled as you got closer. Walking the distance instead of flying, walking at a regular pace to give you time to hear everything you’d need to.

           “Guards told me you went for a walk,” He says, stepping up to you. “It might be too cold for that.” He says.

           If walking with a size too big dress was hard, a cloak too big for Thor was a challenge.

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Bucky Barnes:

         On a normal day traffic was annoying, on an important day traffic was a bitch. But twenty minutes before Purge night traffic was a death sentence. Being stuck on a bridge only worsened the situation, nowhere to park and try to retrieve whatever was left the next day. With people already walking on the bridges sides your heart was already making it’s home in your throat.

           You didn’t need the overtime, in your relationship with Bucky you didn’t even really need the money. Still, like an adult, you went to work and got your own paycheck. Threatening Bucky for a week with abstinence if he dares touch the cheek when you finally got the cash rolling in.

           Your coworkers weren’t in the same lucky position. Most panicking about the night weeks before hand. Big boss offering anybody willing to stay until six twice the pay to help lock the place down.

           You were the only one stupid enough to say yes.

           Look at the clock and it’s ten minutes to go time. Car was practically shaking from your leg twitching from nerves. The only way you’d make it home before seven would be if every car in front of you suddenly disappeared.

           This should have been done earlier but now is better then never. Scrambling for the cellphone, several texts from Buck you had yet to respond to. Most asking where you were in auto-fill texts.

           Seven minutes and people are giving up on their cars. Making a run down the bridge. A few people who never had a car to begin with were becoming shadows as the sun was starting to set. Slowing down in front of abandoned cars, two hovering around yours. A second of eye contact and one of them smiles at you, five minutes and you can legally run them over.

           Sinking low in the seat you make the call.

           “Hey, hi, um yeah, you were right, I was wrong. Can you please just, can you help me?” Those two people you made eye contact with were whispering to each other. Looking back to your car, laughing as you tried to hide. Three minutes to go time. “I’m on the bridge, I’m gotta try to run for it. Love you.”

           RIP car.

           With two minutes left to go you make a break for it. Knowing better then to bring a purse or bag to work you walked with phone and wallet in pocket. No point in hiding them too well, you’ll get grabbed even if you were naked.

           Gun shots are starting a minute before it’s officially time. The glass is half full part of your brain hopes they’re the cops, stopping the overexcited participants before it’s time. The Rational park knew otherwise. Any cops on the street were already gone or hiding. They were a regular target on Purge night.

           It hits seven and immediately there is an explosion. One that rocks the bridge and sends you into the concrete. Curling inward, not having to look to know that cars were falling from the bridge and the world was full of fire. One that you crawled away from under the safety of an untouched car. Face pressing into was once pop weeks ago.

           Anyone who had hoped for the impossible was now dead sprinting past your hiding place. At most there was maybe seven people moving, more then that following behind. Announcing themselves as participants with hoots and hollers and gunfire.

           Any car that wasn’t already destroyed had its driver side window busted in. Someone was likely following behind to jack whatever was left behind. While the window breaker was just doing it for funnsies, a participant slamming each window as he passed. Once distant crashing and smashing getting closer. There wasn’t even a laugh that came with it. Just walk, smash, walk and smash. Any laughing came in a few feet behind the smasher, looking through the destroyed cars.

           There was this old saying that little kids used for hide-n-seek. “If you can’t see them, they can’t see you”, if you hide deep enough in the covers then there had to be nothing on you that was showing. Pressing your face into cupped hands you went back to that saying. Squealing into the hands that was covered by the smashing that sent glass onto the concrete way too close to you.

           In just a few seconds into minutes the entire world was on fire. Someone was screaming and guns were being fired. Several sounded like the type that wouldn’t be legal anytime of the year in this state, and yet, there they went off. Among those noises were coming from cars and bikes alike. One motorcycle in particular making it’s way through the parked cars, a rumble you didn’t hope for but still heard.

           A massive figure on an equally massive bike was enough to send the regular street punks running. Bike pulling to a stop just a few cars behind your hiding spot.

           “Babes?” It’s Bucky, using the nickname after your full one.

           “I’m here,” Sliding under a car to hide while pumping with adrenaline was easier the crawling out through glass with bare hands. “Fuck, I’m over here.”

           What was supposed to help you to your feet by your sweet and loving boyfriend turned into a way too hard grip. There would sure to be hand shaped bruises the next day, holding you tightly, looking you over to be sure any injuries wasn’t from one of his possible nightmares.

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Natasha Romanoff:

           Nat had revealed the invitation three days before the first Purge was announced to happen. A professional liar she played the part of being just as surprised as you. Completely ignoring any attempt you made to talk about the upcoming Purge. Instead holding pretty and too expensive dresses against your frame and saying, “this is cute,” like a broken record.

           The fifth and final “this is cute” dress was the one you ended up wearing to this party. Hiding with other ‘important’ people in some LA mansion, looking through the massive windows to the city lights below. The night started two hours ago, already they’re had been two explosions that started a cheer through the little party. Taking a drink when they starting the laughter was the best excuse to avoid joining in.

           “How’s the food?” Nat asks over the phone pressed to your now sweaty ear.

           Purge night was going to be the perfect opportunity for enemies abroad to make their move. Nat being the only one of the team who was able to go out on this night, in exchange for your invite.

           “The less then nice butler smirked when I asked what some of it was.” You say, sinking further into the love seat placed in the corner. “I got a lot of compliments on my dress. Supposedly my earrings don’t match, you need to fix that.”

           “What if I bring you a nice, big, present?” She says this with annunciations on each word.

           You’ve known Nat for too long to not understand. “Am I keeping you from a defusing?” You ask, probably on speaker phone while she does her work on a bomb.

           “No, I can multitask. So, nothing interesting happening? No gift bags?” She asks.

           More then a few other people have given you looks. Obviously not a member of their regular groups, that you had a legit invite only made then look closer. Which is just a long way of saying they would be the worst spies.

           “Trust me, I’m gonna be leaving with a least a plate.” You stare back at the little group of three making glances your way. They quickly move away after seeing that their cover was blown. “Will you be back-.”

           Your question is interrupted by intense beeping in the background and a quick curse word in a whisper.

           “What was that?” You ask.

           “Just a hitch in the present,” She says, beeping going faster. “I’ll call you back, sweetie.”

           She hangs up before you can force her to promise. Both of you left alone behind enemy lines.

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T’challa:

           It was only a few minutes after seven that the jet landed on the tarmac. The grossly underpaid receptionist had probably been a security guard in another life. Putting an arm on your back, forcing it bent in a cover position as he walked you across and into the waiting jet.

           Supposedly the receptionist was tipped very well. Not that it was your problem the moment you step onto the open steps, one of Okoye’s women waiting down for you. A hand on the receptionist’s shoulder to keep him from going any further. She was whispering when you entered the ship.

           T’challa stood like everything is fine, one hand betraying him as it was still toying with the necklace.

           “Hey, hi…” You say, not sure which is the appropriate greeting.

           Neither mattered; you were going in for a hug while he went in for a kiss. Your face cupped in both his hands. His body held in your arms, it would be nicer if it weren’t for Shuri pretending not to notice.

           “Is tonight the really the best time for your little sister to visit?” You ask, pushing T’challa back (just a little) and reaching your arm towards Shuri. “Not that I don’t love seeing you,” You correct, side hugging her.

           “I wanted to see what this Purge is going to be like first hand.” She says, tapping her bracelet for a map to rise as a hologram over the center table. “Not that I’d be allowed down there.”

           “Not like it’s illegal.” You joke.

           “Don’t encourage her,” T’challa says from the other side of the table.

           The map expanded over the city this private airport was outside of. Blue buildings with red people running around, a few flashes of orange to represent fire. The red were either running without a direct target or were getting so close together it was hard to tell where one red began, and another ended.

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Pietro Maximoff:

           ‘This is technically legal,’ you tell yourself for the hundredths time. Standing ready at the pumps. Crouched next to the car between gas and the getaway. Every few seconds your buddies thumb would poke out around the gas station. Letting you know that the plan was still on.

           This was a plan made in the same hour the Purge was announced months ago. Your fellow students were all going on about the night; everyone wanting to have some story about the legal-illegal-actions they would do that night. Your study-buddy mentioning that free gas would be the greatest part.

           Pietro humored you only enough to nod when you talk about the plan. Flipping through his phone as you talked about your buddy and his job at a nearby gas station. Pretending to listen to how your little group had dwindled down from six people to just you and the buddy while you stripped from the long day. In all honesty it was likely he didn’t even know you were doing anything but hiding away.

           A thousand alarms play at the strike of seven. The closest came from your watch, a gun shot (hopefully) miles away, and breaking glass as your buddy got into the gas station.

           It was a few, admit terrifying, seconds before he turned the pumps on. Placing the nozzle and constantly pulling the trigger until it started. A few more seconds and your buddy comes running out. Both thumbs up that you return with only one.

           It didn’t matter that it was his car, or that you didn’t even have a car. It was the thrill of the legal crime you were committing and the story you’d share after this night. The second the nozzle stopped you’d drop it and make the mad dash to somewhere safe.

           “Hey, hey you!” That’s being yelled by someone decently far away but still too close.

           All those thugs probably saw was a crouching girl by the car. Your buddy hiding around the back of the car. A little keep over the top and he slams back down, eyes bigger then before. “They have bats, and masks.” He mouthed, a barely-there whisper coming out.

           “Hey there, Baby,” A different voices says, now much too closer. “Too dark out here you, sweetie, too dangerous.”

            “What do we do?” Your buddy asks.

           The tank is filled, and a light ting come from a bat kissing the car’s hood.

           You’ve spent way too much time around heroes.

           “Go, drive, GO!” You spit out at him, shoving from the ground and running in the other direction.

           The thugs were so close one of their outstretched hands grabbed past your jacket sleeve. Only getting a small grip the you ripped out of and kept running. Thugs laughing and someone following, you could only run.

           Later on, your buddy would talk about how he sped out of the station. Ripping the gas line out of the station and dragging it all the way home. He also mentioned that his mother had his ass for getting gas all over her garage. He didn’t add that part to the story when he talked to some ladies later on.

           You, on the other hand, had a long run. One that shorter then it felt. By the time you reached the safe house it was like any liquid within had dried up. A few too many slams on the keypad and you were locked out twice before getting the code correct. Your eyes having to be scanned and fingerprints taken before the door let you in.

           The rest of the night wasn’t part of the story you gave. “I outran the fuckers and went to bed, pretty anticlimactic,” you’d say, skipping the part where Pietro was waiting for you the moment your jacket hit the floor.

           Just as before he gave you half attention. Your exciting story going mostly over his head, more focused placed on your skin that you didn’t care about showing. You’ve past the point of shirt and bra, thumbs in your jeans before a light bulb clicked in his handsome head.

           “What do you mean you outran somebody? Why did you go out tonight?” He asks, sitting up straight on the bed.

           “For the gas,” You reminded him. “I told you about this two days ago.”

           “I don’t remember that,” He says.

           “No, I’ve been telling you about this for weeks.” You stand in front of him, hands on hips in anger. “Holy shit, you weren’t listening to anything I had said. Are you listening to me now?”

           Pietro gets some credit. He was trying, really trying to focus on your face while you were shirtless. “I’m glad you’re okay?” He says, a non-way to apologize.

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Peter Parker:

         Aunt May is strangling her hands on the chair across from the couch. Peter lays the length of the couch, his head resting in your lap. Blood, both his own and others, was still drying in his hair you ran your hands through.

           The night before your family had dragged Aunt May from her apartment, forcing her to join you in the set-up shelter for non-participants. She had quickly put her focus on helping the others held up, giving out blankets and foods. Leaving you to watch the live feeds throughout the city. Heart skipping every time there was a flash of red.

           Peter got home a few hours after the official end of the night. His face was cupped by Aunt May when she say him, and he immediately shut down.

           Bad guys in the daylight; purse snatchers, pickpockets, domestics were the easier part of the job. Even Bad guys in the night time were easier; bank robbers who only wanted money, burglaries and drunks who were over confident. All of that was a stroll compared to what was done on The Purge. When the general population is people finally allowed to live their worst fantasies, you would see some shit.

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Stephen Strange:

         This must have been how cats feel on top of their condos. Staring down at the world with a superiority that wasn’t deserved but could be read over your face.

           Supposedly there was some type of ward that kept the participants away from the sanctum. It affected you in the same way when you tried to get in before it hit seven. A chill going down your spine and a feeling in your gut that makes nausea seem like a picnic.

           You only made it a few block before the concrete behind you opened. Light blinding as you fell through the hole. Wong probably hadn’t meant for you to land so hard, his face showing that he felt bad about the pain from your ankle. It now elevated with ice as you stared out the window.

           “You could use a wand or something, fix my ankle that you broke.” You whine to no one. Hoping that somebody would hear you in the sanctum.

           “I’m not letting you abuse the magic!” Stephen yells from somewhere you couldn’t tell.

           With how much voices travel there was no need for an intercom. Taking you back to the time when you had to scream to summon siblings to dinner. Stephen helping you to a seat by the window and going back to work. Being a massive nerd and studying things he already knew.

           “It’s for medical reasons!” You yell back.

           “You have ice, just relax and it’ll get better.” He has stopped yelling at this point, an equally calm voice traveling just as much as a shout.

           Shouting was still fun, though.

           “How long will it take?” the only answer you get back is an eye-roll you could hear. 

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Matt Murdock:

         “They’re gonna be checking apartments so I think you should spend the night with me,” You say, pressing on the windows. Checking just how easy it would be to break one open. “Or I can stay here with you, bar the door and we go to bed at, like, eight.”

           Thank the lord for fridge doors otherwise you would have seen Matt trying to suppress a certain look. A look you haven’t seen before; pressing his lips together, taking some nice deep breaths and staring forward as though he wasn’t wasting his electricity bill.

           At first it was kinda cute how you were trying to protect him. Refusing him to walk around without you, inviting yourself to stay over, persuading him to let you stay over. Even Foggy and Karen couldn’t get you to leave his side, coming up with some quick spoken legal talk. Say anything confident enough in the lawyer talk it doesn’t sound like a lie, while still is.

           “I doubt they’ll care about this building. Everybody will go for the richer area.” Matt says, closing the fridge door without the thing he was ‘searching’ for in the first place.

           “Yeah, because they’re the easy targets.” You say with sarcasm, playing with the door locks.

           “Wow, okay.” Matt says.

           “I didn’t mean it like that.” Door’s locks are still good after you jostle them once more.

           “No, no, I’ll just hide here. Be the damsel in distress that you can save.” He says, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

           “Babe, come on.” You say.

           Matt shakes his head, taking a long drink from the mug of coffee. Needing courage for what he had to do to free tonight. Even if it came in the caffeine form.

           “I just-I don’t need you hovering all the time, alright?” He says, setting the mug down.

           “I’m trying to help, the Purge is-.”

           “Happening tonight, yeah I know. Nobody cares about this building and nobody cares about me.” He takes another drink, a law trick for his victim to trap themselves.

           You, unfortunately, fell for the same trap. “I care about you,” You say in almost a whisper.

           “Congratulations, because fuck if anybody else does.” He starts calm but the ends up yelling. Arms open as though preaching to a church that would equally stare hatred towards you.

           You stand there like a scolded child. He hear your heart thumping and smell the salt of tears that hadn’t left your eyes just yet. You’ve fought before, but never had he yelled like this. Swearing even less, making the curse that much more powerful.

           “Go help Karen if you care so much. If I’m going to be killed tonight, it’ll probably be because you smother me to death.” Another drink of coffee, taking down the last while you made a slamming exit.

           The mug cracks when he puts it on the counter just as hard.

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

Carol Danvers

          You were in the science fiction version of little house on the prairie. Sitting with your knees to your chest on the bed. While the outside was too hard for your body to handle; in the prairie world it would have been a horrible storm, in this world it was the vacuum of space.

           It was only a few minutes conversation that cause Carol to arrive at your door. A few jokes made about where to find a good hiding spot or maybe taking advantage of the night and boom, you’re on a space ship.

           Just like the little house your partner had promised to be back soon. Disappearing into the harsh environment. Leaving you alone in a strange place, guaranteeing that it would be safer. And it is, it is very much safer. It’s also incredibly boring.

#Daredevil #dare devil #reader insert #captain america x reader #tony stark x reader #reader x thor #natasha romanoff x reader #t'challa x reader #black widow x reader #black panther x reader #Avengers #avengers x reader #purge #au #purge au #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #violence #carol danvers #Carol danvers x reader #Captain Marvel x reader

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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[cats-obsessions]

Mark Your Love in Ink Part 2

A Geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Chapters: 2 of 5? 

Notes: I decided to split this up into 5 parts, but on ao3, I posted parts 2-4 in one chapter. So, if you want to read ahead, read on ao3

It turns out, Geralt can run from ‘fate’ but not Jaskier. Somehow, Jaskier worms his way into his life. Forcefully. And deeply. What he expects to be shared milkshakes and parted ways turns into Jaskier following him to the warehouse, determined to set his eyes on some monsters- lucky for them, the ‘monsters’ weren’t werewolves or noonwraiths like he had expected. Nope, they were elves. Angry elves that captured Geralt and Jaskier, bashed the starving artist’s guitar and kicked them both in the gut. Geralt was able to reason with them, and Jaskier was given a lute for his troubles, but he didn’t get any money for his troubles.

As the sun began to rise over the city, bright lights reflecting off of the buildings, they parted ways. The younger man smiled at Geralt with sunshine in his eyes and said “I’d offer you my number, but I suppose you already have it,” which was true- even if it weren’t on his body, Geralt’s had it memorized for years. He was surprised, though, when the musician added “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” with a genuine warmth that told Geralt he wasn’t lying. He was sure that misadventure would have driven the boy away, but he didn’t seem deterred. If anything, he seemed more interested.

Geralt practically passed out once he got home, eager to sleep rather than focus on the situation. He was more alarmed to find the familiar number texting him once he awoke. How did he even get his number?

It didn’t seem to matter much. The next thing Geralt knows, he’s getting roped into going for coffee or drinks, then just hanging out doing things he’d never bothered spending time on before, like playing video games. Then, Jaskier starts showing up at his apartment whenever he wants. Geralt tried to argue, but Roach, his cat, loves Jaskier almost as much as she loves Geralt, which is odd considering she scratches up most strangers.

Every step of the way, he tries and tries to push back against this odd little human that seems set on getting close to him, and every battle he picks, he finds himself losing. When Jaskier starts following him to jobs, he knows he’s gone too far to turn back.

That he was not fond of, but Jaskier is the most persistent thing he’s ever met- like a weed. At first it was just local jobs, things he knew Jaskier could watch without getting in the way, but then he started following him on longer jobs. And, well it’s kind of nice to have someone to camp with, especially when he can convince the musician to stay at the camp while he hunts. He even proves to be useful once or twice. Six months later, Geralt finds himself with an intrusive friend with blurred lines and a lack of respect for personal space.

But it’s not bad, surprisingly.

Geralt finds himself smiling more. Jaskier is tactile and unafraid to show emotion in a way that’s almost frightening after so many years of being a loner. And Geralt, he puts up with it- at least that’s what he says. In reality, he does his best to keep his emotions from spilling out of ‘friends’ and toward something more.

Because he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny.

A soulmate bond is a social concept made up to explain magical connections that only go skin deep.

That’s all it is.

So, he doesn’t fall for Jaskier as if he could prove how fake Destiny is by refusing to feel.

--

Geralt hums some song that’s been stuck in his head for days- certainly not because the dumb musician had been playing it last time they saw each other. He’s cooking dinner one late evening when he hears his apartment door handle jiggle followed by several knocks. Does he really expect it to be unlocked for him all the time?

As soon as he unlocks the door, it’s being opened by the musician on the other side. He’s a little flushed and his hair is messy as he complains “If you gave me a key, this would be easier.”

“If I gave you a key, you’d never leave me alone.” Geralt rolls his eyes. “Did you bike here in the middle of the night?” he asks, noticing the helmet in one of his hands, a duffle bag in the other, and his lute thrown over his shoulder “and what’s all this?”

“My stuff- for our trip.” Jaskier answers as if it were obvious. He throws his bag down, slips off his shoes, and begins to make himself at home. Geralt watches as Jaskier moves to the living room, stopping to pet Roach on his way. The brown tabby shoves her head into Jaskier’s palm, meowing happily to greet him. Geralt does his best not to smile at the sight.

Their trip. Geralt had tried to convince him to sit this one out to no avail. It will be a week-long trip at the least- granted he can even find the beast. He got reports of a possible griffon terrorizing an isolated town a few days north of them. They’ll have to drive part way, then hike through the forests and camp there for however long it will take to find and defeat it. But Jaskier hasn’t seen a griffon yet, and he’s enamored with them- that’s probably Geralt’s fault, though.

“We don’t leave for two more days, Jaskier.” Geralt reminds him.

“It’s better to be prepared early, isn’t it?”

Geralt lets it go, turning back to his cooking. Jaskier can entertain himself if he’s so set on showing up unannounced. Though, Geralt throws an extra pork cutlet on the pan; the gods know the boy doesn’t eat enough real food.

He can hear the musician talking to Roach in the background. He’s almost surprised Jaskier hasn’t pestered him about his day yet. But, he doesn’t refrain from taking advantage of the momentary silence. With the meat on the pan, crackling and popping while it cooks, there’s nothing to do but wait. So, he pulls out his phone and scrolls mindlessly through the local news. He doesn’t care much for politics, but occasionally things will pop up that point to creatures, monsters, and jobs.

‘Local YouTuber Dies in Attempt to Catch Kikimora’

A dark figure can be seen in the background of what he assumes is a screen shot from the recording. “It’s an Ekimmara, you morons.” Geralt scoffs under his breath. Typical. Mankind has been chasing after monsters since the dawn of time. The widespread use of cameras only made things worse. He scrolls down further, and another headline pops out to him.

‘Local Dive Bar Found to be Drug Front: Shoot Out Between Owners Leaves Renters Evicted’

Also not terribly surprising; humans are always doing these kinds of things. Over his near century of a life, he’s seen more deaths from greed than monsters could ever cause. But, wait… he looks closer, picking up the details of the image provided. Isn’t that-

“Jaskier, what the fuck?” he barks, turning to face the man now sprawled out on his couch.

“What did I do?” he asks innocently, though the cringe he’s trying to hide tells the witcher he knows exactly what he did.

“You didn’t think to start with ‘Penellie’s had a shoot-out.’!?”

“Ah,” Jaskier starts uncomfortably. “Right- well, you know, it didn’t seem like the most important thing.” he looks down to fidget with his nails- a telltale nervous habit.

Geralt bites back his urge to press for more information “Are you okay?” He asks, finding himself out of his comfort zone.

“Of course! I’ve seen a lot worse.” Jaskier shrugs.

“Wait, were you there when it happened?”

“No, no, dear witcher. I was in my apartment. Apparently,” He starts with renewed energy, “the whole building has drugs in the walls! Those possums that were always making racket- Probably thugs shoving drug packets into our shared walls. I guess Penellie and James had a disagreement about how to split the funds. It wasn’t so much as a shoot out as shooting each other in the close confines of their office.” Jaskier makes a gun shape with his hand as he says it, pretending to shoot at Geralt. “Guess renting from your boss isn’t that good of an idea, huh?”

“Who woulda thunk.” Geralt murmurs flatly, remember the exact words ‘don’t rent from your boss’ coming out of his mouth when Jaskier moved to that dump six months ago. Of course, Jaskier was working as a bartender, and Geralt expected him to get fired and evicted in one go rather than an unknowing renter of drug lords. “They didn’t make you ID the bodies or anything, did they?” he pushes. He’s not sure why it matters to him.

“Oh, come on now. It’s very nice of you to think you have to protect my innocence, but like I said- I’ve seen worse. Specifically, I’ve seen you do much worse. You know, most people have never seen the intestines of anything much less helped dig a liver out of a cave troll or pull teeth from a foglet while brain matter is splattered around them. You’re quite lucky I’m so well adjusted.” Jaskier rambles, accentuating his words with wild gestures of his hands. Geralt ignores it, though.

“You’ve never seen me kill a human.”

“Well, you haven’t recently, right?” he says nonchalantly like he wouldn’t be bothered if the answer were yes.

Geralt shakes his head “Not supposed to, though I’m tempted often,” he grumbles, shooting Jaskier a glare. The musician sees the fondness behind it though and chuckles a little. Somehow, he seems to know Geralt’s only so exasperated because he cares- against his best efforts not to, of course.

Geralt finishes up in the kitchen and pops the caps off two beers, handing one to Jaskier along with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks! You don’t have to, though,” Jaskier smiles, a little blush tinging his cheeks. Geralt pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Had extra,” he murmurs, shoving Jaskier’s feet off the couch so he can sit and eat as well. After a few bites of food and a long drink of beer, he finally asks “What now?”

“Well, the place across the street will probably have a drop in price,” Jaskier smirks.

“Seriously? Should live somewhere safer.”

“I would, but you know I can’t afford that… I suppose I could get a roommate” Jaskier says, biting his lip as he stares at Geralt.

The witcher grunts. He knows exactly what Jaskier is asking even without the words leaving his mouth.

“Come on, Geralt! It’d be fun!” He pesters “You live in a dump, too. Roach deserves better than this! Don’t you, Roachy?” he coos, the cat mewls at him as though she’s agreeing. Traitor. “We could afford something a bit nicer together. And I promise I won’t get in your way more than usual. No jam sessions late at night or early in the morning. I’ll even cook sometimes. Please… Unless, you want me to find some stranger from Craigslist to live with me… But hm, isn’t that how the Craigslist killer found his victims?”

Geralt grimaces. “No- he killed a masseuse he hired through craigslist.” Is Jaskier even old enough to remember when that happened?

“Ah, I thought he asked them on dates,” Jaskier muses.

“No, you’re thinking of the Grindr- no, the Tinder killer.”

“Ah, so Grindr is a safe app to find roommates with then?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as if it were an innocent question; he bites his fork as if he were thinking- fucker even flutters his long eyelashes. Geralt does his very best not to stare at his over obvious flirting. He knows exactly what Jaskier is doing, yet that doesn’t seem to prevent it from working.

Geralt groans, pinching the bridge of his nose “Mac n’ cheese doesn’t count as cooking. No unannounced guests, and do not touch my swords when I’m gone.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t make me regret this, Pancratz.”

“Yes! You won’t- I promise.” Jaskier beams.

A silence falls over them while they eat before Jaskier pipes up again “Wanna watch the Monster from Brokilon? it’s the one with the Leshen!”

“Witchers don’t even know that much about Leshens; I can only assume what kinds of inaccuracies are in this movie.”

Jaskier smirks, “You can lecture me about it afterwards.”

It has become somewhat of a past time for Jaskier to find various old and horrible horror movies to force Geralt to watch. At first, he was simply curious if there was any truth in them, but once he found Geralt ranting about their atrocious and uneducated portrayals of even the simplest beasts, he seemed determined to put the witcher through more.

For some reason Geralt puts up with it. Jaskier usually ends up talking over it half the time anyways, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy having someone to share his monster facts with. There’s something that lights up in the musician’s eyes whenever they talk about creatures and adventures; he doesn’t shy away from it like other humans.

So, he hums contentedly as Jaskier sets up the movie. When it starts, Geralt rests his arm on the back of the couch as he always does. It’s not his fault if somewhere in the night, Jaskier scoots closer and closer until he’s pressed up against the witcher. He’s just like that. And if he falls asleep, his head drooping to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, the witcher only lets him because Jaskier’s had a rough day.

#geraskier #geralion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #soulmates au #tattoo au #oh gosh I hope the read more button works #fic #geraskier fic #fic rec #fluff #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my stuff #roommates

[bloodiedskirtts]

Magnetic Demeanour | Sweetener

Summary:  After moving back to Florida in the middle of a heat wave, things seem to be getting worse and worse. The only thing to make her days any better is her neighbour, Frank. With neither of them willing to admit that they can’t get enough of each other, a pesky shower malfunction may be the only way for them to tell each other how they feel.

Pairing: Frank Adler x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Smut, 18+ mentions of cheating, Gifted spoilers 

A/N: My first post for my Sweetener series, based on the song Blazed! 

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it! Gif not mine, credit to owner.

Moving back to Florida was never in her plans. It wasn’t something she dreamed of when she left as soon as she finished high school. She had big dreams, but big dreams don’t always come through. And after waiting tables for a few years in New York, she found that out the hard way. She couldn’t afford rent in New York - who could? But she had been lucky enough to meet a guy at a bar one night. He had clearly been slumming it and things moved pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before she was moving into his Upper East Side townhouse.

He brought her to all these fancy parties, introducing him to all his friends in publishing. And when she thought things couldn’t get any better, she walked in on him fucking another women. She had no other choice but to pack up her things and go. And off she went back to Florida. She hadn’t given up her dreams. She was going to be a writer, a published one some day. But instead of meeting with publishers in New York, she would write her American classic in her trailer in Florida.

And that’s what she was doing for the past two months, she worked in the local diner for the morning and lunch shift. And she wrote in the evening. On her old busted laptop. And if she was lucky she got to ogle her neighbour, Frank. He was a good guy, she knew that. Just from the way he acted around his niece. Roberta had explained everything to her when she moved in. She had invited the new girl around for dinner and Mary had barged in. She told her about the custody battle, about why Mary was so special and about Frank. How special Frank was.

‘Not many men would do that, ya know,’ she said as she served her another helping, her plate piling full of food.

And she would sometimes watch as Frank played with Mary in the backyard. Sometimes she would watch as he stumbled home on a Friday night with another girl from the bar. And she would turn off her lights, and head to bed alone once again. She would usually say hi to him as she walked past him on her way home from work. And as the weeks went past they would exchange pleasantries. Nothing too serious. But she was just so drawn to him. She even wrote about him.

Not in a creepy way.

Okay, how could it not be in a creepy way?

It was sweltering hot outside and she could feel the sweat dripping down the canal between her breasts. Florida summers were the worst, especially in a tiny trailer. She let out a hiss as she stood, her shorts sticking to her, the same way her white tank top was clinging to her skin. It was time for a shower. She stepped the few feet into her bathroom, to turn on the shower.

And nothing.

Not a single drop of water came out of the nozzle. So there she was standing in her bra and panties, and she no other choice but to head outside to figure out what was happening with her water. Wrapping a towel around her frame, she marched out. Right into Frank Adler’s board chest.

‘Shit, Frank! Sorry!’ she gasped, the words falling from her plump lips that mesmerised Frank everytime they talked. He tried to avoid her on Fridays. Because he knew that he wanted to be spending the night with her. He had a schoolboy crush on her ever since she moved in. He had seen her, unloading her shitty car under the sweltering sun two months ago. The way the sweat rolled down her skin set him on edge. And he wanted to lick every part of her body.

He was attracted to like a magnetic.

And he had no idea that she felt that pull just as strongly!

He was on his way to the bar to try and forget her by getting another woman under him. It hadn’t worked, he had moaned her name twice now when he was with someone else. Not his finest moment. But hell, he couldn’t get the image of her in her Daisy Dukes and lowcut tops out of his head. He was obsessed with her. In a non-creepy way. Well...

Now she was standing before him, covering herself with a towel. Her hair falling around her face, and her bra strap falling down her shoulder. He was fucked.

‘You in trouble, Y/N?’ he asked, bringing his eyes back to hers rather than her mouth or her cleavage.

‘My water is off for some reason. I paid the bills so I don’t know why it ain’t working,’ she said with a sigh.

‘I can take a look at it for you?’ he suggested.

‘Naw, you’re headed out. I’m sure you have better things to do than help me on Friday night.’

‘Nothing I would rather do,’ he replied with a quirk of his lips. ‘Look, Mary isn’t home. How about you hop in my shower and I will try my darnedest to fix yours. Scouts honour.’

She laughed at how sincere he was being, but thanked him. 

‘That sounds amazing, this heat is driving me insane. I need to shower for my own sanity and for everyone else in this trailer park. I’m sure I stink,’ she rambled, mentally cursing herself.

Frank just smiled at her, ‘Naw, you’re perfect. Go grab your stuff and then you can head over to mine. Same layout as yours, take your time. I won’t interrupt.’

So she did, she took her time washing off the sweat from her body, running her fingers through her hair. Wishing it was Frank, lathering soaps into her locks, kissing over her skin, making her eyes roll back in her head.

Oh, God, she needed to stop. Turning off the water, she stepped out of the shower and began to towel herself off. The bathroom was so tiny, she was afraid that she would break something. So she decided to open the door, Frank was still fixing her shower, what was the harm.

Well, the harm was she opened the door, standing butt naked in the middle of his bathroom, and Frank was walking into his trailer. His body was now covered in a soft sheen of sweat, his torso exposed as he had unbuttoned his shirt as he worked, his dirty blonde hair damp with the humidity. And his eyes were blown wide with lust. He stuttered over his words as she covered herself frantically with her towel.

Both of them were shouting apologies at one another.

‘The bathroom was too small.’

‘I came to grab some more tools’

But it didn’t matter the damage was done. Frank no longer had to imagine what she looked like naked, he knew and his dick was sprinting to life. He could feel it fighting against the constraints of his jeans. And now her eyes were focusing on the bulge in his trousers.

‘Frank...’

‘Y/N, I am so sorry. I-I just...’

How could he explain this? 

Fuck it!

He crossed the small trailer to stand in front of her and before she could say another word, his lips were crashing against hers in a dominant and passionate kiss. A kiss that sucked all the air from her lungs, a kiss that had her knees weak, a kiss that made her moan and fall against him. Tongues and teeth clashed as hands explored over their bodies. Her towel was discarded, as she pushed Frank’s printed shirt off his shoulders. He was maneuvering her out of the bathroom, towards his bedroom. 

She fell back onto the bed, a gasp falling from her lips as he climbed on top of her.

‘I-I don’t usually do this,’ she whispered as he began to kiss down her neck, living a line of hickies over her skin.

He chuckled, ‘I wish I could say the same but...’

‘Yea, I see your Friday night conquests,’ she teased, a soft gasp escaping her lips as his mouth latched around her hardened nipples. He paid attention to her breasts, his hands kneaded the one that wasn’t being licked, nipped and kissed. And after he had left enough hickies over one, he moved on to the next. She was a whimpering mess and she thought that she may cum from just his attention on her breasts.

She rubbed her legs together in a desperate attempt to get friction for her aching core. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, who quickly made his move from her breasts to her core.

‘Oh baby girl,’ he groaned, ‘you are absolutely drippin’.’

‘Do ya blame me?’ she replied, rolling her hips up to his mouth.

He tutted playfully before diving in, his tongue dipping into her core making her moan out. Loud enough to wake up half the trailer park, and he didn’t stop. His tongue dipping in and out of her aching core, bringing her to the brink but not letting her fall over.

Not until his tongue flicked over her clit and she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her fingers twisted in his dirty blonde hair, her legs tightening around his head as his beard tickled her inner thighs. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she reached her peak. With another loud whine, she came, her hips jerking into his face. And when she had rode out her high, Frank pulled away, just not to overstimulate her. And his face and beard were soaked with her release making her blush.

‘Aw, hun!’ he cooed, ‘Don’t be shy. Ain’t nothing prettier than your face when it reaches it peak. Lemme see if I can see it again.’

She laughed at his bravado, but didn’t complain as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to him. He shucked his jeans and boxers off quickly and her eyes widened at the sight of him. His length stood to attention from a tuft of black curls and her mouth was watering at the sight of it. She moved to take him in her mouth, but he pushed her back on the bed. 

‘Nuh-uh sweetie, not this time. I need to be in you as soon as I can,’ he groaned as he moved to grab a condom from his night stand. It didn’t take long until he had rolled it down his considerable length. And all she could think was ‘not this time’ meaning that this wasn’t any Friday night fling. He wanted to do this again. She almost laughed at the thought, but all thoughts were pushed out of her head as he pushed inside her. And she cried out, her back arching, her hand stretching behind her to grip the comforter. He began to thrust in and out of her slowly, her moans growing louder and louder. 

The noises she made just egged him on, turned him on even more, and his hips quickened, snapping against hers. And his hand went from by her head to grip the headboard of his bed, giving him more traction so he could continue his brutal pace. He needed to hear those sweet moans, they were music to his ears. He had never in his life heard anything so sweet and he wanted to hear it as much as possible. 

Her moans were growing louder as she could feel her second orgasm fast approach. She never had much luck with guys making her cum in the past. And here he was, her devilishly handsome neighbour, who was sweet and kind and perfect. Actually perfect. Her fingers dug into his back, as her back arched and his name moaned as she came once again. Her release covering Frank’s dick as he continued to fuck her roughly. Drawing her orgasm out and before she could even think, propelling her into her third. 

The feeling of her tightening around his cock not once but twice was driving him nuts. He knew he couldn’t hold his orgasm off for much longer and when she moaned his name again he finally released. Her name falling from his lips as he collapsed on top of her. 

They lay there breathing for a moment, before Frank rolled off her, dumping the condom and cleaning himself and her up.

‘I-I should go,’ she whispered, beginning to get up.

‘You don’t have to. Mary won’t be back until after twelve tomorrow. I would really like you to stay and then maybe we could go see a movie or something tomorrow evening. If you aren’t busy!’ 

She smiled, snuzzling into his chest as they both lay down in his bed.

‘Yea, yea, I would really like that.’

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#frank adler #frank adler x reader #chris evans #gifted #frank adler gifted #chris evans character #reader insert smut #reader insert #reader insert fic #gifted movie #chris evans movie #chris evans fic

[dbhilluminate]

DBH: Illuminate- “Coffee Break: Broken Nose”

(Chapter art by Optcldrift)

Characters: Detective Gavin Reed, Cameron James, Special Agent Vivienne Lenore Word Count: 3,975

What drives a man to hate the world so much that he would close himself off to it?

Previous Chapter

• Chapter Index • Characters •

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

January 2nd, 2020- 7PM

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Gavin stared at the far wall at the other end of his hospital bed and fingered the class ring around his middle finger- not his, but a friend’s, once belonging to someone more important to him than the shitty people that dare called themselves his family. Yeah, that’s right, once. That is until about two days ago.

Cameron was the only person who’d ever truly understood him, and probably the only real friend he ever had. Gavin had just turned seven when they’d met in elementary school, in the fall of 2009. Cam’s dad had just been arrested for the third time that year on domestic dispute charges, and some of their asshole classmates had decided to pick at him for having a deadbeat dad while he was still very raw; but that day he just couldn’t take it anymore, and he lashed out like a cornered animal. That was the first time Reed had really seen him as more than just the wallflower everyone seemed to ignore. Because even while pinned to the ground and outnumbered, Cam fought tooth and nail, through snarling lips and furious eyes that screamed about how even though he was just eight years old at the time, he had already run out of shits to give. And that day, so had Gavin. He’d pulled one of the boys off him and thrown him to the ground, kicked him in the stomach, then dropped to his knees and punched him until his teeth chipped and his lip bled and he cried for teacher’s help because the kid was too chickenshit to finish what he’d started. And it felt good, because that day he’d found his twisted soul mate- one that was every bit the raging bull ready to gore the first jackass to wave a red fucking cape in his face, and one he would have taken on the whole goddamn world with if meant he had a friend to ride or die for by his side. Truth was, deep down, Cam was just as broken, and angry, and fucked up as himself; but, and he came to learn, he was also hopeful, gentle, and courageous, everything he never thought himself to be. And that was why he’d liked him so much.

Cam had been given nothing in his entire life, until he meet Gavin Reed- and as far as he was concerned, from the moment he’d squinted over at him with that toothless, ear-to-ear grin while they sat outside the principal’s office that day awaiting their punishment, he was his white fucking knight. When he realized he rarely ate, Gavin gave him his lunch because he could tough out a little hunger, because he knew he could at least eat later. When he needed money, Reed would hand him his allowance without even asking what it was for. And when the bullies came knocking, he stood by him back to back, better or worse, no matter the cost. Cam didn’t feel he deserved a friend like Reed, but neither did Reed think he deserved a friend like Cam- because no one had ever before loved either of them like a brother, and because no one had ever told them they were worthy of being loved as such.

See, Cam came from a broken home- he was an only child, but his mother was an alcoholic, and his father an abusive asshole who’d been in and out of prison since he was five years old. Cam had gotten his first split lip for mouthing off to him when he was nine, got his first job when he was thirteen just to put food on the table so he wouldn’t starve. He’d wound up in juvenile hall for stealing a car when he was seventeen, because he needed it to get to and from work but couldn’t afford to get his dead one fixed. Even still, in spite of all that he’d spit the blood out of his mouth, look hardship in the eye, give it a big old shit eating grin and say “fuck you, not today.” Cam was a survivor, scrappy and resourceful- never did enough to get into real trouble, but always just enough to keep his head above water.

Reed on the other hand had been born into a family of prodigies, raised by a nanny in the shadows of Fortune 500 parents and siblings whose coattails had always been just too far out of reach. They’d found their true callings before they’d even hit puberty (one now a nationally sought-after defense attorney, the other a Cyberlife engineer), while he was left behind, isolated and aimless: a gifted jock with a bad attitude that couldn’t play nice, that no coach in their right mind would have wanted on their team if not for his talent. Because of it, his relationship with his parents had always been strained, and they’d eventually grown so sick of it they’d threatened to cut him off from their money if he didn’t make something of himself. But Gavin didn’t care, because he wasn’t like them. He didn’t measure success as digits in a bank account or his picture on the cover of TIME magazine- his idea of success was pulling himself up out of the mud after being knocked down time and time again. It was bloody knuckles and black eyes and being able to throw up a strong middle finger in the face of those who claimed he wouldn’t amount to anything. Because his idea of success had been molded in the image of the one person who had always accepted him as he was and stood by his side... Until now. And he had no one to blame but himself.

They’d had a plan to grab everything they could throw into the back of his Chevy Nova and get the hell out of Detroit while the rest of the world celebrated the new year, before their families could even notice they were gone. It was supposed to be their fresh start, their chance at a better life, to escape the abuse and the toxic expectations that they were supposed to be anyone other than who they were: black sheep, troubled kids, the ones “with issues running so deep” adults had labeled them hopeless. The coroner’s report said he’d died on impact, but unfortunately for him Gavin knew that wasn’t true. What had really happened would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he’d take it to his grave to protect Cam’s mother from the truth. It had only taken seconds for their lives to change, but when he realized what was about to happen, Cam had closed his eyes and gripped his hand strong as a vice, and braced for impact. The sedan hit them nearly head-on on the passenger side at eighty-seven miles per hour and pushed the car two hundred feet before they were struck from behind by a truck, which hit them so hard it rolled them twice before the Nova settled onto its side in the middle of the road. When Gavin opened his eyes, he was pinned between the seat and the steel frame of the car, forced to watch as the light faded from Cam’s green eyes as he bled out. In his final moments, as the blood gurgled from between his lips and streamed down his forehead, Cam had cracked a concerned smile and forced out one last sentiment before he passed.

You can still be happy.

Anger bubbled up inside of him, and eighteen-year-old Reed balled his still-good hand into a quivering, white-knuckled fist, twisted his face into a despondent grimace, and choked on his grief. Why would he have said that? How could he have possibly thought that, of all things, that would be what he needed to hear? Not “I forgive you”, not “This isn’t your fault”. He had to have known he was going to blame himself, he had to have known he was going to need his forgiveness. So why that? This absolute load of bullshit… He couldn’t imagine a future where he could be, because no matter where he went, no matter what he did, Cam had always been a part of it. So how the hell was he supposed to move on and be happy without him?

Gavin grimaced as he moved the casted arm off his lap and laid it on the bed beside him. The surgeon who had pieced it back together said it had been crushed by the weight of the vehicle when it had rolled, one of the worst comminuted fractures he’d ever seen: twelve pins and a two plates. He’d be in therapy for the next six months, but “at least he’d gotten away with his life”. Apparently he was “lucky”, at least that was the word they kept throwing around. That’s what they’d said about the gash in his broken nose when they’d pried his head from between a folded-over support beam that had nearly crushed his skull like an overripe watermelon. First responders said he should have been dead, and in all honesty? He wished he was, because at least then he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of knowing Cam’s death was on his hands because he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, or his mother crying at his bedside, hysterical, reminding him of how much he’d meant to her son. If he hadn’t lived through the crash, he wouldn’t have had to grin and bear his parents blaming the accident on their attempted runaway, and not the jackass driving on the wrong side of the road. If he were dead he wouldn’t have to continue living without the only person he’d ever been bothered to give a shit about.

Gavin glanced out the window into the night but scowled when he instead saw his sorry reflection staring back at him- his head bandaged, left eye wrapped up beneath an eyepatch, the stitches on his nose still stained with iodine under a wad of gauze. With a scar like that, it was going to be impossible to put this behind him and move on, because he’d be reminded of it every time he looked in the goddamn mirror. He roared out an angry scream into the empty room and flung the dinner tray at the wall with all his residual strength, and wept quietly as the medical staff went about their business outside the glass doors of his room in the intensive care unit. Again he was alone in the world, and he wasn’t at all ready for it.

Following the accident, his parents forced him to get a job and start paying his expenses, in addition to applying to a University and “planning for his future”- a fucking slap in the face if he’d ever been. But because he was out of options he’d done everything they asked so he wouldn’t have to hear their bitching, and kept his cards close to his chest. Gavin took the money they’d given him and paid his tuition in full, separating his self-earned assets until he was fully self-sufficient, and bode his time until he could break out from under their ironclad grip of control. It took longer than he’d wanted, but eight years later, after he’d graduated with his Master’s Degree in Criminal Justice, Gavin severed the ties that had been hanging by a thread for so long. The ensuing blowout was explosive and violent, but he was prepared. For the first time that he remembered his father struck him, but he’d just spit out the blood and laughed in his face- because if he was trying to motivate him to stay, all he had done was drive him further in the opposite direction, as he had done all his life; and if he was trying to scare him, well, Gavin had been through so much worse. He’d threatened to take back everything they’d given him, but Gavin just reminded him the money was already spent. When he threatened to take away his car and stop paying his rent, Reed informed them that his neither of their name were on the pink slip for his car or the lease on his apartment, because he’d already been paying all his expenses for four years. And when he’d finally run out of leverage, Gavin had flipped him a strong middle finger, left them with three strong parting words he’d been waiting all his life to say, and never looked back.

Three weeks later he’d already breezed through a rigorous first week in DCPD’s Police Academy, and shot up to the top of his class without breaking a sweat. During his college years he’d learned just enough about communication to get by in the academy, but friends were another story. There had been a few, but they hadn’t stuck around long once they realized just how much baggage he was dragging. Being stuck in the academy with a bunch of straight-and-narrow Johnny-law types only served to reinforce his desire to remain in complete isolation, with no friends or lovers. Gavin had tried putting himself out there now and again, only to have it backfire in his face after a few weeks (or in some cases, a few days), which had caught him a lot of flack from the hyper-masculine would-be cops in training alongside him, but he just shrugged it off. “What’s the matter, Reed? You gay?” was one they threw around a lot thinking it would get a rise out of him, but were disappointed when they were instead met with apathy and eyes rolled all the way back as far as they could go. Maybe a little, but that wasn’t the reason he’d broken off every relationship he’d had before it had time to mature. Truth was, every time someone found out his family name they were real quick to turn up the charm, and nothing pissed him off quicker than some fake fuck who just wanted to use his father’s name to boost their social status. The Reed name meant jack shit to the family reject, he wasn’t special and he knew it. That’s why he’d done all this -not for the approval of distant, dissatisfied parents, not for the fame, not for the fortune- for himself and for the promise he’d made to uphold Cam’s wish for him, even if he hadn’t understood it at the time. Gavin had followed his own self-made path, just like they’d planned, and he’d done it by keeping fame-chasing, two-dimensional, “background characters” out of his life. But he hadn’t just chased them off because they were shallow as shit (because hell, even the ones that hadn’t cared about where he came from eventually came to grate on his nerves like sandpaper on glass), it was because they couldn’t see the world from his point of view, because none of them had truly understood him- not like Cam. No one ever had. Well, except for Cam.

For the first few months of his career Reed walked to and from work, just daring the city to take a swing, to throw him something - a robbery, a break in, a drunk dude trying to take advantage of a woman outside a bar - anything to scratch the itch of a good fight; but, like many things in life, it didn’t quite turn out how he’d hoped. Gavin never really had been one for religion or sentimentalism, but that night after nearly twenty-seven years of his miserable existence, he found himself believing that wayward souls could return to take care of unfinished business. Any other day Reed wouldn’t have given a second glance to a stray dog snarling at him as he passed, but it wasn’t snarling at him. It had something cornered. It took him all of five seconds to realize that something was a six-month-old kitten -hissing and clawing, furious and frantic- and as he trembled in recognition, instinct set in. A short sprint and one hard swing kicked hard across the dog’s rib cage sent it yelping and whimpering down the alley as he scooped up the animal and cradled it in his arms. To his surprise, tortoiseshell kitten didn’t struggle to escape his embrace, just squinted up at him and slumped into the crook of his arm with a tired sigh as if to say “Finally, I’ve found you”. And for just one night, as he stared into the grateful green eyes of the soul he already knew so well, Gavin believed in life beyond death. Cam had come back to him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such a gift, but he didn’t care, because with Cam back in the picture, everything became more tolerable. Coming home to his best friend at the end of a long day and being met with excited meows and a running leap up into his arms made all the bullshit worth it. As the years passed he thought about the accident less and less. With the help of an impressive rate of closure on his cases, Reed continued to climb the ranks at his job and traded the title of Officer for Detective with the minimum experience necessary for the position. It had taken him eighteen years to make good on Cam’s wish for him, and while life wasn’t perfect, he was at least on his way to being happy, and that was all that mattered. For a while.

November 13th, 2038- 10:30AM

Morning came hard after a restless night on the couch, and he ripped open his eyes with a sharp breath to the sound of purring and a prickly weight on his chest. The ginger and brown tortoiseshell cat stretched and contracted his toes as he kneaded at the detective’s neck and drooled into his shirt. Gavin let out a tired sigh and laid his arm over his eyes and clammy forehead to rest his mind for a minute, then reached to scratch the cat’s neck behind its ears. The old boy hunkered down with a happy, fluttery chirp, and he closed his eyes and listened to the soothing vibration. It had been a while since he’d dreamt of the crash- maybe a few months, maybe half a year, he wasn’t entirely sure. The way the days had blurred one into the next over the last five years since he’d become a detective, didn’t lend much help to his awareness of the passage of time. It had been eighteen years now since Cam’s death, and even though it had gotten easier to live without him, it still stung like hell every time he thought about it.

Reed traced his fingertips over the scar across his nose for a moment of deep thought, but cleared it from his mind as he rubbed the hurt from his raccoon-eyes with the heel of the hand on his still-good arm and stretched his legs out long. Cam shifted with a quiet meow and crawled up higher onto his shoulder to nuzzle under his jawline. Gavin let out a painful chuckle as the ten-pound cat crawled over the sling and sputtered a gentle “fuck” under his breath as the pain resurfaced and shot through his shoulder like tearing muscle. He was lucky the reconstructed AR’s the deviants were using only fired nine millimeter rounds and not the standard five-five-six. Smaller bullets meant his shoulder wasn’t nearly as torn up as it could have been, but even with the treatment he’d received to speed up the healing process (stem cells, 3-d printed right in to fill the wound), the pain was still pretty bad. Throbbing when it wasn’t stabbing, aching when it wasn’t burning- until the stem cells fused with the muscle, it was going to be an annoying recovery process.

The morning silence didn’t last long- almost as if he had woken up just to take the call, Viv’s name lit up the screen and triggered the ring.

Get up, get up, get a move on. Get up, get up, what’s takin’ so looooo~ng? Get up, get up, get a move on. Stop stallin’, I’m callin’-

Gavin groaned as he reached for the screaming cell phone in his pocket and lifted it to his ear with a, “Wha’dya want, Viv?” Couldn’t even have ten minutes to himself before getting back to the bullshit. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she replied with a relieved breath. “How are you feeling today?” Before he answered, he tried lifting his right arm up to the shoulder, but yipped and groaned in her ear before shaking his head with an angry scrunch of his lips. “Not great,” his voice cracked in annoyed reply, at which she sighed and paused before asking. “You sober, at least?” “I’ve been sleepin’ since Connor dropped me off last night,” he assured as he tried to nudge the cat away from brushing its face with the stubble on his chin. “Well, we still have work to do, are you gonna make it today?” she asked as he sat up and pushed the cat off his stomach, ignoring the low growl from the old boy, then fumbled with the lid of the rattling bottle of pills with a shaking hand. “I’ll be fine,” he fibbed, dumping out a pill into the lid as it finally popped off. “I can still shoot straight with my left hand.” He could hear Vivienne chuckling and imagined her shaking her head at his stubbornness. “Well, get up and get dressed. I’ll be over in half an hour to pick you up,” she informed. “Don’ bother, I’ve got a bike,” he mumbled as he balanced the pill on his tongue and reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. “Do you have a death wish, or are you really just as stupid as you look!?” In spite of how indelicately she’d phrased it, the shrill panic still carried in her tone, and he grinned to himself, appreciative of her concern. No one had ever really given him shit for taking unnecessary risks, because nobody would have missed him if he was gone. “No, you stay put. You get on that death trap with your arm in a sling and I swear to God, Reed, I will arrest you.” “Alright, ma. I’ll sit tight,” he quipped back and ended the call with a “See ya,” before she could protest with her angry huffs. The phone dropped onto the sofa beside him and he dragged his hand down his face as he took in a slow, deep breath, then peered between his fingers over at the cat, who was sitting next to him with a judgmental squint.

“Don’t look at me like that Cam, she ain’t so bad,” he explained as if the cat could actually understand what he was saying. When the animal rose and climbed back into his lap, Gavin’s hand reached instinctively to scratch at the back of his neck with a small sigh. She really wasn’t, in fact he’d really grown to like Viv more than he thought he would. Even though their partnership had started off rough, she’d still cared more for his well-being than even his own mother ever had. It was strange to have that kind of support for once, but he’d already noticed how much he’d benefited from her presence in his life. Maybe it was possible to find the family he’d always wished he had... maybe even find love. Reed sputtered our a laugh at the absurdity of the notion in self-defense, but deep down in the scarcely touched recesses of his dark heart he hoped. It wasn’t like he wanted to be a miserable asshole, it was just what the world had forced him to become.

#dbhilluminate #DBH: Gavin Reed #dbh: gavin #detroit become human gavin #detroit become human fanfiction #detroit become human fanfic #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #gavin reed #dbh: detective reed #vivienne lenore #cameron james #chapters

[fortunesrevolver]

How I Ate During College

Since winter is here, the government shutdown is happening, new semesters have started and the like, I thought I might share what helped me during my time at college when money was low and food needed to be eaten. I’ll put it under a read more just in case.

I also implore everyone to look around their campus for some sort of Dollar Tree/General/Dollar Store type place. Never be ashamed to shop here. Based on my personal experience, most of the items I talk about here are available at these places (sometimes even in sets or small bulks) and... well, it’s food.

Please keep in mind, these are the methods that worked for me (and my roommates.) I can’t promise this is a “fix all” situation, but it may help you save money and give you meals when you need it most.

I didn’t mention frozen/tv dinners from the Dollar Store on here, but keep in mind, those aren’t bad ideas either if you have a proper means of storing them.

Ramen Noodles - just the noodles (the important information is in the details)

I know this is a bit of a “staple” but hear me out. When my family lived in California, we were broke as fuck. We didn’t have a lot of money and spending it was a long, coupon-intensive, very careful thing. Ramen noodles are a god-send. The noodles are cheap, and no rule says you need to use the salty flavour packet that comes with them.

If you buy a few packets of ramen noodles (that generally retail somewhere between 10-30 cents, you’ve got a single meal in that packet of noodles. Sometimes two if you’re like me and have a tiny stomach.

Things that can be added to ramen noodles:

- Spaghetti sauce: any jar of spaghetti sauce can make you about 10 servings of spaghetti if you’re using Ramen noodles. If you’ve got a microwave (or your roommate does) then you can even warm it all up a second time once it’s done. (To my knowledge, most universities offer some sort of kitchen/warm water access/microwave in a lobby and/or kitchen area of some sort. But again, assuming you or your roommate have one, that’s a bonus and one less trip.)

- Cheese: shredded cheese, if you watch it, goes on sale a lot. I never really noticed this UNTIL college, but it makes a surprisingly good addition to noodles. Cheese is, of course, by your choice and by a sale if you do not like the spaghetti sauce method.

- Fruits and/or veggies: Canned or fresh. Again, this is up to you. A lot of times, you can buy quite a few of the “choose your own” veggies for a decent price. I know green beans aren’t exactly the “go to” for favourite veggies, but they are lightweight and you can get quite a few for cheap. Veggies mix well into noodles, and that’s more nutrition for you.

- Canned Tuna or Chicken: This is another one that’s nice; especially when you only use a portion of the can in your serving of noodles. It fills you up a little more while giving the noodles some flavour and still sticking to something you can preserve in your roommate’s fridge (i.e - the tuna/chicken you don’t use for one meal.) This is, admittedly, a little more time sensitive. You’ll be having tuna/chicken noodles for a few days, but it IS food and it is something more filling than nothing at all.

Hot Beverage of choice (Dollar Store recommended)

Never underestimate the value of a warm drink. Especially in the cold. Hot cocoa, tea, coffee, etc. These can almost always be bought at Dollar Stores in some sort of “instant” form. Even if that hot cocoa tells you to make it with milk, fuck that. Yes, it’s “creamier” but it works just as well with hot water. It warms you up, helps fill you up, and it does give you something other than just water to drink. Tea and coffee will always be the healthier choices, but chocolate has always proven to be a comfort, especially when it’s warm.

Warm drinks make a perfect study companion or even just something gentle and warm to hold and sip while you’re stressed. This one is, of course, optional, but I can’t tell you how many times a hot drink helped me calm down or saved my sanity during a stressful time or study binge. Not to mention it’s easy -- water, mug/cup, powder, stir, good. 

Malt-o-Meal Cereal (I.E - generic cereal)

No matter where you shop, generally, if you go to the cereal aisle and ignore all the name-brand boxes, you’ll stumble across these big-ass bags of cereal with familiar shapes and looks, but weird-ass names.

Trust me when I say, this bag is worth if if cereal is your game. Not only are they MUCH bigger than those cardboard boxes (and usually go for the same price or even lower) there is a LOT of cereal in those bags. Yes, it’s generic, and yes, it may taste slightly different, but I promise you, it’s rarely ever bad. If it LOOKS like Cinnamon Toast Crunch, the biggest difference may only be that it’s slightly less cinnamon-y. 

Cereal can be eaten with or without milk (almond milk, soy milk, etc.) Granted, some cereals taste better dry than others, but in the end, it is a meal and I would frequently say “forget it” toss a bunch of cereal into my Dollar Store ziploc baggy and I’ve have something to snack on during classes for most of the day.

Water Bottle - Hard, reusable, plastic, etc.

This one will be a little more pricey at times, but trust me when I say this item is so very worth it. All university campuses have water fountains. All bathrooms have sinks. I know that some areas (coughcoughFLINTPLSHELPFLINTcoughcough) don’t have access to fresh water right now, but if your campus offers it, get yourself a good water bottle that you can safely reuse. Water will keep you hydrated. Don’t neglect this. I ended up in the ER twice during my university years (thank you parent’s insurance) because I neglected liquids and ended up dehydrating myself. It was terrible.

Powder Drinks (following up the above)

This goes hand-in-hand with the suggestion above. Dollar Stores (and grocery stores) always carry something like this Country Time lemonade thing here. This one happens to retail for $2.50. However, when you are only using a 1-3 spoonfuls (depending on the size of your water bottle) you’re going to have that container for a VERY long time. (And they don’t spoil for a SUPER very long time. Perks.)

I once made one of these amazing little containers last me three semesters (1.5 years.) I didn’t need to use it sparingly either. I just happened to enjoy a lot of lemonade during that time when water was driving me wild. The same rule goes for things that come in a similar container -- strawberry Lemonade, some Kool-Aids, fruit punch, etc.

MAC AND CHEESE!!!

This one SAVED me. If you want to go with the boxes, that’s fine. Individual Microwave Cups? Those work too. Even if you just use the box version, it can all be prepared in a microwave and, holy shit, does it work.

Personally, I was lucky enough I had access to the individual microwave cups. Those were easier for me. Even if you don’t use the cheese powder, you’ve got noodles and you can follow the same idea as Ramen (hot water and something to mix in.)

When I was in college, I would buy canned tuna (sometimes chicken) and mix it into the individual cups with the cheese. not only was it more nutritious, it was more filling. Yes, it sounds REALLY WEIRD, I get looks of disgust every single time I try to mention it to someone, but damn, it’s better than it sounds and it works so well.

Generally, I would either portion the tuna/chicken can into halves or quarters per-cup, depending on how hungry I was. The meat would go in after I got the mac & cheese ready, mix it all together, good to go.

OPTIONAL ADDITIONS: 

- packet of mayo and/or mustard to taste.  - a little salt if that’s your gig.

Most of the time, I would put some condiments or swipe packets of sugar/salt from the cafeteria. Generally they had some sort of cup you could put ketchup or mustard or whatever in for taking to the table with you. I’d fill one up with what I needed and sneak it out carefully in a pocket, wrapped in a napkin. (or just walk boldly out and no one stopped me because it was literally just a condiment, but.) I don’t know your campus rules/how your eatery is set up.

Also, I know some campuses use like... glass/reusable sauce cups. Please return those after you empty them. It’s good for the environment and... polite. I know my campus used ALL washable dishes. I ended up swiping an entire set of silverware (a fork, knife, and spoon) to use in my dorm and then at the end of the year I returned them. But that’s off topic.

PEANUT BUTTER AND BREAD

Never underestimate the filling value of peanut and/or nut butters. Peanut butter tends to run cheaper, but I know nut allergies are out there and sometimes almond butter or another type of “nut butter” is better for you.

Dollar Stores generally have several different types of bread, with the more generic brands running you $1.00-$1.50.

Most loaves of bread get you about 18/19 slices of bread. That’s 9 sandwiches. Put some nut butter in there, not only are you getting proteins, but nut butters are very filling. And they last quite a while. You can slather some nut butter on both sides of the bread, and BOOM. You have a filling sandwich.

Though... you will need a drink with it. Nut butters DO tend to make you thirsty. A small bummer, but it will fill you up.

(Nut butters and breads also do not require refrigeration if you and/or your roommate don’t have one. Or if the house doesn’t have one working in general, but you catch my drift. Jellies/jams are also available at Dollar locations, but that is a bonus if you can afford it and/or want to treat yourself. They tend to need the chill, however.)

OATMEAL

Personally, not my favourite because I don’t like the texture, but it has a shitload of flavours, only needs hot water to prepare, and can be bought for cheap in bulk. It can be bought in a container (usually 18oz or bigger) or in boxes of packets (7-10ct seems the average for non-value packs.) Which you buy is a matter of preference. I found the packets easier since it wasn’t my favourite or a “go-to” meal.

Oatmeal is fairly self-explanatory though, so I apologise this section is small.

(It is, however, another thing you can add “extras” into such as a sliced banana, strawberries, and various fruits. Even a dash of cinnamon can help make and oatmeal fantastic. These are, however, extras, and something to consider if your budget allows it. Though I stress the ‘extra’ part. They are not required to make oatmeal good.)

Also there is still that oatmeal out there where the heat of your water can make the little sugar-eggs hatch into dinosaurs. DINOSAURS!

Bananas and apples can be bought for a few cents as a single item (one banana, one apple, etc) and with apples especially, you can split them between two bowls. Yes, your apple will turn a little brown, but store it in a Dollar Store Ziploc and you’ll have some extra to add to your next bowl. Brown just means it has gotten oxygen. I would not stretch the same apple across more than a day or two, however. 

(Again, this is an “extra” to the oatmeal, but it can be more filling.)

Grain/Chewy Bars.

For me, I generally went with Nature Valley and Fruit & Grain bars. Nature Valley especially because those tend to come in counts of 24 for somewhere between $3-$5. I don’t know the generic version of Nature Valley off the top of my head, but by all means, if that is cheaper, go for it. Generic is good. Generic is just as tasty as name brand. The only major difference is the name. Don’t be ashamed of it.

These are good snacks or sides to any of the above mentioned ideas. They give you a little more in the nutrient department and they’re easy to grab and go if you need something quick to eat. (These are also wise choices to add nut butters on if the flavour allows it. Even MORE filling. And filling is what we want.)

#College #Food #Easy Food #Cheap Food #Saving Money #signal boosts pls

[gohyuck]

into it - m.l.

some of the lowest parts of your senior year with mark, and one of the highest

warnings, a/n, etc. under the cut <3

wc: 6.3k

warnings: school, misuse of prescription medicine, windrawal, angst (dw it ends fairly happy i would say), uhhh some smutty themes. maybe. there’s no actual smut in this it just gets close ig

a/n: this is literally just me projecting onto mark mixed with some other stories from other competitive schools from around me - if anyone wants to talk about how shitty school is with me they’re free too! i’m a slave to gpa. yeet. i think i might’ve projected onto the reader too please don’t @ me...

description should’ve been “in which mark is the author and the reader is the author and the author is barely a person”

idk this fic seems kinda pointless but . anyways

anyways enjoy <3

song: into it - chase atlantic

Yeah I've been catching planes for the fun of it Then I'll be watching fame turn to punishment The weather's only sunny when I'm under it And I haven't really changed, yeah I'm just confident

33 school days until Graduation

Living fire begets cold, impotent ash.

Mark can’t help but reread the line once. Twice. Thrice. 

He’s studying to distract himself. That, and he’s studying because he needs to, but mostly, it’s a distraction. 

From what? 

He’s trying not to think about it. 

A small part of Mark wonders why he’s rereading Things Fall Apart. While it’s definitely one of the better school-assigned books he’s been forced to dissect - Chinua Achebe knows how to make a point - its attractiveness diminishes every time he opens it again to page one. 

The first time he’d read it, Mark had been captivated without his special little boost. The main character, while terrible, was too relatable - Mark isn’t a fan of failure, either. 

The second time was to study for the 60 question test on the novel. It was less interesting this time around, but Mark still diligently annotated it, spending three days with his eyes glued to the page and fingers cramping around his lucky pencil. Every time he closed his eyes, Achebe’s land of Umuofia appeared. It was there when he opened his eyes, too. 

The third time was to find evidence to use in his analysis essay on what type of hero Okonkwo is. At this point, all that Mark was sure of was that Okonkwo sure as hell wasn’t his hero. Still, Mark typed until his fingers felt raw. 

The 97 scrawled across the top of his printed copy, returned a week later with a slightly smeared red smiley face alongside it, had made it worth it. The knowledge his teacher disclosed to him after class while gushing over his word choice - that nobody in the grade had scored higher than him - doubled his (short-lived) satisfaction. 

Now, Mark’s eyes are laser-focused on the novel in front of him. Their teacher had mentioned in passing that there would be a couple of questions pulled from the book on the last test of the marking period, and he can’t afford to miss anything on the test. He’s got a 98 in the class, and the idea of it dropping makes him squirm. 

It’s nearing 3 am, and he’s desperately wishing that he’d opted to stay at home and study rather than go skateboarding with Jeno and Jisung right after school.  He chides himself on not considering the opportunity cost (God, he’s even thinking in economics now. Economics. Fuck.) before going out. Reaping rewards before sowing them has never worked before - there’s no reason it would’ve today, either. 

There are about four bags of Cheez-Its, a half gallon of water, and 20 milligrams of Adderall lying at the bottom of his stomach. He’s kind of hungry, but he can’t be made to give two shits. Mark tells himself that he can eat later. He hasn’t had dinner yet. It’ll be a reward for finishing the book. 

Mark’s phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Thrice. He pays it no mind. He’s getting nearer and nearer to the end of the novel, and once he finishes he can let himself go for the night. Calculus is done, as well as French, Physics, and Economics (fucking Economics). There’s nothing in his other classes. He’s got swim practice after school, but there’s no way for him to prepare for that. At least - he hasn’t found one yet. 

I'm just fucking lucky I was born with it A hundred million people couldn't deal with this I've been tryna grow cause people kill for it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

“Have you considered sleeping early and waking up early to study?”

You don’t answer with a hello when he calls you back - you never have and never will. It’s 4:14 in the morning and you know that Mark’s calling you back now because he’s finished everything. There’s probably Adderall still in his system and a crease in his forehead from worrying that it still isn’t enough studying or time devoted. 

“Good morning to you, too.” Mark’s voice is low, lower than usual. It’s the lack off sleep, you know this. You shouldn’t find the huskiness in it attractive, but you do. It’s one of the less fucked up side-effects of the stress both him and you put yourselves through. 

“Would be if I wasn’t up at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“Hey - be proud of me. At least I have it in me to work hard like this. The way we’re both going, if we don’t die before college, we can get full rides to the fucking Ivies and end up some crazy millionaire couple on the front of Time magazine. Making 40 million before 40.”

“I love it when you maladaptive daydream to me, babe. Really gets me going.”

Mark chuckles at this, and you hear a rustling sound in the background on his end. He’s putting all of his things into his backpack for tomorrow, you guess. You’re right. 

“And I am proud of you.” You continue, knowing that he’s listening, probably with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he tidies up his desk. He can’t put you on speaker - both of you shudder to think what will happen if either of your parents find out that you’re up at dawn, talking to the significant other neither of you are allowed to have. They think you’re both just best friends - two kids too wrapped up in school to have the time to date, anyways. “But, I think you’re nuts. I think I’m nuts. You’re worse, but... anyways. I’m proud of you, but you never call me back this late. It’s usually a “ttyl” text, or some shit. What’s wrong?”

The line goes silent. He’s stopped moving altogether on his end. 

He sighs. It’s heavy, and kind of empty, and you immediately know that he’s already cried this out. You wait.

This is what he’d been trying to distract himself from with Things Fall Apart. 

“My rank dropped.”

On impulse, you wince in response. The first semester ranks your school had given out not a week earlier are your and Mark’s second to last ranks as seniors - there’s only one semester left to redeem yourself if you fuck up. Even though college applications have been submitted for months and acceptances are about to start coming out, you know that falling still aches.

Top 10% of your class get recognized. Top 10 get special honors and get to walk first. Valedictorian and Salutatorian get to give speeches, five minute pieces that will be forgotten by everyone but them the next day. You’ll all be free for three months before starting the best and worst years of your lives. 

Graduation day is the focus now, as it has been since the first day of ninth grade. You’ve managed to stay well within the top 5%, to your own merit, but Mark’s always been in the top 10 - with walking honors. 

At least, up until last week. 

He’d been 10th at the end of Sophomore year, and now, apparently, he isn’t. 

You can’t begin to imagine how he feels. 

“How much?”

“Two. My GPA went up a wholeass .1, though.” He’s looking for the bright side by himself, now. It’s progress from last year. A part of you is glad. The other half of your heart aches. 

Before you can convey this, or even begin to formulate a response, Mark continues speaking. “I’ve been trying to remind myself that other people would kill to be 12th.” He inhales sharply. “Fuck.”

“And you’d kill to not. You’re killing yourself to not.” 

“I -”

“Mark.”

“I’m fine, baby.” His petname sounds forced, as if he can’t believe his own words. “I’m lucky, I have a good memory. You know this. I don’t work myself nearly as hard as you think I do, or as I should be.” 

“So you don’t pop pills all the damn time so you can study a week’s worth of material in a night?”

Your voice is tight - you’re no stranger to work and overwork, but Mark is on another plane. It feels like he’s so far gone, sometimes, that you can’t touch him. He’s on the other end of the line, but he’s a million miles away.

He lets a puff of air pass through his lips. Seconds tick by. 

Mark breaks the silence.

“It’s getting late. We have class in a few hours. I’ll pick you up at 8?”

You blink. Your anger at him, at the system, and, for almost no reason you yourself can discern, at yourself, wanes just slightly. It really is late - early - and, as if your body realizes this only after Mark says it, you yawn. Mark hears it clearly, letting a small smile grace his features for a split second because of it.

“Night.” It’s short and sweet, but he’s always been able to tell how much you love him. At this point, it doesn’t matter how much or how little you say.

“Night.” His response is just as succinct. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

He called, so he hangs up - it’s been your system since the eighth grade. It’s worked surprisingly well for four years.

You wish everything was as easy as who gets to hang up. 

After plugging your phone into its charger and turning into your blanket, you stifle another yawn. Before sleep finds you, you can’t help but whisper it into existence, your words muttered into your pillow for whatever higher power finds them-

Let him Be. He deserves it. Let him Be. He works so, so fucking hard. Let him Be.

Your thoughts are muddled, but that’s because it’s nearing 4:45 in the morning. You aren’t even entirely sure of what you’re saying. For what feels like the millionth time, you wonder how you’ll be able to get up in time for school within 3 hours. You wonder how Mark will do it. A part of you hopes that he forgets to set his alarm and gets the sleep he so desperately needs and deserves. 

He’s leaning against his car, scrolling through something on his phone when you open your door. You don’t bother checking the time. It’s about 7:54. You’d checked your grades about five minutes ago at 7:48. You’re wearing his favorite sweatshirt - the blue swim team one that’s too small on him and too big on you (it’s his damn shoulders, and that’s the only reason why). He appreciates your outfit, checking to make sure that your parents aren’t outside and leaning across the center console to slip his cold hands under the sweatshirt while finding your lips with his own to show you the extent of this appreciation. 

It isn’t until you pull away from him to see that it’s 8:02 that he shifts to Drive, though not before sending you a smirk while buckling his seat-belt and checking his mirrors. 

You check your calendar. 

32 school days ‘til Graduation. 

But I'm into it, I'm into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I'm into it, I'm into it, I'm into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit But I'm into it, I'm into it

25 school days until Graduation

You see it as a well-deserved break. You aren’t quite sure what Mark thinks. A distraction? You hope not. You’re more than just a distraction. You should be, at least. 

There’s not much time to mull this unpleasant thought over, though, as he teasingly nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. One of your hands flies to his hair, while the other keeps you sitting up in his bed while you’re still leaning back. One of his hands is on your thigh, while the other is splayed across your stomach, hiking your camisole up. His shirt is off - it has been for a while. There’s hickeys dotting his collarbone. 

If your mind was working, you’d be admiring your handiwork. 

“Your underwear’s still on,” He moves back slightly so his eyes meet yours, your fingers still entangled in strands of dark brown hair. His lips are red from kissing you earlier. You know for sure that your pupils are blown as wide as his are. “Can I change that?” Mark’s fingers are running over the elastic waistband that separates him from your skin. 

You blink. You swallow.

A voice in the back of your mind begs you to say yes, begs you to guide his head back to where you want his mouth. You haven’t fucked him in weeks, it whispers. If you don’t now, it’ll be even longer.

“Mark,” His name comes out as more of a whine that you expect. He dips his head down, pressing a chaste kiss on your knee.

“Hm?”

You’re this close - this close - to begging him. You can practically feel him on top of you - inside you - already.

Until, of course, your logic prevails.

“Mark,” You say his name again, without the rawness this time. His gaze bores into yours, awaiting your response. 

“Calc.”

Mark stays on his knees for a moment, and in that moment he seems hesitant to move. That’s dangerous - if he stays down any longer, you’ll beg him to continue. 

Thankfully, he presses one last, reverent kiss over your underwear before pushing himself up off of the floor. You’re still holding your breath. 

“I can’t believe I just got cock-blocked by math.” He grins at you, not perturbed. Mark’s nothing if not respectful. He tosses you your shorts before beckoning you back over to the floor beside his desk. 

Mark sits down, cross-legged, in front of you, but not before handing you your math notebook and grabbing his own. Your calculus textbook goes between the two of you.

“We can rain check.” You say. He quirks an eyebrow. 

It’s hot. He’s hot. 

You imperceptibly shake your head - you’re still flustered, and would give anything to be underneath your boyfriend. The only reason you aren’t is because your math grade depends on you acing tomorrow’s calculus test. 

“Come again?” Mark knows what you said - his teasing ass just wants to hear it again. You know what he wants to hear. 

“I want you to fuck me later.” You look him in the eyes, pleased to see a hint of a blush. Sometimes you miss the early stages of your relationship - where Mark had been constantly tripping over his own feet and as red as a fire hydrant. You’d been the smoother one, then. 

One corner of Mark’s mouth turns up, and he leans over the textbook to give you a short kiss. 

“I’m into that.” 

I'm getting way too deep I'm fucking into it I'm into it, yeah I'm into it I wouldn't change it for the world I'm fucking into it

He pulls a pill bottle from a box he keeps in the bottom right drawer of his desk. It’s where he stores everything important to him - polaroids of him and you together, his calendar, the swim team schedule and his list of swim times, his phone charger, his planner... and his Adderall. 

Mark takes his typical dosage into the palm of his hand, swallowing the pills dry. He moves to put the pill bottle back. It’ll be some time before it kicks in, but the rest of the day is ahead of both of you. 

He always takes some before studying, but never asks you to. It’s not something he wants for you. You’ve never asked, too - it’s not something you want for yourself. 

Your tongue feels like sandpaper, though, and every breath you take makes it feel as if there’s more lead in your lungs than air. Your math grade flashes through your mind. You need to ace the test for your grade and, by extension, your sanity. 

“Babe.” Without being fully aware of yourself, you place your hand on top of his. Neither of you will move from the floor in...hours. You’re sure of this. You may as well make the absolute most of it. 

“Give me some.”

I’ve been on the road since I was sixteen They don’t really notice I how I see things These girls they come and go between my bedsheets And I’ve been doing blue and causing big scenes, yeah

17 school days until Graduation

"Remember when we were sixteen?”

“Like... last year? Yeah.”

You turn over onto your side to face your boyfriend, only to find your nose in his bare chest. Mark chuckles. He moves back, allowing you to shift so that you’re face to face with him. 

“Fifteen and sixteen, at least. For sophomore year. Do you remember any of sophomore year?”

“Less depression.” His hard words come out soft, paired with an even softer smile. Mark wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body into his. Skin on skin. “Less getting laid, too.”

“Shut up,” You’re smiling now, too. The melancholy presses against your thoughts.

“I was talking about the less depression part, actually.”

“What about it?” Mark seems and sounds slightly antsier, all of a sudden. 

As he always does when you bring up things he might not want to hear. 

“Nothing big, just like... don’t you miss it? Going out sometimes and actually feeling like highschoolers?”

“We went to libraries, babe, and to the mall like every couple of months. It wasn’t anything special.”

“It was easier, though.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in. His skin is warm - you aren’t surprised. “No drugs and shit.”

Mark pulls away from you, very, very slightly. 

“Adderall isn’t a drug.” His voice is adamant. The speed of his switch from soft to rough is almost alarming. “You’ve had it once. You aren’t addicted.” 

You sigh, choosing not to respond. You’re too fucked out to fight him. Instead, you run the pads of your fingers over his collarbone. 

“No, but I’m addicted to you.”

Pull up and I’m higher than the big trees, yeah She don’t really like it but she needs me, yeah She saying she don’t really miss me But fuck it, now I’m faded after all things, yeah

12 school days until Graduation

“I can’t fucking believe you.” 

He pauses his notes to look up at you, taking in how your eyes are flashing. Your voice is controlled, but the fire in your eyes is unrivaled. The pill bottle is on its side - empty. The last time you’d seen it, which had been the last time you’d thought you’d ever see it, there had been one dosage left. A dosage that you’d been led to believe had ended up being flushed. 

You aren’t mad that he lied - at least, you think you aren’t. You’re mad that he, for the first time in years, broke a promise. 

Mark is unbothered by your tone. You’ll calm down eventually - whether its sooner or later makes no difference to him. Your boyfriend isn’t actually hearing you, anyways. It’s another reason as to why he isn’t really responding. His silence isn’t an invitation for you to continue, but it’s something nonetheless.

You take it.

“Ranks came out three days ago. You’re back in the top 10, Mark. You’re graduating in the top 10. We’re about to graduate, and you’re spending your time still fucking studying even when there’s only two weeks left of our senior year. You’re still on those goddamn pills when you promised me-”

“Just because I reached one goal doesn’t mean that everything else doesn’t matter anymore.” Short. You expected nothing else. 

“What’s everything else? What else is more important than your health? School? We’re pretty much done for three months. We don’t even have any fucking grades left to go in the grade book. We’re done, Mark. Senior year is over.”

He doesn’t respond for a beat of silence - two, three, four beats - fully focused on whatever is in front of him. It isn’t until you cease your pacing to stand directly behind him, hands on the back of his chair, that he even considers gracing you with a comment. 

“I’m looking over my times, trying to make a better workout regime so I can shed milliseconds.” Mark is straight with his words - he wants you to stop talking so he can politely ignore you. His shoulders are hunched into himself, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. The way he’s staring at the slightly crumpled time sheet in front of him makes you wonder if it’s possible to re-kill dead trees. 

“Your times are your lock screen.”

“So?”

“So- so? You always have them with you and you’re always looking at them, you don’t need Adderall to work on a workout schedule. You don’t need it at all, if I’m being fucking honest, and-”

He cuts you off for the second time in less than five minutes, his voice as sharp as a knife.

“You have no damn clue what I need.”

Your hands release his chair on reflex as you step back, everything about your body screaming that you’re offended. Mark pays this no heed, turning back to his desk.

It’s just one sentence, eight words, and part of you wants to argue. Part of you wants to bring up all of the times he’s leaned on you, the times you yourself have been exactly what he needs, but you know that that wouldn’t be playing fair. 

He’s gotten like this before, where he’s frozen everyone - frozen you - out without not so much as a thought. You’ve fought before, too, out of inevitability.

He’s never, however, been so blatant or blunt. Nothing he’s ever said before has hurt this much, for some reason. It’s jarring, and, before you know it, your throat is heavy. There are no tears pooling, but you know that they’ll come to you later. 

Without a word, you pick up your belongings. You’d worn one of his sweatshirts to his house, but opt to go home without it. 

Being petty can be subtle, after all. Mark deserves it, you think, anyways. 

You call a goodbye to his mother as you walk out the front door to your car. You make it to the end of his street before having to pull over and park, resting your forehead against the top of the steering wheel. A stray tear finds itself tracing a wellworn track down your face, leaving you to sigh. 

God, crying over a boy? Pathetic.

Your intrusive thoughts are screaming - laughing, hysterically, at your state. You dismiss them, willing yourself to think straight. 

Not just a boy, I’m crying over Mark. 

Sniffling, you beg yourself to get it together. Staying still can only lead to reminiscing over elementary school Mark, who promised you that he’d never leave your side (after, of course, you accidentally eating a worm and bursting into tears out of a fear of dying from it), to 8th grade Mark confessing his feelings for you in PE, moments before getting hit in the face by a particularly well-thrown dodgeball from Yukhei. Mark is as much a boyfriend as he is and almost always has been the most comforting and reliable presence in your life. With him so firmly, without a second thought, dismissing you...

You breathe in. Sharply.

It’s either drive home to avoid the reality of how much of a stronghold Mark has over your feelings or stay parked and traipse down memory lane, like, as you remind yourself, a goddamn pansy. A voice of reason tells yourself not to be harsh on yourself - you’ve known Mark for what? 12? 13? years and it’s normal to be hurt by him brushing you aside. A louder voice tells you to quit pitying yourself.

If Mark hurts himself mentally, you hurt yourself emotionally. 

Blinking away forming tears, you sit back and turn the ignition.  

5:53 pm

mark...us zusak 

>>did you get home safely

                                                                                      maybe<<

>>im glad

                                                                                          cool<<

6:12 pm

>>picking you up tmrw?

                                                                                          sure<<

>>ok

>>i’m really sorry

read 7:09 pm

But I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it, I’m into it, I’m into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

5 days until Graduation

You have to give him credit - after a somewhat teary but controlled argument in his car on the way to school, focused on why Mark really doesn’t need Adderall in his life, and on why he really doesn’t need to carry it with him to college, he really has tried giving it up. All seemed to be going well, even, for a couple of days.

You hadn’t realized how fast withdrawal would hit him. 

It isn’t as if either of you are wholly unprepared - you’ve both seen it happen to others. Adderall withdrawal can be dangerous, heightening both depression and anxiety. Even a slight dip in Mark’s mood has the inside of your mouth drying up. 

You can’t imagine what it feels like for him.

After all, neither of you are strangers to mental illness, but withdrawal is somewhere you can’t say you’ve been. 

Currently, Mark’s tongue is down your throat. The back of your mind screams at you that this is his way of dealing with withdrawal - by getting himself addicted to you. You know that this is the truth - that whatever he’s doing can end up being unhealthy for him - but you don’t have it in you to deny him as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your jeans and his other hand makes its way under your shirt and bra. 

You can’t help the moans that escape you. 

The pads of his fingers are rough against the skin of your back as he unclasps your bra, pulling it off of you along with your shirt. In the same arc, you hastily pull his shirt over his head, unzipping his jeans not long after. 

It isn’t until you’re splayed out on your bed, eyes already fucked out before he’s even touched you, that Mark breathily asks if you’re sure. As he always does.  

A part of you wants to deny him - for his own good, you tell yourself. Maybe for your own. (Is it possible to get addicted to a person when you aren’t running away from something else?)

The other, larger part of you wants you to pull his head to yours - his lips to yours - by his neck with one hand, taking the condom out of his grip with the other and telling him that you can put it on him yourself. The other, larger part of you wants Mark everywhere, engraved into your skin and lingering on your body.

The other, larger part of you wants - needs - to say yes.

Majority rules. 

But I’m into it, I’m into it I’m getting way too deep I’m fucking into it I’m into it, yeah I’m into it I wouldn’t change it for the world I’m fucking into it

12 hours until Graduation

You find your head against Mark’s shoulder as the two of you recline on the patio’s couch, watching the two of your families interact your joint graduation party. There’ll be a bigger celebration after tomorrow’s ceremony with a bigger crowd, so you cherish the small gathering in your backyard for tonight. Graduation is tomorrow - it almost feels too damn good to be true. The stars are all out, fairy lights have been strung overhead to add to the festivities, there’s laughter rising up from every direction, Mark’s arm is welcome around your shoulders, and you find yourself thinking that you could get used to this. 

“You know, I’m glad that we’re going to college together.”

Mark’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up at him - albeit slightly sideways. You nod, unsure of what to say in response. You’re in agreement with him, of course - even though you’ve both had your ups and downs, a life without as much Mark in it as now is one that you don’t want to imagine. 

He’s been such a constant presence for so long that you’re almost incapable of remembering a time without him. The thought scares you as much as it fills you with love. 

Wow.

You really are starting another chapter in your life. In your lives.

A fresh start - Mark’s still going through withdrawal, and you’re well aware, and just because your high school education is over doesn’t mean that life is automatically easier, now. Still - the next three months and four years after that are something to look forward to, not fear.

You aren’t sure how to voice all of this just yet, opting instead to repeat your awe at high school having ended. 

“High school’s really all over, now. We never have to step back in that building again.”

Mark chuckles at your revelation, running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“What about reunions?”

You roll your eyes at this, resting a hand on his chest momentarily before remembering that your parents aren’t aware of your relationship. Wriggling out of Mark’s grasp before inclining your head towards all four parents, you remain within a comfortable distance to him. He radiates warmth.  

“I’ll only go to them if you and our other friends do. Maybe.”

Mark grins. “Maybe I’ll drag you to them.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t. You’re all I need, anyways.”

“Hyuck? Renjun? Yeri? Jeno?”

“...You’re the one I need the most.”

“Glad to know that you’re an honest man, Mark Lee.” Your teasing tone makes your boyfriend laugh, and you’re hyperaware of how you could get used to this - smiley, lighthearted Mark. 

“Your roommate’s going to have fun with you.” He responds, nudging your shoulder with his. 

“Hey! I’m not the only one who’s a handful. Lucas? That’s your soon-to-be roommate’s name, right? Lucas has his work cut out for him. For his sake I hope you spend time outside of your dorm room.”

Mark grins as he presses his lips to your temple, simultaneously making sure that everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. He moves away as quickly as he’d kissed you, much to your mental chagrin. 

“What? You worried that I’ll leave you for him?” 

It’s your turn to nudge your boyfriend. Before you can respond, Mark’s mother’s voice cuts through the air. 

“Mark? (Name)? It’s time for the cake!” 

Mark gets up first, reaching his hand out to pull you up. 

“We’re coming!” You call, before turning to Mark with a half-grin on your face. “This isn’t over yet.”

Mark squeezes your hand before letting go of it.

“Can’t be over if you never started it.”

“Mark Lee!”

Girl I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it I am into it, I am into it

conGRADs, Mark and (Name)!

The sign is both massive and incredibly cheesy, but the amount of happiness it gives you is immeasurable. It hangs over Mark’s front porch, visible from the other end of the street, and as you and Mark pass by them, any neighbors that are out make sure to congratulate you. 

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. 

The two of you’d escaped the clutches of your overexcited parents a little bit over an hour prior, around 11, under the guise of taking a walk around the neighborhood to talk about your upcoming collegiate futures. That was how you’d ended the night, of course, but before that you’d both beelined to your house, wanting to sit and talk in your bedroom for the time being.  

Discussion of your coming lives had sputtered out after a while - after all, it’s all you’d both been talking about for years, now - and you’d wound up situated in Mark’s lap, laughing against his lips.

“We should have graduation night sex.”

His tone is matter-of-fact, so much so that you roll your eyes at his bluntness. “We’re going to have to get back eventually.”

“We have time!”

His laugh against your collarbone is enough to tell you that nothing’ll happen tonight, that time together will just be time together. Still, you can’t help but respond.

“Yeah, time enough at college. We’ll be out of the house in 3 months, baby.”

Mark wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the junction of your jaw and neck. It tickles. 

“We won’t have to sneak around and shit, either.” You continue, lightly running your hand through his hair. 

“We didn’t sneak around much this year, anyways. Our parents are just oblivious as fuck.”

“True-” You feel your phone vibrate, causing you to squirm around to reach it for a moment before Mark pulls it from your back pocket and hands it to you, mirth in his eyes. You scrunch up your nose at him before answering - its your mom.

“Where are you?” She sounds slightly worried, so you’re quick to mention that you’re with Mark and near your house, both safe and sound.  

“Come back quickly - Mark’s cousins are planning on sleeping soon because they start their four hour drive back at 6 in the morning, and we don’t want them to miss their chance to say good night to him.” 

You reply with a quick “I’ll tell him - love you.” before she hangs up. Sliding off of Mark’s lap, you help him up.

“Did you hear what she said, or?”

“Yeah. Your call volume’s always been too loud.” 

“I, for one, like to think that it’s just loud enough, thanks.”

Mark grins, choosing to loop an arm around your waist instead of replying.

The moment the two of you step inside, careful not to stand too close to each other, you’re bombarded by exclaims from family and friends and family friends alike. It’s getting late, and people are starting to gather up their belongings. You yourself are staying the night, however - otherwise, Mrs. Lee would riot.

You don’t mind. 

You close the front door behind you, being pulled into the group of people the moment that you do. 

As Mark is dragged into the ending remarks of a conversation with his aunts about something that you can’t quite hear, your mother’s friend’s young daughter tugs you down to her level to congratulate you, shyly placing a pipe-cleaner flower - clearly made by her - behind your ear. 

You kiss her cheek before she runs away out of shyness, far quicker than you expect her to be able to. Laughing, you stand up, only to be pulled into a discussion about your plans for college with your parents and one of your uncles. 

You briefly make eye contact with Mark - who’s also been given a pipe-cleaner flower - once, winking at him discreetly before turning back to nod along to your uncle’s rant over how you shouldn’t push your passions under the rug for your profession. You don’t see your boyfriend make his way through the throng of people gathered in his foyer - most have started filtering out, leaving by foot or by car - until you feel his hand against the small of your back for a quick moment. 

He shakes your father’s hand and hugs your mother before introducing himself to your uncle, who knows of him but doesn’t know him. Time passes quicker with Mark by your side, and, before you know it, it’s 2 am and the only people left in Mark’s how are both of your direct families and your uncle, who’s staying at your house for the night. 

“You have everything? Toothbrush? Pajamas?”

You sigh, looking pointedly at your father. 

“I’m a college student!”

“Doesn’t mean that you’re responsible.” 

You and your dad grin together before you shake your head. Both of your parents and your uncle bid you and the Lees goodnight before Mark’s parents follow them outside, probably to continue talking for a little bit more. 

Mark closes the door behind them, turning to you immediately after only to find that you’re already halfway upstairs. He shakes his head affectionately before following you up to his room. 

“(Name), you did remember a toothbrush, right?”

“Yeah, but I forgot clothes.”

“I guess you’ll just have to sleep naked - ow!” Mark rubs the skin on his arm where you’d lightly smacked him. It doesn’t erase the playful grin from his face. “Fuck you, fine. You can borrow some pajamas, or something.” 

You laugh as you flop down onto his bed before humming inquisitively to yourself for a moment over a question you’ve been mulling over in your head for a short while. You know that summer’s just started, but you can’t help but wonder how it’ll go.

“What’s your plan for this summer? Other than getting ready for our courses and stuff.”

Mark furrows his brows at this while he strips, changing into shorts and a shirt before throwing you one of his longest shirts. You change as well, folding your clothes neatly and placing them on his desk chair to take home tomorrow. 

“I haven’t thought about it, honestly. Why?” Mark turns off the hallway lights and opens his door halfway - a rule his parents have for his bedroom door whenever you sleep over. It’s fair, you suppose, even if they don’t know that you’re together. Maybe it’s especially because they don’t know that you’re together. 

Mark turns off the light after laying his sleeping bag down on the floor, giving you the bed as always. 

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up on the floor next to him, also as always.   

“I was thinking...” 

“Yeah?”

You turn on your side to face your boyfriend in the dark.

“I was thinking that we could take a road trip.” 

A long silence follows your statement, and you begin thinking that you’ve made a mistake asking until, in the dark, you can see the faint outline of Mark’s smile.

“I’m free all summer, babe. Just tell me where and when.”

“For real?” 

The excitement in your voice is almost tangible, and you’re half embarrassed at how childish you must sound. Mark, to his merit, just nods while smiling.

He looks up at you, and, even in the dark, you can see the softness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” He pauses, grinning at you. 

“I’m into it.”

fin... for now?

im shit at endings but also this has been like...a month coming...i’m gonna come back and rewrite this someday but yeet enjoy.... i should’ve reread before posting but w/e 

#nctwriters #mark lee scenario #mark lee #nct #nct u #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 2018 #mark #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark lee smut #nct 127 preferences #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct preferences #nct u preferences #nct u scenario #nct u scenarios #taeyong scenario #jaehyun scenarios #johnny scenario #taeyong smut #doyoung smut #mark lee scenarios

[artificialqueens]

Convenient Denial Ch. 1 (Biadore) - Valencia

AN: FINALLY IT ME, THE BIADORE HOLIDAY FIC <3 I’m sorry it’s taken so long, it’s my first time writing fanfic so please let me know how I’m doing - I’d love to get any feedback/constructive criticism :)) The next two chapters are going to be super smutty with a sprinkling of angst/fluff and I think it’ll probably be around 4-5 chapters in total (I might write a pure fluff epilogue as well to finish it off depending on if you guys like it)

Thanks heaps for reading, love Valencia x

Blurb: Roy is convinced the only reason why he misses Danny so much is because they’re such good friends - nothing more, nothing less. Danny is supposedly well over the silly crush he used to have on Roy back in Season 6. As they go on holiday together, feelings surface that neither quite know how to deal with.

Chapter 1

The tensely corded muscles in Roy’s neck and his constant stress headaches are a blaring sign that he needs a holiday. He always a bit on edge lately, but surprisingly he’s been in a good mood the last couple of days –since Adore’s father’s day post. Danny always knows how to make him smile, and the annual father’s day post dedicated to him never fails to do so. Roy can’t quite pinpoint why, but he’s missing Danny more than usual especially after seeing his latest photos online. Not for the first time, he scrolls through Adore’s instagram feed, trying to ignore the way his eyes lingers on the more racy pics. A stupid grin refuses to leave his face as he clicks on Adore’s post to him. He reads the cute caption over twice before letting himself look at their photo. His heart tugs as he sees adorably rumpled Danny. They both look so happy, so content and comfortable in each other’s company. He misses the days during and after Season 6 when it seemed like his entire world was Adore and Courtney. Now all the time they get together is a group dinner every couple of months if they’re lucky. And barely any time with Danny.

Danny’s the one person he misses the most when he’s on the road. He knows exactly when to make him laugh, and when to stay quiet - even though he never actually does, and he’s a pro at reading him right back whenever Roy dishes it out. No one knows Roy Haylock, or Bianca Del Rio as well as Danny does, and that’s why they’re the closest of friends. He just wishes sometimes they could be like normal best friends, be able to walk over to each other’s houses whenever they feel like it and spend lazy Sundays watching trash reality shows, gossiping about their co-workers and painting their nails. He can’t remember the last time they saw each other for more than a couple days.  

Feeling unreasonably sorry for himself, he pushes all thoughts of Danny away. He’s lucky to be given this opportunity to travel the world, he firmly reminds himself, and he’s worked so hard to get to where he is now. But even Roy can tell he’s overworked and stressed, especially judging by the fact that he’s getting all soppy over something as small as missing his friend. He definitely needs a fucking holiday. The thought of a holiday has plagued his mind the last year or so but he’s never let himself commit to going. He dislikes being on a plane a second longer than needed but if he stays at home he knows he’ll end up working again, doing taxes or some other mundane task. Roy decides he has to go relax and unwind, have some drinks and maybe a massage or two - hopefully that’ll work all this tension out of his system.

He trawls the internet, researching destinations and browsing through idyllic beachfront resort photos. For some reason he doesn’t really feel that excited. After some thought he realises he can’t just sit alone in his own company for a week, he’ll be bored out of his mind. But on the other hand, he generally prefers his own company over others. Except for… No.. he can’t take Danny, can he? He mentally checks Adore’s schedule; refusing to admit to himself that it’s kinda stalkerish that he knows her entire upcoming month off by heart. He tells himself that he’s always made an effort to keep tabs on her career only because he’s incredibly proud of her success but it goes deeper than Roy likes to acknowledge - he mainly just likes to know where Danny is, especially when he’s not home. Adore isn’t touring at the moment but she’s fully booked around the States. What if he asks and Danny doesn’t think spending time together is important enough to miss his prior work commitments? Danny’s biggest pet peeve is being called lazy based on his punk drag and throws himself into his work to prove everyone wrong. Roy can’t do it, he’s so nervous even the thought of that conversation makes his stomach lurch. He knows he isn’t going to be able to face the rejection that may follow. With the idea of a holiday dismissed yet again, he pours himself a bitterly strong drink and slowly starts painting his eyes like a racoon for Bianca’s evening show.

The idea of Danny and Roy on vacation together buzzes around in Bianca’s head all night, no matter how hard she tries to concentrate on her comedy gig. Can’t help but get a little lost in the thoughts of having breakfast with Danny every single morning for seven days. Hearing Danny’s sunny laughter when he succeeds in making the younger man laugh and being able to say “See you tomorrow” and actually mean it. Bianca glugs through her drinks like a deprived alcoholic the entire show, trying and failing miserably to get Danny out of her head. Slowly everything starts to get a bit hazy, but that does little to repress the thoughts she’s been attempting to ignore. After a couple more drinks after the show has ended, with yet another stiff drink in hand, he finds himself picking out their seat selection so Danny can sit next to the window.

Roy wakes up the next morning to a pounding headache and a flight confirmation in his email inbox. His stomach slightly twists as he reads over the details.

Holiday resort package for two - Bali - one week.

Paranoia takes over, and he’s wondering how he’s going to break it to Danny - would Danny think it’s weird? Would he assume that Roy is just old and lonely, trying to buy company? Fuck. The older man doesn’t want to hear the hesitant ‘Sorry, I’ve got a lot going on right now’ from his lips, and the guilty ‘oh no, I feel so bad for wasting your tickets’ that will follow. Well. The tickets are already bought so he commands himself to suck it up, grow a pair and let Danny know. It’s his choice what he wants to do.

“I’ve got tickets. A week holiday, from this weekend.” Danny isn’t surprised at the early morning call from Roy or the lack of a greeting. “Oh my god cool! Where to?” “I won them.” He blurts out. Where the fuck did that come from? The white lie just slips out, his subconscious clearly a tad too insecure to tell him the full truth. Danny laughs, “You fucking lucky bitch. I guess once a winner always a winner.” “Guess that’s what happens when you’ve got talent.” Roy retaliates. A characteristic scream laugh from Danny’s end of the line. “Lucky for me I get to enjoy your benefits. So who’s the real winner bitch?” Roy’s laughing into the phone and Danny’s chest elates - he loves making Roy laugh.  He can’t remember the last time someone besides Roy has made him this goofily happy.

“So you wanna come?” “Fuck yeah, I’m down.” It’s only after Roy hangs up he realises with a grin that Danny has agreed to come without even knowing where they were going.

The second his call with Roy ends he’s calling his manager and cancelling the week block. There must be something in his voice, an urgency perhaps, that makes his manager silent for a few seconds on the phone rather than a straight up ‘what the fuck?!’ “You’re sure?” She asks dubiously. Danny’s never asked for time off before. “Yeah man, I really need some time, you know, to take care of myself.” She agrees to postpone whatever she can and Danny is thinking to himself that the stars have finally aligned. He gets Roy all to himself in paradise for a whole week - for free too! They’re going to have time to talk for fucking hours and do every single thing he misses doing with Roy. It’s gonna be fucking epic.

*  * *  * * *  * * * *

Roy tells Danny a later flight time so he knows the messy man won’t be packed. He drags Danny off to the airport with just a carry on each, haphazardly packed last minute. “Do you know what my deepest, darkest fantasy is?” Roy says suggestively, quirking a brow. Danny brain stutters for a split second - god yes, he wants to hear every single one of Roy’s dirty fantasies. “Wha?” He cringes at how he breathless he sounds as soon as the word is out of his mouth but thankfully Roy doesn’t seem to notice. “Travelling with just a tiny ass carry on!” Roy says with a laugh. Danny nods in full agreement, suppressing the tinge of disappointment he feels when he realises the latino man isn’t talking about anything remotely sexual. “Yeah girl, if we’re hauling their asses back on a plane we’re gonna do it without 5 motherfucking suitcases of drag.”

*  * *  * * *  * * * *

“Does our room have a balcony?” Danny asks with puppy dog eyes. Roy chuckles, and Danny nudges him with his shoulder as they’re walking from the resort lobby to the elevators. “I’m serious! I need a balcony for my morning joints.” “It’s not our room pussyfart, we have our own rooms. We’re famous remember? We can afford it.” Roy sarcastically retorts. Their rooms are side by side, almost identical with a king bed and a ridiculous number of pillows on each. Danny cheekily waits until Roy is unpacked before declaring that he prefers Roy’s balcony and that he better get used to him using it. The two look similar - actually Danny’s room seems to have the better view. Roy doesn’t argue though, he knows Danny will be out on his balcony pretty much 24/7 - and he doesn’t mind at all.

“We made it girl!” Danny flops onto the bed like a mermaid, legs tilted together before stretching out into a starfish and rolling around. “And the flight wasn’t even too bad.” Danny had thoroughly enjoyed the seemingly too short flight, mainly because he had spent most of it with Roy’s head nestled between his neck and shoulder. The show they started watching was so good too, even though half his attention was constantly fixed on how close Roy was to him. They spy the massive pool from their balcony and decide to have a dip, overly excited by the fact the pool also has a built in bar. “Wanna get a drink to celebrate?” Roy asks smiling. Danny jumps up without hesitation, “Party.”

They freshen up and make their way downstairs. Roy’s changed into a pair of khaki shorts that are tighter than usual and Danny’s eyes can’t help but trail down his toned back and linger on his round ass. Danny loves the booty, no matter what size or shape, but goddamn - the curve of Roy’s heart shaped ass is mouthwateringly gorgeous. Ugh, such a gorgeous man with such a gorgeous ass. He pushes the thought out of his head as they enter the outdoor balcony seating, he can’t think of Roy like that. He isn’t allowed to, not after the first time around. There had been a period after Season 6 where he let himself indulge in that fantasy. Mistaking every friendly and affectionate gesture as hidden romantic interest only led to the most painful heartbreak of his life – and it was worse because he never had Roy to begin with, so technically he didn’t even have a loss to mourn. But he’s over it now, and as long as he doesn’t let this thoughts stray to what could’ve been, he’ll be just fine.

They sprawl themselves on reclined lounge chairs, enjoying the luxury of ordering their food and drinks poolside. Impatient to swim, Roy wolfs down his noodles in record time and starts to lather on sunscreen. “Wait 30 minutes girl. I got mad cramps swimming after eating pizza once it was not cute.”  Roy secretly loves that Danny fusses over him a lot of the time but he rolls his eyes for dramatic effect. “No need to mother me.” “I’d rather be daddy actually.” Danny pouts his lips and winks suggestively. Roy lies back down to tan as he waits for the food in his stomach to settle and Danny moves himself closer so they can chat over the noise of the busy pool. They start discussing the drama on the tv show they’ve started on the plane, their unending stream of conversation diverging until they’re somehow giggling at each other’s childhood stories.

They’re so wrapped up in each other and it’s only when the sun is setting in glorious streaks of red and purple that they realise how late it’s become. Not wasting any more time, they jump in; Roy swimming long, powerful strokes while Danny splish splashes around like a flying fish. He keeps accidentally splashing Roy in the face, shrieking and pretending to drown when Roy retaliates. They have handstand competitions and bet drinks on who can hold their breath underwater the longest. Danny always wins despite his smoker lungs and Roy playfully accuses him of cheating, jumping on him and pulling him under. “It’s ‘cause I’m a mermaid.” He says with a theatrical hair flip. Roy shakes his head, “More like a siren. Luring trade to their tragic deaths.” Danny blinks up at him with wet eyelashes and a cheeky smile and Roy can’t stop staring at how fucking perfect his face is. He can’t stop his hammering heart either and even though he knows his heart shouldn’t be beating that fast for a friend, especially Danny, his heart gives zero fucks.

They swim until they’re the only two left in the pool and it feels like their entire bodies are pruned. Roy gets out first to get them towels and as the multicoloured poolside lights reflect off the sheen of water on his body, Danny can’t help but gawk at him. Roy’s wearing a thin loose singlet, and seeing it plastered wet on him is almost more erotic than his bare chest. The clingy see through shirt defines the lean muscles of his torso, not leaving much to the imagination yet not revealing everything. God, his thoughts turn dirty so quick it makes his head spin and Danny gets hard as his eyes trail down to where Roy’s tight shorts do nothing to conceal his bulge. He’s trying to think of repulsive and un-sexy things like centipedes and people getting run over by a bus but his efforts get lost in a sea of filthy fantasies where Roy and him share the starring role.

“Let’s go back up, the pool’s closing down. I think the cleaners are getting a bit impatient waiting on us.” Roy’s standing by the edge of the pool, ready to go. Danny shakes his head, wracking his brain for an excuse to stay in a bit longer until he can get his problem under control. His face is an open book and it slowly dawns on Roy why he’s blushing and refusing to get out. “Oh my god are you haard?” Roy teases with a chuckle, his voice involuntarily deepening. “No it’s just- it’s not because of anything- it’s just like- one of those random boners you get you know? When you’re in one position for ages and then you move suddenly-” He’s rambling nervously, looking anywhere but Roy which the older man is thankful for - or else he would’ve noticed Roy heatedly staring at the outline of his hardened cock pressing against his swimming shorts. Roy forces himself to look away. “C’mere, I’ll block you. The cleaners are coming over to tell us to go.” He holds out a towel for him as Danny sheepishly gets out, avoiding all eye contact. Roy thinks to himself that red-faced, embarrassed Danny is probably one of the cutest things he’s ever seen - and accidentally-hard Danny is definitely the sexiest.

#bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #fluff #angst #valencia #rpdr fanfiction #canon compliant #convenient denial

[captainsimagines]

RENT - PART 1

In which eight old friends in dire need move in together for one year. 

Warnings: language; heart attack; angst

A/N: AH! I’m back! I am so sorry I was gone for so long but I finished yet another quarter of college. The play went amazing, I believe I passed all my classes, and I here I am with another great idea for an Avenger’s series! I am basing it off the musical RENT, but the storyline is not going to be the same nor will the characters resemble those in the musical. I really hope you guys enjoy this series. These will be slow updates but hey, this feel good story is just in time for Christmas/holidays! I love you all!

PART ONE 

“Seasons of Love” - PART TWO

STEVE

“Guys, I really need to stop,” Steve panted, resting his palms on his bruising knees. Each breath was beginning to burn his chest, expanding and contracting in desperate spurts.

“Really, dude? This is the fifth freaking time in thirty minutes!”

Steve couldn’t assign the voice to a face nor did he care to do so at the moment. The longer he remained bent at the back resulted in new cramps spasming throughout his arm. Steve huffed a couple more times before he straightened himself, hissing at the massive headache he suddenly endured.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Before he could give a verbal response or a simple nod, Steve collapsed. Rapid shocks ran up his arm and to the middle of his chest, blistering his heart as it continued tormenting him. Wide-eyed and right hand over his heart, Steve gasped for just a sliver of air.

”Steve, you have to calm down to breathe!”

The whole gym seemed to be surrounding him, stealing the air he so desperately craved.

”I think he’s having a heart attack! Call an ambulance!”

Before he blacked out entirely, Steve managed to latch onto someone’s hand.

”Get Y/N.”

Y/N ran alongside the stretcher Steve was currently unconscious on. She stumbled over her own brain for a couple seconds trying to visualize the steps on how to save a heart attack victim. When they finally lifted his lifeless body onto a hospital bed, she quickly began with chest compressions. She counted them under your breath, searching Steve’s face for any sign of awakening.

“Step away!” another doctor yelled, stepping forward and shocking Steve once on both sides of his chest. The sight of her high school friend bouncing but remaining comatose had her stuttering. Y/N leaned forward and performed CPR, hoping the little oxygen she supplied was somehow enough.

“Clear!” Another shock and bounce but no result. She resumed CPR, cursing at Steve under her breath.

“C’mon, Steve. I didn’t know you that well but you can’t die on me,” she whispered, pinching his nose again and breathing into his mouth.

”Clear!”

Stepping away before the shocks came, Y/N clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. This could not be happening.

”Call it,” one of the doctors muttered, setting the equipment down. Without thinking twice, she reached over and rubbed the paddles together before shocking Steve herself.

”Doctor Y/L/N!”

Screams of protest vanished when Steve’s heartbeat became regular and steady again. She released a breath she had been holding in for Steve, the weight on her shoulders instantly lifted.

“You got lucky, Y/L/N.” She could only nod since an immense amount of relief was keeping her immobile. She waited until the nurses finished hooking Steve to the machines to lean over and push the hair away from his face.  

”What in the world happened to you?”

3 Years Later

“I’m fine,” Steve groaned while on the phone, rolling his eyes at his mother’s daily check-up. He bit his lip and smiled when she reminded him for the hundredth time during that one phone call alone to take his medication.

“Steve, honey. Don’t work yourself too hard, now.”

“I never do,” Steve said, finishing the sentence with a quick ‘I love you’ and goodbye. He hung up and returned to his recipe book, scanning the numerous healthy options that never seemed to peak his interest. Steve finally chose one and made it from scratch, leaning over the counter every couple seconds to make sure he didn’t forget an ingredient.

Munching on a piece of garlic bread, Steve let out a heavy and boring sigh. He ate silently, sitting outside on his small balcony overlooking Brooklyn. For such a crappy apartment, he sure did have an amazing view. He read the newspaper alone, busted a hundred push-ups and sit-ups alone, and even slept alone.

This was his life. Wake up and go for a morning jog only to come back to make a healthy meal that he didn’t share with anyone. Well, there is one person I could shar- no, no, Steve thought.

It was December 20th, five days until Christmas, and Steve was planning on spending that alone, also. He told his mother he had plans with friends. In all honesty, he didn’t want to see family these days. The overwhelming push to visit family was chasing him but he refused to acknowledge it. All he heard when he visited was a long string of “Well, you certainly don’t look like a guy who would have a heart attack!”, “Are you eating healthy?”, and “You still can’t find a job? How are you affording that place?”

The apartment was huge. It was definitely large enough to pack about fifty people. In the past three years, Steve could only hold a few jobs here and there, the strain of heavy work too dangerous. His employers would witness one mishap, that never had to do with Steve’s heart condition by the way, and fire him on the spot to avoid a potential lawsuit. He was barely paying his rent now, skipping a few months here and there only to ask for more time to gather some extra money. The landlord gave him every chance, but Steve knew his luck was running out.

By the time he returned to his apartment in the late hours of the night, he found that the electricity had been shut off.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his cold hands together. He marched up to the thermostat and whined, seeing that the current temperature was low enough to turn his balls blue- and not in the pleasant way.

Shuffling around each room, he snagged every blanket he could find. He wrapped himself up tightly, sitting on the couch and huffing loudly. No television, no electricity, and no heat. He just sat there, cheeks red and face angry.

Throwing the blankets to the floor and standing angrily, Steve dragged the trash bin to the middle of the room and grabbed his lighter. He piled up some of his old photographs- simple images of nature and animals that he took a while ago. He threw them all into the bin and lit them on fire, moaning in content by the sudden rush of heat.

That’s how he spent his whole night- rubbing at his hands and arms over the fiery trash bin, struggling to stay awake the whole time so he didn’t fuck up and burn the whole building down.

The next morning, December 21st, Steve rolled out of bed in pain. He clutched at his chest and rapidly searched for his medication on his bedside table, snapping the lid off and swallowing two pills. The pain continued for a few minutes before the medication kicked in, soothing his violent muscle spasms. Steve sat at the edge of his bed trying to control his breathing, eyes closed in concentration.

Sighing heavily, he carefully stood up and dressed in sweats. He decided to skip his morning jog because of his rude awakening, but he still opened that recipe book and struggled with breakfast.

______

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Banner asked, removing the stethoscope from each ear. Steve smiled at his doctor and gave him the same reply he always did.

”Could be better.”

“Anything new?” With his hands, Dr. Banner motioned for Steve to lay on his back. Steve obliged, groaning silently when the cold, plastic covering made him shiver.

“Shortness of breath, pains in the morning. The same thing,” Steve explained. Dr. Banner squeezed down and around Steve’s stomach, listening to Steve intently.

“Still taking your medication?” he asked, watching as Steve’s face scrunched when he ran his hand over his kidneys.

“Two pills, four times a day.”

“Good. You can sit up now.“

Steve pulled his shirt down and sat up, a thin smile printed on his face. For the past three years, Steve had been visiting Dr. Banner after his mother suggested it. He didn’t pay for his weekly to monthly check-ups. Without insurance or a plan at all, his mother was his guardian angel. Without a job even, it would be hard to pay anyway.

“Well, Steve. Your heart continues to struggle.” Steve sighed and bowed his head. “But, your lungs are getting better. Don’t start smoking, though.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Steve mumbled, smiling up at the man he had grown fond of.

“Oh, and I got that information you wanted from your last visit,” Dr. Banner said, jogging to his desk and pulling out a small index card.

“Oh, really? I thought she dropped off the face of the earth,” Steve chuckled, taking the index card from him.

“She kind of did.”

With furrowed eyebrows, Steve looked from his doctor to the address written in black ink.

“No, no. I know this address,” Steve shook his head. “Did you get her name right?”

“I did. Your friend works there now,” Dr. Banner chuckled, picking up a few files and organizing his desk.

“Um, Y/N Y/L/N,” Steve drawled out, still not believing the man in front of him. Dr. Banner let out another laugh and simply nodded.

“Your friend, Y/N Y/L/N, the person who saved your life,” Dr. Banner leaned over and tapped the card in Steve’s hand. “She works there now.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, unable to form another sentence. With that, he thanked Dr. Banner one last time and went back home. 

____

After finishing dinner, Steve took his camera out from under his bed and decided to go for his daily walk. With the index card tucked into his jacket, Steve left his apartment in a rush.

Dressed in an oversized coat, a heavy scarf, pants that were a little too short on him, his winter boots, and his camera strapped around his neck, Steve walked at a steady pace. He counted each step to make sure he wasn’t going to fast, afraid his heart wouldn’t catch up. He snapped a couple pictures here and there of anything that caught his eye- trees, the sky, a fashionable teenager, anything.

Once he arrived at the address, he couldn’t bring himself to open the front door. Each time he would reach out to pull it open, someone would exit rapidly. Jittery about the whole situation, Steve simply ran his hand through his air and cleared his throat, as if he wasn’t just about to enter the run-down establishment. He sucked in a breath of cold air, however, and reached for the door handle once again. As if saving him from yet another embarrassing encounter, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

”Hey, man.”

Steve turned away from the front doors and quickly fixed his phone to his ear. The smile on his face was sure enough permanent.

“Bucky?”

”So, you remember my voice? Sweet,” Bucky chuckled causing Steve to smile wider if that was even possible.

“I haven’t heard from you since you returned from the war!” Steve stated, turning around and heading back to his apartment, his original plans thrown out of his clouded mind.

”There was a reason.” Steve was about to ask what he meant by that but Bucky continued speaking. “Listen, I need a favor.”

Steve jogged up the stairs but stopped right in front of his apartment door. With a quiet sigh, he tore the eviction warning down and crumbled it up. “Yeah, anything!”

”I need a place to stay for a while.”

Steve unlocked his door and nodded to himself, forgetting that Bucky couldn't hear his approval. “No problem. One question, though: You got rent money?”

“You got another question?” Steve laughed as well, giving Bucky his address and telling him goodbye.

A knock at his front door snapped him out of his boyish excitement. Throwing open the door, Steve gave his next door neighbor a bright smile.

“Hey, Peggy!”

Peggy cleared her throat and scanned Steve up and down quickly, matching Steve’s wide smile. “Hi, Steve!”

The quiet pause had Steve scrunching his eyebrows. Before he could ask what she wanted, Peggy held out a flyer. “Sorry, I just wanted to drop this off.”

Steve took the flyer from her hand and read the bold writing. “It’s a flyer for my dance recital on New Year’s Eve. I was hoping you could make it.”

Peggy rocked back and forth on her feet, her heart stammering with every motion of Steve’s occupied eyes.

“This sounds amazing! I’ll definitely be there,” Steve smiled, holding the flyer close to his chest. Peggy held in a squeal, nodding slightly as her response.

“Really? Thank you so much.”

“Anything for my best girl,” Steve joked, leaning against the doorframe. Peggy breathed into her chilly hands and chuckled.

“I’ll talk to you later. Thank you, again Steve.”

“Hey,” Steve said before Peggy left. “Can I bring a friend?“

Peggy swallowed thickly, afraid Steve’s friend was of the female species. “That would be great!“

Steve did a little cheer and told her goodnight, waiting until Peggy entered her apartment to shut his door. 

Steve snuggled up in a dozen blankets that night, not that it was any different from any other night. Still, Steve didn’t quite realize that his apartment was about to become a lot warmer in the next few days than he thought possible. A warm Christmas.

”525,600 minutes, how do you measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights

In cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laugher and strife.”

TAG LIST: (tell me if you want to be tagged!)

@4theluvofall @ihavemymomentsstill 

#avengers au #avengers x reader #avengers x you #Avengers #Rent AU #series #new series #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #t'challa #writer's block #it's lit #peggy carter #love #angst #fanfic

[iris-writes-things]

Crazy, Millennial Love Story chapter 7

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut!

Keith knows what’s up when Shiro insists he should go to this ‘networking’ party at Allura’s place. He’s not dumb. But, on the other hand, making friends might not be such a bad idea at all. So with home made business cards in his pockets, and faux confidence on his face, he decides to tag along.

Chapter 7 of ? Ongoing 2202 words Modern/romance

“So, did Allura say anything about the people that’d be here?” Keith asked, nervously clutching his home made business cards in the pocket of his sweater. They stood in an elevator currently going up to Allura’s apartment, and he was getting second thoughts.

“She didn’t name any names…” Shiro mumbled as he thought for a second. “But I’m sure that if they’re Allura’s friends, they’re probably nice.” He said as he patted Keith’s back when the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, practically pushing the boy out, up to the front door of Allura’s apartment.

“Okay, but this better be good.” Keith grumbled crankily as he rang the doorbell with a shaking finger.

“Keith, Shiro! You made it!” Allura beamed as she opened the door.

“Of course we did.” Shiro smiled.

Keith glared up at the other man, only now becoming aware of his ulterior motive. God damn it, he couldn’t believe he fell for Shiro’s ploy.

“Come on in, I think Hunk just started passing out his snacks.”

“Sounds like perfect timing to me.” Keith joked as he sneaked past Allura. He looked back as he walked through the small hallway. Whatever Shiro and Allura had going on between them should have been the most straightforward thing in the universe. Why did the two of them have to make things so much more difficult than they necessarily had to be? Better yet, why was Keith allowing himself to apparently a be pawn in a game that should be strictly between the two of them. Before he knew it, he reached the living room, where he walked right into something, or rather, someone huge. “Oof--”

“Hey man, are you okay?” A voice asked as Keith was carefully hoisted back up to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Keith mumbled, looking up at the other man. He had dark skin and even darker hair, held back with a yellow bandana. And he was big. A full head taller than Keith and twice his width, and even though there was a healthy amount of fat on his body, Keith felt that he had next to no difficulty picking him up.

“Good.” He smiled, carefully placing a tray of beautifully crafted snacks on the salon table.

“Uh, sorry I almost ruined your food...” Keith said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry about it, man. They’re all A-OK.” The man said, shooting Keith a reassuring smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m, er, I’m Keith.”

“I’m Hunk. Nice meeting you.” He said enthusiastically. “That guy over there is Lance, and the kid is Pidge.”

Keith nodded and nervously waved at the others, who greeted him in return.

“And of course you already know Allura.” Hunk smiled as she and Shiro approached from the hallway.

“Yes, he does. Sorry we got a little distracted.” Allura chuckled, twirling her hair with her fingers.

“Yeah, of course you got ‘distracted’.” Keith said, giving her and Shiro a knowing smirk. “But seriously, don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

“As you beautifully demonstrated by walking straight into Hunk.” Pidge, the smallest of the group joked.

Keith smiled. Yeah. He could see himself making friends here.

***

“Okay, don’t say anything.” Lance said, taking a sip from his drink as Keith sat down next to him. “You’re in art school, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah… I was.” He mumbled. “How’d you guess?”

“You just seemed like the type. You don’t look old enough to have graduated already, though. What happened? Skipped a few years?”

“I haven’t. I dropped out.” Keith answered simply. “I had to skip class every other so I could work to afford my tuition. I realized that was pretty fucked up, so I just quit.” Keith knew Lance hadn’t asked to hear his tragic backstory, and God knew this wasn’t even half of it, but he supposed talking about it helped.

“Oh man… I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not like it’s your fault.” He smiled. “So, what do you do? You don’t even look old enough to be in college.” He asked as he took a swig from the beer Allura had given him very reluctantly after their adventure the weekend previous.

“My major is international tourism.” Lance said proudly. “I travel around a lot, so I get to go sightseeing, like, all the time. Though it’s much more fun to go looking for the hidden gems, like restaurants and just really pretty spots nobody would think to visit.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool. Maybe you can tell me where to go when I’ve finally got enough cash to to on an actual vacation.” Keith said, smiling more genuinely this time. Lance’s enthusiasm was infectious, and rubbed off on him quickly.

“By the way, do you do, like, wedding photography?” Lance asked out of seemingly nowhere. “I mean, Allura showed off the pictures you took of her and her new model, under embargo, of course, and just… I don’t know, they looked really romantic. Could you do something like that again?”

“Actually, I haven’t done weddings before, but I’m willing to try if you’re offering.” Keith said enthusiastically.

“Ah, you’re my hero! The photographer my sister hired bailed on us at the last minute.” Lance sighed in relief. “Are you free next Saturday?”

Keith pretended to think for a while. Between drinking and possibly getting high if he was lucky enough to get the boyscout out of the apartment somehow, Keith’s saturdays were usually devoid of plans. “Yeah, I’m free.” He nodded, handing Lance one of his wonkily cut business cards. “You can just text me the place and time, and I’ll make sure I’m there.”

“What about pay? How much do you charge?”

He’d had a week to prepare for this, and of all things, he had completely forgotten to so much as think about his prices. “Uh… You mentioned your sister already had a photographer, right?” He tried. Lance nodded. “She can just pay me what she was going to pay the other guy.” Keith said before deciding to finish off his beer, mentally giving himself a pat on the back for that save.

“Great! Then I’ll tell her she won’t have to go over her 3K budget.”

Keith choked on his beer.

***

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Shiro and Katie stood in the kitchen in a Mexican standoff. Shiro still frequently called and texted with Matt and yet, he had no idea his little sister was close friends with the girl of his recent dreams.

Katie, on the other hand, was well aware that Shiro had taken up modeling. After all, she was the one who had sent Matt the article Buzzfeed had written behind Shiro’s back. However, she hadn’t signed up for watching him and Allura being sickeningly sweet in the doorway earlier.

“You first.” Katie insisted.

“I’m here to chaperone Keith. Allura took us out for dinner last weekend, and Keith had way too much to drink.”

“That’s not all, is it?” She prodded, crossing her arms and cocking her hip.

“Well, it’s Allura… I mean, any excuse to spend more time with her is a good one.” Shiro replied simply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your turn.”

“Allura is a friend of mine. She commented on one of my #CHOOTD once and we just kind of hit it off.” The teen shrugged.

“Hashtag CH… O… What?”

“Cryptid hunting outfit of the day.” She explained.

“Oh, yeah. Matt mentioned you liked stuff like that.” Shiro smiled. “Found any Bigfoots lately? Or… Bigfeet?”

Katie buried her face in her hands, muffling a frustrated scream. “I swear, you’re worse at this than my dad.”

“How come everyone calls you Pidge here?” The older man asked, all joking aside.

“My dad told me never to blog under my own name, because ‘stranger danger’,” she said, making big airquotes “so I used the nickname Matt made up for me as a pen name.” She then gazed away slightly as she mumbled, “I don’t know. I guess I like it more than ‘Katie’...”

Shiro had never made it to being a detective, but he knew full well when he wasn’t told the full truth. However, he also knew when not to keep prying, and Katie still looked uncertain about the situation.

“Well… Would you like me to call you Pidge from now on? No questions asked.”

Katie, no, Pidge smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Shiro.” She said with an excitement he hadn’t heard from her that entire night. “By the way, my mom said Matt and I could invite someone over for Thanksgiving leftovers next Saturday, so consider this your official invitation.”

“Wait, what? Why me?” He asked, brows knitted.

“Because you haven’t visited us for ages…” Pidge mumbled, her voice taking on a much more desperate tone. “You used to come over to our place all the time, but I’ve barely seen you since the accident. I know you still call and text Matt all the time, but it’s just not the same without you around. Honestly, we miss you…”

“Well…” Shiro tried, “can Keith come, too? I wouldn’t wanna leave him home alone while I help you guys finish up your mom’s delicious leftovers.” As much as he hated to admit it, the younger man had become somewhat of a security blanket to him. It wasn’t healthy, he knew, but there still were things he wasn’t ready to face on his own. Visiting the Holts being one of them. ‘The accident’, which he caused, he reminded himself, had cost their son his promising career as a city police detective. And while Shiro knew that neither Sam nor Colleen had it in them to actually do something to him, he still felt like he couldn’t look them in the eye for taking Matt’s dreams away from him.

“Yeah, of course.” The little girl smiled brightly from the accomplishment.

Their heads whipped around when Allura entered the room. “Pidge, your brother is here to pick you up.”

Pidge groaned, but started on her way outside anyway. She turned around in the doorway with a devilish smirk. “And Shiro, keep it PG while I’m gone.” She let out a hearty laugh as she watched the two flush immediately, leaving the other five behind in Allura’s apartment.

***

It was well past midnight when Shiro and Keith left Allura’s place, and with the Thanksgiving weekend quickly approaching, the city grew darker and colder by the day. They watched their breaths turn into foggy clouds as they walked the dimly lit streets back to their apartment. Shiro ducked further down into his warm coat until his thickly knit infinity scarf, courtesy of Allura, covered his ears, all while Keith seemed to be doing just fine in a hoodie and a leather jacket. That boy was just always on fire.

“Was that Matt’s younger sister? She changed a lot since we last saw her, didn’t she?” Keith asked, effectively snapping Shiro out of his daze.

“Yeah, she did. But she’s still Katie-- I mean, Pidge. She said she wants to be called Pidge.” He replied, still making a valiant attempt at regaining his composure.

“I guess she changed in more than one way then.” Keith mused. “Hey, I got a thing next Saturday, wanna join?”

“I was actually about to tell you the same thing.” Shiro said, feeling his heart growing heavy. If Keith wasn’t there, who would ground him if things went south with the Holts? “But you first. What’s your thing?”

“You remember Lance? The guy with the brown hair?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded

“His sister is paying me three grant to take pictures at her wedding.”

Shiro couldn’t help but smile proudly at his younger roommate. “Hey, congrats on the job. I’m sure you can focus better on your photography without me around to bother you all the time.”

“Trust me, if you were a bother to me, we wouldn’t be living in the same apartment anymore.” Keith smiled, elbowing him in the side. “But tell me, what’s your thing?”

“Pidge invited me to their place to eat their Thanksgiving leftovers with them. But… I’m not sure I should go.” ‘Not without you.’ He added mentally, glancing down as he avoided eye contact with Keith.

The younger man was having none of it, though. He grabbed Shiro’s face on both sides, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Shiro, go. You’ve been avoiding them for years, even though they have no hard feelings against you. I can’t always be there with you if something happens, but you know the Holts and the Holts know you. This may be the ideal situation to help you try and take back a part of your life your PTSD has taken away from you. Trust me. Just go to their place, and you’ll see nothing has changed.”

“Promise?” Shiro asked, the tone in his voice and the look in his face only adding to the childlike nature of his question.

“Promise.” Keith smiled, patting the other’s cheek softly. “Tell you what. You bring home a slice of turkey for me, and I’ll try to weasel a slice of wedding cake home for you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

#EN #fanfic #Voltron: Legendary Defender #shallura #modern AU

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5000 Summary: Upon discovering a hidden habit Tobirama uses to relieve the stress of his very busy life, Madara's first instinct is to keep poking the beast. Things don't turn out well - until suddenly they do.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

After The Smoke Clears

Madara would insist even years later that he’d known something was going to happen that day. When Tobirama stepped out of his office in the tower for ‘just a quick moment’ and then never returned, he had the feeling that something was up. Of course, he never in a hundred years could have guessed what it was.

Despite his suspicions he mostly figured that Hashirama would be the one who had to deal with whatever was going on so he didn’t think twice about accepting the invitation to eat dinner at his friend’s house that night. Not just for the entertainment value but also for the promise of good food. Mito and he had never exactly seen eye to eye but he would freely admit that her cooking was some of the best in Fire Country. If tonight was one of the rare nights she felt like cooking instead of her husband then Madara wasn’t going to turn down an invitation to partake in whatever marvel she whipped up this time.

The moment they arrived, however, dinner plans were put on a temporary hold. Hashirama stopped dead as soon as he spotted the back of a fluffy white head just peeping up over the edge of the couch, small rustling and crunching noises coming from that direction. Madara raised one eyebrow in question when his friend assumed a look of exasperated resignation, dragging one hand down his face before turning away to call loudly through the house.

“Mito! I thought we hid all the snacks?” He was met at the end of the hall by his wife, hands on her hips.

“I’d like to see you find a place we can hide them that he couldn’t sniff them out,” she snapped back.

Madara ignored them, creeping forward to peer over the couch and see what all the fuss was about. As he came in to sight, Tobirama looked up at him and it was immediately evident what they were all upset over. Despite the evidence before his eyes, however, Madara could hardly believe was he was seeing.

This close to the younger man he was able to pick up the heavy scent of some sort of herb off of him. The sclera of both eyes were as red as the irises, lids drooping down to half-mast and crinkled at the corners. His mouth was stretched in a wide lazy smile, teeth bared in the least threatening manner Madara had ever seen from him. As he caught sight of someone above him Tobirama retracted one hand from where it had been buried in a container of cookies to give a vague wave.

“Heyyyyy Mads,” he slurred, ending with a muffled giggle. Madara stared for a moment before standing straight again and calling down the hallway to his friend.

“Hashirama your brother is broken.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s fine. This happens sometimes. I just…I thought I hid the snacks this time.”

“This happens sometimes?” Madara parroted, stunned.

Turning back to take another peek at the man slouched on the sofa, he watched Tobirama reach for the cookies again and nibble on one. His head was titled back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling and it didn’t really look like he had a lot of important things running through his mind – or much of anything, really. Clearly he was under the influence of something. Madara had never been the type to indulge in herbs or powders or any kind, more than aware of how addictive some of them could be. A clan Head could hardly afford to lose his mind to that kind of addiction.

Eventually Tobirama’s bloodshot eyes rolled to the side and locked on to his again. The hand that had been digging for a fresh cookie held its prize up above his head, weaving it through the air under Madara’s nose.

“You want one?” When he received no immediate answer he wriggled the treat enticingly. “Hey, hey Mads. Mads. You want – you want a cookie? You want a cookie? You–”

“Fine! Shut up!” Madara snatched the cookie and stalked away. Hashirama was still bickering with his spouse when he reached them and shoved his best friend’s shoulder none too gently. “He keeps calling me Mads. Explain.”

“Well he’s not exactly going to act like himself, Madara. He’s high.”

“You say that as if I’m just supposed to pass right over the fact that your tight-assed little brother is high without batting a fucking eyelash. Explain further, ass wipe.” Thankfully, his death glare was as effective as it ever was in making Hashirama sweat. His friend gulped and held up both hands in surrender.

“Brother just needs to relax sometimes, you know?” Hashirama frowned. “His mind is always running so fast and he can’t really turn it off. Sometimes he just needs to switch off for a while and take a break but he can’t do that on his own so he found this plant. He grows it in his lab and I think he inhales the smoke or something. I dunno, we never see him actually ingest it. He just shows up and starts eating me out of house and home, sits on the couch, maybe chats to someone if they’re there.”

Madara turned that over in his head and gave himself a moment to process, absently munching on the cookie he still held. Everyone in the village with working eyes could see how stressed Tobirama was on a daily basis. He’d already had his fair share of duties within his own clan; when the village had been created he’d more than doubled his own workload. That he needed a break was a common opinion.

This kind of ‘break’ was just a little unexpected.

“How often?” Madara asked eventually. Instead of Hashirama, Mito was the one who answered as she stepped out of the kitchen again, wiping her hands on a towel.

“More often, lately, as the work piles up. He used to put it off until he was nearing insomnia from all the stress, perhaps once every five or six months. Now he’s lucky if he makes it five weeks.” Handing the towel off to her husband, Mito raised her voice and called down the hall. “Dinner!”

From his spot on the couch Tobirama made a noise of interest. It still took him a moment to gain his feet though. Each movement looked as though he were under water, slow and appearing to take more effort than usual. Just walking to the kitchen seemed to take all of his concentration and Madara shook his head as the younger man trotted by him. It was sort of pathetic to watch.

Since Hashirama’s kitchen table only had four seats Madara was forced to sit next to the impaired Senju. The scent of the herbs he had used was terrible, putting Madara off his dinner, but it was almost worth sitting there just to watch how differently he acted. It was like someone had henged in to him and was doing a terrible impression.

Usually fastidious to the point of being fussy, Tobirama had them all rolling their eyes as he ate his entire meal with his fingers, loudly proclaiming over how smooth the noodles were and postulating about whether different types of noodles would have different levels of smoothness. The taste of the fried vegetables made him groan in near ecstasy as though they were the best thing he had ever been served in his life. Any other day he would have spent the entire meal glaring at Madara, probably in the hopes of making him uncomfortable enough to leave. Today he seemed to have forgotten their animosity, leaning in to the older man’s side, drawing him in to pointless speculation over how long a human male could hold their breath and then actually listening when he was told not to try it.

Probably the part where he actually listened was the part that freaked Madara out the most. He’d never seen Tobirama let anyone stop him on his quest to answer a scientific question, no matter how inane other people found it. If he found it interesting he was typically very single-minded about his research. It was actually one his more endearing qualities, although it would take some extreme torture for Madara to admit to that.

Through it all Tobirama smiled and Madara couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of that simple change of expression. It transformed his entire face from dour to approachable just with a slight re-angling on his lips. Or maybe it had something to do with the happy glint in his eyes and the utter relaxation of his body, not a stiff spine in sight.

After dinner Hashirama encouraged his brother back to the couch and herded Madara down next to him. Tobirama dozed off rather quickly, dropping his head on to the shoulder beside him with a peaceful expression. A little uncomfortable, but not willing to disturb him, Madara glared at his friend to make sure he understood the retribution that he was owed. Hashirama looked appropriately worried for sure but he seemed too enamored with the scene before him to be all that scared. Mito, on the other hand, was taking only enjoyment from his situation.

It took ten minutes for him to squirm out from underneath the younger man and neither of his hosts were willing to help him, preferring to observe and giggle shamelessly. Madara left with his head held high and his tattered dignity trailing after him.

Several days passed before he saw Tobirama again, long enough for him to realize even before they crossed paths that the other was avoiding him. When he finally did spot a familiar head of white hair Tobirama had done the only thing that could possibly have still surprised him: he had blushed. It looked sort of like the red markings on his face were spreading out across his skin. Madara only had a moment or two to glimpse the effect before Tobirama spun on his heel and stormed back in to his own office, slamming the door behind himself.

His first instinct was, of course, to keep poking the beast. That had always been the nature of their relationship and he was hardly about to stop now that there was something so interesting at hand. Although this was hardly the first time he had focused his attention on Tobirama to rib him for something or other, it was the first time the younger man had responded with such new and intriguing reactions. He blushed. He left the room before Madara could try and speak to him. On one of the few occasions Madara managed to corner him for a brief moment he actually stuttered before making up some terrible excuse to free himself. It was more entertainment than Madara had ever had out of the man.

What he failed to take in to account while he was shamelessly taking his amusement at the other’s expense was how much he might be increasing Tobirama’s stress level beyond what it already was. It didn’t occur to him until he actually needed to speak to him for something regarding work. Nearly two hours went in to tracking him down, only to find him holed up in the basement of the library that almost no one visited, both hands pulling at his hair. The moment Madara walked in to the room his entire body coiled like an angry cat, ready to bound away at the first sign of trouble.

“There you are,” Madara growled without thinking. The younger man looked back at him with a suspicious gaze and gave no more reply than a grunt. “What in blazes are you doing down in this mausoleum?”

“Avoiding you!”

“I – oh.” He frowned, blinking slowly as he pondered how he should have expected that. “Well I need to talk to you so just sit still for five minutes, would you?”

He hardly expected Tobirama’s left eye to twitch or for the tension within him to suddenly explode.

“No! No you sit still and leave me the hell alone! Just one day, that’s all I’m asking, just go away and leave me in peace for one fucking day! I don’t need this! You’re just always there with your questions and the smirking and it’s driving me insane!” As he ranted, Tobirama seemed unaware of how wide both of his eyes were or how manic he looked with his arms waving around the way they were. “Do you know how much time I’m losing, running around trying to find some quiet without you there poking at me? Do you know how much work I’m getting done? None! I’m so behind I may actually have gone backwards in time and I swear to the shinigami I’m about two seconds away from taking your fucking head off if you don’t leave me the hell alone!”

Madara stood utterly still, unable to move, unable to breathe, entirely unable to do anything but stare with a gaping jaw. If seeing Tobirama under the influence of herbs was shocking, seeing him completely lose his cool like this was something he didn’t even have a word for. The poor man was panting and shaking in the aftermath of his outburst but he was standing more still than Madara had seen him in days, allowing the chance to see him more closely.

The rims of his eyes were as red as the markings on his cheeks, although there was no scent of smoke on him, belying the fact that he was likely getting next to no sleep. His hair was standing up at all sorts of odd angles and the tension in his shoulders was so tight it was a surprise they weren’t right up around his ears. Add in the disheveled clothing and it was like seeing another bad henge. It was hard to decide which one was most unlike him.

“It was just a question about the council meeting next Friday,” Madara was able to choke out eventually. Tobirama swallowed thickly, struggling obviously to draw breath.

“Go ask Hashirama,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.” As a now-familiar blush slowly crawled its way on to his skin, Madara realized that the red hue of it had been covering up how gray he‘d become, hiding his fatigue each time Madara went to tease him again.

“Just a quick question, on my honor. I couldn’t find the minutes from the last meeting and you were the one who filed them.”

Tobirama shook his head and stepped to the side, inching around the older man towards the doorway. “I’ll have someone get them for you; I need to – I just need to go.”

Over the course of his career as a shinobi Madara had done innumerous despicable things that the gods might never forgive him for – and he was sure that he had never felt as guilty for any of it as he did for what he had done to Tobirama. The man was a wreck, clearly dancing on the edge of a breakdown, and it was all his fault. For some reason there was an extra layer of guilt to taking someone as strictly put together as Tobirama and reducing him to the feral coil of energy he had just watched explode in front of him.

He had to apologize. Just thinking of that concept nearly convinced him to check his own temperature but he knew it was the right thing to do. Although, perhaps it would be best if he gave the other some time to cool off first. If he went seeking Tobirama right now he would only make the younger man feel trapped and attacked again, possibly risking a second explosion before he could even get a word out.

Even though it chaffed like an untended wound, Madara managed to wait for another two hours before deciding that he could take it no longer and left to find where his best friend’s little brother had gone. The first place he looked was of course the Tower, searching the entire building from top to bottom before marching himself over to the Senju compound to knock on the man’s front door. No answer came and Madara marched away again with a frown. Peeking in to every training ground on the way, he made his way to the edge of the village where there had been a small compound set up for medical and scientific research. With Tobirama as one of the researchers explosions were bound to happen on occasion so no one had dared complain when they were built so far away from everything else.

As one of the most prolific – and dangerous – people that worked here, Tobirama’s office was its own small building close to the entrance of the compound. The moment Madara stepped in to it both hands flew up to cover his nose and, even though the man he was looking for wasn’t here, he suddenly knew exactly where to find him. The entire room absolutely reeked of herbs, which meant there was one place he would head for.

Neither Hashirama nor Mito appeared to be home but if they were they would have despaired over the loss of their recently replenished store of snacks. Tobirama sat huddled in to one corner of their couch, a half-eaten plate of rice crackers sitting on the table before him, a drying plum pit right next to it, and an open box of Pocky in his hands. Preoccupied with fishing out another delicious chocolate-covered stick of Pocky, he didn’t seem to realize that he had any company until Madara leaned heavily on the back of the couch and sighed, not bothering to be quiet about it.

“Huh?” He looked up slowly, eyes half-lidded. When he caught sight of Madara he groaned loudly and dropped his head back, whining, “Noooo. I thought you would go away!”

“I came to apologize.” There was little point in beating around the bush and he thought perhaps the other man would relax more if he threw up a white flag right away. As he’d thought, Tobirama seemed to melt back in to the cushions just a little bit more and offered him a tentative smile. Just four little words and he seemed amazingly willing to lay everything behind them.

“Never heard you apologize before,” he murmured. “That’s nice. You want a Pocky?”

“Uh, sure.”

Reaching for the offered treat, the kind he adored but very rarely indulged in, Madara was startled when it was snatched away again just before he could grasp it.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not doing it right!” Tobirama told him with a slow chortle.

“What could I possibly be doing wrong?”

“Haven’t you ever played the Pocky game?” Grinning widely, Tobirama stuck the candy between his teeth and tilted his face up towards Madara, speaking around it. “You’re supposed to take it from me like this!”

Madara reached out with his hand once more, intending to take it from the other’s mouth as asked. Tobirama shook his head and batted the hand away, pointing at Madara’s own mouth instead while waggling his pale eyebrows. It made him flush with embarrassment. Was he really expected to take the treat from Tobirama as though they were transferring a placebic kiss? He didn’t really want it all that badly to risk embarrassing himself as he was likely to do.

One more glance at his companion’s cheerful, hopeful face and he knew he was going to do it anyway. He had come here with the intention to apologize and lower the man’s stress level; Madara didn’t have the heart to deny him anything at the moment after knowing how badly he’d made him feel.

Very mindful of both their personal boundaries, Madara leaned forward over the couch and delicately took just the very tip of the stick between his teeth. A light tug did nothing to free it from Tobirama, who only grinned wider with delight and refused to relinquish his grip. Sighing, Madara leaned a bit closer and shifted his teeth just a little farther down the stick, uncomfortably aware of how close this brought their faces together.

There wasn’t much time for him to react when Tobirama suddenly moved, employing the speed he was famed for even in his current state. Before Madara could properly interpret the light in the younger man’s eye he had shifted, pushing upwards and snapping through the Pocky with his teeth only to press his lips against Madara’s in a lightning fast kiss. Then he had dropped back down in to the corner of the couch with a smugly satisfied expression, munching happily on his half of the candy while Madara was left staring down at him, frozen. His own half of the stick lay still and uneaten within his mouth as he blinked furiously, disoriented.

“Hmmm.” Tobirama hummed in lazy gratification, stretching languorously. “If we could just do that instead of fight all the time my stress levels would go waaaaaay down.”

“EH!?” Regrettably, the chocolate between his teeth fell out on to the couch as he opened his mouth to make a confused exclamation.

“You’re pretty,” the other informed him with an unrepentant smile.

“I – you – what?”

“Do you want another Pocky?”

“No!” Cheeks flushing more than they already had, Madara straightened up and fiddled with his clothing, brushing away imaginary specks of dust while he tried to gather his scattered wits.

“Oh.” Tobirama tilted his head curiously. “Do you want another kiss?”

Madara spluttered, trying to respond but not coming up with any actual words to say. Admittedly, he wasn’t even sure how he wanted to respond to the question. It hadn’t been a bad kiss. He wasn’t exactly opposed to a few nice kisses if they were being offered. But didn’t they hate each other? Since when did Tobirama think of him as pretty and offer kisses in such a casual tone?

Almost as though the other were reading his mind, Tobirama shrugged and reaching out a lazy hand to swat at some of Madara’s hair. “Always thought you were pretty. Wanted to kiss you for a while but you’re just always so grumpy, Mads.”

“Stop calling me ‘Mads’,” was all he could mumble as his brain frantically searched for how he wanted to answer.

“Fine then, Madara.”

A shiver ran through him, immediately and almost reluctantly intrigued by the way Tobirama purred his name. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he felt a light tug and opened them again to see that the younger man had wrapped pale fingers in his hair, gently pulling on them to try and encourage him to bend down.

“What?” he croaked. Tobirama was grinning unrepentantly.

“You didn’t say no. I want to kiss you and you didn’t say no. C’mere.”

“It would be wildly inappropriate with you under the influence,” he pointed out. Unfortunately the words sounded twice as weak due to the way he was slowly following the direction of that subtle pull on his hair, allowing himself to be led inexorably downward.

“Don’t worry, I’d ask you sober too if I thought you’d say yes.”

To his relief, Madara was spared having to come up with an answer to that. He’d already been led far enough over the back of the couch that Tobirama could sit straight, tilt his face up as he had before, and draw him in to a second kiss that stole the breath right out of his lungs.

Maybe it was a strange thing to fixate on but the thing he noticed first and then couldn’t seem to stop noticing was how warm the other man was. Tobirama’s lips were comfortingly warm against his own and the hand that curled around his jaw felt as though it might leave a brand against his skin. For a single fleeting instant he thought that perhaps he wouldn’t mind wearing Tobirama’s brand for everyone to see. Then he felt a searing hot tongue drag boldly against his lips and gasped, giving his companion an open invitation to delve inside and wipe away all remaining thoughts in his head.

It felt like forever that he spent bent over the couch, lazily making out with a man he would generally be more predisposed to arguing with. And maybe this was why, he realized eventually, thoughts moving sluggishly around the fog filling his brain. Maybe the reason sparks flew every time they were in a room together was just the result of unresolved sexual tension that he had never bothered to properly admit to.

He would freely admit to it now. The only thing keeping him from hopping over to the other side of the couch and ravishing the other properly was the issue of consent. He couldn’t really accept Tobirama’s permission to do anything when he was high as a kite; it was this same thought which gave him the strength to pull away at last. Tobirama followed him with a displeased whine until he was too far away to catch then sank back down in to the cushions with a dazed look on his face.

“We should do that again,” he mumbled distractedly.

“Perhaps when you haven’t been inhaling questionable things that make you reek to the high heavens.” Madara was well aware that his snappy comeback didn’t have nearly the edge it should’ve, not when he sounded so breathless. He didn’t have it in him to care.

“I’ll be fine after a nap.” The lift of Tobirama’s brow was hopeful and it made him smile.

“A nap and a shower, maybe. As I said: you reek. Whatever it is you imbibe, the smell of it is absolutely wretched.”

Chuckling, though not bothering to deny it, Tobirama patted the spot next to him. It took a little coaxing but Madara eventually deigned to stray a little closer and settle himself on the other end of the sofa. Amusement and hesitant pleasure warred with each other when Tobirama huffed and scooted over to cuddle in to his side. He made sure to stay as still as possible while the younger man slowly fell asleep on his shoulder, beatific smile in place.

When Hashirama came home and found the two of them asleep a few hours later he woke them both up with his sobbing. Despite his obvious embarrassment concerning his behavior earlier, Tobirama refused to give up his spot curled up against Madara until he was convince to go home and wash off the smell of the herbs. Madara went home to clean up as well and met the other at his front door with an invitation to dinner that had both of their faces blushing red.

As it turned out, Tobirama had been correct. With the tension between the two of them resolved and the freedom to sneak in a kiss whenever he needed it, the amount of stress he suffered from declined exponentially. That wasn’t to say that he had no stress whatsoever or that his other duties suddenly lightened. He was still as busy as he had ever been with his hand often in too many projects at once. And of course there was nothing to be done about the fact that he simply couldn’t turn off his mind sometimes, when he felt so overwhelmed by everything that he required outside assistance relaxing himself, but the frequency of those occasions grew less as time went by.

Madara rather cheerfully took the credit for that. He had absolutely no complaints about the times when his partner would show up out of nowhere demanding a little stress relief. Over time they developed a number of methods to get rid of the stress and Madara was shameless enough to admit that his favorite was a quick hard round of sex across one of their desks.

If his second favorite was a quiet couple hours of cuddling at home, no one else had to know that.

He also wasn’t afraid to admit that he had never been so relaxed himself either; he hadn’t even noticed how much stress he carried from all of his duties with no release until suddenly his nights were filled with Tobirama and his days with goofy smiles. As annoying as it was, Hashirama’s new habit of bursting in to happy tears at the mere sight of him and Tobirama together also made him sort of smug. He had the strangest urge to puff himself out like a peacock and parade around the village so that everyone could see that Tobirama belonged to him now. Of course, he would never even try to do such a thing, but the urge to was still there.

Eight months passed, before he could even blink it seemed, and Madara was a little bemused to find himself one day standing in the living room of the house they shared, turning a silver ring over and over between his hands. He could hardly believe his life had changed so much in such a short time – and here he was about to change it even more. Well, hopefully. He hadn’t asked yet.

Rustling in the other room caught his attention and Madara took a deep breath in. Just over eight months ago he’d had a gut feeling that something was about to happen when Tobirama left the office and never came back. As he wiped his clammy hands on the sides of his trousers, he wondered if his partner had a similar feeling right now, if he could sense that their lives were about to take yet another step forward.

Clearing his throat, Madara clenched his fist around the ring and forced his feet to walk despite the fluttering in his belly. Although he never could have seen it coming, he was ready for this. He only hoped Tobirama was as well.

And also that his lover wouldn’t deck him one for slipping ‘I get high on your love’ in to his proposal speech.

#word count EXACTLY 5k that is so cool #puns for titles are my jam guys #rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Cats, Dogs, and Neighborhood Betting Pools pt. 2

AO3  Pt 1

“You seem happier,” Steve said, taking a massive bite of his massive sandwich.

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been doing good.”

“So who’s the lucky fella?”

Bucky gently set his soda on the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?”

“Definitely.”

“You realize in the last half hour since we got here you’ve mentioned this “Tony” and his cat at least twice every five minutes.”

Bucky slid his prosthetic across the table with a long raspy wail, and grabbed some chips. He proceeded to much on them. Loudly. Steve smirked at him and sucked at the dregs of his drink.

“He’s my neighbor. We run into each other a lot.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you haven’t been enabling his cat’s attempts to force your dog to be her personal slave.”

Bucky didn’t think about the cat door he had installed on the balcony. “Nope,” he replied.

Steve snorted.

“How’s Sam?” Bucky asked, his lips curving into a smirk as Steve blushed.

“The food here is really good, don’t you think?” Steve said, changing the subject. Bucky laughed and kept eating.

Mobile Readers, ‘ware the Read More

“You’re up to something,” Tony said. “I know it. This is all part of some devious plot to undermine my carefully crafted cynicism and loner-ness.”

Natasha purred and rubbed her face against Tony’s legs. He set a can of food on the counter and shuffled through his drawers, looking for a can opener. “I don’t even know how you’re getting out,” he continued. He found a can opener and turned back to the cat food. “The windows and door are all closed - and locked, so it’s not like he’s grabbing you every day in some devious plot to get me to visit.” He set the open can on the floor. Natasha dug in eagerly.

Tony stared at her. “For that matter, how are you getting into his apartment? I’d think he’d be all closed up too, by now.”

Natasha smacked him with her tail as she eagerly dug into her gourmet Salmon Surprise.

“Fine, be that way. See if I buy the fancy food next time I go to the pet store.”

Natasha turned and gave him big, imploring eyes.

“Oh, come on, now,” an amused voice said from the kitchen entryway. “You wouldn’t short a lady, now would you?”

Tony jumped, spinning in the air. “Rhodey!” he groaned. “How many times - don’t do that! I have a heart condition!”

“So you want him to be kidnapping your cat to get your attention?”

“What? Who? What are you talking about?” Tony asked. He grabbed the can opener and turned to rinse it off in the sink.

“The mysterious cat-napper. I should point out that ninety percent of your stories lately are significantly less wild than usual and also contain him.”

“He’s my neighbor, and I can’t figure out how Natasha is getting into his apartment! She’s tormenting his poor dog!”

“The dog should be honored. She only torments people she likes.” Rhodey leaned over and cooed as Natasha wandered over. Licking her lips, she stretched up and purred as he petted her ears.

“Why doesn’t she ever try to eat you? She tries to eat everyone else. Except Pepper, and that’s because they’re both evil masterminds.”

“Everyone else being Tiberius, and Obadiah, and Summer?” Rhodey asked, more knowingly that Tony cared to dwell on.

“And your point?”

Rhodey sighed. “Well, they were all dickbags. And she seems to like your neighbor well enough.”

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Your cat is a better judge of people than you.”

“I am a perfectly good judge of people.”

“Sure, Tony. Are we still on for lunch?”

“It’s Tuesday already? Well, I mean yeah, uh. I’ll get some pants.”

“I don’t know, the Jimmy Neutron boxers make a statement.”

“Jerk.”

“Don’t forget to lock your door!”

Tony groaned.

Bucky got home around three. He jiggled his keys in the lock until the door opened and stepped into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Kicking off his shoes, he immediately headed for the balcony.

Sure enough, there in Clint’s bed, Clint lay with a tiny (but mighty) cat perched happily on his back. Natasha purred in her sunny spot as Clint’s tail thumped the floor. James snapped a picture on his phone and sent it to Steve. He watched in delight as Natasha licked Clint’s ears a couple of times before primly leaping from her perch and approaching Bucky. She rubbed against his ankles, and he scritched her ears. He was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t maul him, though she didn’t allow the attention long before stalking back to curl up next to Clint.

“You are my favorite thing to come home to,” Bucky told her. Not only was it a cute overload, but it also meant Tony would be dropping by to find her later. And if Bucky was lucky, he could talk the brilliant young man into having coffee or watching a bad sci-fi with him. He eagerly set about his afternoon routine, cleaning up the space and making sure he had enough clean dishes. He tossed one large fluffy blanket on his old saggy couch and opened a window to air out the space. Since it was a day off, he also started a load of laundry and wiped down the tiny bathroom. He applied an extra layer of deodorant and waited.

Sure enough, at about seven a knock came at the door.

Bucky didn’t run to open the door, but it was a near thing. He opened the door with a wide grin. “Yes, your cat is here,” he said.

Tony gave him a sheepish grin, hands fluttering uncertainly in front of him. “I am so sorry, I swear my apartment is locked down like cat Fort Knox, I have no idea how she keeps getting out.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“My murder cat trying to eat your dog?”

“My dog falling over himself to let her,” Bucky laughed.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll just grab her and get out of your hair.”

“No worries. They seem pretty comfortable. I was just about to start dinner, if you want to join me?”

Tony blinked at him, just as surprised as he always was to be invited to stay. “I, um - can’t cook, at all. And I don’t want to intrude -”

“You’re not intruding,” Bucky replied. “I invited you. And anyone can make mac and cheese from the box.”

Tony mumbled something, looking at the floor.

“Did you just say you lit a box on fire once?” Bucky asked.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Well. You’re in charge of drinks, then.”

Tony sighed and came inside, apparently convinced that he was welcome. Bucky had noticed early in their unusual acquaintance that Tony always seemed to be waiting for Bucky to tell him to leave, or that he wasn’t wanted. Bucky usually had to ask him several times to come in. Tony never said he didn’t want to visit with Bucky - just that he was worried he was intruding on Bucky himself. Bucky had also noticed that Tony didn’t have many visitors. Not that he’d been paying attention. Or trying to get their schedules to match up. That would be pathetic.

So far, Bucky had seen two people visit Tony. A tall military man that seemed to be like Tony’s Steve had dropped by a few times. A tall redhead with murder heels and a wickedly sharp glint in her eye had visited once. Natasha had actually purred, which just made Bucky more afraid of the woman.

“Um, your pot is boiling over.”

Bucky quickly turned to blow on the boiling water, turning down the burner a little at the same time.

Tony was grinning at him. “Not sure you’re much better at this cooking thing than I am.”

“Well, as long as it’s edible, I’m not too worried.”

“Fair,” Tony said, handing over a tall glass. Bucky hadn’t even noticed him pouring the sparkling cider into the cups.

“There’s wine, if you’d prefer,” Bucky said.

Tony’s face clouded over. “I, ah. Don’t drink. Any. Anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Works for me. Steve and Sam don’t drink either, though in Steve’s case it’s because he’s usually the designated driver.”

Tony relaxed at the easy acceptance. “That’s why the cider?”

“Yep. And I can’t afford good champagne, need something fizzy to celebrate with.”

Tony nodded like that made perfect sense and took a sip. Bucky watched his tongue flick out across his lips to swipe away the liquid.

“You should meet them sometime,” he blurted out.

Tony blinked. “Uh. Steve and Sam?”

“Yeah. They’re cool. Sam’s ex-military, Steve’s still in the army. Well. Sort of. He can’t give me may details.”

Tony shifted, biting his lip. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bug them or anything.”

“Completely sure. In fact - we’ve got lunch planned tomorrow. Want to come?”

“I have lunch plans with Pep and Rhodey,” Tony said.

“Bring them along! Might as well get everyone together. It’ll be a party.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. His lips were curved into a soft smile, his eyes light. “Sounds like fun.”

Bucky grinned at him, his heart thudding in his chest and demanding that Bucky make him smile like that always.

He was so fucked.

“I thought we were going to the place on fifth?”

“We’re meeting some people,” Tony said.

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a glance. “You know other people?” Rhodey asked.

“Shove off, honey bear.”

“Is it cat-napper?”

Tony almost tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

“It is,” Pepper said, her face splitting into a smirk full of mischief. “Did you finally ask him out?”

“No, he just wanted to introduce me to his bros. You’ll like ‘em, Rhodes. One’s active duty and one’s a veteran.”

“What do they do?”

Tony shrugged. “They’re the classified types.”

“I’ll need to have a talk with this cat-napper.” Pepper tapped her heels a little more forcefully against the cement.

“Please don’t eat him.”

“I make no promises.”

Rhodey grinned and threw an arm over each of their shoulders. “This is going to be a mess. A glorious, glorious mess.”

~Era Penn

Buy me a coffee

#prompts #winteriron #tony stark #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #Era Penn #era_penn #fluff #pets #Pepper Potts #James Rhodey Rhodes #Steve Rogers #implied captain falcon #implied steve x sam #Sam Wilson #Natasha Romanov #pining #mutual pining #just kiss already