#boys are up on his bar stools doing ‘gymnastics’ as he calls it a first aid kit was made necessary

[corrodedcoughin]

I need to see corroded coffin trying parkour and being so abysmally awful at it. I need to know that they ‘practice’ while setting up and breaking down for a gig, jumping over amps and drums and bar stools and falling every. Single. Time. I need to have them getting up from the floor with arms raised like they stuck the landing and all yelling at each other. I have to see them falling on their backs or their face and not getting up but sticking a thumbs up in the air before the next person makes their attempt and also failing. I need them to tell people they do parkour and anybody seeing them shaking their heads and walking away because ‘what are they doing?’ While corroded coffin are slapping each other’s backs and gripping each others shoulders and leap frogging (and failing obviously) and just having fun.

#the bar owner had to buy a first aid kit because of them. he didn’t need one when it was just bikers and metal heads but now that these #boys are up on his bar stools doing ‘gymnastics’ as he calls it a first aid kit was made necessary #Dustin Mike and Lucas all join and lucas is the only one out of EVERYONE who is good at it and he gets just as many cheers and shouts as #the other boys becuase they are all DELUSIONAL #god I love them #stranger things #corroded coffin

[all-the-love-harold]

Chapter 2 - I’m Having your Baby

Master Post 

Word Count:  3.6k 

Warnings: None

***

December 21st 2019

Poppy was late. 3 days late. Or maybe it was 4. She couldn’t quite remember, but she knew that she was late. She also knew that she was stressed with Christmas coming up, and that when she got stressed her period tended to stay away for a while, so she wasn’t getting her hopes up. Nonetheless, when she was out getting herself and Harry a coffee she ducked into the pharmacy nearby and bought a few home pregnancy tests, just to be sure. She was in no rush to take them though and if she was honest, she didn’t really have a spare second to think about it once she got home. Between making sure Oli got his lunch and preparing things for his 2nd birthday party which they were crazy enough to be having just three days before Christmas. Oh and did she mention that her and Harry were hosting Christmas lunch this year for his family AND hers. 

The pregnancy test crossed her mind again when she was giving Oli his bath that night and Oli picked up his doll that they kept as a bath toy. 

“Bubba” he said, dunking it’s head in the water “wash hair bubba” 

Poppy couldn’t help but giggle “You’re gonna a great big brother buddy.”

She was glad that he was too young to really understand what that meant, if he was any older she’d be getting a thousand questions about a baby she doesn’t even know that she had yet. 

“Pop, I’m going to pick up your family from the airport now” Harry called from downstairs “Need anything while I’m out?” 

“No, we’re all good H, good luck” Poppy called back “Love you” 

“Love you too” he said and she heard the door shut behind him. 

“Alright Ol, let’s hop out now, get you dressed” 

“Love you Mum” he smiled up at her as she helped him to stand up and wrapped his tiny toddler towel around him. Her heart melted and she placed a gentle kiss on his head. 

“I love you too Oli.” 

She helped him to get dressed into his pyjamas, encouraged him to use the toilet (he wasn’t quite ready to be out of nappies yet, but he was getting close) and brushed his hair so that he was all ready for bed. Since dropping his afternoon nap, it had been much easier to get him to sleep at night, which Harry and Poppy were both pleased about. 

“Right” Poppy said to Oli once he was all tucked up in bed “Have you got Itchy?” 

He nodded holding on tightly to his toy. 

“And Pippy?” she asked and he pulled his dummy out of his mouth, showed it to her and put it back

“And a big kiss from mummy” she kissed his forehead and pulled the side of the cot up so that he couldn’t perform some kind of gymnastics and escape from his bed in the middle of the night. 

“Sleep tight my big boy” 

“Night night Mum” he said as Poppy closed the door to his bedroom. 

She went straight to the bathroom and pulled out the pregnancy test, feeling more broody than ever knowing that her first baby turns two tomorrow. She remembered what it had been like taking the test when she thought she was having Oli, she was scared then because she wasn’t sure that she was ready to be a mum and now she was scared because she wasn’t sure she could face not becoming a mum again. Her heart pounded as she waited for the results to show. 3 minutes had never felt so long. 

“Poppy, dear - we’re here” she heard the sound of her mother’s voice walking in the front door. 

“Shit” she whispered to herself as she left the bathroom, making sure to close the door behind her. She made a mental note to come back to it as soon as she could but she couldn’t leave her family waiting, not after they’d been on a twenty four hour flight. 

“Hi Mum, Hi Dad” she said, half running down the stairs to give them a hug “Good flight?” 

“Awful” her dad, John, shook his head “Can’t smoke on planes these days, did you know that?” he began pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket 

“Can’t smoke in my house either Dad” Poppy said sternly “Follow the stairs all the way up and you’ll find a garden and be quiet, Oli’s just gone to bed”

“It’s freezing out there Pop” he huffed but started climbing the stairs anyway.

“Don’t I get a hello?” Her sister Addison said from next to Harry. 

“Of course you do” Poppy side stepped her mum and wrapped her sister in the biggest hug of them all  “God you’re getting so adult, can you stop please?” 

“I’m as old as you were when you moved here” Addie added “And I still live with mum dad” 

“It’s much cheaper that way” Poppy smiled 

“Yeah, you spent so much money in that first year didn’t you love” Harry said sarcastically 

“Enough outta you” Poppy squeezed his cheek making him giggle. 

“Can I get anyone tea or coffee or anything?”  Harry asked trying to get them all out of the entryway

“I’d love to see my grandson” Linda said, turning towards the stairs 

“I’ve just put him to bed Mum, you’ll see him in the morning, he’ll be up bright and early” 

“Right, well in that case, I’d love a glass of wine” she smiled at Harry. 

“Of course” Harry nodded tentatively, not entirely sure he had any wine to give her “Addie, wine? Tea?” 

Addie shook her head “No thanks Harry” 

“Vodka?” he asked

“I’m fine” she giggled, although a shot or two of vodka was temping after being on a plane with her parents for 24 hours. 

“I’ll show you both around while Harry does that” Poppy added and started going upstairs. Linda and Addie followed, with their bags still in their hands. 

“Leave those” Poppy said “Your rooms are downstairs anyway”

They dropped the bags and followed Poppy. A grimace already evident on Linda’s face 

“So this is mine and Harry’s room” she said when they got upstairs pointing to their bedroom door “It’s a mess so we won’t go in there” 

“Never have been able to keep your room clean have you Poppy” Linda added, peering in anyway 

“It’s so nice to have you here Mum” Poppy said, unable to hold her tongue. “And that room there is Oli’s so let’s be a little quiet”

“Is he a good sleeper” Addie asked. She knew a lot about babies, she worked in a nursery back home, very similar to the one Oli goes to. 

“He’s been much better since we stopped the day sleep” 

“His teachers must hate that” she laughed 

“They don’t seem to mind” Poppy shrugged and continued the tour down the hallway towards the next staircase

“This is where Harry’s mum sleeps when she stays, so we’re keeping that for her and you guys will all be downstairs 

“How many bedrooms is this place?” Linda asked, looking up the staircase

“6 or 7” Poppy said “That’s Harry’s office up there and there’s a studio downstairs, but he never uses it” 

“I accidentally told him I loved the album like 6 times on the way here” Addie giggled “he probably thinks I’m weirdly into him”

“He wouldn’t think that much of it Addie” Poppy smiled “Shall we go downstairs?” 

“Shouldn’t we go up?” Linda asked 

“We can” Poppy nodded “There’s not much to see up there though, it’s just a desk and the garden which I’ll show you in the morning” 

“Oh alright” Linda sighed and turned around on her heel with a huff in her breath . Poppy was starting to remember exactly why she’s decided to move to the other side of the world at just 18. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, she just found her selfishness intolerable. 

“Not giving a tour without me are you Pop?” John bellowed as he walked down the stairs, lips blue from the cold. 

“There’s not much to see dear, just a few oversized bedrooms” Linda drew her lips into a sharp line “That haven’t been cleaned. You know with Harry’s salary you could afford a cleaner”

Poppy and Addie shared a knowing look and Addie turned away from her parents and walked down the hallway towards the stairs. 

“I’m going to find that vodka Harry mentioned” she called, waving her hand for them to follow. And they did, without saying a word. Poppy had always admired how easily Addie could read people and turn a situation around in seconds without offending anyone and she smiled to herself because that hadn’t changed. 

In the Kitchen, Harry had two glasses of red wine sitting on the bench waiting for them and he had his head stuck in the fridge searching for something that seemed to be buried in the depths. 

“What are you looking for H?” Poppy said as she made herself comfortable on one of the bar stools. 

“All that cheese we bought the other day,” he said, head still in the fridge “and the dip”

“That’s in the butler’s fridge” she said quietly, suddenly realising that somehow she was living a life very different from the she left behind. 

“You have a butler?” Addie said, shocked “and he has his own fridge?” 

“No” Poppy laughed “there’s a mini kitchen in that little room over there” she pointed to the door that harry was opening “they call it a butler’s pantry, so we call the fridge the butlers fridge” 

“Oh Harry you’ll have to get me something else, I don’t drink red wine” Linda said before Addie had the chance to respond to Poppy. 

Harry, who was safley hidden away in the butlers pantry rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. If this was how he felt after an hour with Poppy’s family, how was he going to spend a whole two weeks with them. He did, however, take comfort in knowing that Poppy was feeling the same way. 

“I want to tip the wine over her head” Poppy whispered walking into the pantry with the glass in her hand. Harry took the glass, put it on the bench next to him and wrapped his arms around Poppy. 

“We could probably survive off the food in here for the next two weeks if you want to lock the door?” he whispered back

“Believe me, if I could I would” Poppy said with her head still pressed against his chest. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and pulled away from the hug. 

“Guess I’ll go pull some white wine out of my ass then” he said, only half joking. 

“There’s some in the bar fridge in your man cave, I think sarah left it here” she called after him as he walked out again. 

The rest of the evening passed by slowly, Addie, John and Linda filled Poppy and Harry in on what was going on back in Australia, it was nothing to really write home about, just the usual kinds of things that happen in a tiny coastal town, known for being home to quite a few Great White Sharks, that somehow never made an appearance on the beaches. Poppy was not at all surprised by her Mother’s lack of interest in anything about her life in London, if it wasn’t for Addie, all they would have talked about would be when Poppy was going to move back home again. She always thought that would happen when she had children, she wanted them to have the childhood that she did, but now that she’s here in London with Oli she couldn’t imagine anything else for him, because their life was here, with Harry. Linda thought that was ludicrous though and with every opportunity, she found a reason to tell Poppy that a child shouldn’t grow up in a city, especially a city without a beach. But, just like she had upstairs, Addie managed to turn the conversation around every time without offending anyone, until she mentioned the possibility of moving to London too. 

“There’s plenty of spare rooms here Addie” Harry said to her before linda could shut her down “We’d love to have you” 

“I might just not leave” she laughed and stood up from the table “I am going to go to bed though” 

“I’ll show you to your room” Poppy stood up too and chauffeured her out of the room towards the living room, which lead onto the bedrooms.  

“You’re in this one Addie, and Mum and Dad are next door” 

“Thanks Pop” she smiled “I’m not joking about moving to London, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now” 

Poppy hugged her “Like Harry said, you’re always welcome here, this room can be all yours”

“Was this your room when you first arrived?” 

Poppy shook her head “No I was always upstairs, in Oli’s room” 

“Right next door to Harry” Addie giggled “makes sense” 

“Good night Addie” Poppy said, putting an end to that conversation before it even started. 

Poppy didn’t go back into the kitchen, she slipped straight into her bedroom and into bed. Who knew working full time and being a mother would be so exhausting. Her heavy eyes fell closed and she only stirred when Harry came into the room an hour later and wrapped his arms around her.

December 22nd 2019

Poppy rolled over in her bed, exposing her upper arm to the cold morning air and saw that Harry was still fast asleep next to her. She reached for her phone to check the time, wondering why she’d not yet been woken by Oli’s cries to be taken out of the crib.

7:03. He was usually awake by now, but she shrugged it off, because he did go to sleep late last night and rolled back over to face Harry, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose to wake him. He blinked a few times and scrunched up his face as she giggled

“Morning love” he smiled, finally opening his eyes and wrapping his arms around her “Oli not up yet?”

“Nope” she emphasized the end of the word, burying her head in his chest “either that or my mother got up to him” 

Harry scoffed “Seems unlikely, your sister, maybe” 

“That sounds more possible” 

He let a content sigh “This time two years ago, we were sitting in that hospital room, waiting for him to arrive”

Poppy sat up “Harry, today’s his second birthday”

He furrowed his brow at her “Yeah” he said, sounding confused “I was just sayin’ that”

“And we haven’t heard a thing from Danny”

The realisation dawned on him and a huge smile spread across his face “We haven’t heard anything from Danny- shit Pop I can adopt him”

“You can adopt him H” she smiled kissing his puffy morning lips “You’ll have to give the lawyers a call tomorrow, but it should be a pretty simple process, they should still have all the paperwork we filled out before the hearing, we’ll just have to sign it”

“Easy” he kissed her again “He could be mine by Christmas”

“I doubt it, red tape takes time and there’s only three days to go” she heard the faint sounds of Oli stirring next door “I’ll go” she smiled, throwing the blankets off and shivering at the cold December air. She wrapped her big fluffy dressing gown around her and walked out of the room to go and get Oli out of bed, leaving Harry there, smile spread across his face.

“Happy Birthday big boy” she said walking into his room

“Mumma” he smiled at her throwing his dummy out of the cot “Pippy” he tried to reach for the dummy that was now on the floor.

“Pippy’s on the ground bub”she leaned down and picked it up “mummy get it for you”

“Ta” he took it from her and stuck it back in his mouth.

Poppy reached into the cot and unzipped his sleeping bag as she picked him up “Where’s itchy?” she said.  Oli had become quite attached to it when they took him on tour with Harry last year and after seeing Mitch playing the guitar at one of the shows he’d started calling it ‘itchy’ unable to say the ‘m’ sound in his name, and he couldn’t go anywhere without it.

“Itchy’s gone mum” he frowned shrugging his shoulders and looked around the room.

“He can’t be gone bub” Poppy giggled searching behind the cot and spotted him on the floor behind it “there he is! He’s hiding from you Oli” she put him down and moved the cot out from the wall, so she could lean down and pick the toy up. “Silly itchy” she said handing it to him.

“itchy silly mummy” he giggled giving the toy a big cuddle

“Shall we go see Daddy?” she ruffled his hair

“Yeah” he said, nodding his head

“Come on then” she walked out of the room and he followed her.

“DADDY!” he burst into their bedroom and climbed into the bed next to harry.

“There’s my big two-year-old!” Harry said, and Oli snuggled into his side “Happy birthday little man” he kissed the top of his head. Poppy stood in the doorway watching their interaction, heart filled with more love than she’d ever thought possible.

Oli handed Harry itchy “Daddy, itchy hiding”

Harry furrowed his brow “Was itchy hiding from you bub?” he chuckled, turning to look at Poppy “what’s mummy doing all the way over there?” he asked, “There’s room for one more in here”

“Why don’t we all go downstairs for some breakfast, Mummy’s hungry”

“Breakfast!” Oli nodded and jumped down from the bed, toddling out of the room and downstairs. She followed him closely behind, making sure he didn’t slip and helped him into his high chair.

“What would you like today birthday boy?”

“Toast” he said enthusiastically, which made Poppy and Harry both giggle 

“Daddy can make you pancakes if you want little man?” Harry offered, searching the pantry for all the ingredients

“No, toast” he nodded

“Fine” Harry huffed pulling the jar of strawberry jam from the shelf in front of him “Jam toast it is”

“No Daddy, Mite toast”

Poppy giggled to herself, handing Harry the Jar of vegemite “the kid knows what he wants”

“You’re a bad influence on him,” he said, putting a piece of bread in the toaster, shaking his head at her

“I’ll do this” Poppy said, taking the butter knife off him “you go get the presents”

He placed a kiss on her cheek and walked off, upstairs to get Oli’s birthday presents. Once the toast was ready she spread the vegemite lightly across its surface and cut it into four triangles, placing it onto a Winnie the Pooh plate that Grimmers had given them when he first started eating solids.

“Vegemite toast for the Birthday boy” Poppy smiled, pinching his cheeks as she laid the plate in front of him.

“Thanks Mumma” he smiled. 

“Good Morning” Linda yawned, walking into the kitchen in a very light cotton dressing gown “It’s freezing here” 

“It’s London” Poppy admitted “I’ve turned the heating on” 

“Good” Linda smiled “Now where’s my grandson” 

“He’s eating his birthday breakfast” Poppy said excitedly while pointing to the high chair “Oli, say hi to nanna” 

She wasn’t quite sure how he would react to linda, he’d really only met her through facetime and part of her was convinced that he thought she was just the lady that existed in the phone. He turned in his high chair and looked at Linda. He was puzzled at first but his expression soon changed and a big toothy smile grew on his face. 

“Nanna” he said, taking a bite of his toast. 

“Hi Big Boy” Linda smiled back, placing a big sloppy kiss on his cheek “Happy Birthday” 

“Do you want anything Mum? Tea, Coffee, Breakfast?” 

“I wouldn’t mind a tea and some eggs” she said and sat down next to Oli. “Is that vegemite you’ve got there?” she said to him 

“Mite” he smiled and held the toast up to her 

“You’re a real little Aussie then, just have to get your mum to bring you home”

Poppy filled a pot with water and put it on the stove so that she could poach some eggs for everyone when they eventually woke up  and she heard her phone ringing on the bench behind her. Seeing Harry’s name on the screen, she answered it, confused.

“Did you forget where we hid the presents?” she giggled into the phone as Oli sat in his high chair giggling away at Linda as she pulled faces at him.

“No” he said flatly “Can you come here for a sec, need your help with the big one”

“I think it’s time you started those personal training sessions again then Styles” Poppy said standing up from her chair “I’ll be right up” she hung up the phone and turned to Linda and Oli

“Oli, Mummy’s just going to help daddy for a few minutes, I’ll be right back” she kissed his head and walked upstairs into her bedroom where she found Harry standing in the bathroom doorway holding what like a pregnancy test.

“What’s this love?” he asked, handing it to her

“Shit” she said, not looking at it “I took this last night and left it to do it’s thing when you got home from the airport and I kinda forgot about it with all the chaos”

“It’s positive love”

Poppy turned it over in her hand and saw the same two blue lines that she’d seen almost three years ago when she found out she was having Oli, and a few tears formed in her eyes as she looked up at Harry “It’s positive H”

He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in close to his chest, “We’re having a baby Poppy.”

#imagine #imagines #one direction imagines #harry styles imagine #one shot #harry styles one shot #one direction one shot #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles x ofc #ofc imagine #harry ofc #ofc fan fiction #writing #harry #styles #Harry Styles #harry styles fic #drabble #harry styles drabble #best friend harry #pregnancy series #series #chapter fic

[cchellacat]

Happy Birthday Kristen

Here are some little drabbles I wrote from the prompt list.  If I have time I’ll do some more later on!  Happy Birthday my love and may you have a wonderful day!

From this list of prompts :  *https://blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms.tumblr.com/post/159975698721/prompt-list*

#1.  “Good morning” kiss  (Wintershock)

She handed him the coffee, her other hand reaching to fluff his hair as he smiled sleepily at her.

“Good morning”

“Morning.”  He leans over the breakfast bar and their lips meet in a soft press of affection.  “Love you, baby doll.”  

It doesn’t matter how many times she hears it, it still makes her tummy flip in thrilled delight.

“Love you too, soldier.”

Bucky grins and leans over again, capturing her lips playfully.  Darcy smiles into the kiss as it turns sensual.  Maybe it was time to go back to bed.

  #2.  Kiss on the forehead (Steve/Bea  I’m Not Here)

He lay on the couch, baby sleeping on his chest while they both snored softly.  Maddie had been up all night crying, Steve had insisted on walking the floor with her so Bea could sleep.  

Bea leaned in the doorway, marveling at how far they had come.  Steve’s blond hair was cut short now, enough that the natural curl in his hair was apparent. 

His hand lay protectively on Maddie’s tiny back, her own halo of blond curls matching her fathers.

When it was like this, so quiet and peaceful she felt the welling of love in her heart and bit back tears.  She never thought she could love so fiercely before, but for them, for her husband and her daughter, she’d burn the world to the ground to keep them safe.  

Bea tiptoes across the room, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and carefully covers the sleeping pair.  Leaning down she kisses the downy curls of her daughter before standing back up.  A blue eye cracks open and Steve gives her a lazy grin.

“No kiss for me princess?”

Bea shakes her head and leans down, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Always babe, go back to sleep.”

He grabs her hand, stopping her from leaving and kisses her fingertips.  “Love you” The words low and full of sincerity.  Bea feels the prick of tears again and curses her hormones.

“I’m here, I’ll be right here.”  She curls up in the arm chair watches her little family, thankful for everything life had brung her. 

#3.  Drunk/sloppy kiss  (Lance/You, The Bronze)

Honestly, sometimes you wondered why you bothered with Lance.  This was the third time in a month that you’d had to come pick him up from a bar.  Things hadn’t gone well for him after the accusations of knocking up his gymnast came out.  He’d pretty much been barred from the sport and no one was looking for him to coach their kids after the alleged affair had hit the newspapers. 

Truthfully, you felt sorry for him.  Unfortunately, his reputation as a ladies man was not working in his favour.   You knew it wasn’t true of course.  Lance was many things, but even he would never cross the line and sleep with his pupil. He took coaching too seriously.  Took the whole sport too seriously to ever tarnish it or himself that way.  

You walked into the bar and spotted him right away.  Gone was his usual outfit of choice, now he sported dark jeans and a black leather jacket, his hair which he had always took so much  pride in was a tousled mess, no product to keep each errant curl in place.  In a way you thought he looked better like this, less slick and prepared, more bad boy walking. He was slumped over the bar, head resting on his folded arms.  The bartender looked up and gave you an apologetic smile.  

“Lance…”  you poked his side and he turned his head to glare at you briefly.

“What are you doing here princess?”

“Bailing your ass out, again.  Come on, I want to go to bed, it’s nearly two and I have a gym to run in four hours.”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, it only made it worse.  God, his hair looked sinful like this.  You rolled your eyes as your own thoughts and hauled him off the bar stool.

“Come one drunkie, you can sleep on my couch tonight, pick up your car tomorrow.”

The bartender held the door for you as you helped him to the car, handing you Lance’s keys as you passed.

It wasn’t a long drive back to your home but the six steps up to the porch and through the door were nearly impossibly with Lance an almost dead weight at your side.

Finally getting him on the sofa you pulled off his shoes and jacket and gave him a cushion for his head.  You grabbed some water and a pack of Tylenol and placed them on the side table, he’d need it when he woke up.  Looking down at him, half sleeping, his brow still furrowed you gave in to the temptation to kiss him good night, the light kiss pressed to his head, smoothed out the lines.  Before you could stand back up, his eyes opened, catching you in the grip of his impossibly blue gaze.

“I’m sorry I’m such and ass, you should just have left me there, I don’t deserve you princess.”

“No, but I’m here anyway…”  You trailed off, freezing as his hand cupped your face.  In the stillness of the moment you forgot to breath.  You didn’t resist as he brought you down into a sloppy, wet kiss, it wasn’t mind blowing or earth shattering, but you kissed him back, just for a brief moment, let yourself pretend.  He’d forget he’d done it in the morning.  

You pulled away and tucked the blanket around him. Smiling sadly as he drifted off to sleep.  The tiny truth that you kept to yourself, that you loved this asshole, locked up back tight in your heart.  It’s why you always came for him, why you would always help. But it was best that he never knew, you couldn’t stand the thought of him rejecting you, no matter how kindly he might do it.  Lance Tucker, heart breaker and love of you life.  

       9.  “War’s End” kiss   (Wintershock 1940′s AU)

The dock was so crowded she didn’t know how she would ever spot him, or him her as she waited. He’d been gone for two years and she had missed him so much.  The wait for word of him had been cruel.  The post lines never quick, letters lost… 

Darcy smoothed back an errant curl, the summer heat and the crush of people making it hard to breath, or maybe it was just nerves. She’s not the same woman that watched her new husband march off the war and she knows he’ll be different too.  She worries it won’t be the same.  That too much time has passed, that the life they once dreamed of will no longer be what they both want.  She loves him, feels as though she has always loved him, hopes that war and death and grief hasn’t changed them so much they no longer understand each other.

She remembers the first time she met him so clearly even now. Twelve year old Bucky Barnes and his baseball bat threatening the boys who were teasing her and pushing her until they left her alone.  His skinny arm slung around her as he walked her home to her Ma.  She’s pretty sure that’s the same moment she fell in love with him. He was her hero.

Her eyes drifted over the line’s of men debarking and then she swung her eyes back, the familiar set of shoulders and the easy gait striking her memories like a match to tinder.  It was him. She let out a sob and tried to push forward, calling his name as loudly as she could.  She see’s the moment he hears her, the way his head whips round at the sound of her voice.  Then he’s elbowing his way toward her, dropping his kit bag and crushing her into his arms.

“Darcy, baby, god I missed you.”

She can’t speak, just cries tears into his neck, clutching him and whispering his name over and over as he holds her tight.  He pulls back he looks at her like he’s trying to memorise every little detail and she sees his own eyes are wet with tears too.

“You’re home. It’s over.  It’s finally over.”  

And it is, because he is here and he is real and he is solid under her fingertips. He presses their head together firmly, whispering words of comfort and love and promises that he’ll never leave her again and she feels nothing but relief sweep through her.  He was alive.  

When he kisses her she thinks her heart might beat right out of her chest.  His lips are soft on hers at first and then she’s clinging to his shoulders as he devours her mouth, tongue, seeking and begging entrance as she’s bent over his arm, the world dissolves away around them, all she can feel and taste and know is him.  They might have changed, but how they felt never would.  He was home.

@the-ss-horniest-book-club  @book-dragon-13

#make a wish monday #birthday prompts #drabbles #wintershock #lance tucker #steve harrison #bucky barnes #hbc make a wish monday

[wtfrace]

a lapse of judgement— chapter one, racetrack higgins.

in which rosie lewis is all of a sudden very flustered around her roommate, racetrack higgins— and has absolutly no idea what to do about it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

rosie lewis must have been on something last august. something that must have desparatley lapsed her common sense— otherwise there was no explanation for how she ended up living in a sub-par apartment with three chaotic boys.

she had just started her sophomore year of college, and after two of her roommates transferred to another school a state over, she was desperate for either help with rent, or a place to move in. she had put out an ad on craigslist, as well as several flyers around campus, and waited anxiously for a reply. it came in the form of an email from someone named albert desilva. the message had begun with okay this is a long shot, and had more or less gone down hill from there.

the boy had then explained that he, and two of his friends, had been kicked out of their shared house off campus (under circumstances that were absolutly not our fault, please don’t let that lapse your judgment) and they were looking for a decent place to stay. here comes the part that made rosie think she absolutly had to be smoking something at the time— because she said yes.

now, a year and a half later— she was living in a decently large, very messy, apartment with albert desilva, antonio, racetrack, higgins, and elmer kasprzak.

now, don’t think for a moment that rosie didn’t adore those boys. at first she had been hesitant towards their loud & boyish personality’s, but now she wasn’t sure how she had ever lived without them in her life. they were as messy as her, and usually pretty annoying— but above all that they were caring & considerate & really good at making her smile. living with them had come with perks, including but not limited to almost free takeout (via elmer’s job at the italian place a few blocks away), exposure to the best movies she had ever seen thus far (via albert’s excellent taste) and rarely wavering emotional support (via race’s general personality).

so it definitely wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy living with them— moreover that occasionally it made it hard to do simple things. last month, they had sat down to figure out bills together, but had become distracted half way through by a new episode of criminal minds. a few days after that they tried to do it again, and ended up following race to the roof to see what he claimed was “a giant garfield balloon” (which there was, but still.) now, as rosie tried to complete the simple task of creating a grocery list— she found herself overwhelmingly distracted.

“in conclusion,” elmer said assuredly, “turning race’s bedroom into a vegetable garden would be only profitable to the over-all wellbeing & financial structure of our group.” rosie looked up for the first time during his spiel, continuing to write vegan mac & cheese (cheap kind) as she did, and gave him a pointed look.

“and in this made-up situation, where exactly would race be living?” she asked, glancing at the tall boy that was currently trying to see how many of albert’s textbooks he could balance on his head.

“well, race is statistically the least useful person in this apartment. we could kick him out, or just make him sleep on a mattress on the fire escape.” elmer said dismissively, mostly joking but also a little serious.

“el, we aren’t kicking race out so you can overtake another room with your herbs & dahlia’s.” rosie said, a small smile on her face as she glanced pointedly at the not one, but three pots placed on top of the cabinets (so high that it took two people to water them, one with the watering can, and one holding a rickety step-stool.)

“aw, that’s sweet flower, you care about my wellbeing.” race said cheesily, dropping the books back onto the kitchen table & pinching her cheek. this brings us to what had been distracting her the most. all day she had been weird around race. he was an unusually touchy person, but rosie has grown so used to it she barely noticed— except for today. all of a sudden every touch sent her face heating up & her heart plummeting. it was the strangest thing she had experienced in a while, and it was beginning to make it difficult to be in the same room as him. now though, she was determined to finish her grocery list, and ignored the stir in her stomach to shoo him away with her pen.

“more like your rent, racer.” albert said, yawning as he joined them in the kitchen. “wanna watch interstellar with me, rosie?”

“no! i’m determined to get this done this weekend, and it’s sunday and i’ve barely finished a list of what we need.” rosie exclaimed, “the only thing in the fridge right now is elmer’s prized wonka-bar, and three half finished arizona ice teas. so if you don’t want to starve— help, or leave.” albert and elmer shared nervous glances, and simultaneously exited the room. rosie was very rarely angry or annoyed, but when she was, she was a force to be reckoned with. talk about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

but, to rosie’s great dismay, while those two left, race chose to stuck around.

“i can see you’re frustrated, rosie— and i assure you, we won’t leave this room ‘til your list is finished!” race said, sliding into the bar-stool next to her. great, just what she needed.

“c’mon race, be serious.” a statement equivalent to asking a penguin to be a giraffe.

“hey— serious is my middle name, doll!” rosie screwed up her face, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating rapidly at that comment. she was beginning to tire of whatever new variable was causing her body to go into SOS mode when she was around him.

“you sound like a newsboy from 1899 when you call me that.” she said, eyebrows raised impertinently, and cheeks dusted with red. oddly specific, but completely accurate. race grinned back at rosie, stealing the list from in front of her, and sliding the stool closer to her so their elbows were touching.

“there’s a soar lack of ninja turtle fruit snacks on here.” race said, then stealing the pen from between her fingers to scribble down a few words across the sheet of paper. it was going to be a long night.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it took rosie the rest of the night to figure out what was bothering her.

after race had enthusiastically helped with the grocery list, he had been insistent on accompanying her to the store a few blocks away. the walk had felt a little better— the cool march air refreshed rosie a little, and she had settled into normal conversation with race (the downfalls of dunkirk, and the proper rating of 17th century artists.) they walked side by side, both with smiles on their faces, through the ever-crowded streets of greenwich village.

they got to the grocers at around 7, just as the sun was beginning to set, and rosie was thinking that maybe she had a temporary lapse in judgement earlier, seeing as she didn’t feel anything looking at race now. and then, he had blown her theory clear out of exsistence, when he easily scooped her into his arms, and deposited her into a shopping cart. rosie could feel her entire body flush red, as she gaped slightly at the taller boy. her stomach was doing a gymnastics routine not unlike elmer if you got him drunk enough, and race was grinning adorably like it was the most normal thing in the world.

still though, she had no idea what was causing her so much tribulation. until the canned foods section.

race had been unwilling to help rosie out of the cart for the entirety of the trip, insisting that she needed a break after working on her feet all day saturday— so she watched from her mildy uncomfortable seat in the basket, as race tried to bowl using a can of soup and six skinny boxes of spaghetti. too entirely flustered to insist that he stop, rosie simply stared— something in her alighting when he turned back to her with a pleased smile on his face. his hair was messy, in need of a cut, and hanging sloppily across his forehead— and every freckle & scar of his face was clear in the harsh light of the grocery store. his hands were raised in victory (having successfully knocked down all the boxes without being caught by an employee) and the baggy sleeves of his sweatshirt bunched at his wrists.

then she knew.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

24 hours later, rosie stared pitifully into space, as she ate a bowl of lucky charms, sitting criss cross on jack kelly’s countertop. jack, along with his boyfriend davey, leaned against the counter opposite her, eyeing the girl with an air of concern.

jack had been a friend of rosie’s for years— and had subsequently met davey (a friend of race, elmer and albert’s) when they were inevitably at the apartment at the same time. seven months later, they were dating, and sharing the rent on an apartment at the border of chelsea & greenwich village. albert called them gross, elmer called them a match made in heaven, but either way it was agreed that the four were subsequently the reason they met— and therefore should have the right to be the namesack of their first four children.

“okay, rose, you got your lucky charms. are you going to explain why you were on my doorstep in near tears at one in the morning, now?” jack asked, eyebrows raised with conviction.

“i got feelings, jacky— i need to know how to make them go away.” rosie’s voice came out barely a whisper, her statement sounding much more ridiculous once she said it out loud.

“you— what?” davey elbowed jack in the side, a knowing expression on his face as the two had a clear wordless conversation.

“you heard me!” the girl exclaimed, her face pitiful & desperate enough to draw genuine concern from the boy. “you got over kath, i need to know how to get over this.” jack scratched the back of his neck.

“well... it helped that kath was a lesbian. i’m assuming that’s not a variable in this situation.” jack shrugged, “c’mon rosie, you’re going to have to give us more information than that.”

“race.” the single word drew a scoff from jack’s mouth.

“rosie, i could have told you that weeks ago.” davey said, confusion clear in his expression, “what’s so bad about having feelings for race?”

“that kid wouldn’t do anything to hurt you if we paid him a million bucks & threw in a razor scooter.” jack added. rosie glared at them, opening her mouth to respond but struggling on how to word her feelings. jack crossed his arms over his chest, head tilting a little to the side.

“it’s a problem! i-i live with him! an’ on top of that he’s one of my best friends, and he would never in a million years like me back so if he ever found out— which he definetly would the way i’ve been acting, then—“

“dear god lewis, i love you, you know that, but you’re actually hopeless.” jack huffs, causing rosie to stare blankly at him. “race doesn’t like you back? how do you explain— like everything he does! are you forgetting the time he literally proposed to you with a basket of olive garden breadsticks!”

“he’s race, jack, he’s like that with everybody! that same day he flirted with a pigeon on the sidewalk outside of olive garden!” davey blinked, holding a hand up to interupt.

“first of all— that was months ago and the fact that you both remember it so vividly is a little unsettling. second of all, i knew him before you did, rosie. before he moved in with you he did flirt with anything that breathed, but now? i haven’t seen him give any man, woman, or bird other then you a second glance.” rosie looked dreadfully unconvinced, stirring her spoon absentmindedly through the now empty bowl. her heart had admittedly soared a little at the thought of race liking her.

for a split second, her brain let her imagine her and race together: sprawled across the sofa in the living room, his hand in her hair, we bare bears playing lowly in the background, race occasionally laughing gently & pressing a kiss to her forehead. she imagined waking up to his ungodly snoring, but smiling like an idiot anyway, because he was damn beautiful in the mornings. she imagined walking through little italy hand in hand with him, giggling as he pointed out stupid things in the windows of shops. then— she got a grasp of reality, pushing the thought out of her head. she couldn’t afford to get her hopes up— not when there was a huge chance race had never thought about her that way.

“i don’t like this,” rosie mumbled, setting the bowl by the sink, and pulling her knees to her chest. “how do i make it go away? seriously— no matter whether you think race likes me or not, how do i make it go away?” jack and davey exchanged a look, before laughing simultaneously.

“that isn’t really how it works, rosie.” davey said sympathetically, “you can act on it, or you can put up with it until it eventually fades away but—“

“i can’t put up with feeling like this for much longer.”

jack looked at her like the answer was obvious, “then act on it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

part two to be posted soon

#racetrack higgins #racetrack higgins x reader #racetrack higgins x oc #race higgins #newsies #newsies live #newsies fic #albert desilva #elmer kasprzak #newsiesau #myworks

[meganlpie]

Occasionally Clumsy

Anonymous asked: Hi! Can I request a Ketch x fem!reader where she’s really clumsy in every day life, but not when she hunts? Ketch is confused and irritated by it at first, but he soon finds it endearing? Maybe after someone else says something to her about it and it upsets her, he tells her that it’s what makes her unique? Fluff please

Here you go, lovely! I do not own ANY Supernatural characters. They belong to the creators of the show. 

Warnings: Clumsiness, cute awkwardness, fluff, Mary isn’t very nice in this. 

Pairings: Arthur Ketch x fem!reader, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester

Arthur Ketch was confused. For one of the first times in his hunting life, he was absolutely perplexed. He didn’t understand how someone could be so graceful and lithe when chasing down or hunting monsters, but then turn around and be so hopelessly clumsy in their day to day life. And yet, there you were.

               Ketch had met you when the Winchesters called you in as back up. The hunt was a particularly rough witch hunt. A newly formed coven of witches who didn’t have a true grasp of their powers was terrorizing a small city. The boys called you in and you joined them in a matter of hours. You had burst into the room, ready to take down the threat. Ketch was almost in awe of your abilities.

               Then, when the hunt was over, you joined the Winchester, Ketch, and Mick at the bar for a victory drink. That was when Ketch began to see how clumsy you were. In that night alone, you tripped over your own feet at least four times, spilling your drink down your front at least once. You had simply shrugged and grabbed a clean shirt from your bag. You also managed to bump into several people and run into the corner of the table, bruising your hip.

               When you moved into the bunker, things got more interesting. You had fallen off stools, chairs, and ladders. You bumped into people all the time and tripped over air. And yet, when there was a hunt, none of that happened. You were like a gymnast or a dancer. Every move was graceful and purposeful. You did your job and you did it well. It confused Ketch to no end.

               However, the man got used to your klutziness over time. And soon, he found it as just another quirk in your personality. An endearing one at that. Sometimes, when you tripped or something, you’d get embarrassed, especially if someone else got hurt. Then, if you were the only victim, you’d simply laugh it off and go about your day. Then came the day when you couldn’t laugh it off.

               Mary was in a particularly foul mood. The hunt she’d been on hadn’t gone well and she just wanted to drink in peace. You came into the kitchen talking to Ketch and smiled at her. “Hi, Mary.” She hummed in response. You shrugged and went about your business. You grabbed a beer for yourself and Ketch. When you turned to hand Ketch his beer, you tripped over the door of the fridge. Your open can of beer went flying and landed right on Mary’s lap.

               The blonde squealed as the cold liquid hit her. “Mary! I am so sorry!” Mary glared at you and snapped, “Get yourself together and learn how to walk without causing casualties. Hopeless.” She stalked out of the kitchen, leaving you behind, your lip trembling. Dean sauntered in. “Just saw Mom. Was that your doing, grace?” Normally you would have laughed at the sarcastic nickname, but this time, it hurt.

               No one had ever snapped at you for being clumsy before. It wasn’t like you could help it. You tried to be more graceful. Really you did, but you just couldn’t get your body to cooperate unless you were focused on a hunt. You knew it was inconvenient for those around you, but they usually just laughed it off like you, even Mary.

               You didn’t say a word as you left the kitchen and headed for your room. Ketch watched you go and sighed. “What was that about?” Dean asked, looked to Ketch. Ketch didn’t answer. He decided to follow after you instead. “Well okay then,” he heard Dean mutter.

               Ketch knocked on your door and heard a muffled, “Come in.” He slowly opened the door and saw you sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed. “Why are you on the floor, love?” You looked up at him, tears still in your eyes. “It’s the only place I can be without causing causalities. Can’t trip or fall if I’m already on the floor,” you told him, “Mary’s right. I’m hopeless.”

               Ketch arched a brow and motioned for you to get up. You sighed, but did what he asked. In the process, your feet got tangled together and you fell, right into Ketch’s waiting arms. It was as if he’d expected you to fall. You groaned loudly and pushed away from him. You landed on your bed with a soft PLOP! “I AM hopeless!”

               "You are not hopeless, Y/N. You are…unique for certain, but not hopeless.“ You let out a bitter chuckle. "Unique? Yeah. No one trips over air like me. Spills beer like me. Runs into walls like me.” Ketch laughed and sat next to you. “Come now. Have you seen yourself when you hunt?” You nodded. “Of course. It’s the only time I’m not a klutz. I’m too focused. Maybe I should just hunt all the time. I’d never be clumsy again.”

               "Then you wouldn’t be you, love.“ You shrugged. "Would that be such a bad thing?” Ketch’s brows drew together. “Yes it would. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to the Winchesters and Mick. To me.” You turned you head to look at him in surprise. “To you?” Ketch reluctantly nodded. He had made leaps and bounds in breaking his programming from Kendrick’s, but feelings were still new to him and expressing them, even more so.

               "Yes, to me. Hunting is all I’ve ever known and there is so much darkness in that. Then you came along. You showed me that, even with the darkness, there is light. Your clumsy ways and the way you laugh at yourself. It reminds me that life, even this life, doesn’t always have to be so serious and…grim.“ Ketch felt the words starting to stick to his tongue. It was too much. Too much feeling.

               "Aw, Ketch, I didn’t know you cared,” you teased, sensing his discomfort at sharing such a soft side of himself. He glared at you. “Yes, well. I suppose I do.” You grinned. “You like me,” you said in sing-song, “You want to love me. You want to hug me. You want to ki-” You were cut off by Ketch’s lips being pressed against yours. You moved to cup his cheek with your hand, but you misjudged how close you were to the edge of the bed.

               You promptly slid off the mattress, accidentally grabbing Ketch’s lapel and pulling him down to the floor with you. You both landed with an “Oof!” before you burst into a fit of giggles. Ketch shook his head and laughed quietly. Yep, you were definitely a klutz, but you were his klutz.

(a/n: Ketch needs some happiness.)

Tagging: @fairytalesexistxx @brewsthespirit-blog @jotink78 @stone-met @fairytale07

#supernatural #spn #arthur ketch #arthur ketch x reader #mr. ketch x reader #ketch x reader #dean winchester #mary winchester

[storiesbyaya]

Story Of A Hero -17

[PS-  From here, Bayesh’s last name was changed to Saarinen. It’s been changed in the full copy as of oct 21 2018, but not on the published chapters of SOAH on tumblr. It’d be really difficult to go through every post and change it, but the final cut will have this change <3]

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Kat had not lived in her parents’ home for a while now, but you couldn’t tell at first glance.

Her room remained similar to how it always had been- Minus, maybe, the mess of clothes, the tower computer, and all the comic books that had been in the barren bookshelf. The walls were still papered with posters, the drapes and blankets were still matching black and white diamonds with a circus theme, and it still smelled like lavender and old books, even with Kat long gone.

There’s always been something cold about guest rooms- They lacked a sense of personality, of life. Generic beds, sparsely decorated rooms… After an awful night like he’d had, it was nice to spend the night somewhere that wasn’t lifeless. Movie posters from films they’d all seen together, trophies he’d watched her get… Even with Kat having gone home for the night, Wesley felt like she was still here, and that he wasn’t spending the night alone. Bitt hopped upon the circus top lamp and chose to sleep there, where she could be seen, to remind him she was there, too.

William and Bayesh woke up early the next morning to prepare for their day at school. Kero only worked whenever he was called, and the two always conducted their morning routines with a respectful silence. It surprised William that a drowsy, half asleep Wesley joined him in the kitchen as he was eating. “Morning,” Wesley mumbled, settling down on a stool. “Good morning. Did we wake you up?” William asked, concerned. Wesley gave an exhausted shrug. “Honestly? Anything wakes me up; I’m kind of a light sleeper… Coming downstairs was my choice, though” Wesley explained. “Oh,” William said, “I see.”

He returned his attention to his own food for a while, but noticed that Wesley had not moved, staring into space. William poked him carefully, and Wesley blinked, looking back over to the younger kid with confusion. “Huh? Sorry. Got lost in thought,” he said. “Did you need something?” “No, but I did want to remind you that you are free to grab yourself breakfast… As you’ve always been. Are you alright?” William asked. It made the brunet wonder if there was some kind of indication on his face as to his mood, or if he was just worried about what had happened last night. Wesley replied with a small shrug, and he got up to grab himself some toast… Before feeling bad that he had been kind of dishonest, and he turned to frown at William as he waited. “I’m good- I mean, with regards to last night, at least. I was just thinking about how all my stuff is at home. Clothes, text books, the works.But I don’t really want to go back there. But I need to. You know?” William nodded in understanding. After all, one couldn’t wear the same clothes all day every day, and schoolwork was very difficult without the proper materials. “If you’re willing to wait, Bayesh and I can go with you after school?” he suggested. At least that way, Wesley didn’t have to go back alone, they could get everything moved easier with more bodies and, most importantly, the most intimidating person he knew would be there to silence any confrontations. “I don’t really want my mom yelling at you, bud,” said Wesley,shaking his head at the idea. A kind hearted little kid like William didn’t deserve to be yelled at, too. If his mother thought that her own son was a freak, he didn’t want to imagine how she’d react to someone else’s child. “That’s why I said /Bayesh/ and I,” he said. Again, Wesley shook his head. “I don’t really want Bayesh yelling at her either… And we know that he will. I don’t want any yelling at all, really. I think I’ve had enough of it.” Defeated, William nodded. They both knew that Bayesh had been downright enraged at the way that Wesley had been treated. That anger had been boiling ever since the first time that Wesley had come in with an injury, and surely if the two met it would burst, and Bayesh along with it. After everything, Wesley just wanted some peace; a protective Bayesh was far from peaceful. “Angel, then?” William suggested. Whereas his father was an intimidating presence, Angel had an aura of quiet elegance that commanded respect from those around her. Unfortunately, thinking the suggestion was a joke, Wesley laughed it off. William was about to continue, but he noticed the time, and sighed. “I need to get ready for school, but I will keep thinking on this,” he affirmed, then rinsed his bowl, leaving Wesley and his toast alone in the kitchen.

After breakfast and waving the Saarinens’ away, Wesley returned to bed to try and catch a little bit more sleep. He was awakened by bubble noises… It took a few moments for him to realize that it had been his phone. Katherine was texting him.

[K@] Sup? Stuffs still @ home I hear?

[W] Yeah.

[K@] No worries, i got a brilliant plan

[W] Do I want to know?

[K@] Duh Anyways… Funfact- it’s not considered a B&E if you actually live there. Even if a talented friend teleports ya in when no one is home. (That’s me, btw)

[W] Pretty sure my mom will think she was robbed And call the police.

[K@] Huh yeah… Guess I didn’t have that problem lol Leave a note?

[W] Saying what? “Your son came and stole all his stuff ok bye”?

[K@] OMG fine, you wanna waste the $$ you spent on that program failing it be my guest Just don’t stink up my room one undies wonder

[W] >:T

[K@] Real talk tho- Write.a.letter! If you need a hand, ask Kero. Gotta run ttyl <3 Write! Write!

Wesley dropped his phone with a sigh. Write a letter. So much easier said than done. He couldn’t just… Write a letter, go home, steal his stuff and leave. But… then again, he couldn’t sit in these clothes forever, or not brush his teeth or show up to class without his text books… He rolled off the bed and determinedly made his way to the basement.

Beyond the basement door, any illusion of a normal family was shattered. It was an open area the length and width of the home with only two small rooms adjacent. One was the laundry room, and the other, Wesley had never seen open. The grand room had a great deal of gym equipment, and gymnast equipment. Bars he fondly remembered Kat hanging from, a swing and a set of trapezes below which were soft mats. As Wesley came down the stairs, he saw Kero pulling one of Katherine’s old sectional beams to the side. “Need a hand with that?” he asked softly. Kero chuckled softly, shaking his head. He set the beam aside and turned to smile at Wesley. “Nah. I brought this thing down here when she first showed interest, and I’m not too old to bring it back up again… Besides, aren’t you a guest?” Wesley shrugged. Guest or no, he still wanted to help. The Saarinen’s had never really treated him like a guest. He’d always felt at home here, moreso than he’d ever felt at his actual home. They only used the ‘you’re a guest’ thing in a playful fashion. Apparently that wasn’t going to change even with his longer stay. “Guess so. Side note- Can I borrow a piece of paper?” “Yeah,” Kero replied. To Wesley’s surprise, Kero headed immediately to the door that Wesley had never seen open. Curiously, he poked his head in. It turned out to be a small office, likely for Bayesh while he did his teacher work. Well organized and unremarkable, at the exception of the countless frames on the walls. Stepping forwards, he observed them, and when Kero noticed him staring, he put a hand on his shoulder, fondly. “Never been in here,” he said softly. “Nice photos… Hey, that one’s Kat’s first birthday party, and… that’s our graduation?” “Yup,” Kero replied, grinning. Wesley continued to observe while Kero rummaged around, cursing his boyfriend and his organization standards. ‘Local boy donates dozens of handmade toys to Pediatric Hospital’. Read a piece of newspaper, an article they had written about him. Beside it there was also a diploma, one that belonged, surprisingly, to Kero. Looking for Bayesh’s, he noticed a photo of a woman with two children and asked Kero who she was. “Kyolin Tengshe, and her two kids.” “Who was she?” “Lady Redd.” “Oh. I’m… I’m really sorry,” Wesley said. He could see the sorrow in Kero’s face, so he quickly turned to a different photo. It was old, but the woman pictured was pretty lovely. “And her?” “That’s my mother. Her name was Eirini.” Wesley vaguely remembered that she’d died rather tragically when Kero was young, and was struck with horror. This game of who’s-who was only making things worse. He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said again. The hand on his shoulder moved to ruffle his hair. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, kiddo. Anyways! What’re you up to?” He asked, trying to defuse the tension and hand Wesley the paper and pen he had asked for. He took them gingerly and shrugged. “Writing a note to my mom. Kat wants us to break into her house while she’s at work and steal my stuff,” he said, trying to make it sound like it was not at all a big deal. “It’s not really stealing if it’s your stuff though, is it?” “That’s exactly what Kat said. You sound like your daughter,” Wesley said, chuckling. “Weird!” Kero exclaimed playfully, “It’s almost like she’s my daughter or something!” They both broke out into a fit of laughter. When they calmed, Wesley spoke again. “Anyways, said daughter suggested I ask you for help. Not… really sure why, but…” This made Kero’s expression drop again, and Wesley suddenly felt guilty again, as if that was just something that he shouldn’t have said. “I do,” Kero said. “Follow me.”

They walked upstairs in silence, to the top floor, and came to a stop at Kero and Bayesh’s door. “Exam time, final year of high school. I came home, excited, college acceptance in my hand… But when I came to find my mom to tell her… Well. I always knew she had depression, but no one ever expected that she’d- She’d kill herself. That day, the school called, to tell her there was something wrong with me- That I ran too fast for it to be normal, you know. I was convinced she’d killed herself out of shame for what I was. I spent so much time with that weight on my mind. I didn’t know how to feel about what I was. Can you imagine? Coming home and finding a corpse, one bullet to the head, and feeling like it was your fault?” “No,” Wesley admitted softly, and that made Kero smile. Once again, he had a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you never do. I spent a good chunk of my life blaming myself for something that just… wasn’t my fault. And then, suddenly there comes this brilliant man into my life who points out the biggest flaw in all this- She never heard the message to begin with. I only knew they’d called because the voicemail light was flashing, but it wouldn’t be if she’d actually heard the message. When I stopped blaming myself, I finally saw the bigger picture. That it was never my fault, that she was sick. I… I realize it sounds like I’m just suddenly dumping this all on you, but-” “No, I get it,” Wesley cut him off, smiling encouragingly. “I see the similarities.” “But do you see the point?” he asked. “You can’t shoulder  all of the blame for the bad things that happen around you, and you do. A lot. You need to step back and face the bigger picture. This letter Kat wants you to write isn’t just to let her know you’re taking your things and leaving. It’s got to be the real truth of the matter and, maybe, just maybe, you might convince her to seek help, because I think your mother may be sick, too. I don’t mean that as an offense, by the way.”

Wesley’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as he fully registered what Kero was trying to say, and by extension, Kat as well. “You… you were busy, yeah? You can go back to that, and I.. I think I can handle this,” Wesley said, nodding. Once more his hair was ruffled. “Never too busy for you, kiddo. Let me know if you need any help. I might not be a linguistic genius like Bayesh...But I’ve been there.” “I know… And thank you.” He nodded, and let Kero go back to moving things in the basement while he settled at the table to write. It took a bit of crossing out and a few drafts, but Wesley finally managed to get the concise, clear truth that he wanted on paper.

“Dear Mom

I feel I have done everything I can to make you understand that my powers are not evil. It’s a piece of me, and just like a hand can be used to break and create, so are my powers laden with equal potential to be either good or bad. It’s all in how you use them, and I am going to continue to use them and help whoever I can. Unfortunately, because we can’t see eye to eye on this matter, I have to leave. Despite everything, I still love you. Kind of silly, huh? You’ve literally burned me, yet I still love you and forgive you. Since we’re being honest here, I don’t think any sane person would literally burn their own child. Maybe after some time apart you can step back and realize that what you did was wrong. Hard to hear that you’re wrong, but there it is. I’ve always believed in honesty. If you do decide to actually love me for me, all of me, then I’m not going to change my phone number. Bad enough dad did that to us, I’m not going to do it to you. Love always., Your son Wesley, and his Adex. Her name is Bitt and she is a frog, btw.”

The note was taped to his bedroom, after it was stripped of all the important things.

#SOAH #SOAH17 #Story of a hero 17

[itscaptainyoulittlemaggot]

Journalistic Integrity

You’re a journalist trying to take down the perverted gymnast, Lance Tucker once and for all. But your plan goes awry and your ethics become compromised as he preys on your insecurities. (3,201 words; Lance Tucker x Reader; 18+, smut; Oral both giving and receiving; Manipulation; Self-esteem issues; Issues regarding lack of parental affection; Some readers will find this distressing to read).

This was it. The past two weeks of work had led up to this very evening. You were going to end Lance ‘the Fucker’ Tucker and his reign of misogyny once and for all.

A flurry of women on the nation’s gymnastics team had retired over the last year or so after they ended up pregnant. Girls with potential, a future. If this wasn’t coincidence enough, it happened to girls who happened to be linked to their coach, Lance Tucker. You knew you were on to something. You knew this would take down the loathsome Olympian once and for all.

Of course your intuition was correct. Over a two week period, you collected a slew of interviews with those former starlets who had their careers cut short. It all started with Maggie Townsend. Five different girls told tales of perversion and debauchery with Tucker.

Soon enough, you had enough evidence. Your story could stand on its own, you were sure. But journalism; it was a man’s game. Your editor suggested - insisted, rather - on balance for fear of damaging the gold medalist’s reputation. You had to hear it from Lance Tucker himself. You had to interview him.

It wasn’t too difficult to secure an interview with him. Under false pretence, he agreed to meet you at a local bar. For all he knew, you wanted to write about his achievements. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

You knew the drill, having interviewed more than a few perverts in your career. You could get all the answers you needed if you just looked the part, played dumb and then went for the money shot towards the end of the interview. At least, this was what you told yourself in the cab to the bar.

The truth was, Lance was gorgeous.

Damp, icy hands began smoothing themselves over imaginary creases on your dress; the dark fabric stretched taut over your curves. Your eyes were wedded to your foot, quickly bobbing away. You admired your heels. They added extra inches to your stature, allowing you to stare into his tar black soul on an even keel as you ruined him. A small comfort as you snapped back to reality at a red light.

Lance was notorious. You had to stay vigilant.

Rolling up to the bar, you felt a pit of unease form in your stomach.

Inside the decadent joint, you darted through the revellers to find Lance propping up the bar, martini in hand. His attire befitted his surroundings. He was striking. And you weren’t the only one aware of it, judging by the amount of attention he drew. But it wasn’t his finely tailored suit that drew you in as you approached him. He was imposing. Far taller than you had anticipated. When you were face to face, he loomed silently over you and placed an immobilising kiss on your cheek. You felt inches tall.

“Well ain’t you a picture,” he muttered in your ear.

You had to work overtime to maintain your composure as you introduced yourself. “Mr Tucker,” you began in a shaky voice, “I’m the reporter from The Times. Do you  mind if I record our conversation tonight?”

Lance lounged back on his stool cocking an eyebrow. “Relax, toots. We got all evening. You look like you could use a drink.”

”I-“ you began, only to be swiftly cut off by two slender fingers, beckoning the bartender.

Lance leaned into you. ”And call me Lance. Mr Tucker was my father. And he was an ass,“ he added.

You smiled uneasily. Lance was, indeed, an ass.

The bartender stood in front of you both awaiting your order.

”Tequila?“ He asked.

”Actually I don’t-“

”Two tequilas please,“ Lance confirmed to the bartender.

You quietly observed Lance as the man behind the bar bustled to get your drinks. The stench of his cologne was offensive to say the least. The sporty little wristwatch jarred with his swanky evening attire. He wore too much gel in his hair so his hairline stuck up proudly in greasy little peaks. And manspreading. You hated that too. 

You had come to two conclusions. One: Lance Tucker was so much more repulsive in person. Two: Lance Tucker was so much more handsome in person.

”Like what you see?“ Lance grinned, sliding a stout little glass towards you.

Compelled to tell the truth (kind of), you proudly declared: ”Actually, I think you’re vile.“

He was taken aback. Lance refused to accept that you, a woman, was immune to his charm. Taking a different approach, he dialled back his attitude. ”You don’t even know me,“ he said softly.

You choked on the mouthful of tequila. His eyes were piercing. How absurd.

He leaned into you again, repeating himself for effect: ”you don’t.“

You were incensed at this vile creature trying to pass himself off as a victim and was he trying to flirt with you? It was written all over your face but you had so much riding on tonight. You needed to keep calm. You plunged a hand into your bag and fumbled for your phone, buying yourself enough time to think of a response.

Bingo.

Pulling out your phone, you made your offering: ”why don’t we show my readers the real Lance Tucker, then?” Your voice was sickly sweet.

Lance tipped his glass to his lips and swallowed hard. “I don’t know who the fuck reads The Times, but ok.”

As Lance ordered two more tequilas, you set your phone on the counter and hit record, ready to grill the Olympian to within an inch of his existence.

“So, Lance,” you began with a nod, “let’s talk about your childhood.”

“Yeah, I mean I started gymnastics at the age of three. I-“

“Tell me about your parents, Lance?” you weren’t fooling around. You had done your research. His father fucked anything with a pulse while his mother ploughed all of her energy into crafting Lance’s career to a tee.  

Lance shot you a concerned look. “Why are you asking about my parents?”

“Well you wanted my readers to know the real you. I think they’d connect with you more if they knew about your tragic back story,” you pressed.

“Well there’s not much to tell,” he sighed, “my mom was your typical pushy parent. I was never good enough for her. Even after the gold. She’ll never be proud of me. I think she just hated men after what my father did… She always turned a blind eye. And then my father… when he wasn’t busy sleeping around with girls half my mom’s age, you know… Gymnastics isn’t all that masculine.” He was coy, his voice tinged with pain.

That was the first tiny steps towards the evidence you needed for your story. Somewhere in your stony heart though, you could relate to that. Your dad was an award winning journalist; overbearing but never praise giving. And your mother? She was just as bad. Her no boy rule during your teenage years had left a dent in your self-esteem causing you to latch on to any man who showed you the slightest bit of attention. But this wasn’t about you.

You gathered your thoughts and continued.

“So would it be accurate to assume that your insatiable need for female attention stems from your mother’s lack of affection? Or are you just a chip off the old block, like your father?” you asked.

You hit a nerve. He slammed glass down with a clatter. His eyes traveled your body up and down. His expression darkened, his tone defensive, “and whose attention are you trying to get?”

You backed up on your stool. Was Lance Tucker really that good at reading people?

He took your phone and stopped the recording. “You wouldn’t meet someone like me, dressed the way you are, if you weren’t expecting to gain something. Let’s be honest,” he smirked.

“I don’t you know what you’re talking about,” you said coldly.

Lance smirked: “You’re not the first reporter to try to get the drop on me. I’m guessing it all stems from your father, it always does.”

He hit you where it hurt. All these years you hid that insecurity behind big hair, tight dresses and red lipstick, taking down powerful men by flirting with them. It served you well but you hated yourself for it; you knew deep down you lacked real talent.

And now you sat, slightly buzzed from the tequila and slightly embarrassed, completely quiet. Your face was flushed and your mind was blank. Lance knew he had won. There was no way your story would make it to print now. You couldn’t fathom a response.

You snatched back your phone, holding it in folded arms.

“For what it’s worth though, you are, by far the most beautiful reporter to try it,” he drawled, leaning in close enough for the scent of lime to be burned into your nostrils. “I mean, I love gymnasts. They’re always so desperate for attention, for approval themselves. But I truly do love a girl with a little fire in her belly, you know? Like she has something to prove.”

Your inner monologue couldn’t keep quiet. He was definitely getting hit with a restraining order when this whole ordeal was over. “Can we just get back to the interview?” you asked.

As if by magic, the bartender set another two tequilas in front of you both. Lance picked his up. “One more and I’ll answer anything you want, Lois Lane.”

You nodded uneasily.

“I read your article with that crooked senator. You’re pretty good,” Lance said after a gulp.

“I thought you didn’t care too much for The Times?” you asked.

“I don’t. Girls like you belong on Fox News is all I’m saying. Brains and beauty,” he commented.

How original. It still sent heat pooling to your chest. “You’re lucky I’m not recording this,” you said rolling your eyes.

Your bravery was returning.

“So tell me more about this little power trip you’re on,” Lance sighed. He paused, resting his head on his hand, studying you. “Do you get off on ruining men’s lives?”

“Do you get off on impregnating 18 year olds?” you quipped not missing a beat.

Pleased with yourself, you downed your drink.

He hooked a leg around your stool and pulled you in so that your face was barely an inch from his. His eyes were blank pools of nothing. It was unnerving but you couldn’t stop yourself from being glued to them.

“Not as much as I get off on being worshipped like a god,” he snickered, “and I think all this tough girl bravado is a cover for what you really get off on.”

He was right. You weren’t sure if it was being talked down to like this, or if it was the tequila but you had already bridged the gap between yourself and Lance, the taste lime on Lance’s lips seared over your tongue. You felt the chill of a hand ghosting along your thigh, as you were pulled closer by another.

It wasn’t romantic and it sure as hell wasn’t pretty, but before you knew it, you were back at your apartment with Lance in tow.

He completely engulfed you, pressing you against your door, teeth and lips roaming over your neck leaving trails of red and purple in their wake.

“You’re a terrible fucking journalist,” Lance murmured, yanking the neckline of your dress lower, taking your bra with it, exposing one of your breasts.

“You’re a terrible fucking person,” you sighed, shivering as he bit down on your skin again.

Lance began moving lower, eventually ending up on his haunches. His strong, elegant hands pushed up the hem of your dress as he looked up at you. “That’s what they all say.”

Your mouth dropped open as the Olympian went to work between your legs.

Lance quickly snatched down your underwear, briefly smug at the damp spot that had formed on them. His tongue met your slick slit, lavishing it with long and languid strokes. Those strokes soon turned to ravenous sucking as he lapped your soft pink folds into his mouth. All the while his fingers left pale imprints on your hips, pulling you into him. Not that you needed him to. You were so overcome with need that you writhed over his mouth. You reached for the door frame to steady yourself.

Lance was completely wordless aside from satisfied moans as he coaxed timid sighs from you. Even though he eyed you intently, you could barely bring yourself to look at him. He loved the quiet girls the most.

You threw your head back, cursing abruptly, just as he traced a featherlight circle around your clit with his tongue. Then he began to pick up the pace, flicking the tip of his tongue over that little bundle of nerves.

But you really started to let loose when Lance slipped one, then two, fingers inside you. He began curling them forward, working in time with Lance’s mouth, stroking just the right spot inside you. You rolled your hips in response, howling in total ecstasy.

Just as your release was in sight, Lance tore his mouth away from you, his fingers still squelching away at your cunt. A needy whine escaped you.

“You wanna cum?” he taunted.

You couldn’t help but focus on the only contact your pussy was receiving. You bucked and squirmed as he slowly fingered you but it just wasn’t enough. “Yes please,” you sighed quietly, still not looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to do a little something for me then,” he said rising to his feet.

You bit your lip, sinking back against the wall with his fingers still inside you. He loomed over you. He expected an answer.

You nodded.

He slipped his fingers away and sat himself down on the staircase, beckoning for you to kneel down in front of him. There was no love there; this was Lance Tucker in his element. “It’s not gonna suck itself,” he remarked.

He was absurd but it brought you to your knees all the same. You crawled to him.

“I’ll even get it outta my pants for you, here,” he said impatiently, undoing his zipper, his signature tattoo on display.

You wrapped a hand around his thick, veined shaft. Drawing your tongue over the underside of his, you tried to coat it with as much saliva as you could, catching salty little glimmers of precum as you went. You could understand now why so many women were just dying to fuck Lance Tucker as you eased as much of his cock into your mouth as you could possibly take. You gagged a little on the first pass as you struggled with his girth but you quickly acclimatised. He gave a contented groan as you settled into a steady rhythm, taking more and more of him each time and pumping a hand around whatever you couldn’t.

“Atta girl,” he cooed, “now look at me, I wanna see those beautiful eyes.”

His cock popped from your mouth leaving a thin thread of spit clinging to your lips. Through your lashes you looked up at him with glassy eyes. You began teasing his swollen tip with your tongue, dancing over it in swirls.

“That’s it,” he sighed, snaking his hands through your hair with a slight pressure, “keep going. Take it all the way down for me.”

Hesitantly, you began easing Lance’s cock back into your mouth, his hand still guiding your head further and further down until there wasn’t an inch left to take. You let out a muffled mewl in a mix of enjoyment and discomfort. And then his hand gripped your hair again.

Now he was in control of how you were using your mouth. Slowly pulling you up and down by your hair. He was never particularly rough, but your jaw ached. But still he lay, sprawled across your staircase, fucking himself with your mouth and making you wait.

Just when the pain was becoming unbearable, you got your first sign that Lance was nearing his climax. His breaths grew erratic, those low growls of his hitching in his throat. Not to mention his grip on your scalp had tightened substantially. He was nearly there. You could do this.

He continued to taunt you until the very end. “You gonna swallow every fucking drop?” he moaned, knowing full well you couldn’t answer through your mouthful of gold standard dick.

All you could muster was a quick, “mmmmf,” and widened eyes before great ropes of cum coated the back of your mouth and found their way down your throat.

You didn’t miss a drop. Partly because Lance made sure you didn’t.

When his grip loosened and you were free to catch your breath, you couldn’t help but see that same smirk playing on Lance’s lips.

Without a word he stood up and put his cock back in pants.

He wasn’t going to make good on his end of the bargain. This realisation dawned on you when he walked past you, two steps away from the door.

“Where are you going, Lance?” you asked, attempting to mask the need in your hoarse voice.

He paused, his back to you. “Did you honestly think I’d fuck you?” he asked with a laugh.

“What?” you questioned, the annoyance building in your tone.

“I had to make sure you didn’t publish your story. You know? The one you interviewed Maggie for?”

You never told him you interviewed Maggie or any of the other girls.

“But I-“ you began in protest.

“You can’t even quote me. You got too close to your source. It’d be unethical,” he sneered. Turning towards you, his last words were these: “If that journalism career doesn’t work out, I reckon you could make a lot of money giving head to the male gymnastics team though. How about that?”

And then he left.

The following morning you woke up. Your mouth was dry and your throat felt like broken glass. A pang of panic and a wave of shame washed over you as you remembered what you did the night before.

You compromised your integrity. Wasted two weeks of work. Had your source’s dick stuffed down your throat in your hallway.

Lance was right, you truly were a fucking terrible journalist.

You stretched your arm out towards your nightstand, picking up your phone and lazily looking through all of the interview files you had accrued over the course of researching your story.

Then you saw it. A second, longer, file from last night. It was four hours long. You couldn’t remember recording anything past Lance snatching your phone from you.

You scrambled upright and hit play on the file.

At first you heard the bustle of the bar. And then your conversation.

It was then that you realised you had unknowingly caught Lance’s admission.

But you couldn’t use it. It was unethical.

Plus you sucked his cock on your staircase. You were sure that was on the file too.

You skipped the file on. It was.

You were confronted with a dilemma that could secure your journalistic glory or finish it completely.

REQUESTS // MASTERLIST

Tags: @ceebeetumbles @lady-thor-foster @hisredhenley @almondbuttercup @daddysebastians @mrtinslydia 

#Lance Tucker #Lance Tucker x Reader #fic #smut #sebastian stan #the bronze