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bakatenshii · 4 years

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Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could.

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it.

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding.

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted.

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you.

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun.

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal.

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy.

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you.

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour.

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care.

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time.

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite.

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy.

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart.

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use.

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time.

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean.

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart.

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream.

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction.

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself.

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted.

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become.

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective.

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up.

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight.

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close.

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue.

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it.

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh.

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint.

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently.

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go.

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high.

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em.

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you.

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.”

“Want a taste?”

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care.

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air.

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners.

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more.

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate.

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him.

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways.

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole.

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name.

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God?

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed.

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed.

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in.

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?”

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out—

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection.

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together.

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him.

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose.

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl.

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies.

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first?

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red.

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm.

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char.

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you.

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there.

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore, can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it?

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart.

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth?

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?”

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really.

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda.

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best.

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him.

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy.

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

Crash Into Me

You’d been MGK’s assistant for years, but you never thought you had a chance at anything more with him until one stoplight changes everything.

Request: “ok im so sorry if this is 2 specific but ive had this idea for ages abt pining!colson x an insecure/clueless!reader who has been his assistant forever. she gets into a car accident and calls him hours later to tell him that a temp will be taking her place for a few weeks (bc of injuries) and he's like ?? why?? she explains nonchalantly, then kells kinda freaks out and shows up at the hospital all worried”

Colson Baker X Reader

Warnings: Cursing, car accident (descriptive)

A/N: This was cute 😊

Word Count: 3185

“Alright Kells, I’m out for the night. I’ll email those tracks to the board when I get home and I’ll let you know if I get any updates for tomorrow’s press.” You told the blond man who was sitting on the couch as you put your laptop into your bag. You tried not to yawn as you heaved it over your shoulder, “anything else?”

You glanced at the kitchen clock that read 2 am and let out a small sigh. You were used to late nights given your job as assistant to a rockstar, but most nights you were able to leave before 8 pm. Tonight you and Colson had gotten really invested in the tracks you were editing and lost track of time.

“Y/N,” he turned to look at you with puppy dog eyes. He wanted something that you really weren’t gonna want to give him. “Could you come over early tomorrow to help me pick out what to wear for the Vanity Fair interview?”

You chuckled, “you know they have their own wardrobe department?”

He sighed, “yeah but you know me so much better than all those stylists. I trust your opinion more.”

You rolled your eyes as he tilted his head, begging you. “Fine, but I’m buying us coffee with your credit card.”

He broke out into a smile, “thank you, love you!” He called as you walked towards his front door.

“Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You told him, taking your car keys into your hands, and stepping out into the LA night. There was a soft breeze that shook the trees slightly, making you smile. It felt nice outside for the first time in a while.

Because of this, you decided to drive home with your windows rolled down, letting the wind flow through your hair. The roads were pretty barren by LA standards, so traffic was pretty much non-existent. You were sitting at a red light, your fingers tapping against your steering wheel as one of Colson’s songs played through your speakers softly.

You reached to turn up the volume as the light turned green. You pressed the gas, your car moving forward into the intersection. Suddenly you heard a loud squeal of brakes, looking over to your passenger window to the sight of two headlights barreling towards you. You tried to speed up to get out of the way, but it was too late.

The truck rammed straight into the side of your small car, pushing your vehicle over into the car next to you. You put your left arm up to shield you from any flying debris, but it was futile. The infrastructure of your car fell apart at the force, the dashboard collapsing onto your right leg. Luckily, your left leg managed to avoid the destruction.

You could barely feel the force of the whiplash due to the pain in your abdomen at the deployment of the airbag. Glass from the car next to you fell into your car through your open window, cutting into your skin.

And then all of a sudden, everything stopped. The truck that had hit you had stopped moving, allowing you to fully assess the damage. Your car was totaled for sure, and your leg was definitely crushed. You cried out in pain, breathing heavy and trying to see straight. You could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, giving you some sense of relief.

When the paramedics got to the scene, you were the last passenger to be taken out of the crash due to your car being in the center. A firefighter had to break the glass of your windshield, which was already cracked, in order to pull you out. When you told him your leg was stuck under the dashboard, he sent a team of men to lift it from your foot and another to pull you out of the wreckage.

They were all amazed you were still conscious but got very worried when you told them you couldn’t feel the pain in your leg. You rode in an ambulance to the hospital, the EMTs helping pick the glass from your skin and assessing your injuries. You made jokes with them to calm yourself down, something that you did with Colson and Rook whenever they got into accidents while you were out with them.

You thought about giving them Colson’s name when they asked about your emergency contact but decided against it. You didn’t want to worry him until absolutely necessary. You figured you’d see what the doctor had to say and if you wouldn’t be able to come back to work, then you would tell him.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what the doctor said. In fact, you wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital for at least a week due to your shattered leg, bruised abdomen, and concussion.

The leg would require at least 2 if not more surgeries to repair and you would be on close watch for development of a more serious brain injury. After that you most likely wouldn’t be able to be back on your feet for another 8 to 12 weeks, which was kind of a requirement for your job.

It was almost 5am, so you weren’t necessarily thinking straight when you called Colson from your cracked phone. He answered, his voice conveying how tired he was. “Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Hey Kells, I’m not gonna be able to come in early tomorrow, or at all. I’m gonna start looking for a temporary replacement tomorrow if I’m feeling up to it. Oh! And I couldn’t send those tracks to the board, sorry.” You told him, only half registering the words you were saying.

The confusion was evident in his voice, “what? Why do you need to find a replacement?”

You realized you had forgotten to tell him what happened. “Oh, yeah! It’s kind of funny.” You started, chuckling but then realizing that laughing made your stomach hurt even more. “And by funny, I mean not funny at all. I got into a car accident. Some dude ran into my car in an intersection and now I’m in the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Colson asked, suddenly much more awake.

“Hollywood Presbyterian.” You told him, “why?”

He sounded like he was rushing around, which he was. “I’m coming to see you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “why? I’m fine, you don’t need to do that. You have a big interview tomorrow, you should sleep.”

Colson sighed, “fuck the interview, I’ll be there in a few.”

“Colson you don’t-“ You started, but he hung up before you could tell him not to come.

Why was he rushing to see you in the hospital? Sure, you were friends, but he had much more important things to worry about right now. And besides, you were more casual work friends. He wouldn’t even know you existed if you didn’t work for him. Sure, you had a huge crush on him, but he was your boss, you were just someone he asked to do things he didn’t want to do.

20 minutes later Colson ran into the hospital room, stopping when he saw you in the bed. Your face was red from chemical burn and a few cuts of glass. Your right leg was propped up with basic bandaging around it. His heart broke at the thought of how much pain you had probably been in.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, moving to sit in the chair on your left side.

You shrugged, “I’ve been better.”

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” He asked, eyes full of pity.

“I didn’t want to bother you unless it was serious. Figured I’d find out if I would have to miss work before telling you.” You said, squeezing your eyes shut as a headache washed over you.

Colson’s mouth gaped open, “you didn’t want to bother me? You got in a car crash and you weren’t gonna call me unless you would have to miss work?”

You shrugged again, “yeah. If my laptop wasn’t completely crushed in the accident I would’ve just found and sent a temp in tomorrow, but obviously that’s impossible.”

“Y/N you’re kidding me, right?” He asked, exasperated. You furrowed your eyebrows in response, causing a sigh to fall from his lips. “Y/N I don’t give a shit about a temp; I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine. A little shaken and these headaches are killer, but they gave me a lot of pain medication so, I’m fine.” You smiled at him, your thoughts racing as you tried to figure out why he cared so much about how you were feeling.

He nodded, hand reaching out and landing on top of yours gently. “So, do they have to do surgery? What all did the doctors say?” He asked, worry in his eyes.

You nodded, “yeah, at least 2 surgeries. One around 11 am and then depending on how that one goes they’ll schedule the next. And they have to watch me to make sure my concussion doesn’t get worse.”

He pulled out his phone, typing away. “What are you doing?” You asked, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I just emailed the PR liaison for Vanity Fair and told them I wouldn’t be able to make it to the interview.” He responded.

“Why did you do that?” You asked through a yawn.

He looked at you like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, “because I have to be with you right now.”

You were very confused as to why he thought he had to be here. “Colson, I’ll be fine. You should go to the interview. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I do have to be here. I want to be here.” He said, sternly.

“Why?” You asked, trying to keep your eyes open.

“Because I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll just call you after the surgery, it’s no big deal.” You responded lazily.

He shook his head, “I want to stay here with you, Y/N. Okay? I care about you.”

You were too tired to process what he was saying at this point, so you just let out a hum. “I need to make sure you’re okay. I need to see you being okay. When you called me, I swear I was gonna have a heart attack if I didn’t see you.” He continued.

You were barely awake at this point, letting out a simple, “I’m okay” before slipping into unconsciousness.

Suddenly you were back in your car, “Bloody Valentine” playing from your speakers. The sky was dark green, almost like a painting. In front of you, the red light turned green. Like clockwork, you pressed the gas, moving into the intersection. Suddenly, the lights disappeared, and you heard the familiar chilling sound of breaks squealing. You looked over and saw those headlights coming towards you, getting closer and closer, brighter, and brighter.

You screamed at the sight, the familiar paralyzing fear coursing through your body again. “Y/N!” Your name played through the radio. That’s not in the song, you thought. “Y/N!” Colson’s voice rang out again before the truck made contact with your car.

You woke up in a cold sweat to Colson standing over you, hands shaking your shoulders lightly. “Y/N.” He said, relieved when your eyes began to open.

Your entire body was shaking like a poodle and your arms subconsciously reached for Colson, hanging onto his shirt for dear life. “It was just a dream.” He whispered as your eyes darted around the room. “You’re okay.” He reassured you.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, hands leaving the fabric and moving to cover up your face. “I’m sorry.”

Colson sat on the bed next to you, legs hanging off the side as he stroked your face gently. “It’s okay, baby.” He turned to the nurse who opened the door, a worried expression on her face. He shook his head at her, “sorry, she just had a nightmare. She’s okay.” The nurse nodded but stayed in the room anyways, checking your vitals.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled again, the words seeming to be the only thing you could say.

Colson shook his head, “stop saying that, it’s okay.” You pouted at him, trying to scoot over so he would lay down next to you, but it was way too painful. “What are you doin?” He asked, a smile on his face.

You sighed, “wanted you to sit next to me but I can’t move because of this stupid leg.” You motioned to the leg in question.

Colson chuckled, “I can sit next to you in the chair.”

“That didn’t work last time.” You whined.

He looked at you with an expression that was both amused and confused. You were definitely still high on pain medication. “What didn’t work.”

“It didn’t stop the nightmare.” You frowned, hand reaching for his. He chuckled, standing up fully and looking at the nurse.

She flashed him an amused smile, “If you want, we can try to move her. I don’t know how much we can do without hurting her ribs, though.”

Colson nodded with a gracious smile, “hear that? We can’t move you because of your ribs.”

You glared at him, “I may be very high right now, but I’m not that high.” You said, making him giggle. “She said you could try.”

Colson let out an exasperated sigh, one arm going under your back and the other under your left leg. “Is this what it’s like taking care of me all the time?” He asked and you nodded your head firmly.

“Yep. Except I am much smaller than you, so you have less work to do with me.” You smiled as he lifted you off the bed, which quickly turned into a grimace. “Ow!” You yelped and Colson quickly set you down, slightly closer to the right side of the bed.

“Fuck, sorry princess. Are you okay?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip to block the whimpers of pain that threatened to escape your mouth. “You probably don’t remember, but one time you were so crossed that you called me to pick you up from a party. But you couldn’t make it out of the car, so I had to carry you into your house. And then you demanded to sleep in your own room, so you made me drag you up the stairs instead of passing out on the couch like normal.”

Colson let out a breathy chuckle, glad you weren’t hurt too much. He carefully sat onto the cot next to you, pulling up his right leg to sit on the bed. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him slightly. You shifted so that you were comfortable, left hand finding his own left hand and holding it. He brought his left leg up onto the bed so he was fully laying with you.

Your head rest on his chest, a soft smile on your face as his thumb rubbed circles on your hand. The nurse left, satisfied that you wouldn’t hurt yourself further. Colson pressed a small kiss to the top of your head, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What time is it?” You asked him, to which he responded by pulling out his phone and showing you the lock screen. 8:47am. You nodded, a frown on your face, “did you get any sleep?” You asked him softly.

“I’m fine, I was asleep for a few hours before you called me.”

You sighed, feeling guilty. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

You felt him shake his head from behind you, “I’m staying right here.”

Despite wanting to force him to go home, you couldn’t help the happiness you felt at his stubbornness to stay with you. “You know you don’t need to be here. I won’t be offended if you leave.”

He chuckled, “stop trying to get me to leave. I’m here. On my own accord, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

You paused, thinking about the word floating around your head. “Why?” you whispered.

Colson’s face scrunched in confusion, “what do you mean “why”? Because you’re my friend and I care about you.”

“I mean, yeah. But I’m not like a “drop everything” kind of friend, I’m just your assistant.” You muttered.

Colson made an “are-you-serious?” face and let out a snort. “Seriously? You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You mean the world to me, of course I’d drop everything for you.”

You couldn’t think of a response, his words making your heart race. “oh.” Was the best you could come up with.

“Y/N, seriously, you think way too low of yourself. You’re amazing.” He said, nose burying into your hair.

You shrugged, “you only say that because I take care of you when you’re drunk and help you do all the things you don’t want to do.”

Colson’s expression softened, a frown forming on his face. “I’m saying that because I think the world of you. You’re the kindest, funniest, coolest person I know. I meant it, when you told me you were in the hospital, my heart almost stopped. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about you being hurt.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I wish you could see how much you mean to me.” He mumbled.

You were quiet for a little while, processing what he had said. “You’re only saying that because I’m in the hospital.” You muttered, a frown on your face. You were trying to keep your hopes low, knowing once you were out of here, he would regret saying any of this.

“Y/N, are you being serious right now? I’m saying this because I’ve been fucking in love with you for the past year and a half.” He said and you could feel your breath catch in your throat. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

You bit your lip, turning to look up to him. “I just- I didn’t want- you wouldn’t.” You stumbled over your words, taking a deep breath, and starting again. “I didn’t want to read too much into it or get my hopes up. I figured you’d never be into someone like me so I just told myself you were being nice. I thought you only treated me well because I worked for you.” You mumbled.

He frowned, holding you tighter to him, “I am so, so into you. You are the only woman in my life who has ever stuck by me through my worst shit. Like even when I was a total jackass you stayed with me. How could I not fall in love with you?”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to spill at his sweet sentiment. You’d never had anyone say something that kind about you. You’d always assumed people only kept you around because you did stuff for them, but here was the man you were in love with telling you that he cared about you for you.

“I love you too.” You whispered, leaning your head further into his chest.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #colson imagine

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pixelwisp-archive · 3 years

Text

Itadakimasu!! | Part 3: Fly, Little Bird (Written Chapter)

word count: 1.2k

Tendou never thought himself to be a selfless person. He didn't really consider himself a selfish person either, necessarily, but he promised himself a long time ago that he wasn't going to set aside his own dreams for the comfort of someone else. His ambition always came first, and the endgame had always been Paris. He supposed, in a way, that had never changed - so why was there a familiar pool of guilt settling at the pit of his stomach?

The corner of his lips tugged downward at the slight, involuntary tremor that rippled through his hands - the ivory envelope with gold trim, 'La Maison du Chocolat' written in a delicate golden font across its center clutched in between them. You knew about Paris - about his dreams, his ambitions - and not once have you given him any reason to doubt that you would regard this news in any way other than with a painfully large grin and arms spread impossibly wide, pride radiating off you like a sunbeam. So why...guilty. Thoughts wandered to the pickle jar. The drunken nights on the balcony of your tiny apartment; stupid, cheesy French music playing on one of your phones as the two of you laughed and talked about what Paris would mean for the both of you. Tendou knew exactly what to say every time, but when the conversation trailed back to you, you would grin, sometimes laugh, but your answer was always the same - 'I'll figure it out when I get there. I don't really care as long as I'm with you'.

Ah. There it was.

Paris was his dream. Not yours.

'I'll follow you anywhere, Ten.’

Even if it wasn't what you wanted.

He was neither a selfless nor selfish person, but he knew you, and you were as selfless as they came. You would give up everything you’ve worked so hard for to follow him if he asked, completely setting aside your own whims to entertain his. Tendou shoved the envelope into his bag and hurried up the stairs to your apartment, trying desperately to will away the unwanted feeling that gnawed at him as he flashed you his usual Cheshire grin.

In 12 months, he would be leaving for Paris to begin a paid apprenticeship with one of the most famous Parisian Chocolate Boutiques, working directly under the famous Sculptor and Chocolatier Patrick Roger himself - and you would not be going with him.

There wasn’t any way to break that news to you now, not when you were still so unwilling to stand on your own. He knew he needed to nudge you out of the nest the two of you built, reminding you of your independence, and hopefully, the will to chase your own dreams. He grabbed the pickle jar from under the sink, took a little extra from his own savings, and began the search to find you a new nest, one with more room for you to finally learn to fly.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Your body twisted toward him at the news, eyes bulging out of your skull.

“I bought a new location. In Osaka! Trendy neighborhood, good lighting, pretty cheap actually-”

“When?! How?! With what-” your voice died in your throat as you picked yourself off the floor and scrambled to the kitchen. You ripped open the cabinet underneath the sink and fished around, a grunt of victory leaving you as you felt your fingers clasp around the familiar lid. Successfully retrieving the pickle jar from the depths of the cabinet, the faint glow of the kitchen light brought the full makeshift bank into view, and you couldn’t help but gawk when you saw its emptiness.

“Tendou, why...” Your voice trailed off as your brain began to flood with worry. What made him decide to just buy a new location without talking to you first? It’s not like you would have said no. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of betrayal at the notion that he didn’t value your opinion as a business partner. Feet pattered against the linoleum as he rushed to stand in front of you, and your lifted your eyes to lock onto his own. The usual mirth that accompanied his features was ever present, but you knew him well enough to see the tiny sheen of something else that rippled over his features. Guilt?

“Paradis, it’s nothing against you, I promise. I just...I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained, crouching down so he could maintain an even eye level with you. “I forgot you’re not a huge fan of them.” Your lack of response was probably beginning to gnaw at him, you thought, but whenever you tried to come up with something to say, it fizzled before it could reach your tongue.

“I saw your notebook, Y/n,” he mumbled. “You have so many plans for Paradis, and they’re all amazing! This new place has all the room to make your ideas on the page come to life. You could have a dining area, expand the menu, try new crazy things - this location can be your passion project; your baby.”

Spontaneity wasn’t a new trait for Tendou. There were days where he would come home, tell you to collect your things, and wisk you away on a road trip for two days with no destination in mind, no other notice except a quick text to the team to take care of the shop while you two were away. Generally, you didn’t mind his antics, but this seemed next level, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that it came with ulterior motives.

Something else nagged at the back of your mind too - if you were going to Osaka, was Tendou coming with you? Was he staying here? What about the apartment? There’s no way he can keep it up himself. How did he get the money for a location in Osaka of all places-

Your brain shut down the moment Tendou’s finger poked in between your eyebrows.

“Paradis, you’re gonna get wrinkles. I already took care of everything, so ask me whatever you wanna know.” You sat on his words for a moment, rifling through the growing number of questions to deem which one most important.

“Are you coming with me?” His silence was loud enough to answer for him, and you looked down. You haven’t done any of this on your own before. You’ve always had someone’s arm held out to you to hang onto whenever life tried to rear its ugly head and swallow you.

“I won’t be able to do it all myself, Ten.” Tendou frowned. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/n. You can always call me if you end up stuck. Also,” he pulled out his phone as if to confirm his next words. “Kuguri has been wanting to move out of Tokyo for a fat minute now. He said he’s totally down to go with you.”

The news of Kuguri accompanying you lifted a huge amount of pressure off you. At least you weren’t going up there alone. Your thoughts drifted to the potential Osaka had just granted you; A new opportunity, a blank slate for your ideas to come to life. You could finally try things you’ve always wanted to with this new location. The worry that plagued you began to dissipate, excitement taking over as you brought your eyes to meet Tendou’s once more.

“When are we supposed to leave?” Tendou grins, and places his hand over the one you had resting on top of the pickle jar.

“Three weeks.”

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Fun facts -

I promise this is an Osamu x reader lmao just give it time

For Tendou’s apprenticeship, I combined two popular Parisian Chocolate companies: Patrick Roger, who’s style just seems so Avant Garde and very Tendou energy, and decided to make him the head of the popular chocolate boutique La Maison du Chocolat, solely because I thought the name was very ~French~ and ~Fancy~ lol.

I know nothing of Chocolate or France tbh - I got my info from this Vogue Article that you can read here.

A/N: So sorry for the wait with Chapter three!! I was kind of struggling with which route would best keep the plot rolling the way I want it to. I hope you guys don’t mind that this chapter is entirely written, next chapter will def have more social media caps! As always, thank you so much for reading, feel free to shoot me an ask and engage or ask to be added to the Taglist!!

ps: This wasn’t beta read so pls ignore the bad bits lmaofnjkasndfaksj

Taglist -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros @halesandy

I heard you guys aren’t getting tagged with updates and I’m p sure its because I’m st00pid so if this doesn’t work I’ll reblog and tag again! Sorry if you guys get notified multiple times lmao

#Itadakimasu!!#osamu smau #haikyuu smau #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya smau #hq!! smau

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goblinmanifesto · 3 years

Text

Ive already accidentally deleted this once so fucking kill me (I forgot to save it).

⚠️TW FOR ANXIETY, TOURETTES, SLIGHT SELF HARM⚠️

But this is my post for @doinmybesthere Mental Health Awareness May collab! I will be doing Bokuto Koutarou. To explain a bit, to cope with bullshit that is life, I accidentally made myself a coping mechanism that I loving refer to as the ‘Klaus Hargreeves‘ (if you know anything about that character, you already know where my mental state is) because I can’t remember what my therapist said the actual name for it was. To put it simply, it’s like overactive day dreaming. I act out and create scenarios in my head to comfort myself, most of the time using characters or real people as an enabler for the comfort I wish to gain. Side effects being; if caught, considered crazy, sometimes don’t realize I’m doing it which can lead to awkward situations, sometimes I fuck up what’s real and what’s not. So, in these little stories, I will be retelling scenarios I have created through this coping mechanism that relate to both Bokuto and my mental problems! Each will be labeled with what they deal with so you can skip the one that might trigger you. Enjoy and happy reading! (I WILL ALSO BE MENTIONING AND USING STIMMING) ((I will probably use this to make other fics like this in the future mentioning my other ~stuff~ but in the meantime this is all I want to do so enjoy!))

⚠️LAST TW⚠️

1. ~Anxiety, Self harm, Mentions of Stimming~ He should’ve been home an hour ago! I was pacing in the living room, shaking hands holding my phone. It was 7:13 and Koutarou was supposed to be home at 6:00. I was spiraling and I could feel it, but I didn't know what to do about it. Id sent him text after text, but he was yet to respond. I glanced at my cell, only stopping my frantic shuffling to focus my attention on reading the screen;

Hey, is practice running late? [6:11] When do you think you’ll be home? [6:15] Are you there? [6:19] Koutarou??????? [6:23] Kou pick up your damn phone! [6:27] Did something happen???!! [6:34] Is everything okay?! [6:39] Are you mad or something??? [6:47] Bokuto Koutarou I’m dead serious where are you?!?!?! [6:53] Bo-ku-to!!!! [6:59] Koutarou it’s been hour please text me [7:07] Koutarou!!! [7:12] -Unread-

My eyes scanned the messages again, not leaving the blue screen until until my shin collided with the side of the coffee table. I hadn’t even realized I had started pacing again. I checked the texts I had sent to Akaashi as well, since I knew he was at that practice too, but I hadn’t gotten any responses from him either. Slipping my phone screen up onto the table I continued my pacing, not even processing when my finger nails found their way under my teeth, and how when they left my mouth to scratch at my neck or claw at my shirt, my teeth resorted to gnawing at my lip instead, tearing up the thin skin. All habits I was trying to kill but didn’t have enough brain power to focus on not doing them. My eyes constantly searched the driveway for the headlights of any car, any car at all, but they always came up with nothing. It was 7:24 when my phone struck with the sound of text, the bing of anticipation sent me diving for, and consequently almost dropping, my phone in an attempt to find out if it was Koutarou. It was!

-Read-

Im so sorry!! Yes practice did end up running late! But something else happened and I

wasn’t able to text you! I’m not mad about

anything I promise!! What happened is also

minor and nothing to worry about and I’ll explain when I get home in about ten

[7:21] minutes!! I’m so sorry!! -Read-

I sighed, relieved, the weight on my chest and in my head dissolved and I felt like I could finally breathe again. Though, as I came down from my anxiety rush, I became aware of a lot of things all at once. The first was a good deal of pain. From knocking my leg into a table and pacing for over an hour, to bitten lips and nails, and my scraped neck. I groaned, I need to get a better handle on this.

But that wasnt important. Koutarou was okay and on his way home! I waited at the window, feeling a bit like a dog waiting on its owner (that was a kink joke yes), and leaped to the front door when I saw his car in the driveway. Throwing open the door, I pulled him inside the second I could get my hands on him and pulled him through the doorway. The moment he was inside, I shoved myself into his arms in a tight hug, so glad he was okay. He returned the hug and held me tightly, I let out a shuddering breathe and he let out comforting sounds I sometimes use to stim. “Hey, hey, hey, I’m so sorry to have you worry, it was about Akaashi! We were running extra practice with a handful of the other guys and I literally had half a text to you written out when he a spike to the face! I was the only one left with a car so I drove him to hospital! I’m so sorry you are so worried you sent like 15 texts! I’m so-“ I cut him short with a hand over his mouth since that was one of the only ways to get him to stop talking. “Kou, it’s okay, I understand, it just really scared me ‘is all-“ he pried my hand off his face but held it in his own.

”I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize for it, whether I was in complete control of the situation or not! Which I was not, by the way, no control what-so-fucking-ever, I had four other guys in the car and one of them was bleeding and concussed, it was chaos!!” His eyes were wide and he went off on the stress of the situation and, for a moment, I forgot that it was 7:26 at night on a Thursday and I had a biology test in the morning, and that Koutarou just got home and I hadn’t even eaten yet and all the other things that werent right in the world. Everything was fine in that moment. But that ended when Koutarou took a good hard look at me. The redness and scratch marks on my neck, the bitten to bleeding finger nails, the small bruise forming on my shin, my blotchy face and my probably-way-too-red lips. He stopped dead in his words and I felt my eyebrows scrunch up.

“Whats wrong?-“

“You did the things again didn’t you?!” He sounded distressed and his broad shoulders sunk. Koutarous hands rubbed my shoulders as he stared into my eyes with the most concerned look I’d ever seen. He pulled me back to his chest again and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

7:46, Koutarou insisted on taking care of my ‘injuries’ since he was who I was having anxiety over anyway. I protested a little, but gave up when he gave me the baby-owl eyes.

First, he had wrapped bandaids on my fingers. Thankfully, they were black, and I made a comment on it was like a 2-second manicure just to hear him chuckle.

Then, Kou applied a moisturizer to my neck. “Kou, I can do this myself-“

”Nope! I insist!”

”I’m not a child-“

”Don’t care, I’m doing it so just shush up and let me do what I need to do!”

Next, he made me apply ice to my bruise even though it was tiny and caused by a damn two-foot-tall coffee table.

Lastly, he gave me chapstick. Again, wouldn’t let me do it myself, so I made several sarcastic remarks to make him blush, all working quite well. Koutarou had to tell me to stop giggling multiple times so I could stay still.

”Alright, are you done playing nurse?”

”Forgive me for wanting to take care of you!!” He stuck his tongue out at me with an audible “bleh!” and I cackled.

”You are forgiven, Nurse Bokuto.”

2. ~Tourette’s, Stimming~ My neck painfully popped when it jerked to the left, my tics had been bad all day and I no clue why. Could be exams, or the fucking toaster for all I knew. I hissed, rubbing at my neck and adjusting the water can I almost dropped, trying to continue about my Saturday.

It was obnoxious, really, having to me-proof everything around in case I end up kicking it, dropping it, or hitting it. My joints constantly cracking and snapping and jolting in the strangest ways at any given moment. Sometimes repeating what people say back at them in perfect mirror-like fashion. Though that last one can be kind of funny.

Clicking my toungue to make nice noises to try and stim the tic away, I returned back to my plants. I could feel them chuckling at me and, in that moment, I understood everything about Crowley from ‘Good Omens’.

I heard the door unlock in the other room and I put my can down as a precaution and peeked out of the doorway.

A moment later, Koutarou popped through the door after his morning jog. He called out; “Hey, hey, hey!” as a greeting.

I felt my hands go up behind my head and I thought Oh gods dammit, and then my jaw jutted forward in a very unattractive way and I repeated his phrase in the same manner as him, then immediately dropped, as my body decreed.

I groaned, looking up at him, who looked slightly bewildered at my little madness ritual. His hair laid flat on his head, he had chosen not to mess with it this morning, much to my delight, his amber eyes a little wide and his eyebrows raised. He was barely even in the house yet.

We just kind of stared at each other for a hot second before I awkwardly waved ‘hello’ and cracked a weird grin. He grinned back, his more pleasant than mine. Walking over, he opened his arms for a hug, and I accepted, since he wasn’t all that sweaty this time around, and it was the least I could do since he had to witness that.

Koutarou planted a kiss on the top of my head, cheering “Good morning!”

I muttered a response into his shirt.

“One of those days, huh?” I nodded.

“Coffee? I think we have muffins in the cabinet?” I nodded again and he lead me into the kitchen to set up some breakfast. It was 9:00 am on a Saturday after all. A weird Saturday, but watching Koutarou finagle through the cabinets, it couldn’t be that bad.

That is all for now! Have a wonderful day and I am going to sleep for three years see y’all (edited: June 18 2021, because I can’t spell)

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earphonekiyouka · 4 years

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Milk Bread

Summary: You are the older sister of Tobio Kageyama, who happens to study at Aoba Johsai Highschool. You and your brother get along well with the shared love for volleyball, but what happens when his arch enemy is your boyfriend.

Pt: 1 2 3 4&5

The weekday's passed by in a blur, the only thing you were focused on for the rest of the week was that your date with Tooru was at the weekend. Akari and Ichika wanted to do a group study for their English assignment so you agreed to help them on Friday night at your home.

"Tobio I'm having my friend's over, stay away from my room!" Tobio rolled his eyes as he nodded and went to his room, you never knew what secret your friends would spill if they found your brother at your room and they were always so loud everywhere they go. "There are some snacks in the kitchen if you want any" He says before he retreats back to his room "Thanks Tobio you're the best!" you shout at him before you hear your doorbell ring, you run downstairs to open the door as you finally see Akari and Ichika.

"There's the smart one in our group, I hope you're ready to teach two bird brain this afternoon"

"What would you guys do without me?"

"I don't know we'll probably fail and take extra classes without you" You sighed as you lead them to your room after they greeted your mom who also said hi. After you got settled down at your room, you started tutoring both of them about the homework that you all had. They learn quickly due to you explaining it well for them to understand in a pinch.

Some time has passed as you finally finished the homework that you were given, so now you were just chatting about random stuff about school, volleyball, or any other hobbies that the three of loved doing.

"Hey, (Y/N)-chan how is your relationship with Oikawa-kun?" Akari asked as Ichika also bounced at the sudden topic brought up. "Oh yeah! aren't you two going out this weekend?" Ichiko said a little bit too loudly which made you cover her mouth before your brother hears. You were afraid this would happen, they always had big mouths when it comes to talking about relationships. "Shh! Bigmouth much? I hadn't told anyone in my family about Tooru!"

"Ooo First name basis with your senior?"

"Look! his name on her phone is 'My Love'!" Akari was looking at the screen of your phone which had a message notification from Tooru. You ran to snatch your phone so they couldn't see but unfortunately, they were teaming up to get your phone. Luckily a knock on your door had distracted them enough to let go of off you. "Girls, dinner's ready! (Y/N), tell them to eat before they leave" The three of you immediately bolted to the kitchen where there was a lot of food prepared for everyone.

"You have a lovely mother (Y/N)-chan, I'll be eating good tonight!" Just then Tobio came down the stairs with his phone in hand. "Oh, Onēsan how was the tutoring," Tobio asks as he put his phone back in his pocket. "Hey! you're that setter everyone talks about in middle school! (Y/N)-chan you didn't tell us he was your brother!"

"Literally what are you talking about didn't you at least look at his last name" You loved your friends to death but sometimes they could be so forgetful you didn't know how they even pass some of their tests. "He was always referred to as 'King of the Court'! How was I supposed to know!"

"I don't know Ichika maybe if you took the time to look at his last name you would've seen 'Kageyama' there" Tobio ignored the banter between you and your friends as he sat down at the table followed by the three of you. "Did you finish your homework yet, Tobio?" He froze at the question you asked him with a raised brow, it wasn't that he wasn't smart it's just that he devoted most of his time on volleyball. "What did I tell you about balancing volleyball and your school works? If you don't keep your grades up you can get kicked off the team you know" Tobio looked away as he murmured an 'I'll do it later'

"Speaking of volleyball" Akari spoke up after she shoved food in her mouth and gave a pleasing hum. "Do you know about Oika-" You quickly covered her mouth as you shoved an onigiri in her face to avoid her from talking.

"What was that hun?" Your mom asked Akari but you glared at her as she playfully pouted and looked down.

"Don't worry about her mom, she was probably just talking about... Our homework!" You struggled to make an excuse so you blurted out a horrible alibi, you see Ichika laughing at the corner of your eye as she tried to cover her mouth. "Onēsan it's not nice to shove food in peoples mouth" In all honesty, Tobio wanted to know what Akari was about to say because it'd looked like something you didn't want your family to know and he'd grown curious about the person you were talking too at the phone late at night.

"Just drop it Tobio continue eating your vegetables," You said rather harshly he quickly shut his mouth as he can see that the topic was making you uncomfortable.

After you all finished eating Akari and Ichika announced that they should go home, you walked them to the front of your house as you chatted about the upcoming practice match next week. "Well you should practice those spikes for Tuesday we wouldn't wanna lose to them now would we?"

"Of course not, now shoo I don't want your parents to worry about any of you" you hugged both of them as they started to walk further and further from your house.

You went back inside straight to your room just as you got a message from Tooru.

That night you and Tooru talked about what you would be doing during your date aside from eating at the cafe, you suggested playing volleyball at the court in the park in which he agreed. Even though it was no fancy dinner or an expensive breakfast, simple dates with Tooru would always be your happiest moments with him. Sometimes you would even teach each other tricks about volleyball or tips on how to improve on different aspects of volleyball.

~~~

It was finally the weekend and you were so excited that you immediately jumped from the bed at 11 am and took a shower, you ate a decent breakfast and chose an outfit that would be fashionable but still be suitable for playing volleyball. After all that you looked at the clock which read 12:55 AM and started to put the necessary items in your bag, you figured Tooru would be the one to bring the ball so you didn't bother getting yours.

"Where are you going?" You look behind you and see your younger brother with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "Well as far as I'm concerned you don't need to know that, but being the nice older sister I am I'll tell you that I'm going out with Akari and Ichika"

"But you just hang out with them yesterday!"

You sighed as you let go of the doorknob that would lead you outside your house and turned to face Tobio, "Look I know you worry about me a lot but I'll be fine plus we Kageyama's are strong aren't we? So stop worrying, I'll be back at 6-ish" You hugged your brother as he also returned the gesture, once that was settled with you opened the door and left the house. The cafe was kinda far since it was near your school rather than your house so you took your bike to reach your destination faster.

Once you got there you put your bike on the area designated for it then you walked inside the cafe, you look at your phone's watch as it read 1:05 pm. Which was kind of the definition for '1-ish'

"You looking for me cutie?" You turned around and saw Tooru with a bouquet of flowers in hand. You quickly wrapped your arms around him as you enveloped him in a tight hug. "Missed me already? we just saw each other yesterday" He snickered as he also wrapped you up in his arms. "Shut up you know that's different, we actually get a weekend all for ourselves!" You let him go as he gave you the bouquet which was filled with roses, you always received a single flower or two on weekdays when you're in school but it was never as big as this.

"You really outdid yourself with the flowers today"

"Only the best for you cutie, now should we take a seat people are starting to stare" You looked around as you indeed saw that people are starting to stare, your cheeks flushed as you found a table and sat down with a smile. "I already got the Milk Bread, and I ordered you a coffee just before I saw you walk in" He always knew what you wanted and it was little things like remembering your pet peeves or remembering how you loved the color of your volleyball uniform that would immediately be locked in his memory. "Just what I needed"

After eating at the cafe the two of you walked to the nearby park that was surprisingly not filled with a lot of people, which meant you had the volleyball court all to yourself. "So how's your ankle?"

"Well doesn't hurt as much as it did but I should probably just do sets and not move around too much after I stretch" You nodded as you watch him take off his Turquoise volleyball jacket. "Maybe I'm better at you in serving now that I have an advantage" You stuck your tongue out at him as he squishes your face with both his hands. "Even if you are it's because of those tips I taught you"

"Hey! I work very hard to improve my skills in volleyball, Thank you very much!" You remove his hands that were at your face and grabbed the ball that was at his foot.

The day went on as usual as you both practiced volleyball but you advised Tooru to take more breaks than usual, at the end of the day as you saw that the sun was about to set you and him decided to just sit at the bench in the park.

You laid your head against his shoulder as you watched the sunset, you took in every detail about the moment so it could be engraved in your memory forever. At that moment you have never loved Oikawa Tooru as much as you did now.

"Hey Tooru"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, will you be my boyfriend?"

He looked at you for a few seconds before bursting out in laughter.

"Danm it (Y/N)-chan, that was supposed to be me asking you to be my girlfriend"

"So is that a yes?

"Umm let me think~"

"Tooru.."

"I'm just kidding of course I'll be your boyfriend" He stared at your eyes and cupped your cheeks as he closed the gap between your lips, it was sweet, tender and made your heart melt. Yes, it truly was the happiest day of your life.

"Now let's take a pic, (Y/N)-chan, I wouldn't want to waste the moment" He took out his phone as put his arms around you and smiled brightly at the camera before he snapped the picture you kissed his cheeks just as the flash met your faces.

Taglist: @aegeanblues

#oikawa imagine #oikawa scenarios #oikawa toru x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x y/n #haikyū!!#haikyu fanfiction #haikyu fluff #haikyu scenarios #oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa

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timelordvictoiouspartyof1 · 3 years

Text

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 1

Let’s see if we can make all 12 submissions before Dec. 25.

Summary: Christmas Fluff. A little sad.

Words: 1400 ish

Warnings: none really. very little mentions of feelings prior to depression/anxiety

Pairing: Remus x Sirius (Characters from the love @lumosinlove‘s Sweater Weather)

Finding a Love Language

December 22

Remus was in the kitchen humming while making coffee when Sirius walked in a few mornings before Christmas. Sirius watched un-interrupting, still not believing this was his life. It was their first Christmas together and Remus had insisted on no expensive gifts. Sirius begrudgingly agreed only because he didn’t want Remus to feel bad. He wanted to give Remus the world no matter what it cost but to save his love’s pride he conceded to the request.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Remus put a cup of coffee in his hand and kissed his temple. “You’re up early, bird.” He started humming again as he walked past to the fridge.

Bird? Sirius thought, That’s new. He ran his free hand through his hair and looked into his cup at the caramel colored liquid. Perfect mixture, just like him and Remus.

December 23

They had been on the ice all day. Even though it was holiday, Sirius didn’t like to take too long a break. He didn’t want to get slow and soft. Sirius walked into their bedroom. He sighed, their bedroom. He still couldn’t believe it sometimes. Remus was humming again.

The sound of humming made him freeze as he walked past the bathroom door. Remus was in the shower. Sirius took a step back and peered in. He didn’t know the song but Sirius knew it had been stuck in Remus’ head at least a week. Maybe he could figure it out and buy the vinyl or at least the digital copy or something for Remus for Christmas. He still wasn’t happy with the gifts he had purchased for the man he loved. It wasn’t enough, he thought.

“You just gonna stand there like a pervert watching me or are you going to come in and join me?” Remus laughed as he spoke.

“I don’t know.” Sirius replied with a grin. “Are perverts your thing? I’m still trying to impress you at this point so anything goes.” As he shagged his joggers off and climbed into the shower too.

December 24

Sirius wasn’t worried. There was nothing to be worried about. Remus would be happy with nothing, as he had stated. Just being with Sirius was enough, that’s what he had said. So, Sirius definitely, in no uncertain terms, was not worried.

Okay, he was worried. It wasn’t enough. Why hadn’t Remus just let him get him a what he wanted to get, a new car. He deserved it. He knew better than to think any material thing would be the breaking point but his past was dark passenger. Creeping up on him when he least expected it. Telling him lies and trying to convince him of things that his logical brain knew could never be true.

He stood in the kitchen in his charcoal Armani suit, consumed in thought. His scarf in hand waiting to leave for the Dumas’. He knew Remus was making his way downstairs as the humming and da da’ing got louder until it abruptly stopped when he saw Sirius. Remus swallowed hard.

“That’s not fair.” He stopped dead in his tracks and looked into Sirius’ eyes.

Sirius smiled tentatively. Was he mad at him? He tried to hide his concerns with a smile. He followed Remus’s eyes and looked down his own body. “What?” he shook his head and said softly.

“You look too damn good to take me out the house and make me wait to have my way with you.” Remus bit his lower lip and blinked as he looked away. “Well, hurry up. The quicker we get there the quicker we can get back.”

He started to walk towards the door before he noticed Sirius wasn’t behind him. He turned back to see Sirius still in the kitchen binding his hands with his scarf as he pulled it through his fists. He crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him. Remus cupped his face with both hands and made he look up into his eyes. This was their ritual when the darkness tried to take Sirius over. Remus knew the signs too well already. “I was joking my love. I can have my way with you before we leave if that’s what you want.” He gave a small smile and Sirius choked out a sad laugh.

He pressed their forehead together and closed his eyes. “It’s not enough,” Sirius barely whispered.

“What?” Remus was so confused. “What’s not enough.”

Sirius grabbed onto Remus’ wrists and pulled them away from his face and held them to his chest. “What I got you for Christmas. It’s not enough.” He closed his eyes and started speaking quicker and quicker as if make it all go away as fast as possible. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to do or to give or to not do. I’ve never had to give a present before. I mean, I have, but not when it counted. Not when it really needed to mean something. To mean everything……” He faded off.

Remus pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I am so sorry baby. I had no idea you were this stressed. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He pulled him into his chest and Sirius collapsed into him, letting himself be held. Somehow managing to make himself so small.

“I’m sorry. I wanted this Christmas to be everything for you. For me. You have the most amazing Christmas stories and I just wanted to be a part of that.” He stood up tall again. “I’m done. I’m ok. Forgive me.” He said stoically. “Let’s go, let’s have an amazing night with our friends.”

Sirius was a pro at turning his emotions off and getting back on track. I like a light switch. It broke Remus’ heart every time he did this. Reminding him just how many times had he had to do this in his past. He wasn’t going to make him carry on the whole night pretending. He was going to fix this. And fix it over and over again. He had promised him from the very beginning that he would kiss away every dark feeling.

“Let me give you your present now.” He held three fingers gently to Sirius’ lips before he could protest. “Please.”

Sirius nodded his head slightly.

Remus’s smile was bright. “Go sit of the couch. I’ll be right in there.”

Sirius was on the couch when Remus walked in with a guitar. His guitar. That couldn’t be his present. That would be great! He wouldn’t feel bad at all if Remus was only giving his something he already owned. But he knew better.

Remus sat across from him on the coffee table and set the guitar right in his arms. “Now, no laughing. I know I don’t sign nearly as well as you, or play. But I wanted to give you something to hold onto. You’re amazing. One day I hope you see all the things I see. It was always there, but this year………This year I think you’re finally starting to see it for yourself. And I’ve, I’ve never given a song to anyone before. And I know it’s kind of rom-com cheesy but.” He sighed, trying to relieve some nerves. “But, I just wanted you to know how proud of you I am. So, without further ado.” He strummed the first note and started to sing.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes and learn to see All your life You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of a dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise You were only waiting for this moment to arise You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Sirius did move, maybe even couldn’t move. Why had he ever been worried? He swallowed the lump in his throat. Finally, Sirius sunk to his knees on the floor directly in front of Remus. Removing the guitar, he grabbed fists of Remus’s jacket and pulled him down and crashed their lips together. Slowly pulling Remus off the table to straddle him. “Merry Christmas, my love” Remus barely got out between wet kisses.

#remus x sirius #sirius x remus #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #wolfstar #its just queue and me baby

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years

Note

ooh also 4 for Bri and Reid because I love them

Friends! Romans! Countrymen! ARE YOU READY for some good shit?!?! I say this because this is my very first time writing Reid/Bri! I mean, they’ve been in the background a few times in drama club stuff, but I’ve never actually gotten to focus on them. Toby enables me, because xe loves me.

“Who’s Bri?” Reid’s girlfriend!

In today’s episode of prompts, you will get a glimpse into Reid’s post-graduation life! If you want to read more about what’s in store for him after Kiersey, you can check out this post. And even this one, too, if you’d like.

Here, you’ll see a Reid two years removed from graduation and a little down on his luck. You also finally get to see inside his brain. *Slaps hood of Reid Burke* This bad boy can fit so much mental illness in him.

From this list of sappy prompts, which I am still accepting and filling as we speak!

4. “Shut up and kiss me.”

two years after (reid's) graduation | may

Reid considers himself spectacularly efficient when it comes to fucking things up.

He knows this. Has always known it. He figures it’s a good thing to be self-aware, at least. He’s probably one of the more self-aware human beings to ever have a conscience, come to think of it, given the amount of time he spends policing his own every action. But still. There has to be some benefit in being so well aware of your own flaws that you can constantly predict your fuck-ups before they even happen. It’s like damage control when the damage hasn’t even set in.

Anyway. Reid knows he’s good at fucking up. But if there’s one thing he would really prefer not to fuck up, it’s Bri’s birthday.

Easier said than done.

When midnight strikes on the day she’s turning 24, he’s not even home, which is the first reason he feels guilty and useless. He’s at work, apron around his waist, tie done up too tight, sneaking glances at the clock across the room in between customers and refills. He wishes he had his phone on him, as the minute hand lines up with the second hand at the 12. He could at least text her. He could make up for the fact that he’s not there in person, to ring in the first moments of the day. But his phone is in the back, in his locker, because this is the best-paying place he works at, and he doesn’t want to risk his employment by getting caught with a phone by his manager. Or worse, a nosy customer, who will subsequently rat him out to his manager, and, well— yeah. Not to mention the fact that it’s usually so fast-paced in the bar that there’s no time to check your phone anyway.

The point is. He wishes he could text Bri. But he can’t. It’s probably for the best. She’s probably not even awake. It would actually be bad if she were awake. A healthy sleep schedule is something she deserves.

Actually, she deserves a lot. The entire world. A lot more than Reid has ever been able to give her, and there isn’t a day that goes by when his brain fails to remind him of that particular fuckup in his life thus far. But tonight, he shouldn’t think in huge terms. Tonight, he should just worry about her birthday.

Man, he wishes he were home in bed.

The strike of midnight, although it provides something to focus on, isn’t even the sign of his shift nearing an end, because the bar doesn’t close until 2:30, and the latter two and a half hours of work wind up passing by even more slowly than the beginning of his shift did. When he finally sees his last customer out, after last call, and he’s the only lonely, lingering person in the place— then, the end is in sight. He has closing chores ahead of him, but at least he doesn’t have to wait around to go home anymore.

It’s nothing that out of the ordinary, really, to be working this late. Between three jobs and sneaking in open mic nights between them any chance he can, he can’t remember the last time he had a night entirely off. Or a day, honestly, and tomorrow— or today, since it’s past midnight— isn’t any exception. He has the lunch shift at the street diner he works at, and the jury’s still out as to whether he’s going to bag his shift at the second bar he works at tomorrow night.

All of this is to say: he’s working a lot. Which is fine. Work means money, which means staying alive, especially with the New York cost of living he’s gotten used to since they moved here after graduation. It’s a necessary part of life. He just wishes life could stop, for one day, so he could do this right. So he could at least give her something, to make up for all the areas in life where he’s lacking. Where he’s an extremely underwhelming excuse for a future husband.

And, look— he did actually get her a present, so that’s not the issue here. It’s more the lack of time. It’s more the overwhelming sense that, despite her stability, despite the fact that she’s stuck with him for six years, he doesn’t deserve this patience, and that one day she might finally come to her senses and decide that she doesn’t feel like waiting around while he slums it in New York and tries to make it big, that she wants, like, a normal life, with a partner who makes a salary and a house or at least an apartment with more than one room and, like, basic predictability and success—

Ugh.

For now, for this very early morning, he won’t think about all of that, no matter how much it rings in his ears as he cleans up and closes the bar. For now, he just wants to make sure Bri has the most perfect morning possible. And to do that, he has a checklist.

Step one: finish work. He considers that done as he locks the front door of the bar, and steps out onto the street. It’s kind of breezy but not exactly cold out, since Bri’s birthday marks the last day of May, and summer is pretty much here. It’s not really busy outside on the street, but he’s not the only one out, either. Rule number one of New York City: you are literally never the only person out and about, no matter what time of day it is.

Step two: the bodega. It’s on his walk, open twenty-four hours, and he stops there so often at weird hours of the night after work shifts that he’s established a rapport with the cashier who works the red-eye shift. “Eyyyyyy,” he sings, as he swings through the door into the small, artificially lit space. “What’s up, Charlie? You working hard, or hardly working?”

Actually, it’s not so much a rapport. It’s more that he’s constantly the loudest customer who graces this place between the hours of midnight and four in the morning, and Charlie probably hates him, but still tolerates his presence. So.

He needs flour, half a dozen eggs, a tied-up bunch of yellow and white flowers, and rainbow sprinkles. He also slides three Red Bull onto Charlie’s till, and then grins across the counter to remark, “The necessities.”

Charlie grunts or maybe chuckles, and scans his stuff. “Right.”

Step three: get home and get to work.

It’s, like, six minutes on foot from work to the bodega, and then four more to the subway stop, and then the subway is a whole host of issues that land him back at the apartment building around 3:30 in the morning. Bri’s alarm goes off at 6:30 for work, and he figures he can intercept her for a proper birthday breakfast before she goes to the gallery. Given that he kills one of the Red Bull from the bodega while he’s in transit to get home, he is at least ninety percent confident that there’s no point in not pulling an all-nighter.

It’s fine. He’s not even tired. He has stuff to do, anyway.

The apartment is dark when he gets in, and he tries to make the smallest amount of noise, which, when you think about it, is kind of pointless because it’s only one room and any noise he makes could count as a disturbance, but— but— Bri isn’t a light enough sleeper to wake up at that kind of stuff. A fact he is grateful for. So he puts the bag of groceries down, gently, on the counter, and turns the light on over the sink while he loosens his tie. Or more like yanks it off. The uniform at that job is seriously not his style, but you take what you can get.

Across the room, where their bed is tucked up into the corner, Bri is asleep. Thank Christ. He would be concerned if she weren’t. While he gets out of his work clothes, he looks at her in bed— she’s peaceful, and looks comfortable, and he kind of wants for a second to just crawl into bed with her, but if he does that, he’ll never get anything done in time, and she’ll wake up to a normal old morning. With nothing special. On her birthday.

She doesn’t deserve that.

When he’s finished changing, it’s 3:41 Apple time. The morning is young. He sneaks a kiss to the top of her head and pulls the covers a little higher over her shoulders, then slides across the room in his socks, back to the kitchen side of the apartment.

Sure, he’s great at fuck-ups. But he’s not going to let this one be a bust.

It’s a quick three hours.

He blames executive dysfunction. Time passes too quickly when he’s on a crunch, literally every time. He starts with her card, which he bought a few days ago— writes it out, seals it into its envelope, and weighs it down with the corner of one of her vases, which he fills with water and puts the flowers in. It’s glass-blown, psychedelic colors; she made it in the glass studio junior year at Kiersey, and it followed them to New York.

With that done, he gets all his ingredients out for breakfast. He can’t start cooking at 4 in the morning, but he can get ready— a bowl out on the counter, their one good frying pan on the griddle, dry ingredients for pancakes measured out. He’s not the most versatile cook in the world, but he makes a mean Kraft Dinner, and this, too, he can do— birthday cake pancakes. With sprinkles. It’s Bri’s favorite breakfast.

He doesn’t know how it winds up being 6:30. He loses time, doing all of this and also nothing at all. He’s two and a half Red Bull deep, mixing up the actual pancake batter, when Bri’s alarm tone across the room pulls him out of his haze.

“Shit,” he hisses, and nearly knocks over his frying pan. It’s 6:30 already? The kitchen is a mess, and he’s been stuck in the distractible part of his brain for the better half of the past two hours, and now he looks like he’s made a huge mess, and—

The alarm stops going off, and he hears the mattress shift. He’s rinsing off the questionable spatula he’s been using to mix the batter in the sink when he hears her voice. “Babe?”

“Hey— hey, good morning.” He turns, and puts his back to the counter, like it’ll hide the actual disaster he’s created. “Happy birthday,” he adds. “Did you sleep okay?”

Bri is sitting up halfway in bed, and she doesn’t answer his question. “What are—” She yawns, and holds a hand to her mouth, which is really fucking cute, the way her eyes get all wrinkled up like this, and he just— loves her, and wishes he weren’t so useless, wishes he could give her the world. When she finishes her sentence, her voice is raspy. That’s cute, too. “What’re you doing over there?”

“I’m, uh.” And busted. He might as well own up to the mess. “Well, I realize now that it looks like a bomb went off in here, but don’t worry; I’ll fix it. I was just— well, breakfast. I’m making breakfast. But it’s not ready yet. It will be. Promise.” He lets all his breath out at once, then tries a grin. “But did you? Sleep okay?”

Again, she doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she swings her legs off the side of the bed, and gets up to walk across the room. He meets her halfway, as she’s combing back her hair, a blonde, wavy, bedhead-y and beautiful mess. She’s in pajama shorts and a tank top, and he may be sleep-deprived and totally useless, but he is the luckiest guy on this planet. “How long’ve you been up?” she asks.

He rests his hands, gently, on her waist, and looks down to meet her eyes, which are hazy with sleep but always so fucking pretty. “I… don’t know if you would love the answer to that question,” he replies, because she’d see right through him even if he wanted to lie about it.

She smiles, but it’s a sympathetic expression, like she can see the Red Bull coursing through his veins or some shit like that. “Answer anyway.”

“Um.” Okay, busted. For real this time. While she hooks her arms around his neck, he tries to gather an explanation. “Okay, so I may not have slept, but hear me out, okay? I wanted to make sure I had stuff in a row so that when you woke up, it’d all be good for you, since I know we kinda have, like, a limited window here, and I didn’t want you to just have to eat, like, peanut butter toast on your birthday, right? Like, that would suck, and also, I was already up because of work, and I had stuff to do anyway, so basically, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t sleep at all, but on the bright side, there is pancake batter ready for you, and I promise I’m gonna clean up all the cooking shit ASAP because I know it looks like a war zone in this kitchen right now—”

“Reid.”

He stops. Her voice is gentle, and she’s smiling— it’s not the pity smile anymore, but just a regular smile. She threads her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he breathes, almost instinctively. “Sorry. That was so much. You just woke up. Hi. I love you. Happy birthday. You look really hot right now.”

Bri laughs, and leans up, on tiptoe, until her forehead is right on his. “Reid,” she repeats, even more gently, and he lets out all his breath again, closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He tries to do as she says. It’s really not hard to breathe; he just forgets that’s a necessary bodily task from time to time. No big whoop. “I promise I’ll clean it up. And I’ll make the pancakes, and— wait, shit!” The realization hits him all at once, and his stomach sinks. “Shit. Fuck. I don’t think we have whipped cream.”

“Whipped cream?” Bri asks, and she sort of laughs, like she’s confused, but this is very bad, because that’s a necessary part of any balanced pancake breakfast, right?

“Fuck,” he repeats, and then groans, bumping his forehead against hers lightly. “Fuck, babe; I’m so sorry. I knew I was forgetting something. I can go out, though. Maybe while you shower? I can get it on the corner—”

“Babe,” Bri says, and it occurs to him that he has once again forgotten to breathe. But when he meets her eyes again, she’s smiling, kind of laughing, and she shakes her head. “Shut up.”

“What?” He blinks. His glasses fog up a little, with how close their faces are, and he squints through them toward her. “I really will go out and get it. What are birthday pancakes without whipped—”

Bri slides her hands up to either side of his face, and she shakes her head again. “Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

The pit leaves his stomach, and he stops in his tracks. “Oh,” he says, and then laughs, too. “Okay. I can do that.”

It’s a kiss that stops the racing in his brain, which it really always does; she just knows how to do that by existing. It becomes two, and then three, and when they pull apart, Reid can breathe normally again.

“You didn’t have to stay up all night because of me,” she tells him, voice still gentle, eyes still on him.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t really— I mean, I really didn’t want you to have a lame morning.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” she replies. Her eyes are catching the sunrise light that edges in through the window. He could get distracted by that. By her body. By every freckle on her face. He is, after all, easily distractible. “But,” Bri adds, “as long as my morning has you in it, I promise you, there’s nothing lame about it.”

He laughs, and kind of feels sheepish, like he might be blushing. “Okay.” He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll take her at her word.

“C’mere.” She pulls him down for another kiss, and, yeah, this he can do. The apartment is way too small, and he is a human disaster, but she loves him anyway, for some reason he still can’t figure out, and he’ll never stop being grateful for that.

“Thank you,” she says, when they pause to breathe again. “I’m excited for pancakes.”

“I’ll make them good,” he assures her, and she laughs.

“I know you will,” she replies, and then smiles with half her mouth, so her one dimple shows, and that is fucking adorable. Holy Christ. He might be sleep-deprived, but if looks could kill… “But,” she adds, with that smirk still lingering, “not yet.”

“Not yet?” he echoes, and blames the sleep deprivation for how slow the realization is. “Right, yeah. Because you should shower, right? Get ready for work?”

“I think I have a distinct amount of time before I actually have to be ready for work,” she replies, and ohhhh. Oh. Okay.

This, too, he can do.

“I think I understand you,” he tries.

Bri winks. “You definitely understand me,” she says, and then grabs him by the hand and pulls him back toward their bed. “And plus, it’s my birthday.”

He almost makes a birthday suit joke, and then decides that puns are not an effective method of seduction today. Not that Bri really needs seducing. Right this second, anyway.

“I’m so honored,” he says, instead, and grins when she pushes him down to sit on the edge of the mattress. He holds her by the waist and waits, still smirking. “You mean to say you want me to be your present?”

“Something like that,” she replies, with a shrug, and then pushes him so he falls backwards, and he gets exactly three seconds to laugh at the ceiling before she’s kissing him and he gets to move on to something much, much better than rambling about his failures as a boyfriend in the middle of the kitchen.

Breakfast can wait.

#sappy prompts #breid #kiersey college #the insanely cool reid burke #ficlet #my writing #bri doesn't have a tag yet but #that's okay #mel writes

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robinsnest2111 · 3 years

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indirectly tagged by @lampmeeting

it's not part of the original thing but I'm gonna add a silly little self portrait as well~

Questions to get to know you a little better:

1. What do you prefer to be called name wise? Robin or any kind of nickname related to that you can come up with lol Some of my favourites are Rob and Robble

2. When is your birthday? November 21st

3. Where do you live? A little town in Niedersachsen (Lower Saxony), Germany. Known for being the summer residence of a royal bloodline some 200 years ago. Yes there's a castle :P

4. Three things I am doing right now? Trying to forget the nightmare I just woke up from, thinking about getting a few more clementines from the kitchen and fininishing a little sketch I started yesterday

5. Four fandoms that have piqued my interest: Metalocalypse (ofc), Hogan's Heroes, Ghost BC, What We Do In The Shadows. Those are the main 4 at the moment but there's always a chance for other fandoms to take over for a bit.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you? ....yeah. Not so great. My grandma died suddenly at the start of the pandemic, I had to leave my internship I was super happy at early because of lockdown, finished my last semester at college with horrible online classes, had to move back in with my parents, cut contact with someone I've known almost all my life, barely passed my finals, still on the hunt for a job (started applying to places in September) and am close to losing it any day now lol Also pandemic means no flea markets which was one of the few things keeping my brain happy and occupied while giving me a chance to ride my bike around the region for hours :^(((((

7. Song(s) I can’t stop listening to: Sadly no particular song coming to mind right now, but I've had Ghost's entire discography and Dethalbum I, II, and III on rotation for months now lol. This Toss A Coin To Your Witcher Remix has also been stuck in my head for a while and is always worth a listen (Also have some silly techno/hardstyle remixes stuck in my brain permanently because I listened to them as background noise while trying to make my final college projects somewhat decent. Terence Hill & Bud Spencer - Lalalalalala, Da Tweekaz - Jägermeister, Star Wars Hardstyle, DJ Ötzi - Anton aus Tirol, Das Leben des Brian - Schwanzus Longus)

8. Recommend a movie: The Road to El Dorado by Dreamworks, a children's movie, I know... Each song is an absolute banger tho (even the German versions!), the jokes are silly but fun, the queer/gay hints add that little spice that I subconsciously picked up on and felt comforted by as a kid and the design of the everything is just (chef's kiss) Also the chemistry between the 4 main characters is gud as heck. It's the childhood movie I latched on to the most, my mother had to rent the dvd almost every single day until I bought a copy myself lol

9. How old are you? 24 orz I don't feel like it at all...

10. School, university, occupation? Finished college in August, unemployed because no one wants to hire in the creative field during a worldwide plague :^)

11. Do you prefer heat or cold? As long as it's under 35°C I prefer heat. My hands and feet are icicles 95% of the time after losing weight :^(

12. Name one fact others may not know about you? Since I'm an expert oversharer you probably know almost everything about me already orz But uhhh. Lemme see... I learned how to operate a laundry machine at the ripe old age of 20 at my internship at a hair salon lmao My mother never had the nerve to show me how on the modern machine we have at home (along the lines of "you will fuck it up anyways so let me do it >:^(((" which is an overarching theme in her raising me lol), but the older machine with the simpler dials at the salon was a good start to learn and honestly one of the things at this internship I'm still super grateful for...

13. Are you shy? Oh hell yeah I am... It's all the years of getting only negative feedback for trying to interact with others lol

14. Preferred pronouns: He/Him mostly, still figuring out if I still like they/them or nah (since in German there are no neutral pronouns that aren't neopronouns I've automatically gotten more attached to he/him lol)

15. Biggest pet peeves: I feel so mean for admitting it but honestly: Any noises my parents make. If I'm having a particularly bad low brain energy day even hearing them breathe makes me wanna run away and scream in anger... (Doesn't irk me with anyone else tho, which is weird...)

16. What is your favorite "dere" type? Oh there's more than 4 types now?? I've always liked Kuudere types the most out of the original 4 types, but I guess Shundere and Utsudere are right up my alley too!!!

The Kuudere (クーデレ), sometimes written Coodere or Kūdere, type refers to a character who is often cold, blunt, and cynical. They may seem very emotionless on the outside, but on the inside they’re very caring — at least when it comes to the ones they love.

The Shundere (しゅんデレ) type refers to characters who are sad and very depressed. While a full smile on their face might be out of the question, their love interest can help them open up and feel accepted.

The Utsudere (うつデレ) type refers to a character who is often sad and depressed. There is a reason for the character’s despair such as being bullied at school. Even if their life improves, they are often wary of other characters’ motives.

17. Rate your life 1-10? Maybe a 4? 4.5 at max

18. What is your main blog? The one I'm posting this on lol

19. List all your side blogs and what they’re for:

yorkiesart - old as hell and inactive artblog

bleedingheartbird - very triggering and depressing vent blog :^(

yorkie2111 - my very first username, a sea and ocean themed aesthetic blog now mostly for when I miss Denmark a whole lot (kinda inactive)

robinsartnest - a second attempt at a separate art blog, inactive as well lol

20. Is there anything people should know before becoming friends with you? I'm a clusterfuck of several undiagnosed mental illnesses and probably other conditions that I'm trying to figure out and deal with on my own until I can get professional help and some diagnoses. At times I'm weird and distant and overall very depressed and unpleasant, I've already hurt so many people this way and am trying to be better every single day. Basically I've never been given the "How to properly Human" manual and am frantically trying to get it right without hurting too many innocent people in the process.

Anyway, if you are nice to me I will love you forever ♡♡♡ :'3c

idk who to tag so if you wanna do this, do it~

#oh wow that's a long one haha #gosh these tag things really encourage my oversharing nature oops #anyway if any of you want to do this too feel tagged :D #get to know me better

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marvelousbirthdays · 5 years

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Happy Birthday, deedo2313

February 12- Darcy/Rumlow/Rollins (triple agents), I'd love something lighthearted with sassy and/or bamf Darcy, please. No Infinity War drama, please & while smut would be nice, I'l be fine with whatever you write, for @deedo2313

Written by @lj-todd

The steady sound of her sneakers against the belt of the treadmill was almost soothing in a strange sort of way. A reminder of the continuous. The permanent.

Ever since Jane had decided she and Thor were no longer a thing, Darcy had felt as though she’d been stuck in a sort of limbo, certain that, at any moment, the people running the fancy new Avengers facility would realize she wasn’t all that useful without her best friend and give her the boot as well as a firm warning about what would happen if she betrayed the confidence of the facility or the people who called it home.

But it had been months and, so far, there were no signs that she was about to be given the boot.

Part of her was starting to wonder if maybe it had something to do with the two agents who always seemed to be around whenever she did anything other than hide out in her room.

She hadn’t noticed at first, not being the most observant gal on the planet, especially not when she was busy trying to make Wanda feel more at home in the facility, and in America in general, while the younger woman was still finding her footing as a superhero. But, and mainly because Wanda had pointed it out, she had noticed after yet another training session with Wanda and Natasha, from which she still had bruises thanks very much to Russian bombshell, that the agents in question, Rumlow and Rollins, were always lingering about, watching her with what Wanda called not-so-subtle interest.

Darcy had actually started paying attention after that, certain that Wanda was wrong, but had been surprised to discover her young friend was very much correct. Not that Darcy would admit it. No sir. Not in this life. She did not wish to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s smug, Sokovian smile any time soon.

Everywhere she went in the facility, be it the media room, the pool, the gym, the kitchen, anywhere really besides her own room, within a few minutes Rumlow and Rollins would appear.

They had, in the beginning, kept to themselves. Their conversations mostly guy talk about this or that but, over time, they had started dragging Darcy into the thick of things. Usually by asking her opinion or trying to get her to agree with one over the other. But then it had had changed again and they had started carrying actual conversations with her. Asking questions and trying to get to know her. Like they didn’t know the big wigs had some file on her somewhere with all the information about her a person could want.

Not that she really minded them asking. It was decent of them, really, especially considering they were trained spies and former HYDRA agents.

Though, according to Rumlow, they’d been HYDRA agents for all of five minutes.

Rollins had explained it was more like a year but, after a mission nearly resulted in him dying and instead left him with the very impressive scar on his chin and a robotic eye, they’d realized that, to HYDRA, they were just cogs in a machine. Disposable and replaceable. So, as Rumlow put it, they’d booked ass to Fury, hoping for mercy in exchange for information. It had resulted in them becoming spies for Fury within HYDRA while still maintaining their cover as HYDRA agents. And they’d done damn convincing jobs.

Natasha was still bitter over the fact that she hadn’t realized the truth about them. And she showed it by taking out her frustration over it during sparing matches with them.

Which was what was happening right now in fact and, really, one of the biggest reasons Darcy had chosen this particular treadmill today. It gave her a perfect view of the sparring mats and a rather nice view of Rollins’ toosh in those black compression shorts as the big man attempted, for probably the millionth time, to get the advantage on Natasha who, smooth as a snake, managed to slip from his grappling hold and turn the tables on him.

Rumlow was barking from the sidelines, chastising Rollins’ sloppy technique, which earned him a rather rude hand gesture from the bigger man before Natasha, taking advantage of Rollins’ momentary distraction, managed to drop and pin Rollins with a leg across his throat and his arm locked between hers.

Darcy had to give it to him, he put up a struggle, trying to fight free but Natasha doubled down, well accustomed to training with Steve by this point, and, within minutes, and much to Rumlow’s upset, Rollins tapped out.

Natasha grinned, vicious as a viper, as she released him, rolling away and to her feet with ease and grace, snatching up her towel and, head held high, declared she’d kicked their asses enough for one day before sauntering off in the direction of the showers.

“Hey, kiwi,” Darcy called, still jogging away, grinning when Rollins shot her an amused and curious look. “You do realize you’re never going to beat her in like…a million years, right? She’s all sorts of crazy Russian ninja.”

“Russia doesn’t have ninjas, sweetheart,” Rumlow interjected with that drawl of his that did funny things to her insides and, to hide that fact, Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Nope,” she agreed, pressing the button to slow and then turn off the treadmill, grabbing up her towel. “They’ve got Natasha. And I am suddenly very glad she’s training me and not either of you.”

Rollins chuckled while Rumlow huffed.

“Oooh, all big and bad all of a sudden aren’t we, sweetheart,” Rumlow teased as Darcy moved away from the treadmill. “Last time I looked you still carry that cute little taser of yours.”

Darcy shot him a look, moving, not towards the showers as she had originally intended but towards the mats.

“I dropped a literal god with that cute little taser,” she reminded with an upward tilt of her chin. She was still quite proud of that actually. “What have you done that compares?”

“Took down Cap with a stun baton,” Rumlow fired back, which made Rollins roll his eyes as he chugged half the contents of his water bottle.

“Nearly took him down,” the bigger man corrected, grinning when Rumlow gave him a sour look. “He didn’t actually drop.”

“And you would know how, Mr I Was Unconscious On The Floor?”

Darcy couldn’t help but giggle when Rollins chucked his water bottle at Rumlow, who easily ducked it.

“And you guys were supposed to be some of the best HYDRA had,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, boy, no wonder Cap took you down so easy. Heck, even given what little I know I probably could take you down at this point. Without my taser.”

She was still laughing until she realized both Rumlow and Rollins were looking at her, near matching shark grins on their face.

“Is that a challenge,” Rollins asked quietly, still smiling, moving to stand at his full height and damn it all that was not far. No one should be that good looking. Especially not after getting their butt kicked by someone as tiny and delicate looking as Natasha.

A part of Darcy’s brain screamed Danger! Abort! Abort! but, like so many other things, like tasering a giant blonde guy in the middle of a New Mexico desert, she did not heed the warning. Instead, she tossed her towel aside and stepped onto the mats.

“Bring it on, kiwi.”

Rollins kept smiling as he stepped back onto the mat, settling easily into a stance, Rumlow jeering about little girls who needed to be shown a thing or two, but Darcy, knowing he was trying to distract her, kept her focus on Rollins. It had been lesson number one. Never lose focus on your target.

She went to move, to try a strike, one of the simpler ones Natasha had shown her, only to let out a startled cry as her arms were suddenly grabbed from behind, her back pulled flush to Rumlow’s chest as the man immobilized her arms, keeping her in a firm but careful grip.

“The hell,” she grouched, twisting to glare at Rumlow over her shoulder. “That’s cheating!”

“That’s learning a valuable lesson, sweetheart,” the man purred, eyes like dark bourbon and honey, and Darcy twitched in his hold. “Never underestimate your enemy. You have to expect the unexpected.”

“Who are you, Yoda?”

She twisted a bit, trying to break free, but Rumlow easily held her.

Catching Rollins move out of the corner of her eye, Darcy tried to gain the upper hand at least a little and swung her leg, attempting to catch the big man with a kick, but he was quick, quicker than his size suggested, and he snared her ankle, yanking upwards and making her yelped as her other foot left the floor as she tried to stabilize herself. She felt a heat rush through her as Rollins’ hands curled beneath her thighs, holding her, stepping closer, using his grip to draw her knees up around his hips.

“Remember,” the big man said, voice pitched low, making her shiver as she realized how they were holding her, what it might look like later when some tech reviewed the day’s security footage. “Learn to anticipate, to predict, your opponent. Turn his actions into your weapons against him.”

Darcy shivered again when she felt Rumlow’s breath against her neck as Rollins’ thumbs swept against her knees in tiny circles. From her new position held between them she also felt something else.

“Guys,” she barely breathed the word, squirming slightly, realizing just as quickly that Rumlow wasn’t the only one showing interest. Rollins’ compression shorts weren’t really doing anything to hide his.

“We wanted to take this slower,” Rumlow breathed, voice still that smoky purr and she felt her cheeks heat as a blush stole across her face. “Do it properly. Woo you. Take you on a few dates. Show you that it isn’t just about sex or something stupid like that.”

“Wanted to show you we think you’re worth more,” Rollins added, stepping closer, causing Darcy’s legs to instinctively curl around his waist, suddenly able to feel him just like she could feel Rumlow.

“What if…” She bit her lip, glancing from Rollins and over her shoulder to Rumlow then back again. “What if I don’t want slow? What if…What if I want the pair of you to give me a private training session. A very private training session. In your room. Right. Now.”

She felt Rumlow grin against her neck as he pressed a kiss to the spot just below her jaw and her heart leapt, heat pooling low in her belly and spreading quickly, while Rollins smiled at her, his thumbs still rubbing those slow, teasing circles against her skin.

“I’d say that sounds like a good idea,” Rollins said, meeting Rumlow’s gaze over her shoulder. “What do you say, commander?”

“I say I like how our sweetheart here thinks.” Rumlow pressed another kiss to Darcy’s neck, making her gasp and squirm.

This was definitely not how she had expected things to go but, as Rumlow finally pressed a kiss to her lips, as Rollins rocked his hips against her, letting her really feel him, Darcy couldn’t have think of anything better.

#Darcy/Rumlow/Rollins #darcy lewis #brock rumlow #jack rollins #non-canon compliant

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nuage-s-den · 5 years

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Oooh shit I got so many Birdflash songs.....buuutttt I think I will say Sloppy Seconds by Watsky? somethin bout these lyrics makes me feel somethin birdflash: “It's September in my kitchen in a Christmas sweater / Sipping cold coffee on the phone with damaged goods / And there is not a single place that I would rather be / I'm fucked up just like you are, and you're fucked up just like me”

Thank you so much for the suggestion! Here’s what my mind pictured as I listened to the song, I hope you like it. :)

Wally was a hoarder.

A mountain of cardboard boxes containing many and varied objects filled his attic, and he loved to go through them when he felt like visiting the past.

A mess of strange knick-knacks surrounded him as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Wally was carefully examining a dishevelled yellow hoodie which he was pretty sure he could not fit anymore. The cloth looked like one of those homemade ugly Christmas sweaters, with a duckling patchworked on the front and whose eyes seemed to resent him. There was a big stain splashed over the patchwork, and it took a lick for Wally to recognize the faint taste of pizza. He was a true detective, that one.

Fumbling into the pockets, he found a wrinkled picture of him and his best friend singing.

Ah yes, now he remembered.

If there was one rule that existed among the Titans, it was that no one could miss the “special Birthday nights.” Each month, the Titans would take one night off of their duties to reunite and celebrate the months’ babies. The team always looked forward these nights, as it allowed them to act their ages and not worry about the world ending at any moment. Sometimes the group would gather around the couch, stuff their mouths with pizza and watch movies until they fell asleep. Other times they would go to the beach and make a giant bond fire.

And yes, once they were old enough, they would share a couple of drinks.

Wally, while his metabolism did not allow him to get drunk, loved to observe his teammates and friends’ behaviour change when downing one too many drinks. The people of Atlantis were always hit first, and he suspected it might have been due to their different body structure. The first time they saw Garth succumb to the alcohol had been a shock to the younger team. It happened in the span of a blink; one second Garth was talking to Roy with a beer in his hand and the next he was lying on the floor completely unconscious.

There was someone Wally loved to observe in these parties the most: Dick Grayson.

Dick was his best friend and, at least in Wally’s mind, a dictionary didn’t have enough words to describe his personality. Confident, a born leader, a bit bossy, playful, flexible, annoying, loud, discreet, sneaky, touchy, people pleaser, pretty, charming, sometimes distant, experienced, a bit fucked up (but who wasn’t nowadays?)… However “shy” was not a word that came to anyone’s mind when thinking of the Dick Grayson.

And yet, when given time to stir with some alcohol, Dick would unintentionally shed his persona and become a completely different person. At that point, most of the team were way too wasted to even notice the change, but Wally easily picked on the way his best friend’s shoulders stood closer to his ears. He noticed how Dick sat a little farther from the group and observed the others instead of doing some wicked backflips while Roy attempted to toss popcorn in his mouth, which was what Roy kept suggesting they do. At first, Wally thought Dick was uncomfortable or unsure on how to act around drunk friends, but Dick always denied it when Wally pointed this out, and he would claim that he was just tired or use some other lie.

Not only was his body language different, but the way he looked at Wally betrayed how he felt toward the speedster. While they usually acted oblivious to their feelings for each other, they both longed for a deeper connection but were too afraid to take the next step. The two of them were often seen playfully flirt each other, gaining loud annoyed groans from the rest of the team. These nights weren’t any exceptions. Sitting next to each other a little closer than usual, leaning into the other’s personal space enough that they could smell the alcohol in the other’s breath, Wally loved to tease his best friend. Instead of using witty, smart-mouthed replies to his flirt, Dick’s cheeks would turn rosy, and his voice would stutter over simple words.

One night, however, Wally had to step in to help his best friend who was stuck in an embarrassing situation.

Donna and Kori had announced they never had gone karaoke and requested this to be the main event of the December Birthday night. Wally could still recall the matching sweaters they had made for the night, ugly birds on flashy hoodies that they had put together one late morning in the Tower’s kitchen. It took them three pots of coffee to get the darn things done before the evening, and they were ridiculously proud of it. To the others? It was a painful eyesore.

While it took a couple drinks for most of them to go full on and singing off-key multiple hits and indie songs alike, Dick skillfully redirected any attention he was given by requesting encores and suggesting other people do duets. Even though it worked for most of the night, the girls managed to finally corner him and forced him to stand in front of everyone, mic on hands and all eyes set on him.

“Uhm,” the former Robin started, “I’m not sure this is-”

Roy, his voice hoarse from yelling too much while interpreting The 12 Days of Christmas, interrupted him. “Go get them, Dickie!“

Standing awkwardly rigid in the light, Dick looked like a terrified deer hypnotized in the headlights. His mouth felt dry, and he wasn’t sure if his friends would believe him if he blamed it on the couple drinks he had. One of his hands fumbled with the poofy bird on his sweater. Then, his ears caught on the piano notes announcing the beginning of the song. Previously beating with aggressivity against his chest, his heart decided to suddenly stop as the lyrics flashed in front of his wide blue eyes. Petrified, Dick was confident his pale skin betrayed his lack of oxygen intake.

At the same time, Wally felt a pang in his chest and wanted to get his best friend out of the stage and hug the fear away from his slim body. Wally felt torn between following his instinct or listening to the intellectual part of his brain cautioning him that it would make their friends suspicious of something. But as Dick was standing there, looking like a complete stranger, weren’t their friends already realizing something was off with their leader?

They were already thirty seconds into the song before Wally acted. Before anyone could say anything, the speedster began to read the lyrics aloud. His tone and rhythm were off as he adjusted to the beat of the song, standing up proudly as all eyes were now set on him. Grabbing a second microphone, Wally walked to his best friend’s side whose eyes openly reflected his confusion. Wally smiled at him, keeping eye contact and catching in an embrace to press him close against his body. He felt Dick’s muscles relax, felt him breathe again until he was finally able to mumble some of the words out. Some of their friends began cheering, and quickly everyone joined in singing.

Among the cacophony and inattention, Dick pulled himself closer to Wally, his hand holding onto the ugly duckling sweater, and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. One kiss that the speedster would later learn had opened the door for many more to come.

#birdflash #DickWally #WallyDick #Titans #Teen Titans #Young Justice #Nightwing #Kidflash #Wally West #Dick Grayson #otp: let's grow old together #Kibbles writes #play with kibbles #Ask Kibbles stuffs!

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rose-madder-gaze · 5 years

Text

tagged by @kissingthehyena

Nickname: Super was self-imposed, but Supes was properly given.

Zodiac: Pisces

Height: 5'4"-ish

Last Movie I Saw: I definitely stood in the hallway as Ice Age 2 played. But actually properly watched? Your Name, I think.

Last Thing I Googled: How to spell Pisces LMAOO

Favorite Musician: I'll constitute that as [recent] long-term repeat-listening to: LP, Hozier, Ashe, Kings of Leon, The Killers, Woodkid, Owl City, Kele Okereke, Avett Brothers, Son Lux, K. Flay, Carly Rae Jepsen...

Song Stuck in my Head: Currently??? uhh when it’s not one of the songs from the playlist they play EVERY DAY ON REPEAT at work, Ashe did a cover of SPG’s Honeybee, and that shit’s choice.

Other Blogs: I have a long-neglected photography blog [ab-vi].

Do I get Asks: Pretty much never.

Following: 350

Followers: 189

Amount of Sleep: On work “days” (Sun-Thu) at least 8 hours if I go straight to bed after work; it can get up to 12 hours on non-work days. This body is a tomb, babeeyy.

Lucky Number: 24?

What I’m Wearing: Mismatched fuzzy socks, slippers, pj pants and shirt (thrifted Keaton Henson shirt skfhsh), and a big ol’ jacket.

Dream Job: Once it was 'do comics,' now it's 'something creatively stimulating that lets me make enough money to also chill sometimes and do comics.'

Dream Trip: To bed. NO LMAO UHH my body makes me afraid of travel in general (and my brain makes me afraid of travel altogether), but I’d really love to go see Michelangelo’s David in Florence one day.

Favorite Food: I have a weird relationship with food, so I don't often even LIKE eating, but I had tres leches cake recently and holy SHIT y'all.

Play Any Instruments?: I was a shit trombone player in middle school, and I had guitar lessons once a week for less than a year in hs and was shit at that, as well.

Languages: Decent at writing French, passable at conversational, horrific at listening; conversational ASL that I've neglected to expand my vocab on.

Favorite Songs: Ones that will NOT leave me alone: Over - Kings of Leon, Your Type - Carly Rae Jepsen, Caribbean Blue - Brothers Egg, Mean It - K. Flay, this version of Son Lux's Easy that he did with Woodkid.

Random Fact: The first time I did some true semblance of cosplay (of an OC, as it happens KSFHSH), it was the morning after xmas. I was trying to get some pictures of it outside in the snow in the empty lots past the woods behind my house. But, on the walk back to the house, I kept having to kneel down in the snow because my blOOD SUGAR WAS SO LOW THAT I KEPT ALMOST PASSING OUT. IN A BRIGHT ORANGE WIG AND A MULTI-COLORED ANORAK. I made it into the house and wanted to just lie down on the kitchen floor HAHA but my mom got me up and fed. And that’s the story of my first cosplay.

Describe yourself as Aesthetic Things: the song that starts playing in a video game that suddenly has lyrics NO BUT SERIOUSLY UMM 80s wood-paneled interior design, mid-west quilt-by-the-fire winters before xmas has passed, morbid bubblegum pop, the techno trance that everyone made AMVs with in the early 2000s, beach houses painted in bright pastel colors, day moons on clear days, the live plant section of home improvement stores, red sunlight on pine trees and mountainsides. LMAOO IDK!!

tagging some pals who can do this if they like!! @omnificent-orion @berserkered @legaragerage @whatdoyewant @ninnani @yongjae37

#text post #chatter #are these still called memes like on deviantart #food mention #health mention #music #outside links #long post #text heavy #tagged #omnificent-orion #berserkered #legaragerage #whatdoyewant #ninnani #yongjae37

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icecoldflames · 6 years

Text

(Chap. 8 + Chap. 9) When Parallel Lines Meet

Masterlist

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Chapter 8

Virgil bit his lip as he stared intensely at the photo of himself in front of him.

He looked...different. And not just older. Photo-Virgil looked...annoyed...but he looked like he knew who he was.

Photo-Virgil had everything under control. If he didn’t, photo-Virgil at least knew he was.

Real-Virgil, him right now standing in the dark hallway, didn’t know who he was.

When he had woken up, the earliest memory he had, Mr. Edra had been sat down next to him.

For the next hour or so he had spoke to Virgil. Calmly and rationally. Explaining every single thing that Virgil had questioned.

In the end, he had pieced together most of his life. But a lot of it felt wrong. Mr. Edra concluded it to be just symptoms of his car accident—the thing that made his memories go away in the first place.

Mr. Edra said that Virgil had worked for the government for a long time. His family had died along with the other 3000 people in the Fire of 2170 and he had been staying at a orphanages until Mr. Edra had found him.

Virgil had asked who he used to be. His personality.

Virgil hadn’t known how to act. His brain felt like a dry sponge, needing some information about himself before it could work properly.

Mr. Edra had replied with a simple and short answer. He had said, “a smart young man who knew the difference between what is right and what is wrong.”

Virgil had been perplexed. He would have expected his brain to find this helpful, that something would just click and he’d be comfortable in his own skin.

But Virgil still felt like he was possessing a body for the first time. As if he were a baby trying to learn how to walk.

Mr. Edra had assigned Virgil to test on Canace Edra, Mr. Edra’s young seven year old.

Simple as that.

Mr. Edra had given Virgil a flask of some liquid to give to Canace and that was that.

The liquid in the flask was supposed to give the drinker unnatural powers.

It was Virgil’s job to figure out what it was. Mr. Edra said that if Canace showed signs of Weather Manipulation to immediately tell him. Virgil didn’t know why and Mr. Edra hadn’t explained.

Then, that Roman kid had burst into his room today, claiming to know him. He had looked pretty frightened too.

Virgil had no recollection of him, obviously, and had brushed him off. He’d ask Mr. Edra later.

But it was later now, in the evening, and Mr. Edra was gone to his mother’s house for supper.

Virgil stared at his portrait once again, wishing he hadn’t lost his memories.

Perhaps Roman had known him. Or maybe he was playing a trick. A horrible trick. Virgil wouldn’t fall for it, if that was the case.

He stepped closer to the picture not daring to glance at his own still eyes.

Virgil felt alone. Something inside him to him that he was more alone than ever.

With no memory or friends, not even Mr. Edra there to answer his questions, he felt empty and hollow.

***

Patton’s insides twisted and turned. His palms felt sweaty and his legs felt stuck in place.

“Now is not the time for becoming immobile. We have to leave,” Logan said, his eyebrows turned down and his mouth set in a straight line.

Patton wasn’t even questioning how Logan knew about him. “Do you...do you think Sirena knows?”

Logan shook his head quickly, “of course not. She’s old and she doesn’t know the difference. Now come on, we have to leave.”

Patton picked up his backpack and sling it over his shoulders. He quickly looked back towards the kitchen. “What about Sirena?” He asked meekly.

Logan rolled his eyes. “What about Mr. Edra when he sees you? Sirena may be old and not know any difference but Mr. Edra certainly does.”

Logan grabbed Patton and pulled him to the front door. He yanked a portrait off a wall and Patton nearly yelped in surprise.

Underneath the pretty show topped mountain picture was a screen and keypad embedded in the wall.

Logan’s fingers flew wildly across the keyboard, pictures and numbers flying across the screen like a fly; there one second, gone the next.

“Open the door,” Logan ordered gruffly.

Patton did as he asked and it swung quietly in.

Logan rapped a button, hung the painting back on the wall and ran down the front steps, pulling on Patton, shutting the door in the process.

A car turned into Sirena’s street.

Logan dove into a bush, Patton flying into it as well.

“Ow,” Patton moaned, his elbow red and tender. “These bushes hurt. What did you do in there anyway?”

“Deleted the footage of us in Sirena’s house.” Logan stated, his form hunched in the bush. “Now shush, thank goodness I parked the car down the road.”

The flying car pulled into Sirena’s driveway and the top came up, a set of stairs unfolding until they came to the black driveway.

Mr. Edra looked threatening and intimidating in his black suit, curved cane, and perfectly polished black dress shoes.

He stepped down the steps, whistling a merry tune as he walked up Sirena’s steps and knocked.

“Shouldn’t he have gua-“ Patton began quietly.

Logan glared at Patton and put a pointer finger to his own lips.

The door opened and Mr. Edra stepped in. There was a jumble of words then the door closed again.

“Let’s go.” Logan said, darting out of the buses. “Stay low until we pass Sirena’s house plus one. We don’t want them distinguishing us from the windows.”

Patton followed Logan doing the duck walk down the lawn until they passed Sirena’s neighbour’s house.

“There’s my car.” Logan pointed to the deep blue vehicle peacefully parked on the side of the road.

They made a mad dash for the car and Logan put his right thumb to the handle, the two sides immediately lifting up and making the car look like a bird.

Patton climbed into the leather seats, Logan doing the same.

The two wings automatically came down and clicked into place.

Logan typed in the coordinates on the screen and then the car was speeding off, the familiar low hum of the engine engulfing Patton’s ears as it flew to wherever Logan had imputed on the screen.

Patton’s heart was still racing but Logan was peacefully looking straight ahead, only occasionally pushing up his glasses.

“I hope Sirena’s not to mad.” Patton commented lightly. “I was really excited to stay over for lunch.”

Logan pursed his lips.

Patton glanced over at him and fell silent as well, enjoying the scenery of all the colourful houses and their front yards of all kind of weird and wonderful things.

They flashed by the outskirts of town into the deserted lands with occasional trees.

“Do you have a secret underground hideout?” Patton asked excitedly. He had been on the outskirts of town when he had been looking for Virgil’s shelter.

Logan shook his head. “No.” He said in a clipped tone. He pointed ahead at an old fashioned wooden house in the distance.

Patton pressed his nose up to the car’s front windshield and squinted. This area of the barrenlands was the only part of the outskirts of town he hadn’t seen. Sirena had bashed into the tree before he had had a chance.

“It’s so pretty.” Patton sighed as they came closer and could see the grey sides of the house and the black triangular roof.

“Oh...thank you.” Logan said as the flying car parked in behind the house.

The sides popped up and Patton hopped out of the car running up to the house and touching the side.

Logan followed closely behind. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He said like a father to his young son.

Logan opened the door and Patton’s jaw fell open in amaze. “Wow!” He exclaimed, scuffing his feet along the hardwood floors and touching everything like a little kid in a toy shop.

Logan walked up to Patton. “You will have plenty of time to explore the house but we all have pressing matters to attend to.”

He beckoned Patton to follow him and walked into the living room.

Patton watched as Logan lifted up the red oriental rug and pulled up a trapdoor.

“So you do have an underground hideout.” Patton grinned, following Logan down the stairs.

In the basement were computers and shelves and a table pushed in a corner.

Three people were down there.

“I thought you went to Sirena’s.” The older girl pointed out, spinning around in her chair.

“He’s a natural born. Got himself caught up with her somehow. Mr. Edra decided to come early so we both left.” Logan explained quickly.

“Who’s Sirena?” The other girl asked. She was sat next to the other girl.

Logan ignored her.

“She’s Mr. Edra’s mom.” Patton piped up.

Logan pointed to the first girl. “That’s Kate Ada, Connie Stephanie, and Ben Pascal. Kate, Connie, and Ben, this is Patton Fitzroy, an old friend of mine.”

Patton waved. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you!”

“And you brought him here because…?” Ben asked, waiting for Logan to fill-in the blank.

Patton frowned. “Virgil broke into my house and then he gave me a letter to give to Logan.”

“Virgil Bolter?” Kate asked, her back straightening and he head cocked to one side as she listened intently.

“A letter?” Ben asked at the same time as Kate.

Logan nodded. “Yes, and I’m afraid, Connie, that we may not have a lot of time on our hands.”

“What?” Connie exclaimed, her eyes widening and her lip protruding. “No time to save the 12 kids and Virgil?”

Logan shook his head and waved the letter around. He felt terrified and worried and angry all at once. “The letter is full of information the government doesn’t tell the public. And it’s horrifying.”

“Logan, you’re shaking. Calm down.” Kate said, worriedly.

“It’s obviously bad news then, Logan never shows a lot of emotions,” Ben said quietly.

Connie pulled up a chair while glaring at Ben. “Not helping, Ben.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. Do you want me to do anything? Get a glass of water? A cold cloth?” Patton said hurriedly.

“What are you sorry for?” Ben asked. “You just brought us a letter. We were expecting bad things. Of course,” he gritted his teeth, “we don’t know what the bad stuff is.”

“Will you shut your mouth, Ben?” Kate spun around. “Logan isn’t feeling well. You go up with Connie and get some water.”

“What about me?” Patton asked.

“Get him a glass of water too...in fact. Get us all some water.” Kate said.

Logan put the letter in his breast pocket and wiped sweat off his hand.

Kate looked worried. “Are you alright, Logan? You don’t have to tell us. Not yet, at least. You can tell everyone when they get here tonight.”

“You’re having a meeting?” Patton asked.

Kate nodded. “It was supposed to be a meeting about breaking Virgil Bolter and the 12 human experiments out of the government.” She paused. “Now, I guess it’s about discussing whatever information was in the letter.”

Ben and Connie soon came down with four glasses of water with ice cubes clinking in the glasses.

“Here, Logan,” Ben said, placing the glass of water next to him.

“No no,” Logan muttered, “I’m fine. You can all get back to work.” He sat up straight in his chair and picked up the glass of water, drinking just about all of it.

“Will you tell us now?” Connie asked.

Logan shook his head. “No. When everyone gets here I will.”

***

That evening, Canace came to sit down with him and Remy for supper.

“Did you enjoy all your classes?” Roman asked, spinning his fork in the limp spaghetti.

Canace shrugged. “I guess.”

“What did you choose for your choice class?” Roman asked curiously through a mouthful of pasta.

“Um...dance.” Canace mumbled, not touching her food and grabbing her plastic cup with water in it.

“What kind of dance?” Remy asked. “Jazz? Tap? Hip-Hop?” Then, at Roman’s questioning gaze, “my choice course is book reading, remember? I’ve read all the good books. Now I’m reading the boring ones.”

“Ballet,” Canace said quietly, finally picking up a fork and stabbing a meatball.

“That sounds cool!” Roman smiled, wanting to lift Canace’s spirits up as she looked absolutely miserable.

“I want to be a ballet dancer when I get older.” Canace mumbled, staring down at her food.

A sudden vision snapped into his view. It felt like he was transported to a different place. Everything looked so real.

Roman wasn’t sure where he was. Or maybe what he was seeing. He was in a large room with high ceilings.

Roman could see dark oak and red through all the grey, lumpy, substance practically everywhere. Where was he?

Wait...Roman squinted at the far corner of the room. “Ah!” He yelped as he began floating to where he had been looking. His arms swung around like a propeller. If anything, he began to float even quicker.

About halfway through the room, the floor rose up and Roman glimpsed the bright red curtains through all the grey, stuff, which was clinging to them like leeches. Behind the supposedly red curtains were black curtains, Roman guessed anyway.

Everything was covered in grey. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Everything.

Roman peeked behind the curtains and saw long ropes.

Was he in a theatre?

Roman tried to move his feet to spin around and get a panoramic view of the room but he just did a 360 while still floating.

On the massive stage was thick grey stuff with something stood in the very center of it.

In front of the stage was where Roman pictured the seating. Above that was a platform of grey. Maybe a balcony?

Why was there so much grey? Roman reached out to the wall of grey and the stuff crumbled in his hand, disintegrating. It left a small portion of black painted wall.

It didn’t feel weird nor did it smell. It was like sand. Roman brushed his hand across the wall again and more of the grey sand fell.

He kept cleaning the wall until it was just about all black when Remy’s voice called out. “Roman? Hell-o? Earth to Roman?”

Roman blinked and he was back in the cafeteria. He blinked quickly, confused.

“Hey, what happened?” Remy asked. “You just...spaced out for a couple minutes.”

“Oh, um, sorry.” Roman muttered, his mind reeling. He felt lightheaded and suddenly warm.

“You know what,” Canace suddenly said. “I’m feeling a little better. I don’t know what it is but I’m feeling just a bit lighter.”

That was when Roman felt the urge to cry. What was happening to him? He blinked rapidly, feeling his nose tingle as the tears were just behind his eyes.

“That’s...great!” Roman grinned, sniffing as he felt his nose running. “I’m just...gonna go to the bathroom. Hold on.” He said quickly, standing up and rushing off to the back of the cafeteria where the bathrooms were.

Roman quickly shut the door and locked it. He gripped the sides of the sink tightly and stared at himself in the mirror.

What had just happened? What was that grey stuff? Why a stage? And what was with the crying? Could he try to go back?

He clamped his eyes shut and tried to picture the grey stuff and the stage. Roman opened his eyes. Nope. He was still in the same bathroom.

Roman took a deep breath, patted some cold water on his face and drying it off, before he putting his hand on the doorknob.

Canace had said she was suddenly feeling really good. Maybe he could help her a bit more when he got back out-

Roman was snapped back in the theatre place again with the grey. It looked the exact same but...was that grey stuff on the wall receding? Or was it just him? He was positive that the grey stuff was vanishing slowly, revealing even more black wall.

Roman floated over to the stage again where something was protruding from it. What was it?

Roman swiped at the ground around the thing. The black stage was revealed from underneath it. He bent down, his feet not touching the ground, and began to clear away the grey around thing.

As soon as he finished wrapping around the thing, all the grey stuff just...bled away slowly, revealing a beautiful, intricately designed theatre with plush looking seats and dark wood.

The ceiling was gold on dark brown. The gold looked like pieces of long metal tubes, slithering through the sky, only centimeters from the dark oak ceiling.

Roman’s eyes bulged, taking in all the colours and basking in the pure beauty of the theatre. He had never seen a theatre like this in his entire life. And he had gazed at thousands of old theatres in books Ms. Denes had given him briefly.

He spun around, still suspended in air when he noticed that the thing in the center of the stage was still covered in grey, a sore thumb amidst all the elegant architecture.

Roman drifted over to the thing and swiped his hand over the top of the thing. Yellow. It looked like hair.

Roman quickly cleaned the top of the thing of grey. He suddenly felt sick at what he saw. “What are you doing here, Canace!” He exclaimed. Canace’s blonde hair was up in a tight bun on the top of her head, her bangs hair sprayed up and off her forehead. Canace’s eyes were closed. He shook her by her shoulders, grey sand falling at the simple graze of his touch. “Wake up!” He shouted, trying to get her eyes to open.

How did Canace get in there anyway? Was she in a coma? After all, Roman didn’t know where he was, Canace could have found a way in.

After minutes of shaking he gave up and began clearing off the grey from her body. Underneath the grey, Canace was wearing a light pink tank top with a pink tutu. She had on ballet slippers on and her arms were slightly bent at her side, her hands pointed inwards.

Where her heart was, some grey sand would not come off. It was the size of a two fists and no matter how much Roman tried to get it off, the stuff wouldn’t budge.

There was a loud knock. Roman blinked and he was back in the bathroom, looking grimy and unkempt compared to the grandeur of the theatre.

“Hey, Roman? You alright in there?” Remy’s voice came through the door. “You’ve been in there for quite some time now.”

“Remy made me feel a lot better with all of his jokes and stories. I feel unusually happy. A happiness that I don’t remember feeling ever.” Canace’s voice chimed in. She did sound happy.

A burst of sadness hit him like a train swiftly going down a hill and slamming into a tree at the very bottom.

This time, Roman couldn’t blink away the tears they poured out of his eyes like a swift moving river and his nose felt all clogged up.

“Roman?” Remy called. “Are you alright?”

“Yep! Yep, of course!” Roman managed to croak out. “You guys can go on with supper.”

“If you say so,” Remy said and Roman heard two pairs of footsteps walking away from the door.

Roman stayed in the bathroom until he had no more liquid to cry out. He still felt dismal and felt as though a boulder was strapped to his shoulders.

His brain must have been functioning again because something Canace had said earlier echoed in his brain.

“I want to be a ballet dancer when I get older.”

Chapter 9

Two by two, people knocked on Logan’s door. Logan looked through the camera, asked for a password and then, when they said the correct password, they were allowed in.

The mood was sober and reminded Logan of a funeral. He spotted Connie and Patton talking in the corner.

He glanced down at the clipboard in his hands as he checked off the two remaining members of the Markku group.

Then, Logan began calling everyone into the meeting room which was in the very back of the house. The ceilings were high inside was only a large TV, table, and a couch.

The room always looked empty when he first went in. The walls were an off-white and the floor was the same hardwood floors as the entire house.

Logan walked to the center of the room where the single small table was that could have maybe only fit four people. He ran his hands against the wood and pressed delicately to the side. There was a short shrieking sound as the table began to unfurl itself.

It flipped open something like a box. Only, the sides seemed to keep folding out, thin wooden legs dropping down, until there was a massive round table in the room, foldable benches attached to the top.

Logan and Ben pushed the couch to a side of the wall while the Markku group began to lift their chairs that were strapped to the top.

They took off the slab of what seemed like a square piece of table before grabbing hold of a tiny groove and pulling up the backs of the chair and finding similar grooves in the bottom to unfold the four chair legs.

It had taken ages for Ben, Eric, and Allison to make it with all of its complex mechanics and hidden technologies, but it was worth it. Logan never got tired of seeing that tiny table unfold to something so great and massive.

Logan could see Connie and Patton’s stupefied expressions, both standing in the corner.

Kate showed them over to two of the five extra seats that had been built in the table in case of the rare chance they got new members.

Logan stood at the front of the oval, in front of the large TV. The keyboard which had been put into the table glowed up but Logan ignored it. They wouldn’t need to use it today.

The table hushed and quieted until he could hear the buzzing of the lights and the quiet rustle of someone shifting in their seat.

Then, an outburst.

“Who are they?” Sophie scowled, pointing to where Connie and Patton were sat. “Are they trustworthy?”

“Why are we called here?” Sarah asked from the end of the table. “Normally you give us some idea for an all out meeting.”

“They could be part of the government!” David exclaimed.

“Did you find anything about the government?” Paul questioned.

“I had to find an actual human sitter last minute to take care of Heidi because all the robo-sitters were in use!” Oliver proclaimed.

“Quiet!” Kate shouted over the rambunctious noise of outraged and curious questions and statements.

“How dare you!” Ben growled, his eyes glaring at Sophie. “You doubt Logan enough to think he brought along two government spies to a whole, group meeting?”

Sophie didn’t seem to mind the 28 eyes staring at her. “We’re all human. I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities were on their way right now.” She sounded smug.

“Logan is smarter than that and precautious I highly doubt Connie or Patton are government spies!” Ben exclaimed.

“What makes you the expert-”

“Alright guys,” Kate warned, sitting to the right of Logan, holding out a hand. “Stop it with the fighting. I swear, you make me think that I get along with my own brother better than you two and I haven’t seen him in seven years!”

“Well, I would just love to never see Ben again!” Sophie sneered while Ben frowned and turned away from her.

“You’re interrupted an important meeting here. There’s a reason why Logan called all of us here. It’s important. Important and scary enough that Logan just about fainted earlier today.” Kate turned to Logan, “if you don’t mind me saying.”

Logan shook his head at Kate. “Kate is correct. I didn’t call everyone here to squabble and fight with one another.” He turned to Sophie and Ben. “Besides, siblings should work out their disagreements when they aren’t here in this house wasting precious time.”

“Sorry, Logan,” Ben finally said, looking down at the table. Sophie made no move to apologize.

Logan continued. “Anyway, now that all of the beginning noise is down I would not just call you all here if it weren’t critical.” He took a pause to gather his thoughts.

Then, he began to explain in a nutshell everything that had happened. Finding out that Virgil was on the run from the government, he glazed over Connie’s arrival, then to the human experiments, next to when he met Patton.

Then, the letter. “Virgil gave Patton a letter talking about things I could have never imagined when the rebellion was first created.”

The Markku group stayed silent with bated breath.

“It was mainly about two things. There are also some information that may come in handy.” Logan added in, taking the letter out from his breast pocket and unfolding it. “A storm and superpowers.”

“A storm?” Connie repeated.

“We aren’t in a stupid fantasy story,” Sophie grimaced. “Superpowers don’t exist.”

Logan ignored Sophie and instead, turned to Connie. “Yes. A storm. Virgil explains it as something like Jupiter’s storm. It makes sense, though. The high pressure of Earth and it’s almost always sunny weather, bordering on too hot. The seemingly always high wind.”

“That makes no sense,” Sophie said. “Jupiter is a gas planet. Earth is, obviously, not a gas-planet.”

“Apparently in this letter the government has known about this for around 50 years, refusing to say anything in fear of extreme behaviour.” Logan said, glaring at Sophie. “I don’t know about you but the logic is there and Virgil Bolter wrote it.”

“And what about the superpowers?” Connie asked.

“Well, that’s what the human experiments are for. They’re trying to find an elixir to create super humans and reverse the oncoming storm.” Logan explained.

“And have they found anything?” Kate asked.

Logan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Virgil said that when he left they only started planning the human experiments wing of the government and how to get people to sign up.”

“So that’s all he left us, some information?” Sophie said dubiously.

“What? What do you expect an ex-government worker to tell us? He hasn’t been in the government building for two years!” Ben exclaimed.

“He also gave us the skeleton password to sneak in people’s houses as well as the last codes to get into the government building he remembers. However, he doubts that they will work as Virgil thinks that they probably changed the password since his leaving.” Logan said calmly.

“Why are you doubting him so much?” Ben asked. “Why are you only now being so rude?”

“Because maybe now I know what side I belong to.” Sophie sniffed just as someone knocked harshly on the front door.

Then, the room bled to black until Logan couldn’t see anything, just blackness.

“Traitor! Traitor!” Logan could hear Ben shrieking. “You disgust me, Sophie Lindie Pascal! How could you-“ he instantly stopped and Logan could only fear the worst.

Logan crawled quickly under the table, his brain going a mile a minute.

Footsteps pounded into the meeting room and the whole place was in chaos. Shrieking women, sounds of skin slapping skin, the sound of metal…

Logan felt something bump into him.

“Who’s that!” Connie hissed.

“It’s me, Logan,” Logan said back, thankful that Connie hadn’t been taken. He couldn’t imagine hunting down Connie’s parents and telling them what happened to their daughter.

“Who’s there…?” a second, more timid voice, stumbled.

“Patton?” Logan asked, feeling a second wave of relief.

“Is that you Logan?” Patton whispered, his voice shaking in the darkness.

“And Connie,” Connie added in.

Kate’s voice rang out, “don’t you dare touch me! Shame on you Sophie!” She added in.

In less than seconds the black dissolved and Logan crawled back out from under the table.

The only people in the room were himself, Connie, Patton, and Kate who was standing in the corner, her arms out in defence and her face red.

“What happened?” Patton asked, crawling out from underneath the table along with Connie.

“Sophie.” Kate said, dropping her arms and walking over. “She must have ratted us out.”

Logan couldn’t help but agree. He nodded. “It would seem that way with her arguing more than usual.”

“Didn’t she also say that she wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities arrived soon?” Patton asked curiously, nervously dragging his hands across the smooth table.

“Well there’s no time to think about anything. We have to leave. And now. The government, and Sophie, will soon realize that not everyone was taken.” Kate said.

Logan nodded again, his mind slowly calming down. “But where?”

“I would offer my house but...I sorta ran away to find you guys,” Patton said apologetically.

“What?” Kate said, appalled. “You’re parents must be worried sick.”

“If I hadn’t come you wouldn’t know what was in the letter,” Patton pointed out.

Kate pursed her lips then said, “well, we can’t come to my house. My roommates are there sleeping.”

“How about my place? My parents are gone away to the Greens.” Connie piped up.

“When are they expected back?” Logan asked.

“Not for another three days.” Connie said.

“And no one else will bother us if we go?” Kate questioned. “Nagging siblings or something?”

Connie shook her head. “My brother’s at university.”

“What’s he studying?” Patton asked curiously.

“Drama,” Connie said quickly before looking at Logan. “So…is that a yes?”

“It’s our only choice.” Logan stated. “Let’s start packing. Who knows how long we’ll be gone.”

***

Virgil was at the desk in the testing room when the door creaked open.

“Mr. Bolter?” Canace’s tiny voice said.

Virgil straightened up from his bent position looking at some paper and turned in his chair to look at Canace.

“It’s almost curfew,” Virgil said, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. “Is there anything wrong?”

Virgil felt slightly sorry for the girl. Her hair was in two braids and she had on a pink nightgown. She looked weary and nervous, her face pale in the bright, white, light.

“Um, not wrong…” Canace said, coming in closer and closing the door quietly, the tiny click sounding like a thunderclap. “But...I just...thought...that...um…”

Virgil blinked.

Canace shook her head. “Nevermind. I’ll just...I’ll just show you…” she trailed off awkwardly.

Canace dimmed the lights and Virgil curiously watched as Canace looked at her hands then to the ceiling.

For minutes nothing happened. Virgil waited patiently.

When ten minutes was up, Virgil had been checking the clock, he had to say something. Canace had to go back to the children’s ward. Mr. Edra would have his head.

“Canace,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. Canace hadn’t moved an inch from her place in the center of the room, her head tilted up and her eyes closed. “You can try again tomorrow…”

That was when water splashed onto his nose. And another. And another. Virgil’s head shot up to the ceiling where a small, grey, rain cloud was forming.

Weather Manipulation.

Canace had her eyes open and trained on Virgil. She had sweat glistening on her forehead and her hands had dropped, the splashes of water slowly becoming further apart.

Canace turned the lights on full blast and Virgil had to blink quickly.

“I...I was feeling really happy today...and it was really rainy tonight. And then, I was looking out the window and a sliver of sun came through the thick clouds…” Canace explained, clasping her hands in front of her tightly.

Virgil nodded, feeling like a frozen statue. He was a deer caught in headlights. They had never expected a weather manipulator to come out of the first two people who tried Leda Cross’ super power potion.

He had to tell Mr. Edra. This is what the government needed. An angel and a miracle all in one.

But, at the same time…

Virgil stood up and mustered up his best smile. The poor kid must have had an eventful day. “You must be tired, Canace. We’ll work everything out tomorrow. We can work on your powers later. Get stronger.”

That was what Mr. Edra wanted to do with the child that would, hopefully, get weather manipulation as a power.

And then, when the child would grow older and stronger they would be able to stop the storm.

But Canace was young and the storm would have to be raging for a couple of years.

Canace nodded and began to walk to the door, her hand about to touch the doorknob when she turned around again. “Can you walk me over? It’s dark.”

Virgil nodded. “Of course.” He walked closer to Canace and opened the door, turning off the lights in the process.

He put a hand behind Canace’s back and lead her over to the children’s room. Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls and the view in front of Virgil could have been put in a horror film.

Virgil could practically feel the fear radiating from Canace. Whether it was fear of him, her own powers, her father, or all of it, he didn’t know.

“You’ll be fine,” Virgil said quietly, trying to put the child at ease. “A nice rest will do you good. Tomorrow is a new day.”

The phrase felt familiar on his tongue but Virgil couldn’t quite place it. Maybe someone said it before he had lost his memory.

Virgil dropped Canace off at the children’s ward and then began to head back to his room. Do a little more work then go to bed.

He just about banged into Mr. Edra going towards the children’s ward.

“Mr. Bolter!” Mr. Edra exclaimed, his eyebrows up in surprise. “Fancy seeing you here! I was just about to check on the children.”

“I was dropping off Canace.” Virgil explained, not able to look Mr. Edra in the eye. Now would be the time to tell him about Canace’s power but his throat was closing up. It would be the right thing to do. Mr. Edra told him that when Canace got her powers to tell him immediately.

After all, Mr. Edra was Canace’s father.

“She wanted another pain killer,” he lied quickly, keeping his face neutral, finally looking into Mr. Edra’s piercing grey eyes.

“Poor thing,” Mr. Edra nodded understandingly. “Well, thank you for your help. The world depends on it.”

Beep.

Virgil’s body shook violently as the sound came from Mr. Edra’s wrist. His brain was sounding the danger alarm and his thoughts were running in circles. He didn’t know what caused the sudden fear to course through him. There was nothing dangerous or anything to fear where he was.

“This is Janessa, sir.” Janessa’s voice rang from Mr. Edra’s wrist.

Mr. Edra pulled up his right hand closer to his face. “Yes, Janessa?” He asked.

“They’re here. The Markku group. I was wondering if you’d like to-”

Janessa was cut off by Mr. Edra who suddenly looked ecstatic. “Yes of course, I‘ll be down in just a moment.”

There was another ear piercing beep and Virgil had to clench his eyes shut as rippes of strong emotions telling him to flee took ahold of him. So that was what it was. The beeping sound.

“Who...what’s happening?” Virgil stuttered out.

Mr. Edra turned to him, smiling widely. “The Markku group. A rebellion who’s against our vision of a better and brighter future. Some dangerous ideas, those people have. Dangerous indeed.” He repeated, shaking his head. “Come along, this is a time to celebrate! We finally caught the Markku group!” He exclaimed, beckoning Virgil to follow as he strided down the hallway, his footsteps echoing.

Virgil followed.

They came to the front entrance with the massive doors and the secretary to the right. A woman who Virgil guessed was Janessa came out of the secretary room. “They’re just outside. I was waiting for you to let them in.” Janessa explained.

“Open the doors!” Mr. Edra boomed and Janessa punched in a string of numbers on the control panel next to the door and the metal doors slid open.

Outside, there were at least 20 people and then some including the black clad guards. All of the people were lined up in three lines, all handcuffed to one another except one.

There was only lady looking smug in the back. She was between two guards and there seemed to be an angry glint in her eyes.

“Ah! You must be Sophie Pascal!” Mr. Edra exclaimed, clapping his hands loudly together, and walking towards Sophie.

“And you, Mr. Edra,” Sophie replied, also taking a few steps to meet Mr. Edra in the middle. “I have been looking forward to us meeting.”

Virgil roamed the eyes of the crowd. They were of all varying ages and each had different expressions. Most were grouped with sadness and fear.

However...Virgil met eyes with a man who would probably be around his age, if not slightly older. He had a defiant look in his eyes and looked ready to clobber someone.

The man’s eyes widened as he met Virgil’s stare. “Virgil Bolter!” He exclaimed.

34 pairs of eyes stared intently at him.

“And how would you know Mr. Virgil Bolter, sir?” Mr. Edra interrupted, breaking away from the conversation with Sophie.

The man spat on the floor then looked Mr. Edra square in the eyes. “Because.” He said childishly.

Sophie glared at the man the glared at one of the guards. “Gag him.” She demanded. “Honestly, Ben, would you be quiet? You’re in the presence of a dignified man here and you dare spit in his presence?”

Ben turned his ice cold stare to Sophie. “How dare you betray your friend’s trust and turn them in. We all trusted you, Sophie. Even I did. Come on, there’s still time to make this right,” Ben’s voice became softer, as if talking to a crying child. “We have to stick together.” Ben took a small pause before whispering “cattail.”

Sophie froze and turned to look at Ben.

No one dared move. No one dared to breathe.

Except for Mr. Edra. “Do you know that man, Sophie?” He cut in, stepping on thin ice. “We can have him tied up if you want.”

Sophie’s face hardened. “No, I don’t know him. And it’s not necessary to tie him up. All of them will get what’s coming for them eventually. Butterfly weed,” she snapped at Ben. “Now stop it.”

“You’re still doing it,” Ben grinned smugly.

“You definitely seem like you know that man. Secret codes and all.” Mr. Edra said, nonchalantly.

Sophie turned pale and turned to Mr. Edra. She smiled sweetly. “I have no idea who he is. And, you know what? I changed my mind. Tie him up now and put him somewhere without the others.”

Mr. Edra turned to a guard. “Tie him up in the basement. Then come back up.”

“Orange lily!” Ben muttered as a guard dragged him down the hallway.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders

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drreporting · 6 years

Text

Echo Pt.17

“I hated you,” she admitted, wiping tears from her cheeks again. In a softer voice, she added, “I think I still do.”

Her words hit him hard. He held his face in his hands, unsure of how to process the information she’d just told him. “What was Megan telling me?”

Amelia shrugged. “You never talked about it. All I know is that your mom visited a couple times with you.”

Owen fought to catch his breath, suddenly feeling the walls closing around him. “I…I need to leave.” He stood up, haphazardly looking around for his car keys.

Confusion and hurt written all over her face, she said, “Owen, don’t leave. Where are you gonna go?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, feeling on the verge of a panic attack. He felt like he was having an out of body experience, like the Owen that his ex-wife had just described was a completely different person. But no, it was him. He said and did all those cruel things to her, to his family and friends, and the worst part was that he couldn’t figure out why. “I just need to go.” He stormed out of the kitchen and, before Amelia could grab onto him and beg him one more time to stay, he was gone. A deep feeling of dread filled her entire being as she stared at their front door. History was repeating itself. She was unfortunately right when she told Derek that people didn’t change.

The further Owen walked away from the house, the harder the rain fell. By the time he reached the bus stop a few streets down, it was pouring. Sitting at the stop, he held his face in his hands as he tried to calm himself down and figure out his next move, the cold rain barely fazing him.

“It’s all your fault, Eeyore.” Owen jumped, quickly raising his face to see where the voice had come from. There, sitting across from him, was Megan.

“Leave me alone,” he told her, knowing his mind was playing tricks on him.

“It’s your fault I got on that helicopter,” she listed, standing up, “It’s your fault I went missing for so long.” She walked over to him, lowering her lips to his ears. “It’s your fault your wife hates you.” Standing up straight, she corrected herself, “Sorry, ex-wife.”

“I stayed in the army for five years!” he yelled at her, “I looked for you for five years.”

“And I was missing for 12!” she screamed back at him, “Why didn’t you look harder?!”

“I am sorry, Meg.” Owen buried his face in his hands once more, trying to will the hallucination away. “I moved on because I thought I would never find you. I thought you had died.”

“I wish I did,” she muttered. Owen furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, wondering if his brain was subconsciously accessing his memories to create the hateful Megan in front of him now. “Your wife hates you. I hate you. The only person who could hate you more than we do right now, is yourself Eeyore.”

“I do,” he confessed, looking up at the sky. The rain was finally beginning to feel cold against his skin. “I hate myself, Megan. Are you happy?”

“No,” she answered, turning away. Before she walked off, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do something about it.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked her. When he heard no response, he looked at where he thought she was standing, only to find that she was no longer there. Instead, there was a relatively old man who had just sat down on the bench across from him, shaded by an umbrella. He used the newspaper in his hand to sit on so that the bench wouldn’t wet his attire.

“I’d offer you some shade,” he said, “But I don’t think it would make sense at this point.”

“Yeah,” Owen mused, looking down at his attire.

“Charles,” he introduced himself, “Who were you talking to?”

“Myself, I think.”

“You sounded pretty angry,” Charles disclosed, “I heard you from down the road, not that I’m trying to be nosy.” He looked over at Owen and smiled warmly. “Family problems?” The trauma surgeon’s silence confirmed his answer. Sensing his reluctance to speak about the issue, the man attempted to fill the silence. “I used to ride motorcycles when I was younger,” he informed him, “Or at least that’s what my wife used to tell me.”

Owen stared out at the rain pouring in front of them. “Accident?”

“Lost all of the best memories of my life,” he said, “And the worst.” He sighed looking up at the sky. “Apparently, I used to be a therapist. I had three kids who didn’t understand why daddy couldn’t remember them, and a wonderful wife who was so patient with me that I didn’t deserve it, to be honest.” Owen looked over at the man now, and Charles looked back at him. “But I didn’t remember them, so I didn’t love them; I didn’t even like them. I never imagined myself settling down and having kids, so I felt so trapped when I woke up in that hospital to my new life.”

“I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare,” Owen confessed, running a hand stressfully through his wet hair, “Like everyone is in on the joke except for me. Like...”

“Like you’re standing up in front of your class, in your underwear,” Charles finished the thought for him, “Yeah, I know that feeling.” The rain began to settle as he continued to speak. “In a way, though, it felt like I’d been given a second chance to do things differently.” He looked over at Owen and asked, “Have you been given a second chance, Owen?”

Owen shrugged, not knowing the answer. “I think my chances have run out.” He covered his mouth as tears fell down his cheek. He had walked right out of the house, more importantly; he’d walked out on Amelia when all she was doing was trying to help. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about the fact that he was doing the same things he did before the accident. It was as if he’d learned nothing from his past behaviour.

“Well,” Charles mused as the rain turned into a light drizzle, “What would you do if you did have another chance?”

“Ask for forgiveness,” he scoffed, as if the answer was obvious.

“There’s only so much forgiveness you can ask for,” the guy chuckled, closing up his umbrella, “If I were you, and I’d been given another chance to fix what I broke…” He looked back at Owen. “Well, I don’t know what exactly I’d do but, for starters, I wouldn’t do the same thing that caused the problem in the first place, again.” Owen frowned at his information. He was right. He’d been cursed with this illness, yet blessed with a second chance to fix his relationship, and here he was, soaking wet at a bus stop, talking to some old guy.

“I have to go,” Owen said, standing up suddenly, “Thank you.”

---

Amelia couldn’t wait any longer on their bed. Owen had been gone for almost an hour, and it was raining. She was confused at his outburst, she was hurt that he’d walked out on her again, but mostly, she was worried about him and his whereabouts. She couldn’t lie to herself; as much as she didn’t want to, she still cared deeply for him; the towel she held in her hands as she waited for him only reinforced that thought, and she didn’t know if that meant that she still had feelings for him or not. All she knew was that she needed to know that Owen was okay.

“I think I might need a new phone,” a voice said. She snapped her head around, only to find Owen at the door of their bedroom, soaked from head to toe. Clothes stuck to every inch of his muscles and, if it wasn’t for the tense situation they were in, she might’ve thought it was kind of sexy. She watched as he walked around the bed and towards her. He then sat in front of her, setting the phone on the floor next to him, and smirked at her.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, his eyes red from crying. Suddenly, a goofy smile overtook her face. “Why…Why are you smiling?” he asked, confused at her sudden change in demeanour.

She eyed his entire being before saying, “It’s hard to take you seriously when there are water drops hanging off of your golden eyelashes.” Owen smiled and laughed softly as Amelia used the towel in her hands to pat his face dry. He then proceeded to pull his shirt over his head before she ruffled his hair with the same towel. Owen stared at her fondly through the entire experience, a soft smile on his face.

“What was it like?” he asked her as she dried his neck and chest, “Before all the bad stuff. What were we like?” She remained silent for a minute, trying to find the right words to describe the kind of love they used to have.

“We were every sense of the word imperfect, but we were so happy,” she disclosed, running the towel along his arms, “A lot of crappy stuff happened to us, but we made it through.”

“What kind of crappy stuff?”

In a casual tone, Amelia recalled, “Hypothermia, relapses, PTSD, car accidents, a miscarriage...” She smiled to herself as she added, “Come to think of it, most of these things happened to me, actually, not us.”

“You are really unlucky,” he joked.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “The most normal thing to happen to us that was bad was that time you had your appendix taken out and the time I got my appendix taken out.” Owen laughed, finding the statement hilarious. They were bad luck charms.

“How have we lasted this long?” he wondered, still chuckling.

“We didn’t,” she reminded him, accidentally darkening the mood. Once she realised what she’d said, she added, “No filter. Sorry.”

Owen curled his lips into a coy smirk as he analysed her previous statement. “I should be the one apologising.” She stopped drying him and held the towel in her hand, gazing at him as she shrugged. She passed the towel through his hair one more time as she contemplated whether to say what had been on her mind for a little while.

“Ex-wife to ex-husband?” she teased, handing him the towel. He rolled his eyes playfully at her choice in labels, but waited for her to finish. “Sometimes I forget what it was like when we were happy, even what it was like to just kiss you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t remember it at all,” he joked, making her giggle. He liked the sound of her laugh and the way it made her dimples sink into her cheeks. He didn’t know if it was a habit or if she did it to get his attention, but Owen didn’t miss the way she softly bit her bottom lip, trying to hide her smile. In one swift motion, he got up on his knees to be on her level, causing his body to get closer to hers. His sudden invasion of her space made her cheeks turn red and her heart jump with adrenalin. He was giving her that look. That look that he used to give her right before he was about to kiss her. She didn’t even think he knew he was giving her that look.

Resting his hands on either side of her on the bed, Owen unapologetically stared at her bitten bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?” Although she knew that was what he was going to do anyways, hearing him ask it made her heart race even more.

For a moment, she lost her voice, opening her mouth and no words coming out. “We…shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.” He nodded, but made no movements to distance himself from her. He knew she didn’t have many residual feelings for him, but he couldn’t resist so instead, he got even closer, his nose brushing against hers as their foreheads touched. Relishing in the all too intimate feeling, Amelia closed her eyes and sighed peacefully.

“We have a lot of problems,” she reminded herself more than him, her cheeks flushing the longer they stayed so close to each other.

His hands made their way to her thighs before slowly running up her sides. “So you’ve told me.” Dear lord, she couldn’t get the thoughts that were going through her, out of her mind. The smell of her shampoo was flooding his senses now. It was all so familiar, yet all so new.

“We are divorced,” she added, hoping the information would discourage him from continuing. She wouldn’t stop herself if he kissed her, so she needed him to be the bigger person and stop.

“You’ve also told me that,” he whispered, his hands making their way to her shoulders now. They snaked up her neck and cupped her cheeks, his thumbs caressing the skin there. At this point, she felt as though her heart would leap out her throat.

“Owen…” Before she could finish the rest of her sentence, his lips were on hers. He’d started off slow, soft touches and brushes of his tongue against her bottom lip; he wasn’t sure how she liked to be kissed. However, unbeknownst to him, the gentle kissing only served to provoke Amelia and make her want more. She pulled his hands away from her face, fed up with being treated like a fragile antique, and laced her hands in his hair, softly pulling on it and knowing that he would part his lips, giving her entrance into his mouth. Owen moaned softly at the assaultive kiss; he was surprised at how assertive she was being. He somehow thought of her as a modest lover, but the way she was kissing him right now, he could tell she was anything but that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her as she lay back on the bed. He went with her, holding his body up by his hands as he covered her body with his. If they kept this up, pretty soon she’d be able to feel his excitement, and he wasn’t sure if she was planning to go that far with him.

“Pants,” Amelia rasped as she pulled away from him, pushing on his chest. Or maybe she was planning to go that far.

“Are you sure?” he sought to confirm, not wanting to push her too far.

“No, Owen,” she exclaimed, “Your pants are wet.” Quickly, he leapt off the bed, but the damage was done. There was a huge wet spot covering Amelia’s lower body and shorts, not to mention the comforter.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly announced, his cheeks red with embarrassment, “I thought you meant-,” Just then, her pager went off. Disappointment filled Owen’s entire being as he remembered that she was on call.

“I have to go,” she said as she read the message. She stood up, heading to the bathroom while he searched for some fresh, dry clothes.

Almost 10 minutes later, she reappeared in black jeans and a plain t-shirt, grabbing her items from her bedside table as she made her way out of the bedroom. At the door she paused and turned around, remembering that she’d left some unfinished business.

She walked to where Owen was patiently sitting down and planted a quick peck on his lips. “We’ll finish this when I get back.”

Owen nodded; he was fascinated by this side of her that he’d managed to bring out. “Okay.” She kissed him one more time before leaving the bedroom. “Amelia,” he called, stopping her exit. She quickly turned around and looked at him expectantly. “You should wear your hair down more,” he said, “I like the way it looks.”

Her cheeks turned red yet again as she processed the compliment, but she eventually settled for smiling shyly. “You told me that when we first started dating.” And with that, she was gone. Once he heard the front door slam shut, Owen fell back onto the bed and exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as a stupid grin took over his face. He had kissed Amelia. He had finally kissed Amelia. He sighed dreamily, replaying the kiss in his mind.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes wide and froze with fear. He just made out with his ex-wife.

“Oh crap,” he berated himself, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands. He had a feeling this was going to get very messy very quickly.

#echo #au #au fics #rymelia #rymeliafics #omelia #omeliafics #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #oc #omeliafanfic #ryan shepherd #rosie shepherd hunt #megan hunt

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surveys-at-your-service · 6 years

Text

Survey #134

“i got detention ‘cuz i made a face; nobody believed me that it’s stuck that way.”

If you were to die today would your life be complete? No. How good is Coca-Cola? It's my second-favorite soda. Who was the last person you took a picture with?  My niece Aubree <3 Do you have a bad temper?   No. Do you know anyone who is pregnant right now?  One acquaintance, one old friend off the top of my head. Have you ever had someone pick you up off the ground and carry you? Mom when I passed out. If you were in the hospital, do you think any of your exes would come see you? Girt probably would, and he's the only one I wouldn't have a problem with visiting. If you were kicked out of your house, would the last person you texted take you in? I'm sure they would, but it's more realistic I'd live with my dad. If you were immortal for a day, what would you do? Skydive. What fictional place would you most like to go to? Yo can I go to Azeroth. Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished? UHHHHHH. I'm honestly not quite sure. But Mark is like super high on the list, if not #1. I'm not well-informed on a lot of people's accomplishments lajsfdaowe. What’s something you like to do the old-fashioned way? Hmmmm. Good question. What is one thing you really want but can’t afford? Lmao dude I want so many expensive things atm. What is the most impressive thing you know how to do? I almost snorted reading this question because like do you honestly expect something impressive of me. I... guess I understand Sony Vegas well? What are some of the turning points in your life? Uhhhh meeting my ex, the divorce, discovering my passion for photography, the breakup, re-uniting with Dad, r e c o v e r y. What’s your cure for hiccups? NOTHING. NOTHING WORKS. Don’t you think it’d be cool to see a colossal squid? FUCKING NOPE THEY ARE SPAWNS OF THE NIGHTMARE REALM. What kind of steak do you prefer? When I ate meat, I liked medium well. Has anyone ever cheated on their significant other with you? Yes, allow me to (not) tell you about my stupid 12-year-old self. Are you fascinated by outer space? *cue the Mark "Space is Cool" mix* Do you answer your phone when it’s a number you don’t recognize? Never. When washing your hands, do you wet your hands or put soap on first? Put the soap on. When was the hardest you ever cried? What was the circumstance? The night of the breakup. I had left the house to walk to Jason's, and Mom got in the car and kept driving in front of me to stop me (I was too practically catatonic to run). Eventually gave up, she drove me home, and when she opened the door, it was my goal to run to the kitchen and slit my throat, but the moment I made the action to run, she pretty much tackled me and I sobbed my lungs out for like 30 minutes. Fuck that entire night. Who were your last 3 Facebook messages from and what do they say? "lol but hey thats the world we live in lol well goodnight honey and i hope to speak to u again" from Leslie, "How quaint O:" from Girt, "Its okay :)" from Amanda. Who was the last person to comment on your Facebook status? What does the comment say? Sara saying "YEP" when I shared a picture of straight people dating versus lesbians and it was spot-on. Which do you use the most, smiley faces, kisses or hearts? Faces, probs. Do you like sweet or salty popcorn? Ohhhh both. But I've gotta side with salty. Have you ever had to put your hand over someone’s mouth to keep them quiet? Once. Have you ever fed a wild animal? Yes. The last time you packed, where were you going? Sara's. Do you believe in astrology? Definitely not. Do you have an accent? Not really, but you can pick up a southern tone with some words. Example, my "your" sounds more like "yer," usually. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No. Do you sing in the shower? I have been a tad bit lately... I used to never. Are you satisfied with your current camera? My phone camera is SHIT, and I need a new actual camera. 55-200mm lens is broken, the other one's automatic focus setting is and I'm not great at manual focus. Have you ever been in a choir? In Catholic church, yes. Does it bother you to have dirt on the bottom of your bare feet? Y E S Has anyone ever told you that you have a big butt? I literally have the flattest ass of any female you'll ever meet. Do you often skip breakfast? Pretty much daily now, yeah. I'm fasting and don't eat until 11, so breakfast's passed. Last person who drove you somewhere (besides your parents)? Nicole. Who last grabbed your behind? I'm sure it was Chelsea being her crazy self. Do you eat raw cookie dough? Yeah dukes up salmonella. Do you watch Grey’s Anatomy? No. Would you survive in prison? No. I would find one way or another to kill myself. Do you drink? Smoke? Do drugs? Why, or why not? Rarely, no, no. I drink usually in celebratory settings to loosen up some and sometimes just because I like the flavor of weak, fruity alcohol. Smoking's gross, drugs are ew. What was the first cigarette you ever smoked? Never smoked. Are you scared about the end of the world? If I'mma be in it, hell yeah. But it's not something I actively worry about because I don't think it'll happen in my lifetime. Do you prefer landmarks or street names when being given directions? Landmarks. I don't know street names for shit. Do you read the prologues in the beginnings of books? Yes. Where is one place that you’d never be caught dead in? Never be caught dead in, ever... uhhhh... nothing's coming to mind right now. Oh wait. Probably a strip club. Apple Jacks: yay or nay? YAY. Do you have a favorite Scooby-Doo movie? Yeah, but I don't remember which one. ;-; It's that one where the girl says her name is Mary Jane and Shaggy goes, "That's, like, my favorite name." Totally went over my head as a kid lmao. Have you ever met a guy for coffee? No, I hate coffee anyway. Who is your pet most attached to in your family? Teddy's most attached to me, I'm the only one who has any physical contact with Venus and she trusts me, Bentley is bonded with Mom, and Mitsu is still apprehensive of anyone. Does the last person you shared a bed with mean anything to you? The whole world and more. What do you normally do when you’ve had a really bad day? Cry, have a shit attitude occasionally, a nap is common, talk to Sara, binge my favorite Markiplier videos. When is the next time you will wear a dress? Hm. Maybe this summer if I'm confident enough in my body by then lmao. On the main page on YouTube, what’re the three recommended videos? 8-BitGaming beating SCP: Containment Breach, a DanAndPhilGAMES video of Golf With Friends, and then an 8-BitRyan vid of the full release of Raft. Do you know anyone from Canada? Yeah, my former roommate's ex. Are thongs sexy? Yeah, but oml I know I couldn't wear one. Did you grow up in a healthy environment? I wouldn't say "healthy," no. My dad was an alcoholic at the time, parents always fought, and our neighborhood was dangerous. Heavy rain or heatwave? Heavy rain, easily. Fuck the heat. You have a choice to shoot your father or die, what would you do? I hate these damn questions, but I'd rather die. My father deserves the longest and happiest life possible without the betrayal of his daughter. If killing yourself meant saving the world, would you? Yeah. It's a lose-lose situation for me; if I didn't, I'd still die if the world's gonna end. Who knows your most darkest memory or secret? Jason and Mom should know, and whoever read those specific surveys. Who was the last person you almost went out with? Meh. Juan. We talked and hung out once in... late 2016 I think and I was pretty confused as to how I felt about him. Meanwhile, he hasn't kept it a secret in the least he's liked me since freshman year. He's always treated me like a gentleman should, but I know the dark and disgusting parts of him. Glad I decided against it. The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, or The Beatles? Stones. What does your grandma call you? Just my name. And what do you call your grandmother? Grammy. Would you rather have a pool or a hot tub? Pool. Do you think ‘everything bagels’ are disgusting? No, but I have to be in the mood for one. Do you find serial killers fascinating? I wouldn't call them as a whole fascinating, but what has to be going on in their brains to create such grotesque desires and creativities. Do you have high blood pressure? No. Have you ever pumped gas? No. I'm 22 btw lmao. Have your parents ever caught you drinking? I mean Mom's seen me with a drink when she didn't know I'd gotten one, but I wouldn't call it "caught" since I'm allowed to and I made no effort to make it secretive. Do you prefer writing by hand or typing? Typing. Writing makes my carpal tunnel act up quickly, and besides, typing's way faster. Think of one of the biggest decisions you've had to make in your life. If you made a different choice, how different would your life be now? Panicking and telling Mom when I overdosed. I took way more than what I should've taken of a cold medicine I can't even look at now, but I don't think it would've killed me based on how I felt, but then again, the fluids or whatever I got to purge it could've saved me; however, I feel like I would've killed myself through another method if I didn't tell her. It all led to the psychiatric care I needed. Have you ever taken a course on CPR? No, but I should. Do you wear a watch? No, I don't even own one. When are you at your most energetic? A little after waking up. Just gotta get over the initial drowsiness. Do you like playing cards? If so, what's your favorite game? I don't really enjoy card games. I liked Magic: The Gathering tho when I was with Jason, but I wasn't that good at it considering it's got like a billion rules. I'd still play with someone who knew how to, though. I loooove the PS3 version that was made for it, it was much easier and I found it relaxing. And I adore the artwork like jfc. What are your parents’ natural hair colors? What is yours? Extremely dark brown, black, dirty blonde but turned to brown. How do you react to random strangers suddenly trying to make conversation with you? I get nervous. Do you like Slim Jims? YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS MAMA. Have you ever been in a castle? The Disney World castle, if that counts? Would you rather write a mystery or love story? A love story. Are you afraid of getting shots? No. I don't like them, but. What do you currently hear? "Pour Some Sugar On Me" cover by Ninja Sex Party. What’s one text that you saved? Two texts from Sara that I love way too much. Have you ever cut your own hair? No. What’s your favorite color combination? Probably orange and black bc Halloween. Did you share a locker at school? No. Have you ever sang karaoke? No. How old were you when you went on your first date? Huh, I dunno. Just the guy and myself? Probably dinner with Jason at 16? Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yeah. Would you rather have strep throat or an ear infection? Holy fuck, after my last ear infection? Strep. Where was your first job? GameStop. Have you ever been to a night club? No. Do all good things really come to an end? No, not all. How many people do you trust with your life? Three. Are you too kind for your own good? Don't think so. Have you ever held a baby? Yeah. What's your favorite '90s TV show? The Nanny. What are you favorite book series? Warriors. Favorite superheroes? I know he's technically an anti-hero, but does Deadpool still count? If not, uh. Batman I guess. Would people consider you more immature or mature? Mature, probably. Would you say most of your friends are older or younger than you? Younger. If you have a significant other, do you get jealous of people a lot? She knows I was insecure as fuck in the beginning. Now, nope. Who was your best friend in the fifth grade? Ummm I think Quiata? Do your parents still help you financially? I don't have a job. So. Have either of your parents ever been in trouble with the law? Don't think so. Do you have a preferred brand of bottled water? Essentia. Thanks for not having it, NC. Are you more prone to overthinking things, or being too impulsive? Hunny I overthink if I have to pee or not if it's not a massive need. How bad are your worst cramps on a scale of 1-10? Eh, maybe just a seven thanks to the pill. Have you ever thrown up from cramps? No. List three people you had a hard time forgiving. JASON, Dad, Mom multiple times. Who was your first celebrity crush? Jesse McCartney. If applicable, what form of birth control do you use? The pill. But it's for cramps. Are you happy with your gender? Yeah. What gender do you identify as? Female. What gender were you born as? Female. Have you ever gotten high off a prescription medication? No. Have you ever used a tampon? Yeah. How old were you when your parents talked to you about puberty? I don't think it's something we ever properly "talked" about, but rather indirectly when Mom taught me how to shave and told me when to start wearing a bra. How many people have you known who were suicidal? Sadly, I think MOST people I know/most friends. What's your favorite pain reliever? Advil. Who has the cutest baby/babies you know? My nephew is literally the cutest child I have EVER seen. Do you have a lot of people blocked on Facebook? Actually yes, but most because Mom instructed me to block them when I was younger. A few are of my own volition. What color is your razor/shaver? Orange and white. What's your boyfriend/girlfriend's sisters name? She doesn't have any sisters. Do you like the sound of violins? YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Would you be interested in going on a blind date? Even if I was single, no. If you formed an unhealthy habit, would it be smoking or drinking? Oh boy, idk. I think an alcohol addiction is more dangerous, but smoking has disgusting consequences. Have you ever bought a video game expansion pack? No. Do you wish YouTube had been around when you were a kid? Nah. I wouldn't want the risk of an earlier technology addiction. Do you remember preschool? Yes. What color(s) was your backpack in high school? Browns and black. It was a Ouija board design. What health conditions do you have? Physically, baaad dry scalp, dry af skin in general, inactive MRSA. I've been over my mental ones enough. Have you ever collected seashells at the beach? Yeah. Did you ever take dance lessons? Yeah, for many years. If you took dance lessons, what was your favorite style of dance? Modern. Have you ever worn a tutu? No. What was your favorite vacation that you went on as a child? Disney World. Have you ever had braces? Yeah. What is your favorite photo editing site? (or what do you use?) I don't use editing sites. I use Photoshop, Lightroom, or PhotoScape. How many times did you take your driver's test? I haven't yet.

#survey #quiz #questions

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unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot · 7 years

Text

Trapped in The Sandbox

Happy Valentine’s Day, @fitzsimmonsshield!!! Your prompt was not in my fic writing comfort zone, but I hope you like what I came up with!

I tried to gift it to you on AO3, but it said it couldn’t find your username. It’s also not showing up on AO3, so I’m not sure what’s going on there. I may have to try to post it again later. In the meantime, you can enjoy the fic here on Tumblr!

Edit: It decided to show up on AO3, and I think I was able to gift it to you there. You’re fitzsimmonshield with one s between fitzsimmons and shield and not two?

Summary: When Mr. Coulson decides to send Daisy, Mack, Bobbi, Hunter, Jemma, and Fitz on a special episode of the game show Agents of Shield, Jemma decides it's the perfect opportunity to finally let her feelings be known.

Prompt: Fitzsimmons on some sort of ridiculous game show

Read on AO3

Location: The Sandbox

Local Time: Friday, 1:12pm

Jemma stared around her at the dimly lit room. A giant wooden box filled with sand was in the middle of the room. Fitz was busy digging through it, muttering a steady stream of curses as he still wasn't able to find the shield buried within. She sighed and sat down with her back against the wall. They were trapped.

Location: The Conference Room, Pleasant Hill Prosthetics

Local Time: Monday, 10:18am

Jemma sipped at her tea as her supervisor, a middle-aged balding man, spoke about the company’s latest numbers. She and Fitz had already given their presentation about the newest features on their latest prosthetic and were just waiting around for the meeting to be over with so they could get back to work.

“-and finally,” Mr. Coulson announced, and Jemma sat up a bit straighter. “I've noticed that team morale has been a bit low lately, so I've decided to book everyone on a team building exercise!” He smiled at them all as Hunter and Daisy let out groans.

“What are we going to do, sir?” Mack asked.

“I've booked the six of you to take part in a special charity episode of the game show Agents of Shield.”

“Is that the one with the freaky identical brothers?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, the hosts are identical quadruplets along with their older sister,” Mr. Coulson answered.

Jemma raised her eyebrows at that and glanced at Fitz who didn’t look as nearly impressed as she thought he should. Mr. Coulson continued talking about the game show, but Jemma had already tuned him out. She’d seen Agents of Shield before, but didn’t know too much about it. What she did know was that sometimes members of the team were trapped together. Maybe she could find a way to get herself and Fitz trapped? Maybe it would be romantic, just the two of them, stuck in a room, nothing to do but talk? Maybe Fitz would finally admit what she hoped he felt about her?

“Hey, earth to Jemma!” Fitz’s voice and his hand waving in front of her face pulled her out of her daydream. “Let’s get back to work.”

Location: Agents of Shield Green Room

Local Time: Friday, 10:30am

It turned out that there was a lot of paperwork to go through in order to appear on a game show. Then they had to go through makeup and have their outfits approved. Hunter’s DAMN THE YANKS t-shirt had been deemed unacceptable, so he’d been forced to change into a bright green polo shirt. Jemma stuck close to Fitz throughout the proceedings. She’d made sure to dress a bit nicer than her usual lab wear, but he hadn’t seemed to notice. He was tugging anxiously on his lip as he watched Hunter argue with the costume designer.

“It’ll be fun, I think,” she said.

He turned to look at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. The premise sounds fun, anyway.”

The point of the show was to send in two team members to complete a task in a specific amount of time. If the task was completed, you earned a shield. How many shields you had equaled the number of spins on the Prize Wheel in Providence. There were four sections to get through in order to reach Providence: The Playground, The Fridge, The Labyrinth, and The Sandbox. They went to each section in an order decided by the Koenig hosts, and their team captain—Daisy—would choose who completed the task in each section.

“Okay, everyone, listen up!” the director called out and Jemma turned her attention to listen, though her eyes never left Fitz.

Location: The Fridge

Local Time: Friday, 11:37am

“Oooh, I think Agent Johnson’s got it!” Sam Koenig commented to the camera.

Jemma, Fitz, Bobbi, and Hunter watched through viewing window as Daisy pulled the red, blue, and white shield out of the pie. The kitchen set—and Daisy and Mack themselves—was completely covered in various pie filling. They’d had to find the shield that had been baked into one of 30 pies in less than two minutes, and Daisy had succeeded with seconds to spare.

“Congratulations, Agents,” Sam told them as Daisy and Mack came out of the room. “You’ve won your first shield and therefore one spin of the Prize Wheel. We’ll let you go get cleaned up and then it’s time for you to meet Billy at The Playground!”

Location: The Playground

Local Time: Friday, 12:23pm

Jemma giggled gleefully as she watched Hunter get knocked in the stomach by a piece of spinning foam. He fell off the platform and landed in a kiddie pool filled with shaving cream. Fitz laughed as Hunter stood up, completely covered in shaving cream. Above him, Bobbi let out a triumphant yell as she reached the shield they were trying to get.

The two came out of the challenge room and Jemma reached for Fitz’s hand. It would be their turn next. He glanced at her and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Ready to prove yourself?” he whispered.

“Always,” Jemma replied.

Location: The Sandbox

Local Time: Friday, 1:06pm

“All right, Agent Fitz and Agent Simmons, listen up,” LT Koenig ordered, looking sternly at them. “Shield number three is hidden inside The Sandbox. Your mission is to retrieve it in less than two minutes. If you fail, you will be locked in the challenge room until your team reaches Providence. Your team may release you from the challenge room, but the cost is one shield. Any questions?” Fitz and Jemma shook their head. “All right,” LT opened the door and they entered. “Your time starts . . . NOW!”

The door closed behind them with a loud bang and Fitz immediately ran over to the giant wooden structure in the middle of the room. “Hurry up, Simmons!” he cried as he began digging in the sand. Jemma moved to the opposite side of the sandbox and began to run her hands through the sand.

“You can do it, Turbo!” she heard Mack yell.

“Go Jemma!” Daisy cheered.

The timer on the wall grew steadily closer to zero. Fitz began swearing as the shield still failed to reveal itself. “TEN SECONDS!” she heard LT Koenig yell. They kept digging. “FIVE—FOUR—THREE—TWO—ONE—” a loud buzzer sounded and they heard a lock click. Koenig’s face appeared in the viewing window. “Agents Fitz and Simmons, you have failed your mission. Agent Johnson, as team captain, it’s up to you to decide if you want to release them now, or after you reach Providence. To release them now would mean giving up one of your shields.”

“Sorry, guys,” Daisy said, “but we only have two shields. I can’t give one up, especially not when there’s still one task left.”

“It’s okay, Daisy,” Fitz told her.

“We understand,” Jemma added.

Location: The Sandbox

Local Time: Friday, 1:13pm

“I don’t think the bloody thing’s in there at all,” Fitz commented, finally giving up his search and coming to sit next to Jemma. “I think they rigged it.”

“So what?” Jemma asked.

“So what?” Fitz repeated, sounding incredulous. “It’s not fair, is it?”

“No, but at least we’re together.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed, nudging Jemma’s shoulder with his own. “I’d rather be stuck with you than Hunter.” He sighed and fidgeted with his fingers. “So, what do you want to do?”

“We could make out,” Jemma suggested. She looked over to see Fitz’s reaction and was not disappointed. She’d never seen a literal deer in headlights, but she knew it must be pretty similar to Fitz’s current expression. He looked like his brain had frozen trying to comprehend her comment. “Fiiitz!” she sing-songed, poking him on his temple. “Do I need to turn you off and on again?”

“Jemma!” he squawked, and even in the dim light of the room, she could see the blush spreading over his face to the tips of his ears. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because!” But he couldn’t seem to come up with any reasons why.

“I’d like to make out with you, Fitz,” Jemma told him, “and other things, beyond that.”

“You would?” Fitz sounded so confused.

“Yes, you idiot. Haven’t you noticed me flirting with you for the past year and a half?”

“Er—but I thought you liked what’s-his-face from PR?”

“Milton?” Jemma sighed and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, Fitz! Milton is the worst! How could you think I liked him and not you?”

“Well, you know, I’m not so good with the social cues,” Fitz said with a shrug.

“Then let me make it clear,” Jemma said, turning to face him. “I like you, Fitz. You are my best friend. I want to go on a date with you. I want to kiss you. Do you want to do any of those things with me?”

“Yes!” Fitz said quickly. “All of the above.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The door to the challenge room opened and an assistant came in. “You guys don’t actually have to stay in here the whole time,” she told them. “You’ll have to pretend you did when it’s time to film the ending, but you can go wait in the green room. There are snacks and drinks in there. Feel free to help yourselves.”

“Thanks!” Fitz said, jumping up excitedly at the promise of snacks.

“So,” Jemma said, taking Fitz’s hand as they walked through the set to the green room, “about our date…”

#thefitzsimmonsnetwork #fitzsimmonssecretvalentine #fitzsimmonsshield #aosficnet #buskidsnet #fanfiction #agents of shield #fitzsimmons #leo fitz #jemma simmons #daisy johnson #alphonso mackenzie #lance hunter #bobbi morse #phil coulson #sam koenig #lt koenig

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