#one day I am going to dig into my brain with an ice cream scoop and shovel out the ‘piss’ part.

[stranger-marauders]

repaired

four: three bucks an hour with no future

chapter summary: Robin and Steve strike up a bet, which seems odd to Kate at first glance.

chapter warnings: language, making out, steve's dad is an asshole

word count: 3.3k

series masterlist | masterlist

STEVE HATED THE afternoon shift at work.

"Alrighty, one scoop of chocolate. That's a buck-twenty-five," he said, scooping ice cream for two teenage girls. "Anything else?"

As one of the girls began to eat her ice cream, the other started to dig for change in her purse. He recognized one of them as Anna Jacobi, one of the prettier girls in his graduating class. 

Excellent.

Whenever he looked at her again, he realized she was wearing a university shirt. "Ooh, Perdue. Fancy."

"Yeah, I'm excited," Anna replied, and both girls giggled as Steve started to operate the cash register.

"Yeah, you know, I considered it, Perdue, but then I was like, you know what? I really think I need some real-life experience, you know, before I hit college, see what it feels like. Kinda like, uh, I don't know, see what it's like to earn a working man's wage, you know? Uh…" The register beeped at him as he continued to awkwardly push buttons. "Oh, I'm sorry," he muttered before continuing on. "I think that's, like, really important."

"Yeah, totally."

"Yeah, anyway, this was, like, so fun. We should kind of like, you know, I don't know, maybe hang out this weekend or—Oh, sorry about that," he said as he dropped her spare change on the counter, coins flying everywhere. "Uh… I don't know. Maybe next weekend or—"

"Yeah, I'm busy," Anna answered, trying to hold herself back from laughing.

"Oh, that's cool. I'm–I'm working here next weekend, so… the following weekend's better for me."

"No. I'm sorry, I can't. Okay, thanks," she replied, giggling with her friend as they walked out of the store.

"I… This is… my first day here."

Without any warning, Kate walked into the store, confused as to what she'd just witnessed part of. She still hadn't felt great after her episode, and watching her boyfriend flirt with other girls seemingly behind her back hadn't made her feel any better. She could only watch as Robin opened the window between the ice cream parlor and the break room, holding a dry erase board that had two sides: "YOU RULE" and "YOU SUCK." The "YOU SUCK" side currently had five tallies on it. "And another one bites the dust."

Kate tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing together as she tried to fight out what was going on. 

"You are oh-for-six, Popeye," Robin said, drawing a new tally mark in, now making it six on the "YOU SUCK" side.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can count," Steve replied, leaning forward on the counter to face her.

"You know that means you suck," Robin countered.

"Yup, I can read, too."

"Since when?"

"What's that for?" Kaet finally asked, her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

They both quickly turned to her, horror striking both of their faces. "Kathy, shit, I—"

"Dingus here thinks he can talk to girls, but he, very obviously, is horrible at it," Robin explained quickly. "He's done some cute little variation of that, like, six times now."

Kate laughed, trying not to show her unease. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I seriously don't understand what you see in him," Robin replied nonchalantly. "I didn't before, but after watching that all afternoon, I'm pretty sure you've had an aneurysm of some kind. You must have some type of brain damage if you think he's attractive."

"Robin," Steve said firmly to her as Kate walked around the counter. "It's this stupid hat. I am telling you, it is totally blowing my best feature."

"Yeah, company policy is a real drag," Robin said. "You know, it's a crazy idea, but have you considered… telling the truth? You know, for the sake of the experiment?"

"Oh, you mean, that I couldn't even get into Tech and my douchebag dad's trying to teach me a lesson, I make three bucks an hour, and I have no future? That truth?"

Kate sighed softly, turning her head to avoid his gaze. She knew he was at least trying to come off as funny, using humor as a coping mechanism, but it only reminded her of the night that he'd gotten his last rejection letter and she her last acceptance letter. and she'd had to comfort him because he was so devastated. Of course, Steve was more than happy for Kate, but like he'd said: he didn't even get into Tech.

It had been something of a struggle for him, not getting in anywhere. She remembered tehj fight that had erupted between Steve and his father after he hadn't gotten into Notre Dame, never mind not get in anywhere at all (she, more specifically, remembered how Steve had practically lived at her place for two weeks, even though he was already there all the time). Kate had made it even worse in her eyes, because she got into Notre Dame, and Perdue, and every single school she applied to because that's how hard she worked for it all. Steve didn't hold it against her: he just wished he would've done better.

Kate felt like, in a way, it was her fault. He'd almost failed his junior year after they'd stopped being friends. Steve, however, knew that if he would've just tried a little bit harder, not taken a bunch of hard classes just to be with Kate, he'd probably at least be going somewhere, not just staying in Hawkins and scooping ice cream for the rest of his life in a sailor costume. He liked to tell himself that maybe he'd be going with Kate, and they'd be living together in New York City while she went to NYU, and he went to whatever hole-in-the-wall school he could find. He could only imagine how wonderful that would've been for them—if only he would've done better.

"You know, I don't care about that," Kate said, leaning against the counter. "And last time I checked, I'm the one that's actually your girlfriend."

"Yeah, but you're different," he replied. "You met me before I got the uniform, okay?"

"And somehow stayed after it," Robin replied, almost disgusted. 

Steve rolled his eyes, waiting for Kate's most likely sarcastic reply. He was waiting for something about how she liked the uniform, maybe something about the hat more specifically, but he was greeted with no reply at all. He turned to look at her, finding her spaced out and seemingly distracted by something. "Hey, you okay?"

Whenever Steve grazed her arm, she jumped, turning to look at him with a slightly horrified look on her face.

His eyebrows furrowed together as he moved to stand in front of her, almost to inspect her. "Kathy."

Before she could reply, Robin said, "Hey, twelve o'clock." She turned to look at Kate. "Wanna join?"

"Absolutely, I do," she said, and without another word, she sat on the counter, swinging her legs through the window to the other room and slipping out of the hole in between them.

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Kathy, you're, uh… you're okay with this?"

Kate nodded, stifling a laugh. "This is free entertainment, Steven."

"Okay… Uh… I'm going in. Okay? And you know what?" Steve said, throwing his hat through the window to Kate and Robin. "Screw company policy."

"Oh my God, you're a whole new man."

"Right? Ooh." Once he had turned around, he began shouting, "Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington." The girls giggled softly as he continued on, both the ones out in the lobby and Kate. "Can I get you guys a little taste of the Cherries Jubilee? No? Anybody? Banana Boat? Four people, four spoons? Share it in the booth? Anybody? It's hot out there."

"Again, how do you find him attractive?" Robin asked, shaking her head.

Kate turned to her, shaking her head and stifling a laugh, as Robin only grinned, putting another tally on the "YOU SUCK" side.

As she watched Steve fail miserably at talking to the girls that had walked into Scoops, all she could think about was whenever she'd been so hurt again.

Back then, Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd stayed home from school.

She'd thought the last time might've been whenever Sara had died, her funeral maybe. Kate had never been one to ditch, even when she had a cold. School had always distracted her from her home life, helped her see a way out of the seemingly never-ending tunnel of darkness. Because of it, she'd grown to like school, and she'd found herself completely out of place whenever she'd had to stay home, especially after missing a couple of days from being in the hospital.

Of course, Steve had stayed home with her.

Her father, as much as he didn't want to, had had to go to work. He'd had to make another appearance, make it seem as if everything was okay even though people knew his daughter had been in the hospital the past few days. While she had El, she certainly wouldn't be of any help if something went wrong, and Hopper couldn't stay the entire day. Steve had been happy to volunteer, especially so they could be alone.

Steve and Kate hadn't been alone a single time to talk about what had happened between them: more particularly, the kiss. It hadn't been like either of them could bring it up when Hopper had been sitting right there with them in the hospital room. Steve hadn't brought it up because he hadn't wanted to tell Hopper that he'd kissed his daughter, and Kate hadn't wanted to tell him because she had been so adamant there hadn't been anything going on between them. 

Now that they were alone, though, neither of them knew what to say.

Even though doctors had recommended for Kate not to read as much, she'd found there wasn't much else for her to do. Steve, on the other hand, had plowed through the thoughts in his head, wondering when it would be a good time to bring up the other thing that had happened that night.

"I've never heard you this quiet."

Steve had almost missed what she had said, as she hadn't even peeled an eye away from her book, hadn't made any movement at all. "What?"

She'd looked over to him, making eye contact with him for only a second before she broke it. "You've never been this quiet."

"Oh," he'd replied, scratching the back of his neck. "I just, uh… I don't know, just thinking, I guess."

"You guess?"

He'd scoffed, smiled slightly. "Yeah."

Kate had put a bookmark in her book, closing it and sitting up in her bed. She'd moved herself to where her back was leaning against the wall, putting the book on the bedside table. "What's bothering you, then?"

He'd sighed. "Come on, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"You know what's bothering me."

Kate's heart had dropped. "The other night?"

"Yeah, the other night." 

"Oh." Kate had run her fingers through her hair. "I mean, what about it?"

Steve had shaken his head. "Kathy, I… I know I'm not the smartest guy, but I could've sworn you kissed me back the other night."

She'd hesitated. "Steve…"

"And I don't want you to think that I kissed you because I was stressed or something, because I was serious, okay? I've been wanting to do that for I don't even know how long. I'd do it again right now, too, because for the first time in I don't know when, things felt right. Things felt right because of you. I mean, for the past year nothing's felt right. My life without you has been a complete mess, Kathy, and…" He'd sighed. "I… I'm in love with you, okay? There's no other way to say it, and I know you probably don't feel the same, especially not like that, and this was really not how I planned on telling you, but—"

"Steve!" Kate had called, raising her voice slightly. "I think you're concussed."

"What?"

She had squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, almost regretting what she'd said. "I think you're saying things you don't really mean, and I understand, but… but I seriously think you have brain damage. There… There's no way you mean any of what you just said."

"Kathy, I mean it," he'd said. "I'm so serious, I… There were so many times where I just wanted you to talk to me because I… I missed you so much, but I knew you hated me and that you were mad at me. I didn't want to bother you if you didn't want me around anymore. But every time I see you, there's just this… pang. Whenever you chased me out of the Halloween party, at first, I didn't even believe it was you. But there you were, ready to save my sorry ass again." He'd sighed. "Kathy, how could I not be in love with you? I mean, Jesus, you've done so much for me. I've been a really shit friend, and I don't even know why I'm telling you all this now, I just…"

Whenever it had fallen silent again, Steve had only watched as Kate's lips tugged into a frown, propping her head up with one hand. Her eyes had been wide, her eyebrows furrowing together, just like they normally were whenever she was thinking hard about something.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, only able to watch her.

She'd snapped herself out of thought physically, jerking up. "What? No." She'd looked at him, her face turning red before tearing her eyes away from him quickly. "No, I…" She'd taken a deep breath, turning back to him. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with you."

"What?"

She'd stifled a laugh. "I… I feel like an idiot. Of course I love you. Are you kidding me? I've known for so long that I've been in love with you, Steve. That's why I hated all of those girls you were screwing—it pained me to see you with someone else. That's why I got so shitfaced at your place whenever you and Nancy were together, that's why I stopped talking to you, that's why I got with Jamie… I just wanted to get over you. That's why I blocked you out for so long, and I… I'm so sorry. When you kissed me, I… I panicked, but Steve, trust me, if you're serious, I am, too."

He hadn't known what to say at first. He had imagined all the ways that he'd tell Kate he'd been in love with her, but he hadn't ever thought that she would actually say it back. He had waited so long just to hear her say that she would forgive him for all of the things he'd done to her over the years, never mind this. 

He'd moved to sit next to her on her bed, looking forward—he hadn't thought he would be able to look at her after all of that.

"So, what now?" she'd asked, looking to their feet.

"I don't know," Steve had replied. "If you didn't know, I'm actually really shit at being a boyfriend, so…"

"Who said you were my boyfriend?" she'd asked, her eyebrows furrowing together.

"Well, I figured since I just confessed my deepest darkest secret about how I've been in love with you for years and you felt the same way, I thought that might, I don't know, count for something."

She stifled a laugh, intertwining their fingers as she leaned her head against him. "Okay, yeah, sure. Boyfriend, probationary status."

"Probationary? That's it?"

"That's good enough for now, Steven, be grateful."

He'd shaken his head, chuckling. "Jesus, Nancy's gonna kill me."

"Why?"

He'd sighed. "I don't know, I just… you already know they're going at it, and it's just… I don't know. You know?"

"Yeah, actually, I do," Kate had said, understanding him completely. "You wanna wait."

Steve had sighed again. "It's not that. That's the thing, I don't wanna wait. I've been waiting my entire life to be with you, I just… I don't want you to think you're a rebound, or something, because you're not, okay? It should've been you and it's… it's always been you. I just… I wanna take things slow, you know? I don't wanna screw anything up."

"Okay," she'd said, nodding slightly. "That's okay."

When they'd met each other's eyes again, Steve had cupped Kate's face, pulling her lips to his again. He'd been waiting to do that again since he'd done it the first time.

Kate felt like she was in some type of dream she'd hate herself later for having. She couldn't imagine that in any universe she was getting to kiss her best friend, the boy she had been absolutely head over heels in love with since before she could remember. What had made it even more insane was that she couldn't believe that he loved her back.

It was a slow push of his lips to hers, not wanting to rush anything as their mouths slanted over each other's. He tasted like mint, which was probably something that he'd taken care of before he had gotten to the cabin that morning just in case he got to kiss her again. She'd thought she had heard him moan ever so softly, and it made her chest hurt. When the kiss lingered, she'd brought her hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as she tugged him closer.

When his tongue lucked at the curve of her bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at her chin, she opened without any questions. So much for taking things slow. She sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over hers, and his hand fell to her waist.

Steve had pulled back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers and eyes still slammed shut. "I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss."

She'd chuckled slightly. "Seriously?"

"I know, okay? I know."

WIthout another word, he took his place on top of her in her bed, lips melted between hers. He was grasping at her hip, the material of her oversized shirt bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, a noticeable hardness pressed up against her thigh. She moved her hips slightly, making him moan and break the kiss for just a second before smiling and returning to her.

Before their kissing could go any further, Kate's bedroom door swung open without any warning.

Eleven.

"Kate?" she had called, standing in the doorway.

Steve and Kate hadn't had even a moment to compose themselves whenever she had walked into the room. Kate pushed him off from on top of her, making him land on the floor with a thwap. "Ow."

"What do you do?" El had asked, but she knew the answer.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Kate had replied, trying to come up with a lie even though her face was flushed. "I was just telling Steve about this book I'm reading."

"Yeah," he'd said, peeling himself off the floor. "And I just, uh, rolled off the bed. On accident."

El had smiled, trying not to laugh. "Do you… kiss?"

"No," the two had said very quickly in unison, looking away from each other.

Of course, in response, El had only given her older sister a pointed look, one Steve had seen a million times from Kate.

"Don't tell Dad and we'll get you some Eggos every time we go to the store. Deal?"

"Deal."

Whenever El had left the room, Steve and Kate had looked at each other for only a second before erupting into laughter, melting into kissing each other once again. They had both been so happy—even though things still weren't perfect, they'd had each other, and for the time being, that was okay.

When she thought about that now, it also seemed blurred, tainted, almost by what she'd seen whenever she walked into Scoops. Things had changed so much since then, and everything was so different. As she watched Steve fail at trying to flirt with other girls, Kate could only hope that it wasn't his subtle way of trying to get rid of her.

next chapter

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[ri-ahhh]

hi can you write about spending a valentine’s day with gray pls?

valentine’s day smut w/ gray? + more haha sorry couldn’t put them all in

A/N: I’m sorry this is a day late. It was supposed to be 90% smut but somehow it took on a mind of its own and turned into this monster.

warnings: smut, extremely cheesy, way too long

***

It should be a given understanding that Valentine’s Day is the dumbest, most antiquated, overrated holiday that’s ever existed. That had always been your take on it, even as a little kid — the worry of spelling your classmates’ names correctly on cards imprinted with cheesy Scooby Doo and Spongebob puns; the expectation to dress up nice in the hopes you would get asked to be someone’s Valentine in the hallways of middle school; the potential embarrassment of being the only person in class who didn’t get bought one of those stupid roses from a ‘secret admirer’ in high school.

There’s simply too much pressure surrounding the idea of professing your love or even your mere fondness for anyone and everyone in your life. The fear of rejection if you do, and the judgement if you don’t. It had always made you anxious, whether you had someone to share the day with or not.

But this Valentine’s Day, as a young twenty-something, you were actually (secretly) looking forward to it. Conner was your first adult relationship, with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and labels and commitment. He’s cute and smart and charming and yours. So, sue you if you were quietly anticipating wearing that SavageXFenty set beneath a brand new dress while you went to dinner after being greeted at the door with roses and a box of chocolates.

And yet here you are, on February 14th, hood of your sweater drawn over your head as you rummage through your freezer with a clear target in your mind. Your eyes are blurry and swollen, but you find the pint of birthday cake Nada Moo with ease, and you slam the freezer door closed a little harder than you really mean to as soon as it’s in your grasp.

You’ve just popped the lid off when your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter where you’ve plopped down to eat your depression snack in a more acceptable place than your bed or the couch.

You see Grayson’s name accompanied by a goofy, up-close picture of him smiling filling the screen, and hesitate. He’s one of your best friends, and clearly done nothing wrong, but you’re not sure you’re capable of handling anyone of the male species right now after...everything.

At the end of the day, though, it’s Grayson. He knows heartbreak almost better than anyone, and you’ve coached him through it on more than one occasion. Maybe he can spew back some of your own advice if it comes to that.

You swipe the bar at the bottom of the screen, and your ceiling suddenly replaces the image of his silly, handsome face. “Sup?”

“Yo. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, just remembered what day it is.”

You swallow. “Uh no, you’re not.”

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip hard, digging your spoon into the softened ice cream. Was it that obvious just from your voice that you had been upset? Or does he just know you that well?

“Nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie. Let me see your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you concede. “No. I’ve been crying.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his own face in the corner of the screen. You shove the chunk of ice cream past your lips, and after a moment he says with a softer tone, “Crying on Valentine’s Day is never a good sign.”

You’re glad that you’ve gotten so much of your tears out already, because you feel the inevitable prickle behind your eyes that would have been full-blown waterworks a few hours ago. You scoop another bite. “Conner cheated on me — has been, cheating on me. I found out last night.”

Grayson sighs your name, and something about the genuine sympathy in his voice makes you even more emotional. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What a piece of shit.”

You shrug even though he can’t see, and sniffle past the lump in your throat. “It’s whatever. I’m still in shock more than anything. Hurts like hell, though, still. I let him have it when I saw the texts and he hasn’t tried to call me once. No texts. Nothing.”

He’s silent, but it’s that raging silence you know oh so well from him. It doesn’t happen often, but anyone who knows Grayson Dolan knows that when his volume comes down, he means business. A loud and obnoxious Grayson is a happy one, but a brooding and quiet one means serious business.

“Do you want me to go beat his ass? I’ll do it.”

A smile cracks your scowl before you know it, and you shake your head. “No thanks, Gray. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I like your face the way it is. And not on a mugshot.”

He chuckles a little, and you feel your chest lift some just hearing the familiar depth of it. “Well, do you at least want me to come over later? I totally get if you need to be alone, but I know from experience sometimes what helps the most is having good friends around.”

You’re a little surprised. “You don’t have a date?”

“Nope.”

“No one from the roster hitting you up?”

“I don’t have a roster,” he argues playfully, but you both know that’s a lie, if not at least a stretch of the truth. “And even if I did, you’re more important. Always.”

You sigh and take another bite. His words make your neck tingle and your toes wiggle, but you ignore it; your brain is full of confusion as it is. “That makes one man in my life who thinks so, I guess.”

You finally prop your phone up against the fruit basket sitting in the middle of your bar so he can see you. Grayson takes in your image, which admittedly must look kind of pathetic, and you watch his jaw clench and release in a way that you can’t deny is utterly sexy.

“Is an hour okay? Tell Vanessa to come, too.”

“Benito took her to Tulum for the weekend,” you say, referring to your best friend and her boyfriend. “She did threaten to get on a plane and come home early for me, though.”

Grayson grins crookedly, but his jaw is still tight. “Well, tell her you’re in good hands. See you in an hour?”

You give it one last quick consideration; you already feel this much better just talking to him on the phone. Nothing bad could come from him being in your apartment, and you trust him. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just so you know, I’m already at the stage of eating ice cream at 10:30 AM.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the emotional ice cream eating champion? No judgement here.”

You finally let out a giggle, your spirits officially lifted. “I’ll see you soon.”

**

True to his word, Grayson arrives at your door about an hour later, his arms laden with milkshakes from Monty’s, a gift bag decorated all over with sparkly hearts, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

You’re stunned. The only thing you’d managed to do in the time it took him to get here was take a quick shower in attempts to rid your face of some of the puffiness, throw on some shorts this time with a fresh hoodie, and toss the used tissues scattered around your place into the garbage.

Before you can say anything, he holds out the flowers. “They were out of roses. But I know you like pink.”

You reach out for them slowly, eyes wide, your fingers brushing his when you grasp the plastic wrapping. His cheeks are a similar color to the petals, and it makes both your heart and your lips smile.

“Peonies are my favorite,” you say truthfully. “And yes, especially pink ones. Thank you, Gray.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding relieved.

As he crosses the threshold of your door, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and you can’t help but hum quietly and pull him in for a hug. “That gift better not be for me, either,” you mumble into his chest.

Grayson pulls back, his eyes sparkling, but keeps you close with an arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Oh, this? No, this is for my other best friend I’m trying to cheer up on Valentine’s Day.”

You slap his arm playfully, and lead him into your kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet beneath your sink for the flowers.

The bag has a few gifts in it: a new Comfy (“I remembered you ruined yours when that ketchup bottle exploded all over you the other day”); a huge bag of watermelon sour patch kids (“I know they’re your favorite. Also ice cream gives you brain freeze after the first pint or so, trust me”); and a heart shaped box of your favorite chocolates (“you can eat them or burn them, I wasn’t sure which you’d appreciate more but either is fine with me.”)

You appreciated all of it, more than he would ever understand. All you can do is fling yourself at him weakly, completely overwhelmed. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry all over again.”

Grayson envelops you in those huge, muscular arms, cooing behind that laugh you love so much. “Is that a really backwards way of saying thank you?”

You grunt in affirmation, and with you still wrapped up in his arms, he starts waddling the two of you back the short distance into your living room.

“Here,” he says, coaxing you down into the blanket nest you had created on the couch. “You chill and find a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

You do, and he does, and the next few hours are spent lounging about in your apartment. Having him here with you is doing wonders from keeping your mind from going down the paths you’d been spiraling towards ever since you saw the messages between Conner and no less than four other girls on Snapchat. You don’t believe in snooping, but finding the first one had been an accident when he received the snap while you had his phone, and your finger happened to press the icon at just the right moment. 

In your eyes, though, the image of one pair of tits that weren’t your own was enough justification to see what else you could find. 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved,” you told Grayson a while later, Shrek playing on the TV quietly. He’s sitting next to you, far enough apart for there to be couch space between the two of you, but close enough to share the oversized blanket thrown over your laps. “Obviously what he did is so fucking shitty and I’m not justifying it in any way, but I can be honest with myself now and realize I wasn’t in that relationship for the right reasons. There wasn’t anything there emotionally at the end of the day.”

“You still have every right to feel hurt by what he did, though. It’s a huge violation of trust,” Grayson assures, reaching out and squeezing your hand gently.  

You squeeze back and grimace at him. “Yeah.” You let out a little mirthless laugh and shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing, too. And finding out the day before Valentine’s, no less. Like, I just wanted to look cute, have a nice dinner, have some nice sex, and just... I don’t know. Have an actual Valentine’s day for once. No pressure or anxiety or anything.”

Grayson stares at you in that way he does — so intense and almost intimidating if there wasn’t a genuine warmth behind it. You’re suddenly aware of his thumb brushing the back of your hand slowly. He squeezes your fingers again. 

“So, let’s do it, then. You and me.”

You arch a brow at him, smiling at the rosiness in his cheeks when he realizes what he might have implied. “The dinner part, I mean. And the dressing up. Even though I think you look plenty cute right now.”

You roll your eyes, but for the countless time that day, your heart flutters happily. Looking back, you can’t remember the last time Conner had complimented your appearance, let alone after hours of crying and lazing around in sweats, sugar crystals stuck to the corner of your lip. 

“That would be great, except there’s no way we’re getting into any restaurant at this point,” you remind him. “Probably no delivery, either.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he counters, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up with a groan. He stops to stretch, and the way his arms go over his head makes his shirt ride up at the bottom, exposing a chunk of hard muscles and golden skin. 

You swallow, eyes trailing up the rest of his torso appreciatively. “I don’t have much.”

He’s already rummaging through your pantry, though, and pulls out a half-full box of pasta, a jar of marinara sauce, and a leftover chunk of sourdough bread. “You got salad stuff?”

You nod, and he opens the fridge to find some lettuce, peppers, and other salad fixings before setting them with the pasta ingredients on the counter. “Go get dressed, look as cute or not cute as you want. I’ll take care of this.”

He’s absolutely unreal. “Gray-”

Grayson holds up his hand. “Ah, no, I’m doing this. You deserve it. Also, I’m hungry. It’s a win-win.”

Your stomach growls as well, and that’s all the convincing you need. While he gets busy in the kitchen, you tidy up the living area some before heading to your room. You feel a little silly, making your third outfit change of the day, but you also like the giddiness in the pit of your belly at the thought of Grayson doing all of this for you. You might as well take advantage of having someone like him in your life. Show him some Valentine’s appreciation of your own.

You forgo the slinky red number you had planned to wear to the restaurant with Conner, and opt instead for a rather unsuspecting blouse-jeans combo, which happen to both respectively frame your tits and ass perfectly.

The lacy, bright pink set in the back of your closet might have made it beneath your clothes, though. The prettiness of it made you feel that much better, even if no one else was going to see it.

Maybe.

Padding back into your kitchen after running a flat iron through your hair and throwing on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, you find Grayson draining the pasta into a colander in the sink. 

Grayson does a double-take when he sees you standing there admiring the flex of his bicep as he holds the pot. “Hey! You look amazing.”

“If you say so,” you joke, bumping his hip with yours as. You pass him to pull plates and bowls out of the cabinet.

“I do,” he insists quietly.

Arm outstretched mid-reach, you look over at him, locking eyes with his hazel ones. He looks a little surprised by the words that left his mouth, like he meant for them to stay inside his head. There must be some kind of challenge in your gaze, daring him to elaborate.

He busies himself with the pasta again hastily, his voice low. “Conner is a fucking idiot. To do that to you. To let you go. You don’t deserve that. Especially not today.”

Plates in hand, you rest them gently on the counter with your lower lip caught between your teeth, and peer over at this handsome man you’re so proud and lucky to call your best friend. He’s everything you thought Conner was — cute and smart and charming — but so much more — beautiful and good and kind.

And he’s been right here in front of you the whole time.

You reach out and touch his elbow softly. The hairs on his forearm are crisp but soft, and you follow them down to that gleaming watch on his wrist.

“You know,” you start quietly, fingers tracing the links of the band before flipping his hand over to trace the lines of his palm, “you keep talking about what I deserve today. But you deserve all that and more. You deserve someone’s love that matches your own.”

He watches your delicate fingers on his large, calloused palm, then trails his eyes up to yours when he feels their attention on his face. A piece of hair flops into his eyes, and you reach up without thinking or any hesitation to push it away again with a little smile playing on your glossy lips.

You look down and lay your palm flat against his, admiring the difference in size between your hands for a moment before interlocking your fingers with his.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise; he beat you to the words.

“In case that wasn’t obvious,” Grayson continues, turning towards you. “And I hope that’s not too much for you to handle, with everything you’ve had hap-”

“I love you too, Gray,” you interrupt, stepping that much closer to him so you’re nearly chest-to-chest with him.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost boyish in his astonishment, and it makes you want to hold him tight and never let go.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “A lot. I’m sorry it took me getting dumped to realize it.”

He shakes his head, his hand resting on your cheek gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod once before he’s swiftly ducking down to claim your lips with his. They’re soft and pliable, and you feel their effects from the nerves in your scalp all the way down to your bare toes.

“Grayson,” you breathe, lashes fluttering open as he pulls back just enough to look at you concernedly.

You smile, bigger and brighter than you have all day, and cup his stubbled cheeks with your hands, scratching your nails gently against his jaw. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Grayson grins now, too. He kisses you more insistently now that he’s got the taste of you on his tongue, which he flicks against the underside of your top lip as he breaks the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Make me,” you challenege, voice breathy and excited, eyes closed as you savor his sweet breath against your lips. “In my room.” You feel him tense up a bit, and you open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze, biting back a smile at the inevitable hope also shining there. “I’m sure.”

With that, Grayson hauls you up into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist with a squeal as he buries his face into your neck. He starts making the way to your bedroom, cooked food left long forgotten in the kitchen behind you.

“Are you wearing my signature scent?” he asks, inhaling your skin deeply.

“Mmhm,” you hum, threading your fingers through the back of his thick hair. It’s so long again, and you give the dark strands a sharp tug that makes him grunt. “Part one of my gift to you. Since you got so many for me today.”

“Part one, huh?” he says, crossing the threshold of your room. “What’s part two?”

“What I’m wearing underneath this,” you whisper in his ear, giggling loudly when he lies you down on the bed with more of a toss than he might have intended. “If you want it, that is.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind at the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t, and you take that as enough encouragement to tug at the bow tying your forest green silk wrap blouse together.

The folds part open and expose your chest, clad in that pink lace demi-cup bra with the cage detailing over the tops of your breasts. Grayson moans and dips down to nuzzle your cleavage, breathing in the scent of your warm skin. His hands trail up your sides, from your hips to your rib cage, until they settle in the dips of your waist. His touch ignites you, makes your back arch and your hips grind up against his thigh between your legs, just from the sensation of his hands on these new parts of your body.

“Grayson,” you sigh, and he smirks up at you with his chin on your tits when he realizes that’s all it took for you to say his name again.

You grab his cheeks and kiss that smugness away, shifting your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist once again, pushing down on the small of his back to get your centers to meet.

Both of you gasp into each other’s mouths when his erection rubs against your pussy, even through all the layers of clothing still on your bodies. You reach down blindly, still attacking his mouth with yours, and feel around for his belt.

His pants come off, followed by yours, and he sits you up enough to push your blouse off your shoulders rather gently considering the intensity of everything. Once the garment is tossed over his shoulder, you’re down to nothing but that pretty lingerie and he in his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment of pause and clarity for the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as the reality hits of what you’re about to do. What it means to both of you. Grayson stares down at you, and places a hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, dragging his hand up your chest, over your throat, until he’s cupping you’re cheek and stroking your lip with his thumb.

You smile in return, then part your lips with your eyes locked on his, encouraging him silently to slip that digit in your mouth.

Grayson’s eyes darken, and he offers you his pointer finger instead, swallowing hard when you suck and swirl your soft, wet tongue around it.

Suddenly, he’s rolling the two of you over, switching positions so he’s on his back and you straddle him. You smile happily, taking your turn to duck down and attach your lips to the pulse point his neck, grinding down on his cock with a slow, steady rhythm.

“You’re so amazing, Gray,” you tell him, nipping at the lobe of his ear before kissing the underside of his chin. “Can’t believe you’re all mine now.”

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he growls back, cursing when you trail your kisses down the center of his body, giving each one of those moon’s their own special attention before continuing down.

When you get to the waistband of his underwear, you trail your tongue on the edge of the elastic and watch his abs contract with each shaky breath he takes. One little move of your hands, and you’ll finally get to see what he’s really packing.

But before you can even hook your fingers there to pull down, he’s tugging on your hair. “Fuck, fuck, c’mere. Please.”

You pout, but follow his lead, licking back up his muscular torso until he’s able to drag you to him for a deep, wet kiss.

“Sit on my face,” he demands, shuffling down on the pillow to make more room for you.

That takes you off guard. “But—”

“Do it. Please. I fucking have to taste you.”

Your body must be working ahead of your brain, because before you know it, you’re straddling Grayson’s face, his tongue is sweeping through the wetness in your slit, and his dark eyes are peering up at you from between your thighs.

“Oh... oh!” you cry out when his tongue starts flicking against your clit. He goes back to swiping up all your arousal, then suctions his lips around your clit. He’s using one hand to hold the lace of your thong aside, and the other dips first one finger, then two inside of you. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good...”

Grayson moans, the vibrations erupting around your clit and sending you right to the edge already. You reach back and palm his cock, rock hard in his underwear still, and squeeze as he makes you cum all over his mouth.

He gets his fill of your cum as he groans and keeps up the motion of his fingers, the pressure of his lips, the softness of his tongue as your pussy pulses with each contraction of your orgasm. You wait for him to start letting up, but something about the way he’s working you just makes those waves stay steady rather than die down again. Maybe that’s his intention, because when you drop your head down to look at him with your mouth wet and agape, there’s a sparkling mischief in his eyes has he eats you out like his last meal.

Your hips grind against his face of their own accord, and you delve one hand in his hair while the other supports you on the headboard. You gasp out a quivering, breathless laugh as it all becomes just too much, and you try to lift off his mouth.

Grayson isn’t having it, though. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down, reveling in the moans and whimpers and squeals as he makes you cum again.

“Oh my god — enough, enough, I can’t...” you whine, shoving on his forehead until he releases you and drops his head to the pillow. You could already see it by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smirking wide, chest heaving as you slink your way down his body.

You collapse next to him in a daze, and he rolls on top of you smoothly, peppering little kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose. When you’re back in your right mind, you nudge blindly at his face so his lips find yours. He tastes like your pussy, and you sigh happily as you lift your heavy arms to wrap around his neck while his scoop beneath you, holding you close.

You continue to indulge in each other for a while, in the kisses you hadn’t been allowed to share until now. There’s something exciting about his familiarity and yet also this strange newness that has you absolutely desperate for him in every way.

“This is crazy,” you say when you pull back for air, studying his face hovering right above yours. You push back that stubborn chunk of hair that keeps falling into his eyes with a soft smile. “How did we end up here?”

Grayson turns his head to press his lips to your palm. “I don’t know. Is it too much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head vehemently, and he grins. “No, please. I think I just have to grasp that you’re really... mine now.”

He chuckles. “How do you think I felt watching you with that loser for five months?”

The mention of Conner makes you feel nothing — nothing other than gratitude for Grayson, that is. You slide your hands down his back, over his ribs, across his abs until your hand cups his dick.

His hips thrust into your touch, and you grin up at him demurely as you finally delve your hand past his waistband until you’ve got his length completely in your grasp.

He’s hot and hard and thick, and you start stroking him just to gauge the reaction in his face. He doesn’t disappoint, his jaw gaping open slightly, his breaths picking up, a flush rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Without warning, he reaches down and grasps your wrist. You pout, but he asks hastily. “Are we gonna have sex?”

You smirk. “Hell yeah.”

Grayson grins and shakes his head. “Alright, then you gotta stop.”

“Already?” you tease, letting him sit back and hook his fingers in the tiny string of your thong at your hips.

He gives you a look as he pulls the scrap of lace down your legs, then stands to push down his own underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you wish he’d let you blow him some before you hit the main event, but he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long to take any chances about screwing up the first time.”

You melt a little, reaching for him as he climbs back on the bed. “There should be some condoms in the drawer there. Just to be safe after... you know.”

He nods and dips down to kiss you before leaning over to riffle through the top drawer of your nightstand. He comes back with a purple square, which you take from him.

“Gotta practice an activity safely,” you wink, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his shaft quickly.

“Shut up.” Grayson rolls his eyes, but smiles softly as he settles between your legs just right. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, gasping as he starts to sink inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as your walls suck him in and grip him tight.

He goes slow for a couple of minutes, allowing both of you time to adjust to each other. He stretches you out so much better than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can’t help but clench around him when you see those tattoos and smell his cologne and hear his voice — all things that remind you that this is Grayson fucking you.

He growls the first time you do it, then sits up hastily, pulling his face out of your neck when you do it again. He tucks his knees beneath him, sits on his heels, and hauls your hips into his lap as the speed of his thrusts picks up incrementally. Until he’s fucking you for real, and your tits bounce in your bra with every upstroke.

You shove an arm beneath your pillow, enunciating the curves of your body, and watch his expressions as he fights to hold back. His hair is disheveled, lip caught tight between his teeth and muffling his deep, satisfied sounds that mingle with your open higher-pitched ones. He catches your eye and his hands on your hips grip you so tight for a moment that you’re sure little bruises will be there in the morning — not that you mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly before slowing his hips and shifting down to give you a deep, sloppy kiss. “Turn over.”

You moan into his mouth, then follow his order, rolling onto your front as soon as he pulls out. You expect him to haul your hips up into the air, but he moves your hair off your neck and trails sweet kisses from shoulder to shoulder, his hand sweeping down the subtle curve of your back until he’s gripping your ass.

Grayson’s hand moves down your thigh and pushes it up and out once he’s cupping the back of your knee. The angle encourages you to twist your upper half until you have sight of him once again in all his angled, sweaty, muscular glory.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg him, already anticipating the fullness inside you again. Needing it.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks needlessly, pushing into your pussy once again. You moan loudly, either in confirmation or from pure pleasure, it doesn’t matter. The angle is tighter, the tip of his dick hitting a spot so perfectly accurate inside of you that you can’t concentrate on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. “Yeah. So fucking sexy. So beautiful...”

“Gray.. oh fuck yes, right there,” you whimper, catching onto his arm as he leans over you and gives you those hard, steady strokes.

“Open your eyes, baby, lemme see them when you cum,” he growls out.

You open them as much as you can, your vision blurry, but you can still make out those handsome features soaking in the pleasure on your face. Watching and waiting for you to get yours so he can get his.

As soon as you’re clenching like a vice around him, Grayson is letting go into the condom. You can vaguely feel the throb of him as he cums in spurts, the sound of his masculine, drawn-out groans making you shiver and tense up even more on his dick. If it’s possible for anyone to sound as sexy as they look, Grayson achieves that in spades.

He collapses on the bed next to you, and you have just enough strength to roll over until he’s got you gathered in his arms. You nuzzle into his chest and try to process everything. You had been hoping for nice sex today, and instead you got the best sex of your life.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while you both catch your breath, after he pulls and ties off the condom, you smile into his cooling skin with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you for making this the best Valentine’s Day of my life. Especially after it was starting to look like the worst.”

“You made this the best day of my life, period,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Gray.”

#the relief i have in finishing this lmao #im sorry its a day late this took way more effort than i thought it would #dolan twins #grayson dolan #smut #blurb #g blurb

[kaimelia]

fix you

a/n: hi! I received an ask a while ago asking if I wanted amelia to be pregnant in s18, and this is how I would want it to play out if she was!

also, i may not be posting for a little. my grandmother passed away yesterday, so life’s a little rough right now :( this was pre-written

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

Two lines.

Two lines staring back at her, two lines that were aggressively red, two lines that she had been dreading seeing.

She'd ignored the symptoms for the longest time. Her late cycle was blamed on stress, weight gain due to the lack of care for herself, nausea stemming from how anxious she constantly felt.

It wasn't until Meredith noticed how Scout had been acting oddly and mentioned how clingy Bailey had gotten while she was pregnant with Ellis, as Scout had just finished crying after Amelia put him in his crib and put him back on her hip to calm him.

She snuck two pregnancy tests into their grocery run the next day, and maybe Meredith had seen it, but she knew not to say anything.

And now, she was on the floor of the bathroom, waiting for the results of the second stick to confirm her fear. That she was pregnant.

Having a second child had previously been hypothetical, and even the thought of it caused Amelia to feel ill. Now, she wasn't sure if she was about to puke because of the baby inside of her or because she knew about the baby inside of her.

And then, Meredith was behind her, running a hand up and down Amelia's back as Amelia heaved the little food she had forced herself to eat that morning despite how terrible she felt. "Amelia," Meredith whispered, sitting down beside her sister after she finished throwing up, "hey, you're okay." Amelia noticed how the other woman had started using her 'Mom' voice, the same one she used to comfort Ellis after she scraped her knee on the playground. She frowned. "How far along?"

"I don't know, maybe six weeks? I've only missed one period," she muttered, gripping the side of the ceramic bowl. "I can't do this, Mer; I can't bring another kid into this world." Meredith placed her hand on Amelia's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"And you don't have to. You have options, Amelia; you're early enough that if you don't want to have this baby, it's as easy as going to a clinic and taking a pill." The neurosurgeon reached up, flushing the toilet and watching as the water swirled around. "You're hesitant."

"Link wants another kid," she muttered, staring at the water as it calmed in the bowl.

"Link hasn't been here except to pick up Scout, Amelia. You should tell him, but what he wants shouldn't dictate the decision you make."

"He wants another kid, and I don't know if he'll still love me if I don't want that, too. But I can't do it, Mer; I can't have another baby without losing myself, without compromising my sobriety or ruining everything I have; I can't do it." She leaned back against the cool ceramic of the bathtub, sighing heavily. "I have to tell him."

"You do. But, take some time to process it yourself, first. Go get some good sleep and think things through, make sure that you're completely sure of what you want, think through what you're going to tell him." The brunette nodded as her sister spoke, pushing herself off of the bathroom floor and wobbling slightly as she stood. "Maybe get some food in your body. You look like you're going to pass out." Amelia wrapped her arms over her stomach tightly. "Can I make you something?"

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

"Hey, can you come inside for a minute?" Amelia muttered, pointing towards the living room behind her. "I need to talk to you." Link watched her with wide eyes, entering the house and dropping Scout's bag on the floor of the entryway, placing Scout in the pack-n-play in the room.

"What's going on?" Link asked, hesitantly sitting down on the couch across from her.

"I'm pregnant." He quickly flashed a toothy grin before shaking it away, matching the expression on her face. "And, I'm telling you because you have a right to know, but I'm not going to keep the baby."

"Do I not get a say in this?"

"It's my body. This baby would be inside of me for the next eight and a half months, and then I would be breastfeeding and recovering for god knows how long. Link," Amelia leaned forward, clasping her hands together, "I'm doing everything I can to stay sober and be a mother for Scout right now. And I'm telling you that I cannot continue to do that if I keep this baby." He pursed his lips and stared past her, nodding his head slowly as he processed and thought. Amelia watched his face as if she could see wheels turning inside of his brain. He ran a hand through his hair.

"When's the appointment?"

"A week from tomorrow," she muttered, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands.

"Do you want me there? I can, I can drive you if you want me to hold your hand, or if you just need me to take Scout," he blinked quickly, finally meeting her eyes. "What can I do?"

"You're not upset with me?" Her eyes watered as Link moved to sit closer to her on the couch, placing his hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing soft patterns in comfort.

"No, of course not. I didn't understand why before; I thought you were just uncertain about it, but I don't want you to risk yourself or your health to have another baby, Amelia. So, so if getting an abortion is what you need to do, I'm on board." She brought her hand up to her mouth, biting at a hangnail on her finger as a tear fell from her eyes. "Why did you think I would be upset with you?"

"Things haven't been normal between us for months, and you want another kid so badly; I thought that you wouldn't love me if I didn't keep the baby," she whispered, tears falling freely from her eyes as she spoke. Link reached up and brought her hand away from her mouth, wiping her cheeks with his sleeve and holding her hand in his.

"Is it okay if I hug you?" He paused, waiting until she nodded to wrap his arms around her tightly, her head settling on his chest with a content sigh escaping his mouth. "Amelia, I love you no matter what; I don't need another baby to know that I love you and want to be with you," he kissed the top of her head. "I'm here. I will always be here."

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

"Okay, heating pad, blanket, and that disgusting ice cream you love," Link whispered, handing her a carton and a spoon. Amelia smiled at him from the couch and took the lid off of the ice cream, digging her spoon in and scooping a large amount into her mouth, her eyes rolling back in enjoyment.

"Mm," she moaned, "this is the best thing ever." He shook his head in amusement.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Sit with me?" He nodded, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the couch, gently pulling her towards him. She cringed at his touch.

"Still cramping?"

"Crampy and crappy," she muttered, spooning more ice cream into her mouth. "But sober and alive. And, I'm grateful for that."

"So am I," he whispered, placing his head on her shoulder and leaning it against her head. "Thank you for telling me why you didn't want another kid. And, I'm sorry for making you think I would be upset with you." Amelia sniffled and laid her head back.

"Thank you for being here, for putting everything aside."

"Hey, don't cry," Link laughed softly, bringing his arm around to wipe her eyes.

"My body's still trying to get rid of the hormones," she muttered, blinking away tears in her eyes that were wiped away by Link as soon as they fell down her face. "You're really comforting, even when you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you; I just think that we got so caught up in our lives that we forgot to be us. I forgot to check-in, and I'm pissed as hell at myself for doing that." He wiped away more tears from her eyes.

"Can we have this conversation sometime when my body isn't overwhelmed with hormones?" Link nodded and laughed gently, kissing the side of her head and adjusting his body so that she could lean back. "I'm not-I'm not just magically better now; I still need to work things through, and I need you to know that."

"I know. And whatever I can do, whether it's driving you to meetings or giving you space, just tell me. I love you, Amelia, and I want to work through this."

"I love you, too," she responded softly, shifting to lay against his body.

"Get some rest," he whispered, pulling a blanket over her body. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

#amelink #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #amelink fanfiction #grey's anatomy #amelink fanfic #greys abc #greys fanfic #scout lincoln #meredith grey #my fics

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“We don’t talk about maternal rage. I mean the kind that simmers under the surface of countless women; the kind that makes you dig your nails into your fists in an attempt to stop the fury from entering your hands, because if you don’t stop it now, it will turn to something shameful. Mothers dare not speak of it. We are afraid to admit to it, even to ourselves.

Before motherhood, we see images of pristine kitchens, sleeping babies, the perfect work–life balance. The drudgery that is the reality, the long list of unfinished tasks, the never-ending laundry, and the constant silent scream of the mental load, are kept from us. To some extent we play our own part in this, the pull of biology being so strong that we disregard the bits of motherhood we don’t want to see before we ourselves get there. But I’m not sure it is possible to fully understand the highs and lows of motherhood without having experienced them.

Pregnancy and motherhood left me raw, unable to process comment and criticism. I was lucky; I had a group of NCT friends who were all experiencing the same emotional rollercoaster.

However, I would approach the subject of my children tentatively, worried about judgement, not wanting to bore them, worrying the work of motherhood wasn’t exciting. Discussing the reality of motherhood requires vulnerability.

‘Buggies used to be invisible to me, and now I feel invisible,’ a new mum confides as I collect my son on the first day of nursery. This invisibility is the foundation on which my maternal rage stands. I’m a mother of three. I love family; not just the idea of it, but the messy reality.

Yet at the same time, the reality of motherhood has been viscerally brutal to me. I met my husband in my mid-thirties. He was 10 years older, and we both knew time was short. But children didn’t happen for us instantly, and after three years we gave up. And then it happened. And it wouldn’t stop happening. In our case, babies were like buses: they all seemed to come along at once.

Six years on, three little boys tear around our house. They are loud, their energy levels set permanently to high. They drag each other around the room on a blanket, as the baby crawls between them, narrowly avoiding death. “Darling, please don’t do that,” I say, over and over again.

“You wouldn’t tolerate this behaviour from anyone else,” says my husband. He’s right, I wouldn’t. His words echo around my head, mixing with the shouts from the boys and demands for food and toilet trips and toys, until I can’t bear it any longer and all I want to do is scream: ‘Will you just f**king stop trying to f**king kill each other, motherf**kers!’ But I can’t say that because I’m the adult.

I open the fridge and I eat my feelings. I make another cup of tea. I vacuum up more crumbs, push my rage further down as I pick up books with newly missing pages. I keep trudging on through the drudgery but the demands keep coming, and then I step barefoot on a piece of Lego.

I scream like a banshee, because it’s all I can do. Because I’ve tried everything to make them listen. Thinking steps, time out, taking away toys. They turn and look at me. The six-year-old with his worried face, the baby who’s surprised by the strange noise coming from mama, and the three-year-old who looks frightened. And all at once I feel I’ve failed. I am empty and I am awful.

I scoop them up and onto the sofa. We eat ice-cream and watch CBeebies, and I wonder why we couldn’t simply do this before. Why was I trying to hold it together with carrot sticks and educational games? I can see how the path to maternal rage – spewing into abuse – is incremental.

My husband comes home from work just around the time my cup of rage runneth over. He’s a good man. He scoops up our children, asks about their days, and takes them upstairs for bathtime as I stand muttering in a corner or shaking my head at the day I’ve had. I am aware that not everyone has this.

But I am also aware that he bears the brunt of, and exacerbates, my maternal rage. My position is so precarious that when he forgets my hatred of sweetcorn and adds it to our pizza, it tips me over the edge.

Because it’s the numerous times I have to tell my children to put their shoes on in the morning. It’s the swimming/PE/games kit, it’s the youngest demanding milk, and the middle child doing his best to be disruptive.

It’s my husband trying to pacify me when he’s just waltzed in from taking too long in the shower and is now heading out the door. It’s when I ask for help and he responds by requesting specific instructions on how to navigate the kids out of the house.

“You’re tired and lonely”, says another mother. She’s right, I am tired. I am tired of the patriarchy.

Maternal rage is about more than just the difficulty of raising small children. It’s a consequence of all the things that women have to endure throughout our lives. That we are expected to slot ourselves into a work system created for 1950s men; that, despite legislation, women still have to worry about telling employers they are pregnant, still struggle on maternity pay, and then still have to pay extortionate childcare costs in order to go back to work.

That, despite nods towards shared parental leave, the reality is that working mothers’ careers stall or go backwards while their male partners’ prospects might even improve.

And those of us who are stay-at-home mothers have another layer of disrespect heaped on us. Because motherhood is unpaid, and unpaid work is not valued. What is a writer when she’s not being paid to write? There are moments when I feel as though all I’m doing is failing.

“How did you get through raising kids?” I ask my friends. “I drank a lot of wine”, says one. I can’t help but wonder what kind of state we are in if the only way we survive motherhood is self-medication. Surely, if a man needed to drink every night to recover from his workday, the advice would be to find another job. Something is deeply broken here.

I have to find a better way through this, so I join a HITT class. I need to feel stronger. I need an outlet for my maternal rage. ‘Is it with other mums? With buggies?’ I’m asked by a relative, and I feel instantly diminished. The rage resurfaces.

My award-winning career, the publishing deal, the TV option, none of it means anything since I gave birth. Why wasn’t I warned that my worth and brain would fall out of my vagina with my babies? For all the demands on me, I am invisible.”

[slashscowboyboots]

Happy Taco Truck: Ice Cream Dreamboat (Part 1)

(all photo credit goes to owners)

I know it’s only been months, but it feels like years since I’ve shared a fic!  This is a continuation of @no-stone-no-bone​‘s awesome fic Duff’s Doughnuts (link here).  I agree with Skyler, I’d love to see other writers write about the different food trucks and make this a series.  This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as I am physically incapable of writing short fics, this is a two-parter.  Buckle in!

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll​ @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands​ @smokeandmirrorz​ @sodalitefully​​ @roger-taylors-car​​  @harley-m-rose​ if you’d like to be tagged let me know, we all know how wonderful the tags work though

Warnings: language, sibling promiscuity, lonely cooking, terminal embarrassment, Axl and Tracii are Axl and Tracii

Thunk thunk thunk.

It was another scorcher inside your food truck, the vicious heat wafting off the griddle pummeling your face as you deftly raked your spatula through a pile of crisping beef tips, then piled them into a fluffy shell, handing it off for your sister Skyler to kiss with your award-winning cilantro lime crema and hand out to the customer.

You couldn’t resist moving up to the open side to watch the patron, a long-haired man wearing a nose chain with “Endless Burgers” stitched on his shirt, take a bite of your creation, then bend at the knees from ecstasy and dig a ten dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it in your tip jar.

It has been gangbusters during the lunch rush in The Circle, the informal name given to the parking lot of ornery hooligans who fed the masses during the day and lingered behind late in the evening for a bit of recreational hell-raising. 

There was a plethora of culinary delights scattered around you, including Duff’s Doughnuts, Tracii and Phil’s Sno-Cones, Stoney & Cready’s Homewrecker Corndogs, and Jon and Richie’s Jersey Essentials (you never really knew what they were selling, apart from Aqua Net and the occasional cheesesteak, but after they began offering rippers-deep fried hot dogs-Skyler made frequent trips over to ask Richie if she could eat his weenie).  And from what you heard, they all knew how to throw down at night.

You never stayed to find out, though.  Your shyness forced you to fire up Helen the Happy Taco truck and drive home, leaving Skyler behind to do God-knows-what to who-knows-what, and you arrived in the mornings to find her either helping Kelly from Nickels’ BBQ feed his pink-painted porcine smoker, both of them covered in hickeys, or nearly trading blows with the loudmouth redhead who ran the ice cream truck.

Today, however, you’d found her with someone new.  When you pulled into the lot, you saw her with her arms wrapped around a guy with long hair wearing a flannel shirt and shorts, gazing raptly into his piercing blue eyes.  “Bye, Ed,” she murmured, pecking a kiss on his mouth.

“Who was that?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Produce man,” she answered quickly.

“Were you getting us a good deal?’

“You know it.”

You peeled your gloves off and wiped your sweating face with a paper towel, trying to blot off as much grease as possible.  “I’m taking a break.  I need some ice cream.”

“I got you a frozen lemonade on my break.  It’s gonna taste like shit when you drink it with that ice cream.”

“I don’t care.”

“Punch that dick Axl in the face while you’re over there.  He’s on my last fucking nerve.”

You trudged down to “Axl and Izzy’s Frozen Delights,” eager to leave the brutal swelter inside your truck.  Standing in front of their window, you bent backwards and cracked your aching back, then a raspy voice asked, “Can I help you?”

You looked up into the most beautiful doe eyes you’d ever seen, hazel verging on gold in the afternoon sunlight, belonging to a guy with messy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, and suddenly your feet didn’t hurt anymore.  “Hi,” you said faintly.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you, and you felt your breath leave you.  “I’m Izzy, who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“What can I get for you?”

Your brain instantly forgot how to make words.  “Cone,” you muttered.

His smile grew even bigger.  “What do you want in your cone?”

“Ice cream.”

He chuckled softly.  “What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

Those gorgeous eyes were full of merriment, crinkling at the corners.  “You don’t know?”

“No.”  Get ahold of yourself, you’re sounding like a moron.  “Uh, chocolate?”

“Sure.  I mean, as long as you’re sure about that.”  He winked at you, then turned to the freezer case behind him, and you got an exquisite view of his perfect ass, your mouth open and your breath coming in gasps, then he turned around and grinned, catching you mid-gawk, and you immediately wanted the earth to swallow you up.

“Thank you,” you blurted when he handed you your cone, then you turned to leave.  

“Uh, Y/N?”

“Uh huh?”  You couldn’t believe he was going to prolong putting up with your awkward ass.  

“Aren’t you going to pay me?”

“Oh,” you said, humiliation bringing a knot to your throat, and you handed him a crumpled pile of bills and scuttled away before you could cry.

“Sis, you mind if I head out a little early?” you asked.  “I’ve got a headache and I want to go home.”

“Sure.  I think we’re done for today.  You sure you’re okay?”

You hadn’t said a word all afternoon, just cooked and sweated and tried not to think about what a failure you were.  This was why you didn’t stick around at night, even though you longed to, to laugh and have fun with all the crazy characters around you.  Because you’d fuck it up if you did.

Why wasn’t I born normal? you thought bitterly.  Why am I the disaster in the family?

“Yeah,” you said quietly.  “I’m fine.”

That’s why your tacos were so delicious.  Because you were such a loser, you stayed home and perfected them instead of going out and having a life.  With no demands on your personal time, you discovered that lime made your chicken taco sing, while a little tomato sauce was the secret to juicier ground beef.

Your loneliness was the key to Happy Taco’s success.  

And you’d give everything you knew away just to be cool for five minutes.

“OPEN UP!!” a male voice hollered.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”

Skyler dropped the hatch.  “Tracii!  Ferfucksakes!  We just got here!”

Tracii grinned under his bandanna.  “I wanna eat your taco.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve you a Happy Taco,” she answered, leaning on the counter and linking her fingers.  “However, we haven’t got anything set up and the only kind we can get you is our el pastor.”

“Okay,” he said, “gimme two,” and Skyler nodded to you.

You sliced the meat off the trompo, carefully evening out the sides, all the while reliving the embarrassment of the previous afternoon in your head.  Maybe you could drive Helen down to Baja California and start life anew, under a different name.

“Hey!” Tracii yelped, his eyes on you.  “I know you!  You’re the one Izzy was talking about last night,” and your knife nearly stabbed the metal pole holding up the pork and pineapple mass.

“Yeah,” he smiled lazily, “you are a looker, aren’t you?  How come you don’t party with us?  Izz said you seemed kinda shy.”

With your eyes wide and heart hammering, you handed the tacos to Skyler, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

Before she could say anything, Tracii handed her his money and sauntered off, orgasmically moaning as he chewed, and Axl stepped up to the window.

“The fuck you want?” Skyler snapped.  “”It’s too early in the day for you to pick a fight, asshole.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he growled, slamming down a wad of dollars.  “This is from Izzy.  For her ice cream,” and he jutted his chin towards you.  “He says you eat for free at our truck.  The bo-both of you,”  he gritted, the agony of that idea etching deeply on his face.

“Thank you,” you smiled in surprise.

His eyes met yours, waving off your delight.  “Yeah, he’ll be down later.”

“Yes, thank you, Axl,” Skyler said.  “May we offer you an el pastor taco?”

“No,” he said, already retreating.  “Pork gives me the shits.”

Izzy did come by later, just in time for your sister to run off on her break.  

“Hi, Izzy,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking delicious in his sunglasses.  “So what kind of tacos do you have?”

You recited the list.  “El pastor, carnitas, beef tips, seasoned ground beef, chicken, shrimp, and uh, lengua.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, tongue.”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue, and you giggled, your shyness melting away at his goofiness.  “No, no, it’s really good.  Imagine the most tender, flavorful pot roast.  Everyone always orders seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass on the tongue, that one anyways, and have one shrimp and one chicken.  How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.  Uh, you and Axl, you eat for free here too.  Thank you, by the way, that’s very generous.”

He grinned wider, and you noticed he’d hadn’t stopped smiling at you since he showed up.  “Don’t mention it.”

You opened the shrimp and chicken containers, then threw the meat down on the griddle and moved it around, forcing yourself to focus on sauteing and not burning down the fucking truck because Izzy was outside.

He peeked in the window, looking around the interior of the truck.  “So how long have you been cooking?”

“Oh, since I was small.  I was at a stove before I could see over it.  These are all my grandmother's recipes.”  You scooped the fillings into their shells, then grabbed the crema.  

“Hey, I only ordered two,” Izzy protested when you handed him his tacos in a cardboard to-go basket.

“One of the chicken ones is Axl’s.  Consider it a peace offering.”

“Thank you.  Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if-”

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get some fucking service around here,” a mullet-sporting, Confederate flag t-shirt wearing asshole growled, and Izzy waved, then walked away.

He returned the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, working his way through your menu and bringing you a different-flavored milkshake each time.  He loved all of the tacos he tried, even daring to sample the beef tongue, then immediately ordered another one.

“Told you,” you grinned.

He always made conversation with you while you cooked, his eyes locked on yours as he ate, but every time he finished, there was always a line to tend to, and Skyler made herself scarce as soon as she spotted him.  You never returned to his truck for ice cream, and spent your downtime cleaning the flattop, lighting out as soon as you turned over the CLOSED sign.

“You know,” your sister said to you as you turned the key in the ignition, “if you stayed, you’d probably hook up with Izzy.”

“No,” you said sadly, “I’m a hot mess.  I’d say something stupid and he’d run away.”

“Can’t talk with his tongue in your mouth,” she teased, “or some other part.”

“SKYLER!” you shrieked as she cackled, then you sighed and leaned your head against the steering wheel.  “I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said, leaning over and stroking your hair.  “Just give him a chance.”

“I can’t stay here and have Helen be a-a sin wagon.”

“It’s not like we have orgies!” Skyler laughed.  “At least your man doesn't.  He plays guitar and Axl sings, when he’s not being a dumbass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And then Izzy sings, and Kelly gives me The Look and……”

“Or the produce man shows up.”

“Or Eddie the produce man shows up.”  She gave you a slight smile.  “C’mon, Sis, stay.  He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Then get to know him.  Axl says he’s pining.”

You looked at her in surprise.  “When did you talk to Axl?”

“When he told me that chicken taco you gave him was the best thing he’s ever had.”

You smiled at his praise, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel.  “Maybe I’ll stay sometime.”

“Pining,” Skyler said, then hopped off the truck.

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part three

summary: while mother nature isn’t very kind to the obx, jj’s dad is even worse to him. sailor sees the aftermath, relives a day that changed her life forever, and realizes she’d be down with murder if she could get away with it. between nutella sandwiches, story time, and a shared bed, an unspoken thing slowly starts to become a little more real.

word count: 6.9k+ (oops 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: abuse/neglect, blood, mentions of parental abandonment/gambling addiction, swearing, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, blatant references to hocus pocus, the little mermaid, percy jackson and the olympians, and mean girls (and a teeny, subtle reference to stranger things, see if y’all can catch it! 😉)

a/n: i was so excited to write this part, not gonna lie (if you couldn’t tell, just look at that word count). hurt/comfort is my shittt and i’m a pretty big slut for physical comfort/touches so i kinda went ham with it lol. i’m also very happy to finally introduce everyone to peyton, who’s a character i really love and enjoy writing, especially her relationship with her gf alison. both of them will get some time to shine in this part, peyton in the present and alison in the past! as usual, this is unbetaed so all mistakes belong to me. enjoy!

gif credit to @sci-fi​

~Masterlist~

part one | part two | part four | playlist 

part three: storm surge

It rains the entire week. Scratch that -it storms: the whole island buffeted by howling winds and blanketed by a thick layer of dark and angry clouds that make life just shy of miserable. For someone who spends 99% of her time outside like Sailor, miserable doesn’t begin to cover it. And to think, it’s only the beginning of hurricane season.

The redhead props her chin in one tan hand as she leans against the cool marble counter of The Butterscotch Bonnet Ice Cream Parlor, watching the rain pound against the shop’s bay windows. Across the street she can just make out the rough, gray surf of the Atlantic through a tiny gap in between two buildings and she sighs wistfully, thinking about all the beautiful shells getting tossed onto the beach by the waves. She’s half tempted to just throw off her apron, hop the counter, and make a break for the sand, storm be damned.

She’s almost positive she wouldn’t even be missed. There isn’t a customer in sight and there hasn’t been one since she started her shift three hours ago. Peyton was still in the back kitchen, messing around with whatever convoluted ice cream flavor she thought up for this week; her boss definitely has a knack for concocting weird combinations that somehow work together, at least most of the time. Sailor thinks back to a few weeks ago when they debuted that delicious blackberry balsamic that sold out every day without fail, then followed it with a cilantro lime that was hit-or-miss (a definite miss in her opinion, as cilantro just tastes like soap to her; Peyton had just smiled her infectious smile, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and said, “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”) This week’s flavor involves mascarpone and peaches and she can’t wait to steal a sample because if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication, it’s gonna be bomb, even though it probably won’t upset the shop’s namesake flavor from the top of her list.

Thinking about ice cream makes her kind of hungry, on top of the fact that she has a terrible habit of eating when she’s bored, so she dishes out a small scoop of Butterscotch Bonnet and grabs a spoon before leaning back against the counter, digging through the cup to find the best part: salted caramel-filled chocolate sea shells, made in house. The days Sailor gets to help make them are her favorite days to come to work, when she and Peyton commandeer the kitchen and have the time of their lives, blasting music and dancing as they slave away. Of course, the little bag of chocolates she gets to take home is a pretty big plus, too.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Sail.”

Spoon halfway to her mouth, she sheepishly glances up from her snack as Peyton emerges from the kitchen, fondly shaking her head and sending her inky black braids dancing across her shoulders.

“What am I gonna do with you?” She continues with a wink before starting to make herself a milkshake, dropping two scoops of their tiramisu flavor into a malt cup.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help myself!” Sailor knows the other girl was joking but she apologizes anyway and opens the cabinet to grab a cup and straw for her, setting them on the counter beside the old-fashioned milkshake machine. As far as bosses go, Peyton is one of the all-around best to have and the redhead loves working at her shop. While the Buckleys are rich as shit and total kooks, the family’s youngest daughter is down to earth, kind, and prefers to work hard for what she wants instead of flaunting her parents’ wealth and The Butterscotch Bonnet is proof that, despite her last name and penchant for the finer things, she’s a pogue at heart. It’s no wonder Alison’s head over heels for her.

“I also know you’re bored as shit.” Peyton calls over the sound of the blender, sending a knowing smirk toward the younger girl, who rolls her eyes and shovels another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as she replies, “Obviously. This weather fucking sucks.”

A loud clap of thunder seems to shake the very glass in the windows and she gestures toward the storm outside, her point proven. Peyton glances around the deserted shop, still bright and cheery despite its lack of movement and life, then back to the relentless downpour, before shrugging and turning back to finish blending her milkshake. “Wanna go home early?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? You’ve already cleaned this whole place from top to bottom and I don’t think we’re gonna be getting customers any time soon.” Ignoring the paper cup, she plops the straw straight into her drink and takes a big sip, then nods in satisfaction before adding a huge swirl of whipped cream on top.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” Sailor asks, smiling excitedly as she grabs her bag from under the counter and tosses her empty cup into the trash.

“Only every day,” the older girl replies cheekily, smiling as she’s pulled into a one-armed hug of thanks by her employee.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again: you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peyton pats the redhead’s shoulder with one deep brown hand and then gently pushes her toward the kitchen. “Now get out of here, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sailor throws a peace sign over her shoulder as she heads out the door, cackling at her boss’s offended call of “don’t call me ma’am!” After clocking out, she fishes her keys out of her bag and dashes through the downpour to her beat-up clunker of a truck. A hand-me-down from Alison, Flounder’s nothing to look at with all the dents and chips in his blue paint, but he gets her where she needs to go and has room for surfboards in the back and two other pogues up front on the bench seat -and the other two unlucky ones riding in the bed, hiding under the boards- so she’s not complaining, even though she wishes his radio worked more than half the time.

(Two reasons why John B’s almost always the group chauffeur: the fact that he can legally drive all five of them around without breaking the law -not that they’ve ever gotten caught in Sailor’s truck but anyone with a brain knows that where one pogue goes, the other four aren’t far behind- and good music flowing from a perfectly working stereo.)

Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz today so her drive home is spent listening to the sounds of Flounder’s windshield wipers and the pounding of rain against his roof. She heads inland from the beach, away from Peyton’s shop in the outskirts of affluent Figure 8 and its kook mansions to the more homey, laid-back Cut, passing by the turnoff to the Chateau and through the woods before pulling into the empty driveway of her tiny house. The fact that her mother’s car is no where to be found doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. Waiting for her on the porch is Binx, the stray black cat she’s taken to feeding and more or less adopted, stretching on the blanket she left out for him.

“Hey, handsome,” The redhead says, kneeling down to give him a loving scratch behind the ears; he meows in response and rubs his fuzzy face against her ankles, weaving between her legs as she slides her key into the lock. “Come on in.”

The front door closes behind them with a hollow bang that echoes through the empty house like the thunder outside. Sailor hangs up her keys and follows Binx down the hall toward her room, ignoring the closed door that leads to her mom’s room and a bed that she assumes hasn’t been slept in in months. Not that she would know: she’s made it a habit to spend as few nights as possible alone in the house, instead crashing at the Chateau or Kiara’s place and hoping her mom’s comfortable in her makeshift room at The Sandbar where Carmen doesn’t have to deal with the teenager she’s supposed to be caring for (Sailor’s always been an independent girl and has no trouble getting by alone but fuck, that doesn’t mean she wants to.).

Her father’s green eyes, the same color as her own, stare back at her from a picture hanging on the wall of a better time, when everything was alright and her family wasn’t so broken; the three of them on the beach with a twelve year old Sailor in the middle and surfboards in hand. Carmen looks like the mother she remembers and misses so bad it hurts, and while Ryan wasn’t always the most caring of fathers and only acted like a dad when it was convenient, she’d still do anything to have him back, terrible parenting skills and all. She turns away from the picture and the complicated mess her heart becomes when she thinks about him, continuing down the hall to her room.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover her feelings about her dad, though. She’s always believed she was an afterthought to him, never first on his list but still good enough to tag along for company when he was doing something he wanted to do. He was a man who liked the idea of having a kid but never wanted to actually step up and parent when things weren’t all fun and games, instead deciding to take off to Atlantic City for a month or two at a time to gamble away whatever money they earned at the surf shop.

She wants to hate him. She should loathe him and in a way, she does. She hates the way he still makes her feel like everything’s her fault, even when he’s not around. She hates the person her mother becomes when he disappears, someone distant and cold and so unlike the good, caring mother Sailor remembers. She hates that home doesn’t feel like home anymore and it’s all his fault, and she hates that despite everything he’s put her through, all the hurt he’s caused, she still can’t find it in her big, bleeding heart to truly detest her father. After all, he could’ve been worse. So, so much worse.

The only place she can get away from everything is her room, her own little sanctuary from the cold emptiness of the rest of the house and constant reminders of Ryan’s absence. It’s warm and bright, the walls painted a sunny yellow that reminds her of lazy days relaxing on the beach. Her first surfboard hangs on the wall above her bed, tucked away in a corner, doubling as a shelf for her massive shell collection while pictures of her and her friends dangle underneath, pinned to a long piece of twine. Her current boards stand propped in another corner, leaning against a wall plastered with all types of movie and music posters. Through the windows covered with curtains as light as sea foam, the rain steadily pours but in here, she’s safe. In here, she can breathe.

Sailor strips off her uniform, tossing it along with her bag onto the chair by the door and slips out of her worn red high-tops before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and the first long-sleeve shirt her fingers find in the closet, then flops onto her bed and pulls the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, reading glasses and well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief in hand while Binx curls up at her feet. Every summer without fail she rereads the series (why, she’s not exactly sure: maybe its nostalgia, maybe its because she lowkey relates to water-loving, steadfastly loyal Percy) and she’s fallen behind this year, so she fully intends on reading as much as she can tonight before bed. The storm provides perfect background noise and soon she’s five chapters in before a sudden loud knock on her window causes her head to snap up in alarm.

Oh no. Without bothering to save her place, she tosses the book and her glasses aside and scrambles from the bed to the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sight she always dreads seeing. Her best friend stands outside in the rain, soaked to the bone, hand pressed against his side, and the sight of bright red blood trailing down his face and staining the collar of his gray shirt makes her heart drop to her stomach. Wordlessly, she opens the window and helps him climb inside before closing it firmly and drawing the curtains, once again blocking the world from her -now their- sanctuary, then grabs her blanket from the bed and wraps it tightly around JJ’s shaking shoulders after he kicks off his sodden boots.

Her hand slowly moves to cup his face and her heart breaks a little more when he tenses, blue eyes carefully tracking its movement until he seems to remember who it belongs to and lets himself lean into her touch, cheek resting against her palm. Sailor runs her thumb under his split lip and and wipes at the crimson staining his tan skin, her mouth curving into a small frown when she only succeeds in smearing it further.

“Come on,” She breaks the silence with her gentle voice, barely above a whisper, and reaches her other hand out to take his, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His fingers hold so, so tight as she leads him down the hall to the bathroom and she’s so laser-focused on the way they tremble against hers that she doesn’t notice the blood left behind on the handle when she opens the door. After flicking on the light she turns to face him and gently pushes the blanket from his shoulders with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap, then blindly reaches behind her to turn on the shower, cranking the heat as high as it’ll go.

“Sorry about your blanket.” JJ says at last, his voice quiet, and Sailor shakes her head, running her thumb in circles on the back of his cold hand.

“I don’t care about that, J.” She replies just as quiet and before she can stop herself, before she can think about what exactly she’s about to admit, she adds, “I care about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile and while it may be tiny, it’s a smile nonetheless and she feels the tight knot in her chest begin to loosen as she lets go of his hand, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He does as she asks but his pained wince doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead when she pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the discarded blanket, and her jaw clenches at the sight of deep purple bruises in the shape of his father’s fists marring the skin over his ribs.

“Let me know if this hurts.” Oh so carefully she reaches out with one hand and gently touches the darkest mark, where she’d seen him clutching at outside her window, her fingers delicately feeling for any damages.

“A little.” He admits, shaky breath warm against her forehead and she does her best to keep her hand steady as she checks over the rest of him, then feathers her fingers back over that first bruise.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken or cracked, so that’s good.” She says, allowing her hand to linger for a second before letting it fall from his side. “A rib or two might be a little bruised, though, so we’ll put some ice on them later, just in case. Sound good?”

JJ nods and watches her with those ocean blue eyes as she pulls her own shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black cami and shorts, before grabbing his hand once again and pulling him into the shower with her. The water’s just a tad too hot and it instantly starts turning her skin red but Sailor doesn’t mind, instead choosing to embrace the heat and the way it burns everything away, leaving behind brand new skin that’s ready for a new day, new adventures. She reaches up and gingerly wipes the blood from her best friend’s face; in a mirror of earlier, he leans his cheek into her palm, eyes slowly closing while both arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

“Sail,” He whispers her nickname into the humid air between them and she barely registers the tremble in his voice before his knees buckle, sinking them both to the shower floor until they’re face to face, sitting in between each other’s legs. He clings to her, arms even tighter around her waist and face buried against her neck, and she feels the shake of his shoulders when she winds her own arms around them. One hand moves to steadily run through wet blond hair, over and over, comforting in the best way she knows how, the fingers of her other hand tracing circles on the bare skin of his back as water continues to rain down on them like the downpour outside.

She’s eerily reminded of another time they sat like this, sobbing in each other’s arms five years ago, the first time she saw just how cruel his father could be, the first time she realized she’d do absolutely everything and anything to keep him safe, and it was both one of the best and worst days of her life.

Eleven year old Sailor shoved her math textbook into her cluttered locker and kicked it shut with a scowl. She hated math, her math teacher, and especially whoever made her schedule- who in their right mind would put math in eighth-period? She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and grunted softly at the extra weight it carried. JJ hadn’t come to school that day and Sailor had volunteered to take his missed work to him; it made sense, considering she lived closest out of the pogues and it’d make her feel better if she got to check on him herself -there was a reason the rest of the group called her the mom friend, after all.

She’d already collected assignments from the classes he shared with Pope and Kiara as well as herself, so now she was just waiting for John B to drop off his own. As if summoned by her thoughts, the brunet boy rounded the corner and waved, weaving his way to her through their fellow middle-schoolers. “Sorry, you know how Mr. Jefferson likes to go on and on and on...” He said, pulling some papers from his backpack and handing them to the redhead. “Do you remember where J’s house is?”

Sailor rolled her eyes and carefully slid the homework into her own bag. “Considering I live, like, five streets away, I sure hope so.” She fired back, ignoring his cackle of laughter as they joined the rush of students, excited for the weekend, flooding out through the double doors of Kildare County Middle School. She lingered by her friend as he unlocked his bike from the rack and then climbed on, asking, “You’re helping out at the shop on Saturday, right?”

She nodded, scanning the sea of waiting cars and waving when she spotted her ride. “Yeah, why?”

“My dad and I are gonna hang out at the beach that day so we’ll stop by and say hi.” With a casual salute in her direction he slowly started pedaling down the road, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell JJ he can come too if he’s feeling better!”

“Tell him yourself!” She yelled after his retreating back, not surprised in the slightest when he didn’t turn around and disappeared into the trees. Alison’s beat up blue truck pulled up to the curb seconds later and the older redhead leaned out the open window, a shit-eating grin on her face as she joked, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Sailor laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack on the floor with a loud thump. Alison winced at the sound, raising her eyebrow as she waited for the younger girl to put her seatbelt on. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?”

“One of my friends missed school today so I have his homework. Do you mind driving by so I can drop it off? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Sure,” Alison replied, flicking on her turn signal and merging into the stream of cars leaving the school’s parking lot. “So who skipped: Smarty Pants, Bandana Boy, or Surfer Bro?”

The eleven year old giggled at the nicknames -she’d never admit it, but they were honestly pretty accurate- and replied, “Surfer Bro. And his name is JJ, Ali.”

“Rightttt, JJ. What do you think it stands for, huh? Jesse James? John Jacob?”

“Oh my Godddddd!”

The high school senior continued to come up with names, each more ridiculous than the last until Sailor exclaimed “There!” and directed her to park near a small, run-down house on a quiet road. She pulled a folder from her backpack and was out the door before the older girl could blink, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

The redhead slammed the truck door behind her and made her way toward the porch and what she assumed was the front door; she’d never been inside JJ’s house but he always came out to meet them through there so she figured it was a safe bet. The smile fell from her face, ears registering the sound of horrible, angry yelling just as she brought her fist down to knock and she anxiously fidgeted back and forth on the step, her heart starting to beat fast in her chest. What the hell was going on?

"Fucking hell!” An enraged shout came clear as day from inside and as she heard the person’s stomping approach, something in her, a feeling, urged her to hide the folder in her hand behind her back. She jumped in surprise when the door was suddenly ripped open, revealing a fuming, red-faced man who glared down at her with heavily lidded eyes and one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holding the threshold in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell do you want?”

“H-hi, I’m Sailor, one of JJ’s friends? He wasn’t at school today so I came by to check on him.” She said, proud of herself for keeping most of the tremble out of her voice while she studiously avoided his cruel gaze, instead subtly trying to peer behind him and hopefully catch a glimpse of her friend. The man, who she realized with sheer horror had to be JJ’s dad, was absolutely terrifying, with breath reeking of booze and mouth curled into a vicious snarl as he moved to block her view into the house and snapped, “Kid’s fine. Now get the fuck outta here.”

“Can I just see-”

She was cut off when he slammed the door in her face with the hand that had been by his side and her eyes widened, stomach sinking with dread as she caught sight of the splotch of bright crimson left behind on the wood. Oh, God. This could not be happening. She remembered John B’s warning about JJ’s dad, saying he wasn’t a very nice man when she became friends with them last year but she didn’t recall him ever saying anything about this and it hits her like a freight train: he probably didn’t know. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. If JB didn’t know then Pope and Kiara definitely didn’t and a sickening feeling started to churn her belly, both at the thought of JJ facing all of this by himself and the fact that she alone had the power to help.

Inside the house, she heard his dad resume his screaming, every other word accompanied by a sickening thumping noise she’d only heard in person once before, a few years ago on the beach with her parents when two drunk tourons started wailing on each other over a spilled beer: the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sailor started to panic, both hands flying to cover her mouth in terror. Underneath the screaming and punching, she couldn’t hear anything, any cry or yelp or whimper from her friend and, mind racing with million terrible, awful thoughts, she turned and ran back to the truck, flinging open the door and scrambling inside to grab Alison’s arm, folder in her hands falling to the floor.

“Ali, please, we’ve got to help him-”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” The older girl joked as she looked up from her phone, smile falling from her lips when she caught sight of the eleven year old’s pale face and wide eyes. She reached over and placed her hands on Sailor’s slight, trembling shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her lip quivered terribly as she told Alison everything she saw and heard, watching her expression slowly twist into outright dismay, the fingers on her shoulders tightening their grip when she finished, “Ali, what’re we gonna do? We have to help him right now!”

“Fuck, okay, first off let’s calm down- don’t give me that look, kid! We can’t just burst in there like Wonder Woman or something, let me- oh, look!” Alison pointed through windshield, where JJ’s dad furiously stalked from the house to his truck, climbing inside and violently slamming the door before taking off in a cloud of dust. Sailor quickly ducked when he drove by and stayed down until the older redhead gave her the all clear, “He’s gone. That was perfect timing, huh?”

She didn’t reply or even wait for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, taking off at a sprint and bounding onto the porch in no time, furiously knocking against the door. “Hey, J, are you there? It’s Sailor.”

There was no reply and her heart dropped to her stomach. Alison joined her on the front step, her face blanching when her eyes landed on the blood stain on the corner of the door. One of her hands reached out to grab the handle while the other found Sailor’s smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” With no hesitation and the bravery Sailor wished she had, the eighteen year old pushed the door open and pulled them both into the dusky house. The younger redhead wrinkled her nose at the sight of beer cans and pill bottles littering a circle around the couch but she pressed on, calling his name as the girls moved room to room.

“Sail?” The sound of JJ’s pained voice coming from the room at the end of the hall made her heart skip a beat and she dropped Alison’s hand, running forward and bursting through the door in a rush, not even thinking about what state her friend might’ve been in. Feeling like she’d just been sucker punched right in the gut at the sight of him lying face down on the floor with a small puddle of blood forming under his mouth, she dropped to her knees beside him and delicately took his hand in both of hers, nearly crying in relief when his fingers gripped tight to her palm. Behind her, she heard Alison’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the room, darting over to kneel on JJ’s other side and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and together they carefully helped him roll onto his back, then up into a sitting position with the older girl’s arm behind him as a brace.

Her jaw trembled as she tried and tried to say something, anything; her head was filled with so many questions -what happened, how could he do this, when did this start?- but the only thing she managed to ask was a simple, “Why?”

“It’s just what he does.” He replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement, “I’m sorry, Sail.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” She asked incredulously, then followed his finger as he pointed at a pile of jagged yellowish-brown pieces on the floor by his bed.

“He broke the shell you gave me.” He looked so upset, so distraught over the broken whelk and she felt her heart swell with waves of affection for her friend, who was more concerned about her broken gift than he was about himself.

“Hey,” She said softly, turning away from the mess to look him in the eye with a small smile, her hand reaching out on its own accord to brush a lock of fine blond hair away from a cut near his temple. “It’s just a shell, okay? I’ll find you another one.”

The sight of blood on his teeth when he returned her smile reminded her of the task at hand and she shook her head, wrapping her thin arm around his waist. “Let’s get you out of here. Think you can stand?” At his nod, both girls put one of his arms around their shoulders and slowly stood, shuffling out the door with all the grace and speed of an old man with two bad knees, but hey, they were moving and getting JJ out of that terrible place, so she’d go as slow as they needed to, even if her anxiety was getting worse and worse with each passing second they spent in the house.

After loading the kids onto the bench seat of the truck, Alison quickly drove them to the empty Flynn residence -Carmen and Ryan still working at the shop- and helped Sailor move JJ into the bathroom. “I’ll go grab you some towels and dry clothes, okay? I think some of your dad’s old stuff might fit him.” She said, watching as the young girl kneeled beside her friend and started untying his shoes.

The eleven year old nodded at her older friend and sent her a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

“No problem, kiddos.” With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes she was gone, heading down the hall toward the laundry room.

Sailor reached over and turned the shower on as hot as possible. “Okay, um, take as long as you need, I guess. I’ll wait outside.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall but before she could even take a step, his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.” It was more of a demand than a question and JJ seemed embarrassed to even be saying it, the uninjured parts of his face turning an endearing shade of pink. “Please?”

She just nodded and reached a leg out to gently kick the door shut, her mind racing. She stayed but what the hell should she do now, keep her back turned? Get in the shower with him? From the way he was fidgeting back and forth and avoiding her eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, come on.” She finally said after a minute or two of decidedly not looking at each other and kicked off her sandals, darting forward on impulse to grab his hand and pull them both under the spray. The water uncomfortably soaked into their clothes and made their movements sluggish as they clumsily shuffled around -stepping on each other’s toes and mumbling identical apologies- before finding a position that was only a little bit awkward in the confined space, his arms on either side of her waist and bracing against the wall, her hands tentatively resting on his shoulders.

“This okay?” She asked, feeling her cheeks reddening from more than just the steam curling around them and frizzing her hair, and JJ nodded, swallowing thickly and blinking away a droplet of red-tinged condensation that slid down his forehead. Her hand, moving on its own accord, slowly reached for his face until her palm gently came to rest against his flushed cheek, the tip of her pointer finger just brushing a small cut that sliced through one eyebrow.

“How...” Sailor shook her head, taking a deep breath before finally asking the question that’d been on her mind since this whole thing started, “How long has this been happening?”

Once again he avoided her wide-eyed gaze, eyelids fluttering shut as he answered hesitantly, quietly, “I...I don’t remember a time when it didn’t.”

His answer chipped away the last brick in the dam and the floodgates broke. She flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and fingers twisting in the sodden fabric of his shirt, sobbing into the warm skin of his neck. He froze in her embrace, whole body stock-still until something in him seemed to break too, and his own arms encircled her waist, bit by bit, pulling her close as he buried his face into her shoulder and two sixth graders slowly slumped to the shower floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

“J, why didn’t you say anything?”

His body trembled in her arms and she inhaled sharply at his reply of, “Because I’m not worth it.”

Pulling away from his neck to rest her forehead against his, she cupped his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, her voice quiet but adamant, insistent as she said, “Don’t you dare say that again, got it? You are worth it. So, so worth it.”

The look behind his red-rimmed, ocean blue gaze was made of pure, unadulterated disbelief and Sailor, at a loss, wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to make him see himself the way she did: loyal, adventurous, funny, and oh so brave, already a beloved, dear friend to her in the short time she’d known him. How could she help him realize he was so much more than his father’s abuse?

‘What can I do to make you believe me?’

An epiphany came to her like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. It was more than a little crazy and the thought of actually doing it was lowkey terrifying but she’d seen it work beautifully for Alison and her girlfriend Peyton that one time and hell, she was so desperate to help her friend that she’d do just about anything. And so before her anxious mind could start to overthink she surged forward, both hands still holding his face in a gentle grip, and firmly pressed her lips to his.

JJ’s eyes were almost comically wide while he stared, frozen still at her touch, and her own eyes were just as huge as she held the kiss for a few seconds and then abruptly pulled back, her face slowly changing into a shade very similar to her hair.

“Y-you, I-” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as a deep pink flush started to color the tan skin of his neck. “Wh-why-”

“Because you are worthy, J. Promise me you won’t forget that.” Her words were as fierce as the hug she pulled him into, only letting the tension bleed out of her when she felt him gradually return her embrace and nod against her shoulder.

“I promise, Sail.”

“Good.”

And with that they fell silent, holding each other tight until the shower ran cold.

Sailor didn’t know it at the time but that hadn’t been just her first kiss but JJ’s too, as they never talked about it until two years later, during a game of truth or dare with the rest of the pogues. Neither actually told the truth, both giving a vague answer about a bet that seemed to placate their friends enough to let the matter drop, never to be brought up again.

The only kiss that happens today is the light brush of her lips against his forehead as she holds him close, even as the water slowly begins to lose its warmth. His embrace is tight, their limbs intertwined so fully that it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins and when he speaks, she has to strain to hear the words mumbled against her neck over the pounding spray of the shower.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His confession cuts her deep. Hearing him admit something so utterly heartbreaking and vulnerable, coming from the side of him Sailor alone gets to see, ignites a fury that simmers under her skin and burns her from the inside out, thoughts turning venomous and, dare she say, downright homicidal. Fuck his dad. Fuck his dad and everything he’s ever done to hurt her best friend, both with and without fists.

“If I could get away with murder, I would.”

It’s true. For JJ, she’d do anything and everything to keep him safe without hesitation, up to and including maiming his dad so he could never touch him again (and if she happened to take it a little too far and straight up kill the bastard, she’d most definitely be fine with it.). He laughs, but it’s empty, hollow, and sorely lacking the joy, the carefreeness, the pure life that it normally radiates.

“You’re not the only one.”

Some time later, after the water raining down on them turns ice cold and their tears have dried, they reluctantly disentangle themselves from each other and towel off before making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for his ribs and have a meager dinner of sandwiches made with the last of her bread and a near empty jar of Nutella. He laughs, for real this time, when he reads the note she writes herself on the fridge future sailor, as much as you want to, you can’t live off just nutella and sheer spite, okay? please go shopping. love, past sailor <3 and grabs the marker out of her hand, adding +past jj and a little smiley face that makes her smile brightly.

They return to her room where they change, back to back, into dry clothes -one of her dresser drawers is full of his things she’s stolen acquired over the years- and, after throwing everything wet, including their discarded shirts and blanket retrieved from the bathroom, into the washing machine to be dealt with some other time, they lie on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped up together in a spare throw stashed at the bottom of her closet. Binx slinks up from his spot at their feet and lazily drapes himself across their laps, purring like a motorboat when Sailor starts running her hand along his back.

“I almost sat on those,” JJ says, handing over her glasses, “and this.” He holds her forgotten book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages before turning it over and scanning the back cover.

“Have you read it before?”

He shrugs, a barely-there grimace briefly twisting his features as the motion jostles his sore ribs. “Started it, never finished.”

“Well,” She starts, slipping her glasses on and snatching the book out of his grasp, “how about we fix that? I’ll read, you pet the cat.”

Sailor’s voice is soft and steady as she starts to read aloud, a content smile on her face that’s echoed by the boy lying beside her when she settles against his side, head pillowed on the arm he curls around her shoulders without a thought. JJ’s the near perfect listener, only snickering once or twice at her total butchering of some of the more difficult Greek names (how come she can say Hephaestus just fine but gets tripped up on Dionysus?) but otherwise hanging off her every word and the relaxed ease with which he runs his hand through the ends of her damp hair fills her with a warmth, a happiness that she can’t describe but never wants to stop.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, curled up together on her bed, they forget the day’s past horrors and replace them with bright hopes for the future, exchanging comforting touches, deliberate yet played off as unintentional, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp -a caress of knuckles here, a brush of a palm there- as she reads into the night, until the cloudy sky darkens to black and they’re both fighting off the languid pull of sleep.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He plucks the book from her hands without waiting for a response and marks their place with a gas station receipt she was using as a makeshift placeholder, and setting it on the beside drawer.

“It’s your turn to read tomorrow,” He takes her glasses off with gentle fingers as she speaks into what little space still exists between them (that’s not otherwise occupied by Binx), smiling at the slow graze of his thumb along her cheek and nestles further against his side. “I’m done botching the names of deities for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Damn it, Sailor kind of hates it when he says that cause it makes her feel things that she’s not quite ready to think about yet. Thankfully, her blush is swallowed by the darkness as he turns off the light and settles down beside her, arm slung low over her waist; her hand carefully brushes against his bruised ribs over the old shirt he wears, ice pack long ago thawed and thrown somewhere onto the hardwood floor.

“How do these feel? Better?”

She feels JJ nod, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Much.” There’s a pause, long enough that she starts to feel like she’s about to nod off, then he whispers, “Thank you, Sail. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She takes a deep breath, fingers stilling on his side, “Because you don’t need to, J. Remember what I said earlier, in the bathroom?”  

He nods again but doesn’t reply, instead drawing circles on the small of her back, so she takes it as a cue to continue, “I care about you, okay? You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just...doing what feels right.”

After a beat, the arm she’s using as a pillow curls and pulls her tighter against him as he says quietly, almost shyly, “I care about you, too.”

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle without either teenager noticing and the gentle pitter-patter against the roof casts a somnolent spell into the air, dazed and dreamy. It wraps around the pair, not unlike the way they wrap around each other, and slowly, easily, safely, they drift off as one.

-

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤: @jiaraendgame​ @hmsjiara​ @heavensalreadyheres​ @obxsummer​ @maysbanks​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @sunflowerbecca​ @obxlife​ @obx-adventures​ @sexualparkour​ @mortifiedposts​ @coltonparayyko​ @miawantsapuppy​ @jjmaybanky​

#outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank fic #obx fic #obx netflix #obx #my fics #obx fanfic #jj x reader #jj x oc #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #john b #john b routledge #kiara carerra #pope heyward #obx imagines #jj fanfic #jj maybank x oc fic #i stg if this doesn't show up in the tags #tumblr's gonna catch these hands

[hiddengemsofbc]

5 Ice Cream Spots In B.C. to Keep You Cool This Summer!

Hi everyone! My name is Andy and I am one of the hidden gems who helped discover Hidden Gems of BC. My team and I have always loved eating ice cream and enjoying the view and we wanted to share that same excitement with you! It's always hard to choose where to go have some ice cream when you're surrounded by endless possibilities. The best place to enjoy ice cream is everywhere! Join us in Cool Town where we will give you 5 places with a view to eat ice cream and to stay cool this summer!

Alice & Brohm Real Fruit Ice Cream, Squamish, B.C.

Address: 1861 Mamquam Rd Unit 9, Squamish, B.C.

Planning a trip along the Sea-to-Sky highway? Make the trip more memorable with some ice cream from Alice & Brohm’s! Try the blueberry flavour in a cup so you won’t miss a drip. Get the cone only if you’re a quick eater. Bring your puppies with you and park them at the special “pawking” while they lick the scoop dogg ice cream. Taste the real berry chunks as you lay down on the mountain and feel the freshness. Stay long enough at this view to watch the sun set behind the mountains and the ice cream set inside your stomach.

Rain or Shine Ice Cream, Vancouver, B.C.

Address: 6001 University Blvd, Vancouver, B.C.

Tired of looking outside at the sunny weather while you’re inside studying? Watch those pre-recorded lectures later and grab some ice cream at Rain or Shine! Try the salted caramel flavour or add in the London Fog as a half scoop to experience a whole new flavour! Take a study break if you’re on campus at UBC and walk around while your ice cream melts. Freeze all of those notes in your brain with more and more ice cream. Come up with some creative ideas for your notes as the roses bloom at the Rose Garden right on campus! Sometime’s a break with a view and ice cream is all you need to make studying fun again.

Earnest Ice Cream, Vancouver B.C.

Address: 1829 Quebec Street, Vancouver

Don’t know where to take your summer date or your special someone? Let’s spICE up the conversation with some Ice cream! Get the double scoop in a cup with 2 spoons so the both of you can share it. Before digging into the ice cream, head over to False Creek. Walk over the water on stones and walk through this mini-forest to get a view of Downtown Vancouver. Being on this nearby island will have you forgetting what time it is with the view and ice cream will be so good that you may forget what time it is!

Moo-Lix Ice Cream Shop, Kelowna, B.C.

Address: 239 Bernard Ave Kelowna B.C.

Feel the side effects of ice cream after experiencing the side effects of the wines in Kelowna B.C. Stay cool by ordering the bubblegum flavour. All of the ice creams being served are hand-made. The smell of the waffles once you enter the store will have you ordering the waffles to go with the ice cream. Head up to the mountains and watch the sun set over the lake. Reflect on how much fun you’ve had throughout the day while you finish up your ice cream and plan out how much more fun you’ll be having fun the next day with more ice cream!

The Praguery Food Truck, Richmond, B.C.

Address: 1000-7899 Templeton Station Rd, Richmond, B.C.

With Phase 3 of the BC restart plan in effect, watch more planes fly and land at this next location. Grab some ice cream from The Praguery Food Truck located in McArthurGlen Designer Outlet. Start off with the chocolate flavour. What makes this taste even better is the Nutella that is drizzled on top of the ice cream cone. Download the “flight radar 24 app” while you wait for the ice cream to check the plane schedules and daydream about your next travels. Let the ice cream help you think of where to fly to next! Head over to Iona Beach after finishing off your ice cream and shopping to watch planes fly into the sunset.

Go out and enjoy!

- Andy, Co founder of Hidden Gems of B.C. Do you want to see more hidden gem locations to enjoy ice cream? Make sure to follow our social media to see more tour information 💖 https://linktr.ee/bchiddengems Booking 📝 https://bchiddengems.suehwang.ca/booking Our Guides 🙆 https://bchiddengems.suehwang.ca/gemleaders Tour Information 🎒 https://bchiddengems.suehwang.ca/tourguide 8 notes

#bc canada #canada #tour guide #travel #nature #vancouver #kelowna #victoria #british columbia #squamish #traveling #trip #summer #bc #hiddengems #hiddengemsofbc #ice cream #chocolate #sweet tooth

[sienna-writes]

Butterfly Blood || novel update

chapter three

I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect. 

The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision  because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.

Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before. 

The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)

excerpt:

[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]

    “I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

    Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.

    “Miss Phelps called.”

    She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”

    He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.

    Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.

    He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”

    Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this.  “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.

   He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.

Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”

    He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”

Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.

“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”

    Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now.  Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.

    “Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.

    “I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”

    Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...

soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls. 

I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)

I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)

Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953

#butterfly blood #butterfly blood novel #my novel #novel update #novel wip #writing wip #writing #writing project #writing update #chapter update #writer #writeblr #writing process #novel writing #excerpts #novel excerpt #writing excerpt #excerpts from my novel #excerpts from my writing

[dahliawolfe]

Fang Shy

Bound pt 2

The Northman house was nothing short of extraordinary. It was tucked in the back lot of an empty cul de sac. It was sleek, black stone; cold silver; and glass. Eric pulls into the circular driveway and cuts the engine. “So, this is all yours?” She asks. “You live alone?”

He studies her quizzically. “Yes. I do not enjoy having houseguests.” She hums in acknowledgement and follows him to the front door. He swings it open to reveal an equally stunning inside. Full of large windows, bright wood floors, and sophisticated furniture.

“Don’t the windows pose a problem to your condition?” she finds herself asking.

“The basement is windowless. That is where I spend the day.”

“Ah. Gotcha. Well, I must say, this is a nice place.” He nods at the compliment and hold his hand out, gesturing toward the stairway.

“Come. I will show you to the master suite.”

…

The master suite, as it turns out, is a lavish room, big enough to house a California king comfortably, with room to spare. The bed is fitted with silver silk sheets and a deep onyx velvet comforter. Cool blue pillows are piled at the head of the bed. The charcoal grey of the walls contrasts with the white oak floors. There is a large master bathroom at the back, a walk in closet to the left, a balcony to the right, and a small lounge area on the back wall. Thais is in heaven. Never in her life has she been somewhere like this.

“You are welcome to change it to your tastes, of course,” Eric says, startling her. She must have been staring at the room for some time.

“No, this is really nice. But are you sure you want me to use it? I mean, I know you have your basement lair or whatever, but this seems a bit excessive to give to someone you don’t know.”

“This is your home now. I wish for you to have this room. If it is to your liking.” Thais nods and takes a seat on the bed, which melts around her. She’s pretty sure she lets out an obscene moan, because Eric’s eyes narrow, and he seems to inhale sharply.

“I know you probably have a few more hours left before you go to sleep for the ni…day, but I’m beat. And that jacuzzi tub in there is calling my name. Would it be alright if I took a bath and hit the hay?” Eric smiled indulgently.

“Of course. Enjoy yourself. I will be in my office just down the hall if you need anything.”

͠

The water immediately relaxes all of her tense muscles, and she lets herself drift just to the edge of sleep before deciding to get out of the tub and dry herself off. She slides a beat up Led Zepplin shirt over her head and flips the covers back, swinging her legs under them before settling in.

Thais is mostly asleep when Eric comes into her room. Kisses her temple lightly, whispers something in a language she doesn’t know, pulls the covers higher over her and leaves the room. It’s the last thing she remembers before falling asleep.

Thais wakes up the next morning and makes her way downstairs, looking for the kitchen. She finally spots it at the back of the house and makes her way inside. On the black marble countertop is a note scrawled in elegant script. Her name is printed on the front. In the cream envelope, she finds a letter, and black credit card, and a set of keys.

“Thais, inside are my credit card, the keys to our home, and a spare set of keys to my car. Make yourself at home. I will see you at nightfall.

                                                                       -Eric”

She stares down at the keys in her hand. Is he seriously letting her borrow his very nice, very expensive sportscar? Maybe she could get used to this.

͠

The back garden boasts a beautiful pool and lounge area, and Thais plans to take full advantage of them both. She digs out the little black bikini she had stored in her bag months ago on a trip to LA and slides it on. She grabs a book, her cigarettes, and her phone and makes her way outside.

…

Thais has normally golden skin, but the early autumn rays are making it glow even more, and when she slides into the heated pool, she moans. She doesn’t remember the last time she was this comfortable. She’s nearly dozing against the edge of the pool when her phone rings. She lifts herself out of the water, snagging her towel and laying back on the lounger before answering. “Hello,” she says, laying her head back, pushing her sunshades down her nose.

“Thai. Are you alright?” It’s Sookie.

“Oh, hey, Sook. Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Did Eric tell you that the meeting with the visiting sheriff is tonight?”

“Ummm…no? Why?”

“I have to go. It’s a long story, but I’ve got quite the connection to the supe community now.”

Thais chuckles. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you get yourself into a pickle. Ok, so what am I wearing?”

…

Thais walks in the front door just as the sun is making its descent. Shopping bags on one arm, iced coffee in the other hand. She’d agreed to meet Sookie in nearby Shreveport to do some shopping. She’d come away with a little more than she’d gone in search of, but she thinks she found an appropriate outfit for the night. A nude, scoop neck dress that hugged her curves and stopped just above her knees and a pair of sapphire peep toe pumps. She makes her way to her room to get ready, hoping to beat Eric before he could leave her behind.

…

“Hey, wait for me!” Thais exclaims, making her way to the front door, where Eric is trying to leave. He turns to look at her, his eyes widening slightly, and Thais’s brain is flooded with waves of lust from the invisible link connecting her mind to his.

“Did you need something, Thais?” he asks, his accent thickening.

“I just wanted to ride with you to the meeting.” He frowns.

“You are not going.”

“But I am.” She quickly held up her hand to stop his objection. “Listen, I can be an asset. I can tap into everyone’s thoughts, that new sheriff’s included. If there’s danger to anyone, I can say something. Eric, I’m not some wall flower that’s gonna sit back and let you put yourself in danger, when I can help you.”

His frown deepens. “Fine. But you will not leave my side.”

“Deal.”

…

Eric’s hand presses into the small of her back as he leads her inside. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” he states, a whisper to her ear.

“Thanks,” she replies, dipping her head shyly.

A large man greets them at the front door of the mansion where the meeting was to be held. He sneers at Eric, and Thais feels her hackles raise. She’s getting a bad feeling already, and the night hasn’t even begun.

…

The loud swears in Norse spilling from Eric’s mouth fill her ears, while his angry thoughts and emotions swim through her mind. He’s pissed. As he should be. The cocksure motherfucker new sheriff of shit mountain has just come in and made demands that Eric is unwilling to meet.

“Now, Eric. That’s not very neighborly of you. All I’m asking is for a little help to get started out right. And a stake in Fangtasia would be just the thing for that,” speaks the vamp, a snaky, teenage looking Brit, who keeps giving Thais leering smiles.

“Absolutely not! This is my territory, and Fangtasia is my club! How dare you threaten me!” Leopold, the new sheriff, had all but threatened to sick his mob on Eric if he didn’t comply with his wishes.

“Oh, my dear Eric, it wasn’t a threat. Think on it.” With that, Leopold stands. He motions to his guards. “Escort my company out, Daydric. Be especially careful with Miss Stackhouse and Miss Adrieux.”

The guard reaches for Thais’s hand, and she quickly swerves, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. The guy is a were, and Eric and Bill had been on edge all night because of it. Wolves and vampires did not go together, so the fact that Leopold had them as guards was disturbing. Thais is pleased at the grunt of pain the man emits when she forces his arm behind his back.

“I’ll thank you not to touch me, Daydric,” she hisses in his ear. Eric gets between them quickly.

“You touch her, and you die,” he warns simply, taking Thais’s hand and leading her out to the car.

…

The energy in the car on the way back to Eric’s house is electric. Thais has no doubt that he’s angry. She would be too. Leopold had all but waltzed in and aimed a killing blow at Eric. Thais had heard the new sheriff’s thoughts, and he planned to do much more than take Eric’s territory, club, and life. The things he had imagined doing to Thais, well, she’ll be having nightmares about that for months.

…

Thais stops just inside the front door to remove her heels. When she turns, Eric is studying her.

“Eric, are you alright?” she asks, laying a hand on his arm.

“I would never allow him to hurt you,” he swears quietly.

“I know,” she assures.

“He thought things of you, didn’t he? I could feel your discomfort?”

“I…” she doesn’t complete her answer, simply lets her hand drop and stares at the floor. Eric lifts her chin gently.

“You are protected.”

“Eric, before I came here…Well, I haven’t had an easy time of it. And I’ve faced some pretty fucked up shit, but Leopold, the things that he has in mind…He’s unstable. And honestly, if everyone comes out of this alive, we’ll all be lucky. Damaged, but lucky.”

“Sweetheart, he could rip the heart from my chest, and I would not stop until you were safe.” Thais studies his piercing eyes. His mind brushes hers, and it’s comforting and calming. She can only assume that he’s figured out how to project his feelings on to her, and she smiles. Because no one has ever taken the time to even attempt to learn to do that for her. When he leans down, she accepts his kiss gladly.

Eric quickly deepens the kiss, drawing her closer, a hand going to the back of her neck, cupping her and tugging her to him. Soon enough, his large hands go to the underside of her thighs, lifting her up. Eric pins her to the wall, holding her between his body and the cold plaster. One of his hands snakes into her panties, and she moans when his finger dips inside her.

“Fuck,” she breathes against his lips.

“I believe we will,” he teases, giving her a devilish smile. He pumps his long finger into her before adding a second. She whimpers into his neck. “Yes, you like that don’t you, Little One? Do you think I can make you come just from this?” And, hell yes, she thinks she can come from the delicious fingers in her pussy. And when he crooks one just right and hits her gspot, she wails, fingers roughly pulling at his jacket. “Limt kompis, work yourself against my fingers.” Thais throws her head back, roughly riding his fingers, even as he adds a third, she rolls her hips and slams down against the palm he has pressed to her clit. “Good girl. Now, come for me,” he softly demands. And lord help her, she does. She springs apart with a cry of his name. And she swears she blacks out for a second because the next thing she knows, her back is hitting the couch, and Eric is spearing her on his cock. She immediately orgasms again, still on the cusp of her first. And Eric isn’t gentle, but he’s very considerate, listening intently to her incoherent babbling to determine what works best for her. His kisses to her neck turn sharp, and she cries out and comes a final time as she explodes around him, drawing him in as closely as possible, feeling his satisfaction tickle her mind. He eases her through the last orgasm, before shoving roughly into her a few more times and coming himself, swearing in Norse as he does.

…

Thais sits on Eric’s lap, them both now naked, and gently runs her fingers over his cool skin. He lays gentle kisses on her forehead and crown ever now and then, letting his fingers glide over her spine. She smiles up at him, and he offers one of his own in return. And everything seems ok, at least for now.

“Sleep with me today?” he asks. She beams at him.

“I’d like that.” So, he lifts her and makes his way down stairs, laying her gently on his bed, before climbing in beside her and curling around her.

#trueblood #true blood fandom #eric northman #sookie stackhouse #vampires #Telepaths #southern vampire mysteries

[kaibacorpbros]

“I will rip out all the love from my skin so I can grow” -- Bōsōzoku Symphonic 

It wasn't often these days that Isono found himself out in the public while technically being on duty. But he had a break between now and the next thing his boss needed him present for. Still, it felt a bit wrong to be sneaking around like this, trying to be incognito in an ice cream shop. At least this was the last place his boss would be.

"Isono!"

Bam! 

There was a mess of black hair buried in his stomach. But he did notice with a burst of pride that the top of the small head had started to reach his ribcage. Small arms were now wrapped around him too. 

Er. What did he do now?

This was...alright. Right? Mokuba missed him. Just this once he could stop being the bodyguard figure and be a parental one, right? He gives himself three seconds to return the hug before pushing the boy back enough so he could see his face.

"Mokuba-sama, it's wonderful to see you. You've gotten taller!"

Not only that, but the boy's hair had grown a bit longer, some of his raven bangs were starting to lose their shape. The assistant also noticed it was up in a ponytail and he was in a casual tee and jeans. He looked like a normal teenager, not a mini executive. 

Of course, Isono hadn't forgotten the day Mokuba had decided he wanted to completely redo his look. The boy had been quite proud when it was all over. 

"Hehe! I better have! Otherwise, I'd be filing a complaint! Did you get me something already?"

Who the teen would complain to, Isono knew not, but whoever they were, they would have listened. 

"Of course. It should be ready at any moment. Go sit down. I will join you." 

_____

"So America's been pretty great, where I've been spending most of my time. It's where all the performing arts people are anyway," Mokuba said between scarfing down the sugary goodness so fast that most would worry about him getting a brain freeze.

Isono was more than content with just a single scoop of vanilla, unlike whatever concoction Mokuba had turned his bowl into with a myriad of toppings.

"You've gon far. Look at you getting experience under your belt before you've even graduated. When you become a famous designer, I expect you to make me some cool Halloween costume."

The boy shot him a grin full of sprinkles yet still with a hint of a flush to his cheeks, and it gave the bodyguard a hint of comfort that he at least seemed to be supporting the youth's dreams.

"You got it!" he says with a wink. "Onto business though, do you have those things I asked for?"

It seemed business was never too far off the minds of the brothers. Stifling a sigh, Isono dug out the notes, blueprints, and technology he'd swiped and placed them on the table.

"They weren't easy to get, I'll have you know. I don't believe your brother caught on that you'd actually been sucked into other dimensions. I phrased it more as if anomalies had been popping up near you. Either way, a lot of this is above me, but I hope you picked up enough while you were working on the Duel Dimension System with him."

Mokuba was already digging through everything. Luckily though managing to get back from his travels he'd figured out some further things about dimension travel. But seeing the neat notes of his brother made his throat close up, and it burned.

He hated that.

Seto wouldn't be getting affected by such a small thing, so neither should he. 

He focused on the data instead. Picking apart at all these pieces he'd been given. He may not be a genius, but he had at least kept up with his brother when they were still trying to track down the Pharaoh.

"Mokuba-sama, are you alright?" Isono was careful to keep his voice neutral. The last thing he wanted to do was seem like he was accusing the boy or making fun of him.

"Yeah it's just--" 

The teen didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't have to. Nor did he look at the right hand of Kaiba Corp, opting instead to keep his eyes hidden behind his unevenly chopped bangs.

Isono lets the topic lie with a nod. He didn't want to push the boy. After all, it wasn't his palace anyway--there was no point in making him sad now if it could be pushed off until later.

As desperately as he wished the two brothers could just make up, even a common man like Isono knew there was more going on here. There was a reason other than stubbornness that left his boss up at 6 AM after staying up all night tweaking the system. There was a reason why Isono would find his boss agonizing over recording notes and audio logs to put something unspeakable into words. There was a reason why he'd sometimes find Seto almost collapsed in on himself, shutdown like a machine that had overheated, gasping as pain ebbed into his skull and dark flecks fell from his eyes like tears.

"Heh! I think I may have something!" In Mokuba's hands was now a small round device, about the size of a pocket watch, glowing with a soft blue light.

Isono blinked. When had that happened?

"'Couse I won't know for sure until I get stranded again I guess, but I think it'll work! And even if I do, I mean I found my way back without it before. But look, see?" The boy rotates the outer silver casing and a holographic menu came alive. "See, it should be able to collect enough data of another dimension after a couple of hours to plot a course between there and back to here, it may be a bit of a rough trip, but considering what Seto's managed to get his Dimension System down to at the very least it will be consistent. W...what's that look for? Don't lecture me about it not being safe--"

"No, no-- I wasn't about to do that! I..." 

He didn't want to point it out to Mokuba again. It wasn't what the boy wanted to hear, even though it was so obvious how brilliant he was, managing to cobble such an invention together from his own memory, some parts, and the notes of the elder. A genius like his brother? No. But comparing ones self to someone who had been crafted into a perfect machine wasn’t exactly fair. Isono took his napkin and wiped off a stray sprinkle on Mokuba's face. 

"It's nothing. I think it will work perfectly."

_____

The right hand of Kaiba Corp had collected everything the younger brother no longer needed to take back to the office. The boy, promising to continue to text him at least once a day. While it hurt to see him leave again, Isono knew he was slowly marching to a brighter future. He just hoped that path would lead him back to Domino soon.

His phone beeped. Time to get back to work.

#(do not reblog) #(hA I FINALLY REMEMBERED TO DO SOME STUFF WITH ISONO. but uhh yeah he struggles he wants to be more of a parent figure) #(but doesn't feel in the right) #(also I'll make some HC posts for it but Moki now has kind of a vortex manipulatior so he's not stranded for crossovers) #(that way it's not always about him trying to get home) #legacy [drabbles] #right hand of Kaiba Corp [Isono] #little bro [Mokuba] #KC files [Lore] #(likes and comments are encouraged though!) #drabbles #(someone get me to stop writing legit fics for these FKSDJKS it was 1k words : ")

[whirlybirbs]

Either “alright daddy long legs, next joke please” or “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?” Maybe both if possible with thic boi hopper? Have a wonderful day! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

----   BACK SEAT  ;

summary: hopper + reader go on a date, it goes well, he tells you about sarah, you make-out, it’s interrupted. another date is planned.word count: 2.1kpairing: hopper x teacher!reader, from my fic moonrise radio.a/n: we love some steamy make-outs.

Enzo’s is packed. 

Not that you’re really noticing, because all of your attention is stuck on the man across the table from you. Hopper has a beer in his hand and he’s smiling, corners of his lips upturned in a sweet sort of way that makes your heart swell.

Nerves bite at your fingers as you grasp the stem of your wine glass and try your best not to shrink under the gaze of the man across from you -- it’s full of a heavy affection you can’t rationalize deserving, not so early into the evening.

You duck your gaze, sip your port, and then look at him again with a smile. He’s magnetic. You can hardly look away. 

Hopper wonders when the last time he’s felt like this was -- maybe when he was married? Maybe before the loss of Sarah? When he was really alive? Your lingering gaze has his heart beating and for the first time in years, he can feel it.

“What?” he asks a bit amused. His knuckles drum on the white table cloth.

“Nothing,” you chirp, smoothing the napkin out on your lap, “... S’ just funny t’ see you sitting at a table three times too small for you.”

Hop snorts. “I’m a growing boy --”

“Alright, daddy long legs.”

He gives a laugh at that -- it rumbles like a summer thunder storm. Warm and electric. You lean back into your seat, admiring his smile. There’s something so grounding about the sound of his laugh and you’re left wondering if you’ve really got it that bad already for the Hawkins’ Chief of Police.

It’s only the first real date, for Christ’s Sake.

“Are you, uh -- Are you flirting with me, Miss Murphy?” he asks, tilting his head as he snags his own napkin and lay it out along his lap.

In your peripheral, you see two trays of pasta coming your way.

“I’m so glad you finally noticed, Chief Hopper.”

Dinner is done quick, scarfed down with intermittent pokes of fun, and by the time you’ve both cleared your plates, the sun has set and the moon is hung high -- you’re suddenly aware of how easy it is to spend time with Hopper and you can feel yourself slipping into dangerous territory. 

Attachment.

Not that... well, not that you hadn’t already become attached.

But, this is different. This is sticky and gooey and warm and plays to the tempo of a love ballad -- it’s new but it’s old, you’ve been here before and it’s never been good. Never been this good. 

Suddenly, Enzo’s is very busy. Jim isn’t the only one in the room and every insecurity you’ve ever had is seated around you, dining on the doubt brewing in the back of your mind.

Maybe Jim sees it on your face.

Maybe he feels the same.

You’re not sure.

“You, uh... You like ice cream?”

He pays, and he holds open the door for you -- his Blazer starts with a cough and Hopper offers a soft look in the light of his dash. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say slowly, waving it off, “Just... I dunno.”

There’s a moment’s pause as he backs up, heading towards Doc’s Scoops, the local ice cream joint ten minutes from the center of Hawkins. It’s El’s favorite.

“Dunno what?” it’s gentle, said with a quick glance, “Murph?”

You blink at him, realizing his face is twisted into worry. That kicks you up into a mild panic and you move to grab his hand resting on the gear shift. 

Blue eyes go a bit wide. Then he gives your hand a squeeze, worry still very much there. “Hey, hey... What’s up?”

“I just... I haven’t dated in a while,” you say finally, spitting the words out with a weighted amount of sheepishness, “That’s all. I guess... I guess I’m just nervous.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while -- but, his face softens into a knowing smile and he nods a bit. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. Instead, opts to brush his thumbs over your knuckles. It’s a gesture of understanding that quells the doubt nibbling at your heart.

When you both pull into Doc’s, he finally speaks.

“Me, too,” he says slowly, “About the whole... haven’t dated in a while thing.”

“Yeah?” you ask, with a bit of surprise in your tone.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, as if it’s common knowledge.

You both hop out of the Blazer and move to stand in line; you make a point to stand close to him, prompting the small town Police Chief to drape an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his chest, enjoying the proximity while you can. 

“You wanna split something?”

“Hell no,” you mutter even-keeled, squinting at the menu, “Get your own.”

Hopper laughs, ducking his lips to the crown of your head. It makes you smile.

“God, I am so into you.”

You both sit in his trunk, feet swinging, as you eat your ice cream. 

The parking lot is busy -- full of teens and parents and folks that all seem to know Hopper; casual waves are tossed his way by fathers and mothers alike. You wonder, offhandedly, if the two of you will become a piece of the small town gossip mill. 

“I,” Hopper says, digging his spoon into his brownie sundae, “was married. A long time ago.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he nods, swallowing the anxiety that comes with sharing this piece of his life, “Yeah, uh, for seven years.”

You pause, turning back to your ice cream before speaking slowly. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

It’s said with such a sense of humility and honesty and care that Jim is suddenly not so terrified of telling you about Sarah’s -- he turns to eye you in the lights of the parking lot and realizes you’re already looking at him, eyes full of somber adoration. 

“We had a girl,” he chews a chunk of brownie, “Sarah. She passed away. And it got really hard. Diane moved on and I didn’t, not for a long time.”

Your heart strings snap. 

You don’t know what to say. Hopper can see it.

“I’m sorry, Hop.”

A shrug. “I was in a bad place for a long time -- and then El came along and... I dunno. I don’t feel so sorry anymore. She’s my second chance, y’know.”

Hop figured his words would create a divide between you both -- things would get uncomfortable and cold and you’d push away; but, when you nudge his thigh with your knee and lean into him a little more as you lick your cone, he tries to hide the pleasant shock on his face.

“You’re a good man, Hopper.”

He laughs. “I dunno about that --”

“Yeah, well,” you chirp, leaning back onto your hand, “I’m into you. So.”

His lips turn upwards beneath his mustache.

“Tell me more,” he goads, “Is it the fact I’m inhaling this brownie sundae after a full course meal?”

“You’re a growing boy.”

You both snicker into your desserts.

He drives you home, a bit slower than usual. With the radio playing and the windows down, Hopper tries his hardest to sear this memory into his brain. You’re beautiful and he’s happy and you’re holding his hand. Above you, on the winding road towards your cul-de-sac, the stars twinkle.

His engine cuts when he pulls up in-front of your home.

In the light of his dashboard, you both feel like teenagers.

“I had fun.”

“You wanna do it again?”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” you ask slowly, leaning to smooth down his collar.

In good humor, Hop’s smile quirks. “So soon?”

“Well, I dunno --” you laugh a little, content with the close proximity as he leans an arm across the top of the steering wheel and turns to face you, “I like you.”

Another laugh. It’s crackling with electricity. His eyes jump to your lips.

You see it and you smile.

“How about a movie?” he asks quietly, attention far from the words he’s saying, “I heard the drive-in’s are nice.”

“I like movies.”

“I like you,” he mumbles as your fingers hook into his button down and he pulls himself closer, nose brushing yours as your eyes roam his face greedily, “So let’s see a movie tomorrow.”

“And make-out in the backseat,” you ask innocently, “like two teenagers?”

He laughs, eyes fleeting shut. “... Is it bad I kinda wanna do that now?”

You mirror his laugh, squirming a bit closer and shaking your head. “No. Is it bad I was waiting for you to ask?”

“No,” his hand falls along your cheek, “Because I was taking too long anyways.”

He surges forward then, warm palm grappling with your cheek as you smile right into the kiss. Even in a moment this tender, he looms over you, bulky shoulders turning as you drape yourself across the center console and try to meet him half-way -- his facial hair tickles, especially when you pull apart for a quick breath and he moves to litter little drags of kisses along your cheeks.

Your lips meet again with a new sort of fervor, all the excitement bubbling over into the gesture. You can’t help but move to lean into his seat, his hands getting lost in your hair as you knot your own fingers in his brightly patterned shirt. 

The backseat sounds nice. 

But, before either of you can suggest it, a loud tapping on the passenger’s side window startles the living ghost out of you and you jump six feet in the air. 

Sure enough, there’s your elderly neighbor, Mrs. Johnson standing there in her pink bathrobe and curlers.

You gawk. 

Jim’s smothers a laugh with his hand.

You quickly crank the window down.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, embarrassment crawling up your skin, “Hi, Mrs. Johnson --”

“Hi dear, is... Is that you, Jim Hopper?” she asks, squinting, “I told Jerry, I said I think that’s Jim’s car! How are you, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I’m good, Beth,” the Chief offers, leaning over you and patting your thigh affectionately in silent apology, “I’m good -- you’re up late, huh? I was just giving Miss Murphy a ride home, I heard there’s been some wild coyote sightings around here.”

“Oh, goodness,” she waves a shaky hand and you realize the poor old woman had no idea what she’d just interrupted, “Well, I best head in, then.”

“Have a good night, Beth.”

“Bye, Mrs. Johnson.”

You crank the window up and drop your head into your hands.

Promptly, both you and Jim burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, “We’re teenagers. We... We just got caught --”

Jim snorts, voice high. “She had no idea.”

“Oh, Jim! Jim Hopper!” you imitate, “Oh my god, I cannot believe --”

“Thank god we weren’t in the back,” he says, “That woulda been worse.”

You snort, leaning on the center console and smothering your smile. “I almost asked you --”

“Same here.”

Jim moves, then, nudging you with his shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple that’s reverent more than anything. 

“Tomorrow.”

“What,” you laugh, “Tomorrow we’ll get caught in the back?”

“Hey, I know all the good spots in town,” Jim croons, nudging your cheek with his finger, “Plus, what’re they gonna do? Call the police?”

Your face splits into a divine, cunning, wicked little smile and Jim can’t help but mirror it.

“I’ll see what’s playing,” you say, carding a hand through his hair, “And I’ll call you?”

“Sure,” he says, leaning into the touch, “I’ll pick you up?”

“Sure,” you parrot, dragging him in for one last kiss before pulling away and gathering your purse from the floor, “And I’ll pay.”

“No,” he groans, “No -- enough of that --”

“Hey,” you pat his chest as you swing the door open, “Equal rights.”

He groans louder. “Bye, Murph.”

“I’ll call you!”

He watches you all the way through the door, where you part with a smile and a wave. He hears Cannoli bark before you toss him a kiss and the door shuts. Jim catches himself smiling.

Oh, he’s got it bad.

#MOONRISE RADIO #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x reader #chief hopper imagine #chief hopper x reader #chief hopper reader insert #stranger things imagine #laneygthememequeen

[har-rison-s]

hey, you

request: Hey:) I‘d like you to write some fluff with Steve Harrington😍 Maybe y/n gets jealous because there are many girls who come to the ice cream shop to flirt with Steve. Thank you!😊

A/N: Lovely! More Steve :D. Love that for me and us. This anon is truly lovely, wish we could be friends. Hope you like this. Sorry for using this cliché-ass gif :D. Happy reading!

main masterlist

stranger things masterlist

warnings: bit of angst but fluff as requested!

You were sitting behind the counter of Scoops Ahoy. No, there was not a chair allowed the employees to sit on. But you weren't an employee. You were a girlfriend of one. Steve's. It was still an hour or two until his work day would be over, and you and Steve had arranged a trip to the lake, just some summer night fun together.

You couldn't wait for it. But now, after sitting in his workplace for a bit over an hour, you kinda wished you were Robin's girlfriend.

Another one came in. Oh, no, she's got friends. High heels, crazy sponge hair, leather skirts, over-excessive makeup in crazy colors... You were done for. Your eyes rolled and you looked away, your chin falling onto your hand as you sigh. There it goes again.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” one of the girls squeaked in her now-annoying voice. You wouldn't be bothered by her or her voice under any other circumstance, but she had been the tenth or hundredth of girls that were flirting with Steve for the past hour at his job.

“Hey, ladies! Summer treating you bad? No worries, your ice cream journey will save you!” Steve attempts yet another catch-phrase he and Robin could use. 

“I'll let you be the captain, then.” The same girl says in a sickeningly sweeter voice and you wanted to scoff loudly at her remark. They probably didn't notice you, but if they did, you were sure they wouldn't suspect you were Steve's girlfriend.

Steve's response is a flustered chuckle and letting his head fall down for a second before raising it back up to serve his customers. The girls all giggle and that is it for you. You can't listen to the girls flirting with your boyfriend anymore. 

You stand up from the wee chair and walk, or charge, into the employee's back room. Robin eyes you warily with a gentle smile, watching you sit down at their desk. 

“Dingus not treating you well?” She questions. You nod, your head resting on your folded arms. 

“Well, it's not really him. It's more... the barbies out there.” You spit the synonym for 'teenage girls' like venom. Robin chuckles.

“Don't worry, babe, what they say is totally harmless.” Robin soothed.

“Yeah, but Steve's not protesting in any way! Even better, he's blushing and smiling because of it!” You exclaim. 

“Okay, here, take some crossword puzzles and solve them. I'll go join him.” Robin says, handing you a crossword puzzle magazine. “Maybe the chicks dig me, too.” She adds before going out the door. You laugh and turn to the crosswords, taking a pencil in hand. 

An hour or so later, a bit less than that remaining until Steve and Robin finish their day, you're twenty crossword puzzles deep and Steve comes through the door. You only give him a look and it's only fair. You're deep into solving your twenty-first crossword puzzle and he's neck deep into... girls.

“Hey, baby,” Steve greets and sits down across you, “whatcha doin?” 

“Crossword puzzling.” You respond, not giving him another look, and scribbling down options for a word. 

“What's the question?” He asks. He already feels something's different, he just doesn't know what. So Steve's a bit cautious with what he says and asks form then on. Doesn't want to cause anything that doesn't need to happen between you both.

“Um...” you start to say. Oh, this could be interesting, you think then, “it's 'what's so appealing about other girls when you've already got a girlfriend?'. I'm stuck between “risking”, “plastic”, “freedom”... no, I don't think freedom really works in this case. 'Nothing' would be my best choice.” You admit, absent-mindedly chewing the end of your pencil. 

Steve sighs, his hair hanging down just like his head does. He's defeated. “I'm not... I don't find them appealing. Trust me.” He says and looks at you, but you don't return the look. You're glued to the puzzle still. The actual question is 'Who is the author of the first quantum theory?'. Your brain is digging for the answer, anxious, but you're also nervous to hear what Steve has to say. What more has Steve Harrington to say for himself?

“Okay...” you mutter and Steve's a bit dumb-founded at that.

“No, really, you have to listen to me!” He pleads. “The girls flirt with me all the time! Can't control it, can't stop it and if I respond...”

“I'm sorry.” You suddenly say, but you're not looking at Steve, still. Even when he looks at you, shocked. “I'm not angry at you, I'm just a bit saddened. I know you can't help responding to flirtations with your own, even though they're quite horrible.” You look at him finally with raised eyebrows. Steve smiles faintly at the comment.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says. “Can I please apologise for it? I know you're upset.”

“I am. I just said that I am.” You respond and laugh. Steve nods.

“Anyway. I'm sorry, baby. I'll try to resist alright?” He asks and you nod. Not like you could ever resist him. Steve walks over to you and lifts you up - with a bit of struggle - and onto his lap. He presses a kiss to your forehead and you put your pencil down on the table, glancing at him sideways. “And I'm glad I can't flirt for shit.”

“Why's that?” You ask, turning your face to him fully. Oh, those lips... 

“Why would I need to flirt when I've already got you?” Steve questions, moving your hair strands around a bit. You'd think it was a romantic gesture, but Steve's messing up the front of your hair in actuality. You stop his hands slowly, holding his wrists in place.  

You lean closer to him, barely hovering over Steve's lips. “I'm gonna let that flirtation slide.” You say lowly. Steve laughs, realising he said an actual flirtation out of habit.

“I really do love you.” He says and you both smile. 

“Stop flirting with me.” You say and situate yourself so that you're turned back to the table and your crossword puzzle. “And bugger off, I need to finish my puzzle.” You push his hands away, but Steve doesn't budge.

He sneaks his arms around your waist from behind and rests his head on your back, his cheek squishing against it. You giggle, but grip your pencil tighter, still trying to fathom the right surname of a scientist.

“I love you, too, Steve.”

#steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve imagine #steve imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington request #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things request #steve harrington

[robinskey]

99, 72, 56 please. Your character choice.

Dustin’s Surprise Party

Prompts: “How could you forget your son’s birthday?” (99), “Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now” (72), and “I’m late” (56)

A/N: I did it for Steve (bc OF COURSE I did). Also, we have a Henderson! reader (bc OF COURSE we do. As I have previously stated, I am trash for Steve x Henderson! Reader.) Thanks for the request!!

Warnings: Swearing

Steve’s in the middle of leisurely closing up shop on a weeknight. Bohemian Rhapsody’s playing on the radio, and Steve hums along as he sweeps the floor. When the phone rings, he takes his sweet time sauntering across the store to pick it up.

“Hawkins Family Video. How may I help you?”

“Where are you, dingus?”

If it hadn’t been for the nickname, Steve might not have recognized the voice on the other end of the line. However, his best friend refers to him almost exclusively with that name. Steve sighs before inquiring what she’s talking about.

“Don’t you remember what today is?”

Steve wracks his brain but still comes up short. “Um...Tuesday?”

“Oh my god. Your girlfriend’s here freaking out, trying to get everything ready before the boys get home from AV club, and you can’t even remember what day it is.”

That’s when the lightbulb finally clicks in Steve’s head.

“Shit. Dustin’s surprise party is tonight, isn’t it?”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a...I would say ‘winner,’ but you’re really more of a ‘wiener.’ How could you forget your son’s birthday?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t call him my son. I’m dating his sister, so that’s weird as hell,” Steve says. “Second of all-“

Robin, being Robin, interrupts. “Mrs. Henderson just left to pick the kids up from school, so they’ll be arriving any minute. Just get here, okay? Preferably before Y/N loses it.”

There’s a screech as Robin slams the phone onto the receiver-a clear sign that Steve needs to get moving ASAP, unless he wants Robin to give him crap about it for the rest of his life.

***

Steve drives almost twice the speed limit the entire way there. However, it’s not fast enough to outpace Mrs. Henderson. Her station wagon is already parked in the driveway by the time Steve pulls up. He hops out of his car and sprints to the front door, trying to avoid missing another minute of the party he’s supposed to be co-hosting.

When he steps onto the front porch, the door automatically swings open. Robin stands there, eyebrows raised so high that they blend into her hairline.

“So you finally decided to show up, huh?” she chuckles. “Come on. Everyone’s in here.”

Steve follows Robin into the kitchen. The entire party is gathered around the table, along with Mrs. Henderson, Nancy, and Jonathan. (I don’t know why I felt the need to include Jancy, but I wanted Robin to be there, and I only felt it was fair for them to be invited, too.) There’s a homemade sheet cake in the center of the table, decorated with fifteen unlit candles and the words “Happy Birthday Dustin” written in your looping cursive. The guest of honor sits at the head of the table, practically salivating at the sight of his cake. But when his eyes fall on Steve, they light up even more.

“Hey, dude! You made it.” Dustin walks up to Steve and performs their handshake, which ends in a bro hug.

“Yeah, I did. Happy birthday, man. Sorry I’m late.”

Dustin laughs. “Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but Y/N was making us wait to cut the cake until you got here.”

“Really?” Steve’s cheeks heat up. You’re so considerate, always thinking of others. Meanwhile, he can’t even make it to a party he helped plan on time.

“Yeah. I think she wanted you to see how much of a domestic goddess she is or some shit.”

“Dusty!”

“Sorry, Mom,” Dustin says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Hey, um-where is Y/N?”

“Right here.” You appear around the corner, waving the box of matches you’ve spent the last ten minutes searching for. Then, you glare at your little brother. “By the way, I heard what you said about me, Dustin. You’re lucky it’s your birthday. Otherwise, I’d kick your ass.”

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Mom,” you echo your brother’s words from earlier before nodding to your boyfriend. “Glad to see you finally decided to turn up.”

Steve stands there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. He watches as you scrape a match against the side of the box, then migrates toward you to help light the candles. When his hand twitches in the direction of the matches, you subtly scoot them out of his reach.

The flush rises back up to his face when he catches El whisper something in Max’s ear, and the two of them giggle. Nonetheless, he still tries to help you serve up the cake. He continuously gets in your way, so you finally allow him to take charge of scooping the ice cream.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later that you actually get a chance to sample the cake you baked from scratch. Steve’s barely eaten all day, so he’s famished, but he makes sure you get the bigger slice of cake and a generous helping of ice cream. There’s not enough room at the table, so the two of you head into the living room.

The spot you choose reveals how angry you are with him. You’re not pissed enough to sit on a different piece of furniture, even though there are other chairs available. However, judging by the fact that you create as much distance as possible by nestling into the corner of the loveseat, Steve knows you’re still not pleased with him.

“You did a really nice job with the cake. It looks beautiful.” When he’s met with silence, Steve digs his fork into the dessert, shovels it into his mouth, and lets out an exaggerated moan. “Oh, my god. It tastes even better than it looks.”

You still don’t respond-just swirl your spoon through your bowl of ice cream. However, the corners of your lips quirk slightly upward. He nudges your foot with his.

“Look, babe, I’m really sorry about tonight. I just-lost track of time.” You give him a pointed look. “Okay, okay. I also lost track of the day. But I’ll make it up to you, baby. I promise. Let me make it up to you.”

Steve places a kiss on your neck-a bold move, considering all your family and friends are in the next room. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you still shove him away. He’s not getting off the hook that easily.

Besides, it’s your brother’s birthday party. Someone’s probably going to catch you if you just start making out on the couch. The options for that “someone” include your mom, little brother, one of your brother’s friends, Steve’s ex-girlfriend, Steve’s ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend, and/or Steve’s best friend. (On paper, the last seems like the best option, but Robin would probably actually be the worst, considering she’d never let you live it down.)

So, yeah. Not happening.

“Come on, Y/N. I know I screwed up. But surely, there’s something-“

“Just smile. I really need to see you smile right now.”

The words tumble off your lips as you think of them. You’re not really sure why you make this request, but you do. And Steve doesn’t question it; he just breaks out into the cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. It melts your heart like the long-forgotten ice cream turning into a puddle on your paper plate. You set it on the coffee table, and Steve follows suit-still flashing his pearly whites.

“Okay, you can stop now. It’s starting to get creepy.”

“Creepy, eh? You’re the one who requested this. And now you’re insulting me for it? That’s a little hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” When you respond with a giggle, Steve adds, “Don’t you laugh at me! Or I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

His hands travel to your waist, and as soon as you realize what he’s doing, you playfully swat at them. “Steve Harrington, don’t you dare.”

“Or what?” he asks, pausing for a moment to tilt his head slightly to the side.

“Or...else.”

Of course, that vague threat is not enough to stop him from tackling you with tickles. You giggle uncontrollably as he pins you to the couch. His fingers graze your sides, leaving fluttering butterflies in their wake. You’re not sure if it’s his close proximity making you dizzy or the fact that you’re taking in an inadequate amount of oxygen. You haven’t gotten an actual breath of air in several minutes; even between fits of laughter, you don’t get a chance to breathe, since Steve’s constantly stealing kisses. You get lost in the taste of sugar on his lips and the musky smell of his cologne

You get so lost, in fact, that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s already too late.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Steve pulls himself off you so quickly that he almost tumbles off the sofa. You both recoil into your separate corners of the couch and run fingers through your hair, trying (and failing) to smooth it back down.

Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face. Steve’s face flushes for the third time tonight. This time, however, he doesn’t just turn a little pink; his skin burns fire-truck red. He stumbles over his words.

“It wasn’t-I don’t know how it looked, but we weren’t-“

“Yeah, yeah, sure you weren’t, dingus. You’re lucky it was just me and not, like, Dustin. You would’ve scarred the kid for life,” she says. “Anyway, I was just looking for the restroom, so...”

Unlike Steve, you’re too shell-shocked to be embarrassed. You raise a single finger to point down the hall.

“Thanks. Carry on...with whatever you definitely weren’t doing,” Robin says with a wink.

At this point, Steve’s skin is so hot that it’s just a matter of time before he bursts into flames.

Meanwhile, Robin’s already planning how she’s going to incorporate this story into the future toast for her favorite couple’s wedding.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny @broadwayandnetflix @explode-a-pult @whormotional @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

#stranger things #steve harrington #st #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things x you #stranger things drabble #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x henderson! reader #steve x henderson! reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #dustin henderson #dustin x sister reader #robin buckley #stranger things x reader

[whump-it]

Callum's Brain Freeze

No TWs. This is a caretaking chapter. There is reference to Callum's rules but that's about it.

Tag time! @haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @iaminamoodymoodtoday @kawaiiloverofanimu @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @whump-chains @pepperonyscience

"What are you doing?" Callum asked, finding Rory with almost his entire head stuck in the freezer.

"I'm........for.......ah ha!" Rory said, most of his words swallowed up by the freezer and the humming that it was making thanks to being open for so long. Rory dislodged himself from the freezer and sat back on his heels, as three tubs tumbled out and into his lap. He scooped them up and stood up, depositing them on the worktop and waving his hand at them with a flourish.

"Ta da!" Rory said, a mile-wide smile on his face. "Ice cream!"

"Oh," Callum said. "Umm... I've... I've forgotten what ice cream tastes like."

"Well then," Rory said, rifling through the cutlery drawer and coming up with two spoons, handing one to Callum then grabbing the tubs and walking out of the kitchen. "How about a reminder huh?" he called as he went.

Callum smiled and padded softly after him, holding onto Haz by one ear, letting him swing gently by his side, enjoying the feeling of the teddy bumping against his leg when he moved. Enjoying that he didn't have to hide. He stood holding on to his teddy and his spoon and watched while Rory opened each tub and lined them up on the coffee table. One was green. One was white with swirls of dark and light brown in. And one was the most vivid shade of blue that Callum thought he'd ever seen. He pursed his lips while he looked at it. That was the one that he wanted. He felt his mouth water at the mere sight of it.

It looked sweet. And sticky. And sickly. All the things that he had missed so much when he had been with Master Hayden. All the things that he had forgotten he could enjoy. That he was even allowed to enjoy things.

"It won't get eaten if you just stand there looking at it bud!" Rory said, picking up the swirly one and digging in with his spoon. Callum sat down gently next to him and reached for the tub of blue. He liked the feeling of the cold on his fingers, of the slight rasp of ice that covered it and then melted on his fingertips soft as snow, the promise of something amazing to come. He squeezed the sides of the tub gently to see the slight ooze of the partly melted warmer ice cream at the edges. He looked up slightly, checked what Rory was doing, then stuck his finger into the ice cream, letting out a small laugh at the feel of it. At the impulsivity of the action. At the freedom of being able to be so silly. He drew his finger around the round edge of the tub, gathering a cold blue blob of ice cream up which he sucked into his mouth.

It was everything he'd hoped for. The sweetness was almost overwhelming. He moaned around his own finger, which made Rory laugh. Which made Callum laugh.

"So at a guess I'd say you like bubblegum flavour then," Rory said.

"Is that what this is?" Callum asked, digging out a huge spoonful and sniffing at it, getting a smear of blue on the end of his nose. "This is going to be my favourite. I have decided. I've made a decision. I've made my own decision." Callum smiled, bright and wide and shoved the spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

"Aww...ow!!!" Callum looked up at Rory, eyes wide and with the spoon still sticking out of his mouth. "My face!" Callum garbled the words around a mouthful of melting ice cream and cutlery, his hands rubbing at his forehead and wincing at the feeling.

"Aww bud," Rory said, laughing as he quickly put down his tub and spoon. He took hold of Callum's hands and brought them gently down from his face and took the spoon from between his lips. He jabbed it into the bubblegum tub and put that down next to his own tub. Rory pressed the palm of one hand to Callum's forehead and the other to the back of his head.

"So that'd be your first brain freeze in a long while," Rory said, holding on to Callum, his palms warm, letting his hand rub slightly to warm him up quicker.

"I'd forgotten about that part," Callum said. "But...umm... look at this. Pain for comfort." He laughed shyly, small. Still unused to jokes or banter or easy conversation. Still trying so hard. He looked at Rory and watched with a horrid feeling of guilt and disappointment as Rory's smile faltered at the edges.

"I'm sorry," Callum whispered. "That was a bad joke." He looked down at his hands while Rory took his own away from Callum's face. He felt the loss instantly. "I didn't mean that you were...I didn't think...umm... you're not like him. That wasn't..." His words drifted away when he saw Rory's hands come back into view, moving to take his own, sliding their fingers together and holding on.

"It was a good joke sweetheart," Rory said, pulling on Callum's hands a little, getting him to look up. "It just. Well, there's something I wanted to say to you and I've been avoiding it. I've been hiding from it because it scares me and then you said that and..." Rory sighed. "You're so brave Cal. So fucking brave and strong. That you went through that and you're trying to joke about it and here I am hiding and hoping I won't have to say anything because I'm frightened."

Callum tightened his grip on Rory's hands. He wanted to reach for Haz. He wanted his heart rate to slow down. But he wanted to keep hold of Rory.

"It's your birthday next month," Rory said.

"I didn't know that," Callum said.

"I kept, god I hate myself so much right now, but I kept good records. That's a dick thing to say but. Well I did. And so I wanted to tell you. I thought you should know."

"How old will I be?" Callum whispered. He breathed in a fast and shaky breath when Rory twisted one of his hands away, panic twisting in his stomach until Haz was placed in his empty hand.

"Twenty four," Rory said. "I didn't know what to get you so I thought I'd see if you like ice cream and then I was going to take you to an ice cream parlor on the day. But, I don't know. Maybe you don't want to do anything. I just assumed. I shouldn't have done that."

"Rory?" Callum asked, holding tightly to his two favourite things with both hands. "Has anyone ever been annoyed at someone for planning an ice cream date? Ever? In the history of the world?"

"Ok," Rory laughed lightly. "I take your point. But there's honestly things I want to say to you so it's no good trying to talk me off." Callum kept hold of Rory and Haz while he listened.

"I need to say sorry to you Cal," Rory said. "I never should've let you donate. I never should've let you make yourself into BP. Everything about it was telling me that it was wrong. Everything. And I didn't listen to that. I followed the rules when I should've known better."

Callum looked at Rory, and watched his eyes watering. Watched them over flow. Watched tears tracking down his cheeks. He understood crying. He had spent years crying alone in his basement.

"Please don't cry," he said. "Please."

"It's the shittest excuse in the world Cal," Rory said, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears away, and taking Callum's hand with his as he moved. Neither willing to let the other go. "Just doing my job. It's the dick move of the century. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not. That's not my place. I don't get to ask that of you. I wouldn't. I just...I want you to know that it was wrong. That I should've done better."

Callum sighed. Rules and crying. Crying and rules. He had spent three years crying. Three years trying to figure out the rules so that he wouldn't get hurt more than he needed to. Following rules was something that was bone deep in him. From where Rory had lowered their hands, he took his back and used his thumb to wipe at Rory's cheeks before pushing himself up off the couch. He stood, briefly over Rory where he sat, head bowed and still crying, before sitting himself in his lap. With one knee either side of Rory's hips Callum pushed as much if his body onto Rory's as he could. Close and warm contact with his head on Rory's shoulder so that he could mutter his words into his ear.

"I know rules," Callum said quietly. "I have rules that I'll never forget. I'll never be able to. Aren't we all conditioned one way or another to follow rules? They're meant to be safe for us. Given to us by someone who knows better. And so we follow them. I followed mine to live. Literally. You followed yours to keep your job. Keep your home. Keep you from going hungry or homeless. So ultimately to keep you alive."

"It's different..." Rory started to say before Callum cut him off.

"It's the essence that's the same," he said. "To me it's the same." He felt Rory's arms come up around his waist around his back. Holding him tight.

"Thank you," Rory whispered.

Callum nodded into Rory's neck.

#oc callum #oc rory #caretaker #caretaking #whump #whump community #callum needs comfort #callum's teddy #callum makes jokes #rory is worried about his callum #rory crying #callum wants ice cream #master hayden's rules #where do people go when they've had enough of their lives? #the collection box #collection box #conditioning #box boy inspired #box boy #box boy au

[shy-violet-soul]

The Last Action Hero

Summary: In a scene straight from the apocalypse, Audra encounters the last action hero. "Chaotic Dumbass Reader” Avenger is here to save the day, one aisle at a time. Characters: OFC, “Chaotic Dumbass Reader (CDR)”, a very tired Bucky Barnes Warnings: language, threats of violence, out-of-context movie quotes Word count: 1,400-ish A/N: I am 100% enthralled with the “Bag of Tricks” world (please go read all the things) by @heli0s-writes​. I’ve been having a tough few days - as so many of us are - and to give my brain a break, I decided to ponder what CD Reader would be doing during COVID-19. I only hope I’ve done this writer’s marvelous character some form of justice. I was super excited to receive her blessing to post this. This is for you, @heli0s-writes​. Bless you for all the smiles you’ve brought to us!

Also - thank you @pinknerdpanda​ for catching my errors, reassuring my characterization fears, & laughing at my ridiculousness. xoxo

This is a work of fiction based upon characters owned by the MCU and created by @heli0s-writes​. My work is not to be copied elsewhere without my written permission.

Audra stood at the entrance of the aisle, stared at the shelves, and swallowed hard around the jagged tears clogging her throat. The industrial metal towered over her head, and the empty shelves glared cavernously down at her as she trudged down the row. The cart squeaked annoyingly, one wheel sticking and spinning like a drunk ballerina as she tried to shove around the rickety remains of a Charmin cardboard box. Peering in hopefully, her shoulders sagged - nope. Not a roll to be seen.

A bit further down the aisle, she saw a couple of people shoulder deep in an open box on the shelf, and urged her stupid cart in that direction. Growling, like that of a supremely pissed off house cat, zipped chills up her spine. Audra paused, looking around the floor closest to her for the critter. Seeing nothing but hearing the growl continue, she looked up.

Not a cat. So much not a cat.

A woman sat perched on the top shelf like some kind of slightly cute but mostly terrifying ninja gargoyle. Completely clothed in black, she glared at the two women heave-ho-ing packages of toilet paper into their carts and - were those wrapping paper tubes taped to her? - hissed. Actually hissed at them.

Expletives from the two women distracted Audra back to the task at hand. She sidled her way around them up to the box and chewed hard on her lip. Empty. A glance at the wrestlers behind her saw three and four packs each of awful 2-ply store brand toilet paper, 9 rolls each. The shorter of the two stomped away with her loot, leaving the other to Tetris her prize around the 4 gallons of milk and a wobbly tower of bacon packages. Ready to forget it and walk away, Audra thought of what waited for her at home and dug deep for her bravery, gingerly reaching out to the woman with a nitrile-gloved hand.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. But is there any way I could have one of those packs of toilet paper?”

A glare from the other shopper. “No.”

A growl from above.

Wavering but not giving up, Audra squeezed her hands together. “I’ll pay you $10. I’ve got the cash.” Digging in her pocket, Audra extended a folded bill. “Or, if you’d rather, I can Venmo you right now. Electronic, no germs.”

“Bitch, please! Try $25.00, and we can talk about it,” the woman snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Audra blinked, momentarily stunned at the unprovoked viciousness and the audacity of the request. Just as tears threatened to straight up strangle her, the ninja gargoyle cat woman dropped to the floor between them. A cheerful tube of wrapping paper dotted with birthday cakes jabbed Audra in the belly before she scrambled back, dodging another roll of Santa-hat-wearing Yoda’s and Darth Vader’s that protruded from the woman’s right hip. Before Audra could even attempt to figure out what the hell was going on, the ninja gargoyle cat woman pulled out a sword - an actual sword - and pointed it at the other shopper’s chest.

“Say hello to my little friend!”

“Shit!” the woman squeaked out, eyes bugging out of her head. The ninja gargoyle cat woman growled, hissed again, and spoke.

“This is a katana. One of the oldest warfare weapons in Japan. Made out of tamahagane steel and polished for three weeks. I can slice your head clean off. You gotta ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya? Punk? Go ahead. Make my DAY!” Her voice rose inexorably from a hissing whisper to a screech as she inched her face to within kissing distance of the increasingly terrified woman. The offender frantically reached into her cart and tossed Audra a package of toilet paper; an impressive feat as she did so without even breathing. Ninja gargoyle cat woman grinned maniacally before she leaned forward and licked the offender’s face, then danced happily away a few steps, batting her in the side with a roll of pink flowered wrapping paper reading “fresh out of fucks” that jutted out from her left hip.

“What the hell are you doing now?” A deep voice cracked and croaked out the question. Audra turned to face the newcomer, clutching her precious package of toilet paper, faintly tracking on the frantic wails and wiping of the vanquished shopper behind her. The famous Winter Soldier stood before her, 2 bags of flour and a box of Cocoa Puffs in one arm as he stared at ninja gargoyle cat woman. His hair stood out from his head like he’d tried pulling handfuls of it out, and his face just looked...done. This man looked 100% done.

“Bucky!” she squealed with glee, prancing towards him. “Toss me the Cocoa Puffs!”

“No. What did you do to that lady?”

She blew raspberries at him, sliding her sword into a sheath strapped to her back. “I helped her out. Look at her!” The wrapping paper tubes bounced animatedly as she waved an arm at Audra. “Young kids at home. Spouse is a cop. Back is hurting. Needs toilet paper.”

Audra was getting a headache. Oxygen seemed important, but she couldn’t figure out how to get it inside her body. “How did...what...you…”

Ninja gargoyle cat woman glared at the Winter Solder as she raised her hands, ticking off items on her fingers. “‘Paw Patrol’ fruit snack wrappers hanging out of her purse. Last year’s ‘NYPD’ tshirt under her sweater. Can’t stand fully upright, probably because she’s lugging laundry hampers or babies around. Toilet paper, Barnes! I’m doing a public service!”

“Not her, you idiot! I saw all that on the cop’s wife, too. Her! The one that’s crying on the phone that now she’s got the virus!” Avoiding the bobbling wrapping paper tubes, the Winter Soldier leaned in close, vein in his forehead bulging as he jabbed a finger down the aisle towards aforementioned crying woman. The growling returned as ninja gargoyle cat woman narrowed her eyes, jabbing one hand towards the Winter Soldier. An audible snap accompanied the bright blue spark that crackled out, sending the man crowhopping backwards and dumping the flour and cereal to the floor as his metal arm went limp.

“You just - you just tased my arm! What the hell?!?”

She primly ignored him, scooping up the box of Cocoa Puffs and crooning to it sweetly before she turned a fierce glare upon him.

“Six feet back, motherfucker.” 

Audra couldn’t stop her flinch when the woman flounced in her direction, all toothy, bright-eyed smiles.

“You good, mama? You need me to get you some diapers? Please can I go get you some diapers? I saw a skirmish of a couple of dads over there!” she batted her eyes pleadingly, clasping her hands together like she was begging for ice cream instead of another chance to...Audra wasn’t sure what to call it. Help? Terrify? Mutely, she shook her head. Her saviour huffed, shrugged her shoulders, and then yelped when one of her wrapping paper tubes was ripped off her body. The Winter Soldier bashed her over the head with it, then threw it all the way down the aisle. The precious box of Cocoa Puffs went sailing in the other direction before he hauled ninja gargoyle cat woman over his shoulder. Ignoring her screeches, he looked at Audra with serious grey eyes.

“You good? Seriously? Want me to go with you to the register?”

Warmth filled Audra at their genuine concern for her. She found a smile for him as she shook her head.

“I’m good,” she assured, gesturing to her cart bearing milk, Goldfish crackers, diapers, and baby wipes. The Soldier smiled and nodded, then turned as the woman started grappling for her sword.

“All right, Barnes! You called down the thunder and now you’ve got it. Run, you cur! You tell ‘em I’m coming, and Hell’s coming with me, you hear?”

The Winter Soldier rounded the end of the aisle, out of sight, but you could still hear the exasperated sigh he gave.

“We get it. You’re a goddamn action hero. Is this my set of throwing stars? Why are you like this?”

#chaotic dumbass reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #very tired bucky barnes #shy vy writes #coronavirus #covid19 #the last action hero

[goldenavenger02]

Save it for a Rainy Day

Part 2 of my Post-Endgame series! (See Recovery (A Long and Winding Road)) but you can read this first if you want!

And now, on with the story!

•••••••••

"And during the candy swap, Brooklyn gave me three suckers!" Morgan remembered, holding Peter's hand tightly as they crossed the street, the rain pattering on their heads, but she didn't mind. She didn't get to hang out with her older brother that much, so she would gladly get rained over being babysat by her Uncle Happy.

"That's awesome, Morg." Peter grinned as they arrived at the ice cream shop two blocks from her school. "Just save it for a rainy day. Well, another rainy day. If you eat too much sugar at once, your mom will kill me."

She nodded, and Peter picked her up so she could see the large variety of ice cream. Despite her being six years old, she was still short. "What do you want?"

"Hmmm...mint chip!" She decided with a grin, and Peter gave the lady behind the counter their orders, which she quickly filled and he paid for, leading her over to the table in the corner of the café, handing her a napkin before spooning his own ice cream into his mouth.

"Thank you for taking me to get ice cream in the rain. I know it makes you cold."

"Hey, we all need a ice cream break once in awhile, especially on Saturdays. That, and I promised my aunt that I wouldn't studying for my finals two weeks in advance." He smiled, at Morgan, who broke into giggles. "Looks like we're not going to the park though. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's okay, but what are we gonna do?"

"Tell you what. How about we head to your house, and we make a pillow fort. Then we'll get FRIDAY to play a movie on the wall. Sound good?" Peter suggested, and she nodded happily, starting to quickly scoop the ice cream into her mouth, but before he could stop her, she squealed in discomfort.

"Brain freeze..."

"Press your tongue against the top of your mouth really hard." He advised, doing the same in order to show her what he meant. "You all done with your ice cream?"

She nodded, still pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth and trying to force the headache away from the ice cream with shear willpower. Meanwhile, Peter stood up, and put both of their bowls in the garbage can before picking her up on her hip and walking back outside in the rain.

Morgan pressed her head against his shoulder, trying to avoid getting rain in her eyes, eventually finding Peter's hood in his hoodie and pulling it over her head. Unfortunately, that led to Peter getting big, fat, cold droplets in his sensitive eyes. Trying to ignore the stinging sensation, he presses the walk button against the large pole towering over the street.

"Are you falling asleep on me, Morg?" He questioned, walking across the street, and when he fell her shake her head, he ruffled her hair under his hoodie, finally finding his car. "Okay, you gotta get out so I can find my keys." He told her, flipping back his hoodie and setting her on the ground, digging in his pocket and unlocking the car doors.

She climbed in the backseat and buckled her seatbelt, already starting to doze back off while Peter cranked the ignition and pulled out of where he was parked, starting to take the half hour drive back to the cabin.

••••••••••

When they arrived, Morgan was just waking up and the rain had almost stopped, the sun starting to peak out from behind the clouds as Peter turned off the car and both of them walked into the cabin.

Peter, however, was starting to get dizzy. His nose was getting stuffy too, but he figured that was allergies since it was finally getting warm in New York and Massachusetts, hence the rain instead of snow. He had been trying to hide said stuffy nose from Morgan all day, due to her tendency to worry like crazy whenever something bad happened to him, and he couldn't help but wonder if part of that involved Tony...

Before he could get too deep into his thoughts, the two of them entered the cabin and Morgan immediately went upstairs to get everything ready for the pillow fort from her room. Peter decided to take that moment to lean against the couch and rub at the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a sinus headache that was starting to develop.

He closed his eyes for what felt like a few seconds, but then he felt someone shaking his shoulder, and he looked up, seeing Happy and Morgan hovering above him. That's when he realized he was on the floor.

"Why am I o-on the floor?" Peter stuttered, starting to sit up, only to feel a pounding in the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes, forcing him to lay back down on the floor, trying to breathe through the throbbing pain.

"That's what I would like to know." Happy insisted while Morgan wrapped her hand around Peter's, trying to offer some sort of comfort to him. "You came back with Morgan, and while she went to go get pillows for your fort, you passed out and fell off the couch."

"You hit your nose, and there was a lot of blood." The little girl added when Peter opened his eyes again to look at her. "Uncle Happy thinks you're sick." She leaned forward, and put her small, cold hand against his forehead. "I think you're sick too."

"C-can I get back on the couch?" Peter asked, managing to push himself up slightly, and with all of his willpower, he and Happy finally maneuvered him back on the couch.

Morgan started trying to get all his stuff down to him to make him feel better, as well as some of her stuffed animals, while Happy called Bruce Banner, trying to figure out what exactly what was wrong with Peter so he could explain it to his girlfriend. May would know how to help. She raised Peter for 18 years, after all.

After collecting the list of symptoms from Peter and relaying the information to Bruce, he received the information that it was a sinus infection, and that he would make some antibiotics for Peter's metabolism, but until then, treat it as a cold. Happy thanked the scientist, and looked over at the young adult, smirking when he saw the sheer amount of stuffed animals that surrounded him, courtesy of Morgan herself.

"What did Dr. Banner say?" Peter asked as he pushed away a teddy bear, his voice more nasally then it had been. "Am I dying?"

"Sinus infection. He's developing antibiotics as we speak. For now, you're supposed to rest and stay hydrated. You prefer water or orange juice?"

"Just water, please." Peter smiled, watching Happy disappear into the kitchen, watching as Morgan descended down the stairs with more dolls in her hands. "Okay, how many dolls do you have?"

"They all wanna cuddle with you." Morgan insisted, looking out the window as a large clap of thunder sounded through the whole house, while the clouds practically exploded with rain.

Peter raised a eyebrow, ignoring the pain in the back of his eyes as she unwrapped one of her suckers, but she just shrugged as she put it in her mouth. "You said save it for another rainy day."

#Morgan stark #happy hogan #peter parker #whump #sick fic #family #Post-Endgame #Post-FFH #Uncle Happy Hogan