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lokilickedme · 4 years

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Well today was a shitshow. Sit down and lemme tell you a little story about trusting your gut when someone seems too fakey-nice to be real.

Actually you know what? - it’s a long story so let me just give you a quick rundown.

(under the cut because my quick rundown ended up slightly longer than “quick” - this is a massive vent with trigger warnings for dog attack, injured children, animal bites, police, and hospitals. Yeah, it’s been a goddamn HELL of a day)

Neighbors moved into the house next door maybe a year ago (it’s the house that inspired Hammer Of The Gods, just as an interesting side point) and the mom has always been one of those chirpy sunshiny waving-over-the-back-fence “call me anytime, I’ll bake cookies!” good neighbor types that make you feel a little bit unsettled, like, nobody can be that cheery and be for real, you know what I mean? But we’ve never seen any dark side peeking out so we’ve always just accepted it at face value and waved back and gone about our business, happy in the belief that we got a real good neighbor this time.

So - neighbor lady has this rotten little shit of a dog that we have hated since day one. We’re not dog haters, this is just a hellspawn beast that even Steve Irwin would want to euthanize. It barks constantly (sometimes all night), and it gets out of their yard and comes into ours to either 1) take a shit in Little’s sandpit, or 2) snarl and chase Little while he screams and cries. The kid is scared to go in his own back yard to play because he’s afraid of this shit dog even seeing him.

Neighbor knows this, has seen it happen, and always blows it off with a chirpy “Oh he just likes to roughhouse and play rough, you’ll be fine, he won’t hurt you!”

Yeah, no. You don’t let your animal come into MY yard and terrorize MY children. I have chased that beast off with rocks, the water hose, my own shoe more than once, and I stg if it hadn’t run off before I got back with the baseball bat there was one time when I likely would have killed the damn thing. My child is terrified of it and it goes out of its way to come onto our property to snarl at him and chase him. I’m not cool with that. But we haven’t complained because we’re scared to death of making enemies of this neighbor. Trust me, after the last people who lived in that house, we’re very anxious to stay friends with the ones in there now. So we did the good neighbor thing and kept the peace by keeping our mouths shut.

Well. Fast forward to tonight, after a year of putting up with that yappy vicious asshole. Little is out in the front yard, playing right in front of the front door of our house. He’s nowhere near their house or the fenceline to their yard, you can’t even see their front door from where he is. Two steps and he would be inside our house, that’s where he’s at. Absolutely ten THOUSAND percent nowhere near them or their house or their dog. Neighbor opens her front door to leave and this shithead comes tearing out of their house on a straight beeline for Little. It has to go all the way to the end of their front yard and around the end of the fence to even get into our yard, which means it had full intention of coming over here from the minute it got out of their house. And it’s snarling and barking the whole way, which scares the everloving shit out of Little, because he’s been chased by this hellhound countless times and he knows what’s coming. He immediately starts screaming and loses his damn mind to the point where he can’t think straight enough to turn around and run into the house, and he starts running in circles because, yeah, he’s a complete idiot when he’s scared, like most 8 year olds when being attacked by vicious animals. And this stupid dog is right behind him, snarling and barking like a rabid goddamn demon, and Little is screaming that horrified deep-chest kind of scream that stops mothers’ hearts.

I hear it all the way at the far end of the house, over the loud music I have playing. I’d already heard the dog but had assumed it was just barking through the fence like it always does. But that scream - god, I hate that scream. That scream is like a nightmare, you don’t want to hear it while you’re awake, ever.

So I run through the house and tear out onto the porch to see this dog straight up attacking my child. My child is trying to run but the dog has hold of the back of the calf of his left leg, and Little is practically dragging the thing and screaming his lungs out, but it won’t let him go. I slam the screen door open and scream BABY GET IN THE HOUSE!!!!! and bam, his brain kicks back in and he heads for me. I grab him and he’s trembling so hard I thought he was having a seizure.

Now comes the kicker. The neighbor lady is standing at the end of the fence, watching all this happen. She yells for the dog to come to her, but that’s all she does.

Now for an even bigger kicker. The teenage daughter is actually standing less than two feet away from Little and the dog when I get there, meaning she followed the dog into the yard but stood there and didn’t stop it when it started attacking him. She was simply standing there. I mean, I can sort of understand where she’s coming from on this, because she’s afraid of the damn dog herself. But if I were watching my dog attack a small child, you better bet your ass and everything attached to it that I would be putting myself between that dog and that child - or at the very least kicking the dog or trying to grab it by the collar, anything to protect the child. At least make a fucking effort.

Nope. She stood there. In my yard. Watching her dog attempt to maul my child. While the mother watched as well, from the safety of the end of the fenceline, while making one feeble attempt to yell for the dog to come.

Fuck them both.

So at this point I’ve grabbed Little and slammed the screen shut to keep the dog away, and the girl says “I’m so sorry!” and then just stands there looking at me like she’s expecting me to say it’s okay. I’m inspecting my still-screaming child and I find that his leg is bleeding and has fucking HOLES IN IT. I look through the screen at the teenager and say “IT BIT HIM!!!”

She just stands there. She obviously doesn’t know what to do, she keeps looking over at her mother. The mother never steps foot into the yard. Not a damn step.

Again, fuck her. I can forgive the teenager...but not the adult.

So my husband finally comes in from the back - up to this point he’s assumed the kids were just playing noisy and the neighbor’s dog was being a yappy little bitch from its own back yard like usual, but when I got Little into the house he finally realized those screams were serious and came running. I told him the dog bit Little in our yard, and he runs outside but the dog and both women are gone. He comes back in, confused about what’s happening, and I look him straight in the eye and say “That dog bit our kid, you do something.”

To his credit he snaps to action and runs out, heading straight over to the neighbors’ house to ask what the hell just happened. She’s trying to get in her car and leave in a hurry, so he stops her and she starts laughing and saying how the dog loves to “roughhouse” and she wished Little wasn’t scared of him so they could play. And husband, still not knowing what’s going on, has no choice but to let the woman get in her car and leave, but he asks her if the dog is current on its rabies shots and she says something to the effect of “I think so, we lost his tag” (husband was confused by the whole situation, bless him he’s no good at all in a crisis...that’s why he has me) and then she says she has to go and quickly gets the fuck out of Dodge.

When husband comes back in I tell him what I saw. Little recovers his wits enough to start talking and tells us everything. I clean the wound and hold him while we try to figure out what to do. ER? God, we were just in there a month ago when my eyeball exploded, we just got the bill for it a few days ago and have no idea how we’re going to pay it. We’re not even sure they’ll see us again with that visit still on the books unless we pay them something on arrival. But we’re going anyway, because this is our kid and we know we at the very least need to get this situation documented by someone official and make sure the bite doesn’t need care beyond what I can provide...but I need to know what to tell the ER crew when they ask if the dog has had its shots. I start texting the neighbor, I send her pictures of the bite so she knows this is serious and she needs to work with me, I ask for information on the dog’s vaccine status, and she...straight up ignores me. I text her again, making it clear that I need her to answer me ASAP because we’re likely going to the hospital and if I can’t tell them what they need to know, they’re going to be calling her.

A half hour goes by, and in the meantime I’m calling TeleHealth and googling shit as fast as I can, waiting for this woman to reply so we know what to do next, and when she finally responds she -

REFUSES TO GIVE ME ANY INFORMATION.

Yeah.

Two tries later - all I want is to know if the dog has had its shots, I even tell her she can just text me a picture of the dog’s collar tags or let me take a picture of its vaccine papers - and she comes back with “I don’t have any papers and his collar broke so the tags were lost.”

I realize at this point that there’s a reason why she won’t give me an answer and keeps evading. I text her again and say “Ticia I need you to tell me right now HAS THAT DOG HAD ITS SHOTS”

She waits a while, then replies with “My friend does the vaccines for me.” So I ask for the “friends” name and phone number so the hospital can call and get the information they need from them. She makes me wait a long time again, after which she finally comes back with “Tell the doctor to call me and I’ll tell him what he needs to know.”

Okay, this is pure bullshit now. One more try. “IS THAT DOG VACCINATED OR NOT, YES OR NO?”

She finally replies one last time, with just a single name, “Hubbs”.

I google it - it’s a vet clinic, Hubbs is the doctor. Wait, I thought she said her “friend” does it and there are no papers...? So I call the vet clinic, but by this time it’s after hours and they’re closed and my only option is to leave a message and beg them to call me first thing in the morning. Now I know why she waited so long in between replies...she was watching the clock. I give husband a quick rundown of what’s been happening and he says “That’s it, I’m calling her.”

He calls her. She doesn’t answer.

By this time I’m starting to cry and we’re both getting frantic. I get the kiddo calmed down enough to leave the room and I call my mother - yeah, I know, I’m supposed to be on Active Shun status with her, but this is an emergency and she has experience in the legal field (I do too, but her know-how is far more recent than mine) and there’s no way in hell she would refuse to help her grandbaby. She’s also the only level head I can think of at the moment. So I suck it up and make the call.

In spite of everything, she comes through for me. Lists off everything I need to be doing as far as documenting, getting him to the ER, filing a police report afterward if the neighbor decides to pull a vanishing act (the woman is out of town VERY frequently, sometimes we only see her once or twice a week so we know this is likely). While I’m on the phone with her, my husband is on the phone with his friend, who is a veterinarian in another state. Equine vet, but hey, they all have the same basic knowledge under their specialties. Vet friend says get him to the ER tonight, as in right now, and starts a massive spiel on the danger of waiting since rabies is a possible factor in this equation. Full panic is setting in now and I’m crying fullblown and vet friend is telling us to take him in NOW, we’re operating on a tight timeframe and rabies is something you don’t fuck around with and we do not want to cut it even remotely close.

So. We grab our masks and get gone. On the way to the ER I call the neighbor in one last ditch attempt to get something remotely useful information-wise from her. She answers on what had to be the fifteenth ring, I was just about to hang up when there’s finally a terse “Hello.” And while I’m breathlessly telling her we’re in the car on our way to the emergency room and I need to know if her damn dog has had its damn shots or my sweet little 8 year old boy is going to have to start a horrifically painful series of shots for something that likely isn’t even going to happen to him, she has the unmitigated BALLS to calmly and coldly say to me, “If I had that information I would have given it to you. I can’t do anything until tomorrow.”

Again...say it with me. FUCK. HER. She doesn’t even ask if he’s okay. Her attitude and tone make it clear that she’s considering this whole thing a waste of her time and she’s annoyed that I keep contacting her about it.

I hang up. Not gonna let that bitch hear me cry.

We get to the ER, I run inside with Little, husband and Big have to stay in the car because Covid regulations. We get temperature-checked at the door and then do the front desk check-in thing; it’s a quiet night and a small town thank god so we get taken to a room immediately, ER nurse asks what’s happened and I tell her.

She is PISSED. Informs me that they’re going to be calling the police and that I won’t have to do anything, the Sheriff’s Department will handle it all. She takes all Little’s stats, checks him over, then leaves to make the call.

Doctor comes in, super nice man, Dr Khan. He’s not happy about the situation either, tells us they’ll get the police involved on our behalf, verifies that the bite will be okay with some careful tending and a ten day round of antibiotics. He says since it’s highly unlikely a domestic pet is carrying rabies and this dog has a history of just being a bad tempered bitch, he’s not going to start Little on the horrific preventative treatment for the virus because it’ll likely be unnecessary - but that damn mutt IS going into quarantine and the CDC is being notified of the situation.

Husband texts me from the parking lot: COPS JUST PULLED UP. About three minutes later Deputy Bishop walks in and he’s ready to rumble because he’s already mad about the call being for a dog attack, and when he sees the victim - all 48 lbs of tiny skinny little blue-eyed blonde haired angelfaced Little - he’s furious. Takes all the information, asks a lot of questions, spends a lot of time with us, listens to Little, and then as he’s closing his notebook he tells me that he’s headed to neighbor’s house to inform her she’s in some shit now and she should have just cooperated with me from the start (yep I told him how she gave me the runaround). But since she didn’t extend even the slightest bit of human decency, her dog is being put on the “problem animal” watch list and I’m to call him immediately if she gives me any trouble at all, ever, about any of this.

She not only has to quarantine the dog for ten days, she has to report to the CDC. If she doesn’t comply, the dog will be taken by the authorities. She’s also in trouble for not maintaining proper records on the dog’s vaccinations (which I think is because the dog ISN’T vaccinated - why would she have given me such a yank job about it if it was? I straight up asked her FOUR TIMES “is the dog vaccinated” and she refused to give me a simple yes or no).

So it’s finally finished and we’re released from the hospital, and as we’re turning at the end of our street headed home we pass Deputy Bishop leaving neighbor’s house. Neighbor is out in her front yard, dragging her trash cans to the corner in the dark as we go into our house.

She never looks at us, never asks how Little is doing. Nothing. Pretends we aren’t even there. Her dog just fucking MAULED my kid, we’re literally just now home from the hospital because of it, we’re going to have an astronomical hospital bill, she could likely get SUED THE FUCK INTO OBLIVION AND BACK, she’s standing less than 20 feet away from us as we’re carrying the injured baby into the house...but she doesn’t even ask if the kid is okay.

This is where the learned lesson comes in. Remember that fakey-sunshiny-chirpy-friendly “I’m a great neighbor, you’re so lucky to have me!” shit I mentioned at the beginning? Yeah, we thought this lady was a super great person, we had nothing to make us think otherwise. Now we do. From the very first contact after the incident she attempted to make it our fault - said to me in one of the first texts that if we had a problem with her dog’s behavior we should have said so from the start (I had told her that the dog chased Little and snarled at him a lot, that this wasn’t the first time, and that she needed to make sure it was the last time). She immediately got uppity with me and turned it into our mistake for not saying something every time the dog acted up. Oh, okay, forgive us for trying to be good neighbors who don’t complain about everything. That’s where we went wrong here! Yeah it’s all our fault, sorry! You’re completely within your rights to keep a dangerous animal that hates children next door to a family with children and not do anything to keep it under control. Our bad, sorry to waste your time.

For the nth time...fuck her. People show their true colors when they feel threatened, and I feel like she knew she likely has a lawsuit coming...and if she felt threatened by the possibility of a lawsuit, that means she knows she’s guilty and deserves one.

So anyway...Little is going to be fine, physically. But he’s made it clear that he’s never going outside again. (Say it with me, class...FUCK HER). The shitty little dog has to be locked up for ten days, yay. Personally I wish they’d taken it away, but at least there’s 10 days where Little can go out in his own damn yard without fearing for his life - if I can convince him it’s safe and talk him into it. (Say it again...)

Tomorrow I talk to neighbor’s vet and get the truth, finally, about the damn thing’s shots (or lack thereof), and then I have to call our homeowner’s insurance and file a claim through them against neighbor’s insurance to try to get our hospital bill paid by her. Which, you know, probably wouldn’t even have been necessary if the woman had cooperated with me from the start. And then I get to start the long process of getting Little through his trauma and fear of ever going outside to play again. And in 3-5 days I get the joy of going down to the police department to pick up a copy of the report.

And, of course, we get to deal with the cold shoulder from a suddenly not-such-a-nice-person uncaring next door neighbor who obviously thinks we’re assholes because the hospital called the police and reported her while our son was bleeding in the emergency room with holes in his leg the size of her precious pet’s teeth.

I won’t ever fall for that fakey-nice act again, from anyone. My gut never truly believed she was as good as she pretended to be, and now I know my gut was right. She’s a mother...yet she couldn’t even muster up that fake sunshine long enough to find out if a child was going to be alright. A child whose injury and trauma were due to her negligence. To me that makes the deception a thousand times worse. She’s a goddamned mother and she flat doesn’t give a shit. She didn’t even pretend to.

Words can’t even go where my feels are at the moment.

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 years

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Pairing: Reader x Cas

Prompt: Soulmate AU

25 Days of Tropes Masterlist

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Soulmates are real.

It had been almost an hour since the man—Castiel, you’d learned—had shown up at your door and you still hadn’t wrapped your mind around the news. You had a soulmate, and he was an angel in the literal sense of the word.

Angels are real.

That was also something you hadn’t wrapped your mind around.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Castiel asked.

Dumbly, you nodded and took another sip of the tea he’d made you. You set the cup down on your coffee table and looked over at him.

“How long have you known?”

Cas frowned, confused. “How long have I known what?”

“That I was your soulmate.”

“Only for a few days,” he answered. His voice was earnest as he continued, “I’ve been looking for you. It took me longer than I had anticipated, you’re very well hidden here.”

“Oh.”

His response hadn’t been the answer you were expecting, but if you were being honest, you weren’t really sure what to expect. Your worldview had just expanded about ten thousand percent.

“Are you alright?”

You looked up, meeting his concerned gaze. “I’m fine, I think. It’s just… a lot to take in, I guess. This really wasn’t expecting when I said that I wanted to fall in love this year,” you said. You laughed a little, remembering how only two days before you’d discussed your resolution for the new year with your best friend. The decorations from your New Year’s Eve party were still hanging from your walls.

Offering Cas a weak smile, you stood and pushed your hair back out of your face, looking around the room.

“What’s the phrase? New year, new me?” Cas asked, his voice hopeful.

That made you laugh a little bit more. “I don’t think that really applies here, Castiel.”

“You can call me Cas, if you’d prefer. That’s what my friends call me.”

“You have friends? Aren’t you an angel?”

Cas smiled softly and stood, and you noticed that there were happy little crinkles at the corners of his bright blue eyes. “Yes, but I have a few close friends. We have our arguments, though. We don’t always agree, and I suppose my upbringing as a warrior doesn’t often help with those,” he told you.

“A warrior, huh? Are your friends angels too?”

“No, they’re very human,” Cas answered, watching as you picked up your empty teacup and carried into the kitchen. After rinsing it out, you started to wash empty teapot. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning,” you told him. “Do you want me to do something else?”

Cas hesitated and after a moment answered, “I was hoping that you would come with me.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and set the cup and the pot in your draining rack, then dried your hands with a dish towel. The towel was soaked by the time you’d finished drying your hands and the counter, and you draped it over the bar on the oven before putting your hands on your hips and looking back over at Cas.

“You want me to go with you?”

“Yes. Now that we both know we’re soulmates, your life is in danger,” Cas said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He nodded and the two of you stared at each other for a long moment before you shook your head.

“No, Cas. This is ridiculous. Are you in some kind of trouble or something? I can give you money, I guess, but you can’t just come in here and tell me that one, you’re an angel, two, we’re soulmates, and three, I have to come with you just because we’re soulmates.” You ticked off the items on your fingers as you spoke, then crossed your arms over your chest.

Cas sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking around the apartment. He stopped for a moment to inspect the over-the-top New Year’s banner you’d found at the party store, then shook his head and muttered to himself. Pulling out his phone, he quickly dialed in and brought it to his ear, staring at you all the while.

“Dean? I need your help with something.” Cas went quiet, looking down as he listened to the man on the other end. Finally he said, “Yes, I’m with Y/N.” He looked up again and held the phone out for you.

Tentatively, you took it and held it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Y/N?”

“Yes, who is this? Are you a friend of Castiel’s?” You glanced over at the angel, who was watching you intently.

“You could say that. I’m Dean. He told you your life was in danger because you’re his soulmate?” Dean asked.

“Yes, he did.”

“And you’re refusing to go with him?”

“Why would I go with him? I’ve known Cas for a few minutes, Dean. I’ve got a life here and I’m not going to just give it up like that,” you replied, your tone a bit sharper than you’d intended.

Dean sighed on the other end of the line. “Listen. He’s right—your life’s in danger now. As much as I hate it, the safest thing for you right now is to go with Cas. He’ll bring you here, where it’s safe, and in a few days we can figure out if there’s a way for you to get back to your normal life.”

Something about Dean’s voice made you want to trust him. Both he and Cas were convinced that you were in danger, and after a moment of thought you relented.

“Fine. I’ll go with you, but only for a few days. Promise me that I’ll be able to come back to my apartment and my job?”

“I can’t promise all of that,” Dean said, “but I can promise you that you’ll be safe and Cas will do whatever he can to make sure that you have a good life no matter what the situation is.”

Looking back at Cas, you gave him a small smile. “Okay. I trust you. Cas and I will see you soon, Dean.”

_______________

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vlleneuve · 4 years

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thanks for tagging me, @lumiereswig!! this was a lot of fun

rules: answer the questions about your favorite ship (all time or current) then tag 10 people to do it too!

ship and fandom: batb, belle + adam

moments:

what were their first impressions of each other?

standing outside the cell maurice is imprisoned in, belle is like “oh shit what the fuck is THAT.” and the beast is like “oh man she’s gorgeous. better scare her away before she chooses to leave.”

a moment you think that both/one of them will remember forever about each other?

obviously, the easy answer is the moment the curse was broken, but who wouldn’t remember the day the love of your life saved you from eternal damnation? forgoing that, i think something that sticks out to her is the day he gave her the library. she had never been shown so much genuine kindness before, and it was at this moment she discovered that she had made her first real friend in life. she’ll always treasure all the memories that the library led to as well.

for adam, he remembers waking up after saving belle from the wolves to find that belle was still there, taking care of him. as he laid there, it hit him how much she was treating him like a normal man who deserved love and respect, and not just a hideous beast. it had been so long since he’d been treated that way, he’d almost forgotten what it was like.

a moment you think that both/one of them wishes hadn’t happened:

adam always wishes the curse had never happened. belle explains to him that of course, without the curse, they would never have met (”without your past, you could never have arrived so wondrously and brutally, be design or some exquisite happenstance ...here”), and he gets that. but he feels so desperately ashamed of how he acted, and wished that he had never made his staff suffer for ten years in a hopeless vacuum, day in and day out.

what is Their Moment for you?

the moment adam turns around after the curse is broken to look at belle. in that moment, every prayer he’s ever had has been answered. belle is his savior. and before her, is the love of her life, the man who just died in her arms. and now, she’s got a second chance with him, a real chance. the curse is broken. she doesn’t know what did it (not yet anyways, adam will tell her after a very heated make-out sesh), but she is so beyond grateful that he’s here, and alive. in that moment, they have the whole world ahead of them, and they’re so in love it hurts.

life questions:

marriage? if yes, who proposes?

yes!!!! neither of them propose to one another, because neither of them are very big on putting on a show (that’s lumiere’s thing). one day, they’re just laying in the library, reading much ado about nothing, and it’s the wedding scene at the very end of the story where everyone is happy and alive and all the problems have been resolved, and belle’s like “you know, i want to marry you” and adam’s like ‘YOU DO?!!” and she’s like “of course i would. do you think i somehow felt love strong enough to break a curse but didn’t love you enough to get married?” and he was like “oh my god. i want to marry you too. i want to tell everyone in the world that you’re my wife. oh my god. let’s get married tomorrow.” they do not, however, end up getting married tomorrow.

children?

oh god yes. especially because it would be filled with all sorts of hurt/comfort stuff where adam frets about being a dad because it’s such a big RESPONSIBILITY and his dad fucked it up so bad and belle is like. “no. you are the strongest, most compassionate person i’ve ever met. you will love your kid so much they’ll practically drown in it. they will have the best dad in the world.” and he feels anxious about it until he holds their kid for the first time and oh god belle was right, he does love this kid more than anything in the world, and he would do anything to keep them safe and happy and healthy. and suddenly, parenting doesn’t seem so much like a challenge as an adventure he can't WAIT to go on.

housing? where do they live together?

the castle!!! they stay in the west wing (except they make it less of an emo cave and more of a homey master suite). sometimes though, they sleep in the east wing, for Sexy Times.

pets? do they get a pet together?

they have lumiere, and that is more than enough

person a & b…

who would kill/remove the spider and who would leave it under a cup and leave the room?

adam would be sitting in the library reading and scream like a CHILD and belle would come running over from behind a bookshelf she was reorganizing (for fun) and be like “OH MY GOD WHAT’S WRONG” and adam doesn’t say anything he just sort of points and.... it’s a spider. belle SIGHS and walks over, looks her husband directly in the eye, and smashes it with her bare hand. adam nearly faints at the sight. he also wants belle to never touch him with that hand again. maybe she should just get it removed.

who sings all day long and who gets so used to it they don’t even hear it anymore?

belle is always SINGING and humming and just. living in her own little fairytale world. except, adam never gets used to it, because he absolutely worships the ground belle walks on. it comes as less of a surprise for sure, that someone who has gone through so much could be so lighthearted as to spend her time singing to herself, but he loves the sound of her voice (and he loves her, and anything to do with her), that whenever he hears her singing he makes sure to listen

who can cook a gourmet meal for two and who can maybe use the toaster?

belle is a CHEF. of course, she’s not as good at impressive dishes as cuisiner or mrs potts or lumiere. her talent isn't in the extravagance, but in taken whatever she’s given and making it taste great. it’s one of the perks of not growing up with a lot. adam, however, can’t cook to save his life, and is NOT allowed to use the toaster because he WILL set it on fire AGAIN and that’s not a risk anyone’s willing to take.

who wakes up before the sun rises and who would sleep in until 2pm if they didn’t have an alarm?

belle gets up early!! she rises with the sun. adam, however, would much rather stay in bed and sleep the day away. “but there’s so much you can do in a day, adam, why would you waste it?” “are you telling me that cuddling for a few hours is a waste? because i won’t stand for it.”

who is more affectionate/touchy?

adam, one THOUSAND percent. everyday that he gets to wake up in a world where belle is his wife and he gets to spend another whole day with her is like the curse being broken all over again. he wants to do everything with her and share everything with her. she’s the love of his life, his best friend, and the nicest, smartest, funniest, etc etc etc person he’s ever met and every time he looks at her he’s like WOW. this is the person who saved my life. how can he ever make it up to her. how can he ever show her how much he loves her. “belle did you know i’d do anything for you?” “yes, darling, i did” ‘okay because if you ever need anything, i would literally die for you” “you already did” “now hey there”

who wears the other’s hoodies/shirts?

belle wears all of his clothes. and i mean all. stuff from when he was a beast, shitty stuff from before the curse, the shirt he slept in last night. it all smells like him, and men’s stuff is so much comfier than women’s. adam really used to hate all the obnoxious stuff he wore when he was an asshole, but then one day he comes downstairs to meet belle for a morning walk and she’s wearing pants and a loose white shirt and one of his glamorous suit coats and the wind gets knocked out of his chest and he suddenly. does not hate it anymore. he actually likes it a lot. in a very bad way.

who said i love you first?

belle, duh. even though he was dying and it was his last chance to say it he STILL didn’t because he’s a COWARD. but belle would have said it first no matter the circumstances. to her, it’s a statement of fact, and it’s important that he knows the truth. she loves him, and that means he’s a part of who she is now. he needs to know that, obviously. adam would absolutely rather die than even run the risk of saying he loved her if she didn’t love him back.

i tag @greensearcher @prince-adams-japris @astudyinchocolate and anyone else who wants to do it! i tag any and all of you!

#ahhhh this was so fun!!!#also i got p inspired #catch me coming back to this post sometime in the future and using this as inspiration for oneshots #musings #otp: i love you #headcanons

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themurphyzone · 5 years

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Oneshot: Perry the Pomeranian

AU of Got Game? where Perry is a human. Yes, this is the episode where Heinz entered Perry into a dog show.

Heads up: This whole scenario is a bit less innocent when two people are involved. I’m not really sure what to tag this as to be honest, If you think I should tag something please let me know, because some of this leans a bit towards roleplay. There will be lots of awkwardness and embarrassing situations!

He didn’t get paid enough for this.

Perry dragged himself into his seat for mission briefing, exhausted from climbing several long flights of stairs. Of course the elevator was broken. And just when he thought his equipment was in good shape that week.

Major Monogram was already onscreen. He raised an eyebrow, and Perry slowly corrected his posture to make it look like he was paying the utmost attention.

“There you are, Agent P. Sorry about the stairs, our elevator maintenance guy is on a corporate retreat with our slide-waxing guy,” Major Monogram stated.

Liar. He didn’t sound sorry.

“Anyway, our intelligence tells us that Doofenshmirtz has been shopping around for a show dog. We need you to infiltrate the pet store and uncover his evil plan. Carl, send him the mission outfit.”

“Sending!” Carl exclaimed from offscreen.

A containment unit rose from the ground, revealing a fuzzy ginger and cream onesie. A headband with floppy ears was attached to the front.

Perry hated this mission already.

“Anyway, I'm goin' home early. It's taco night. Ha-ha!” Monogram laughed.

The screen faded to black.

Perry folded the onesie, stuffing it beneath his coat so he could smuggle it into the house.

And to smuggle it into the house, he needed to climb the stairs.

The super-long, super-exhausting staircase of absolute madness.

Perry sighed.

The owner of the My Little Doggies pet store didn’t notice Perry slip in. She didn’t even question why there was an enormous Pomeranian by the front window.

Perry had snagged a spare dog cushion and taken a spot where he would easily be visible to people coming in. Since most of the customers were only buying supplies for pets they already owned, Perry didn’t need to discourage them from purchasing him.

He had to consciously resist wrinkling his nose at the idea of being purchased.

He couldn’t smudge the makeup he’d borrowed from Linda’s kit. It took way too long to smear a passable imitation of a dog nose on his face.

“Yes, I'm looking for a purebred show dog,” a familiar voice said.

He must’ve missed Heinz coming in. Perry sat up to make himself more noticeable. This entire mission hinged on making himself appealing enough for Heinz to buy.

“Well, we have various award-winning breeds to choose from,” the owner replied, gesturing to several dogs in their kennels.

Heinz glanced over each of them, frowning when none of the canines seemed to meet his criteria. He opened his mouth to ask the owner another question, but paused the moment he saw Perry.

“Ooh! What about him?” Heinz gasped, grinning madly as he tore across the room to where Perry was sitting.

Perry kept his face impassive as Heinz’s long fingers stroked underneath his chin.

Heinz wasn’t rough at all. His fingers were practically dancing across Perry’s skin.

“He's perfect! Coochie-coochie-coo!” Heinz squealed as he tickled the faux fur on Perry’s chest. “You’re Doctor D's precious little puppy, aren't you?”

Perry rolled his eyes.

Heinz really needed to work harder on his evil credibility.

“Sir, I'm not even sure if that's a dog,” the owner protested. She peered at Perry’s teal hair suspiciously.

Perry froze. She’d blow his cover if he didn’t do something to make her believe he was a real dog!

What would a real dog do?

Perry’s eyes fell on a terrier who was sniffing a chihuahua’s butt.

New question. What would a real dog do that would leave about seventy percent of his dignity intact?

An idea finally came to him.

He rolled onto his back, completely exposing his belly. It was risky to be in such a vulnerable position, but this would aid his goal in the long run. Heinz made a strange noise in the back of his throat, taking the invitation to vigorously rub Perry’s stomach.

Perry kept a hand on his headband to make sure it stayed in place. Fortunately, Heinz seemed to view this as a cute gesture.

“He loves belly rubs, and that’s good enough for me,” Heinz told the owner. “I get a big alimony check every month, so money's no object.”

The owner rubbed her hands in glee. “In that case, he’s ten thousand dollars.”

Once the transaction was completed, Heinz returned to nuzzling Perry. “Aw, who’s a little cutie? You are, yes you are!” he cooed.

Perry turned his head away from Heinz so the makeup on his nose didn’t smudge from the face nuzzles he was receiving.

Heinz broke off the nose-to-nose contact with a wicked grin. “You’re my ticket into the Danville Dog Show. Together, we’ll make them pay for all I’ve suffered.”

Ah, a backstory scheme and not an eliminate-the-annoyance scheme.

“Back when I was just a little schtumpel, my father came home with a brand-new spitzenhound puppy that he won in a game of Poke the Goozim With a Stick,” Heinz narrated. “My father said the dog was like the son he never had...and named him Only Son.”

Perry winced. Heinz didn’t notice and stroked him absentmindedly.

“Only Son became an award-winning show dog, bringing my father fame and fortune, while I was forced to be the lawn gnome. You remember that story with my neighbor Kenny?”

Perry tensed. Heinz was terrible with disguises! Why did today have to be the day Heinz recognized him?

“ I don't have to go through...okay,” Heinz said. He straightened up, and Perry hesitated, unwilling to follow him off the cushion. He couldn’t scuff up his hands and knees by crawling around like a baby. It would be absolute murder on his back too.

But at least his previous worry was unfounded. Heinz had already changed the topic.

“To recap, my entire fragile self-esteem is totally dependent on your performance today at the dog show. You know, no pressure,” Heinz said as he exited the store. Realizing that Perry wasn’t following him, he frowned. “The dog show is that way.”

“Sir, the city has leash laws,” the owner piped up. She clipped a red leash to Perry’s collar before handing the other end to Heinz. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

“Extortionist,” Heinz muttered. He tossed a crumpled bill into her hand and stormed off, only to be tugged back by Perry’s refusal to budge. “Time’s a-wastin’, Puffy! You know what? I’m totally calling you that now. Puffy the Pomeranian has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Perry balked. Anyone who chose to name another living being ‘Puffy’ was pure evil.

A leash was sort of like a trap, right? Heinz had restrained him with more uncomfortable things before.

Heinz smirked, as if that had been his brilliant plan along.

Having enough, Perry decided to throw caution to the wind. He stood up and followed Heinz out the store, causing the owner to swoon and faint from the shock.

“Oh, cool!” Heinz exclaimed. “You can do that bipedal thing like a secret agent! No idea where you learned that, but that gives us a leg up on the competition!”

Perry allowed Heinz to take the lead, walking behind him at a comfortable pace.

“So yesterday I was watching Ambivalence,” Heinz said. “It’s this show where the couple has this weird relationship and they’re constantly bickering over the most trivial things. Like who argues over how many chocolate chips you can put into a freshly baked cookie? Does anyone ever count those things? So in the latest episode, Troy was revealed to be an ancient Greek warrior who was flung into the future by Aphrodite and cursed so that he never could hold on to a romantic relationship again. Then again, it was obvious in hindsight. All the guy ever checked out at the library were books on classical mythology.”

Intrigued, Perry didn’t interrupt him as Heinz explained the subtler bits of foreshadowing. He’d have to check out the show in his spare time.

“No, no! It’s Heinz Doofenshmirtz!” Heinz snapped. “You know, rhymes with hurts!”

“Heinz Doofenshultz?”

“Doof. En. Shmirtz,” Heinz drawled each syllable.

The attendant at registration raised an eyebrow. “I see,” she finally said. “Heinz Doofenshmidt, entering your bich…”

Perry prayed some random invention would fall from the sky on top of her, but that only worked when the person verbally invoking fate wasn’t expecting it.

“…on frise.”

“Puffy’s a Pomeranian,” Heinz retorted. “Not a Belgian freeze or whatever you just said.”

“Isn’t he a little bipedal to be a Pomeranian?” the attendant asked.

“Yes, yes he is. So are we in now?”

“Yeah, fine. You’re in the toy breed section.”

The attendant quickly handed him a slip, obviously wanting Heinz to stop holding up the line.

Oblivious to the angry glares he was receiving from the people behind him, Heinz marched off with Perry in tow.

While the other competitors paraded their obedient dogs around for the judges, Perry watched Heinz for any signs of evildoing.

“Don't worry about your lack of training and experience, because I have an ace in the hole!” Heinz exclaimed, pulling out a ray gun from his lab coat pocket. “Behold! The Misbehave-inator! It, Does what the name implies. Watch this!”

He zapped a poodle, who took a large chomp out of his handler’s arm. Other dogs quickly followed suit, and soon the arena was filled with screams as dogs filled the arena with holes and demanded subjugation from the humans.

“Nothing can stop us now!” Heinz cackled.

Taking that as his cue, Perry wrapped both of his hands around Heinz’s arm and threw him to the ground, forcing him to drop the Misbehave-inator. Perry snatched the device, then sprinted over to a rope that was attached to the upper level of the convention center.

“Hey, what was all that about?” Heinz demanded, slightly dazed from the force of Perry’s throw.

Perry ripped off the headband and replaced it with his fedora.

“Perry the Pomeranian?”

Rolling his eyes, Perry ripped off the Pomeranian suit, glad to finally be rid of it. Good thing he’d worn his blue collared shirt and brown slacks underneath.

“Perry the Platypus!” Heinz yelped. He ducked his head, refusing to make eye contact with Perry. A blush spread across his face until his head vaguely resembled a misshapen tomato. “I named you ‘Puffy’...with the whole leash thing...and the cootchie-cootchie-coo stuff too, and...oh man, this isn’t being televised is it? Wait, were you wearing your normal suit under the Pomeranian outfit the entire time? Weren’t you hot with all those layers?”

Leaving the question unanswered, Perry ascended the rope with the Misbehave-inator in hand.

“Hey, bring back my Misbehave-inator!” Heinz shrieked. Perry felt the rope tighten as Heinz pursued him. “And you have some explainin’ to do, Mr. I Let My Nemesis Walk Me Around the City on a Leash Because I Have a Complete Disregard for His Evil Reputation!”

Perry grabbed hold of the landing skid on a low-flying helicopter, smirking as he made his escape with the Misbehave-inator. Then something clamped down on his leg, and Perry quickly held the Misbehave-inator out of Heinz’s evil clutches.

The device fired yellow beams all over the place as they grappled for control. Finally, Heinz threw himself across Perry’s chest in a last-ditch effort. But the helicopter shifted upwards, throwing Heinz off-balance when he overshot his desired prize.

Heinz fell through the roof of the My Little Doggies store and landed in a dog kennel.

Karma had never felt so good before.

Many months later....

“Happy birthday, Perry the Platypus!” Heinz shouted, popping out from behind his couch. Of course, Perry knew he was there since stealth wasn’t Heinz’s strong suit, but he still pretended to be surprised.

And it wasn’t actually his birthday, but everybody just seemed to pick a random day to celebrate it anyway, so he was used to it.

Heinz slid a present over to him, unable to stop twitching as Perry carefully unwrapped the bow and opened the box.

Inside was an exact replica of the Pomeranian suit he’d worn for the Misbehave-inator mission.

Heinz grinned innocently. “What? Ginger and cream really complements your skin tone!”

#perry the platypus #heinz doofenshmirtz #perryshmirtz #phineas and ferb #fanfiction #awkwardness and secondhand embarrassment

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esuteryc · 5 years

Text

Short-lived

In the building of a call center, hundreds of thousands of phone calls flooded the switchboard operators’ offices at an abnormal rate requesting for emergency dispatches. The first responders were naturally sent to the scenes. A lot of events were unfolding in various places. Somewhere in the suburbs firefighters had to put out the flames engulfing a house, at a different neighborhood medical officers were wheeling out body bags on the stretchers into their ambulances, and meanwhile a unit of police officers was dispatched to investigate a reported disturbance occurring in the nearby areas. While the media outlets broadcast the news on a daily basis, I seldom paid attention to it until I was involved in the unexpected catastrophe. I was in Chinatown when it began. My coworkers and I work in the Waste Management and we happened to end our shifts an hour before twelve. They wanted to go to "Golden Wok" for lunch today but I wanted to go home. Nevertheless, I was forced to tag along with them. The food we ordered would unfortunately be my last meal. Upon digestion I find myself in the restroom and the ten minutes I spent inside the stall was all it took. By the time I rejoined my coworkers, the world has already changed and tipped against humanity’s favor.

Chinatown, an attraction site for tourists to come experience exquisite foreign food, ironically has become a different type of attraction site and its new clients were eager to order. The new clients were rowdy, crazy, impatient, and hungry and they were already working up an appetite. When I stepped out of the restroom, the customers, including the staffs and my coworkers, were being devoured from head to toe by them. Infighting ignited between the chiefs and the uninvited customers behind the kitchen, the waitresses were being mobbed, and my coworkers were served on the table. Blood splattered on the floor, the counters, and the walls. Broken dishes and chairs were scattered everywhere as they ate. The exit was blocked by the ongoing feast. They were all goners and there was nothing I could do. The only way out was through that glass window. Without a choice, I ran through the glass shattering it with my momentum. I grunted as I got up and I rubbed the broken pieces off of me. The streets were mixed with the sounds of sirens, screams, gunshots, car alarms, and car honks. I need to get out of here. My goal right now was to get to the parking garage and into my car, which was four blocks away from where I am. While the chaos occurred, I swiftly and stealthily vaulted through the street vendors obstructing me. I also ignored the cries and the pleas of help on my way and I felt sorry but I wasn't sincerely apologetic.

At the vicinity of the parking garage, somebody thought the elevators were still convenient. Ding! When the door was opened the unlucky fool waiting for it was instantly grabbed and dragged into a slaughter. My car was at the fourth level, stairs it is. Huffing and puffing, I got in my Volkswagen, cracked open the window, covered it with my sun shades, and locked my doors. I turned on the radio to tune into 93.9, carefully adjusting the volume as to not capture attention.

"Please stay tune for the following urgent news special bulletin. We will return to our regular schedules programs following this report. Meanwhile, civil unrest is being reported throughout multiple local districts. If you are in an area with a lot of activities, please remain indoors. You are advice to lock up all windows and doors. Evacuation sites will be posted soon. There are numerous reports that riots and outbreaks has started. The cause of them is currently unknown."

It seems like the disaster was being reported nationwide and the news wasn't providing any explanation. I turned off my engine. An evacuation site sounds like an ideal place to go but I wasn't sure about the decision. If this outbreak remains uncontained, there is a hundred percent possibility that any established refuge would fall apart. It will only become more difficult to runaway if I was caught in the midst of that setting. Can I drive back home? Home is miles away and going there now is out of the option given the unknown dangers lurking. For awhile I despaired but when I thought about it again, I was thankful I didn’t act rashly as I would come to regret it later. I'll need to take my chance which is why I decided to wait for this crisis to settle down until the streets were cleared.

My activities following the days I stayed in my car were limited. I was a prepared person. In case of an emergency, I always kept a case of water bottles in my car. I also had a small portion of junk food, fruits, and canned foods which I relied on during this time. I knew this would not be enough so I had to ration and I didn’t venture too far out of my car when I had to take care of "business." As I have predicted, multiple evacuation sites were announced and the news stations were urging everyone to go there. However, within the hours and days, officials were forced to declare that the sites were no longer safe. My food supplies were gone when the news stopped broadcasting and I was near famished. I decided to head out after weeks of lying low. The only thing I had on me was my duffel bag.

I proceeded to the streets in hopes of finding a grocery store. At the intersections littered with abandon vehicles, I was able to find a loaded Mossberg 590 and some ammo near a police car. I felt a little bit safer so I continued onwards undisturbed. Everything went accordingly until I discovered a market. I tried to enter but the glass door was locked. There was nobody inside when I peered through the windows. Should I risk breaking in? What if the alarms work? I've been lucky so far but if I wasn’t careful that luck can go down the drain. I have to take some risks, I concluded. I’ll be dead either way especially if I don’t scavenge for food.

The alarms didn’t ring when I smashed the glass door by the stock of the shotgun to gain entry. Good. My thoughts were racing. I rushed in to fill my bag with as much food as I can but light enough so that I won’t be overburden. Take only what is necessary, I reminded myself. This could have been a successful raid but when I checked my back, I saw two of them upon the door followed by seven others behind. They must have heard me and wondered in despite my silent efforts. Shooting them would only attract more and I would be trapping myself in the store. There was an exit sign that I noticed. I had no choice but to escape using that door without knowing what was outside of it. I have to stay calm. Count down to three.

Three, I have to survive no matter what.

Two, get out of here as soon as possible.

One, I pushed open the door.

The alarm echoed throughout the city taking me by surprise. This is a bad! I thought it were disarmed but I was mistaken. I’ll just have to head to the direction that my feet were taking me. I glanced to the left and my eyes widened. The alley way was beginning to be blocked and at the right there were at least five of them. I raised my gun, here we go. My uncle taught me how to shoot a rifle when I was a kid but I didn’t take it serious at the time. I’ll have to stick with the basics of what I remembered. My eyes locked onto the closest target and I aimed for the stomach.

Boom! The blow grazes my target’s shoulder and he makes a twirl motion. He was still on his feet. I felt the sting on my shoulder from the result of the recoil. I need to get closer. I got in close range for a clearer shot. Four foot from my enemy, I aimed for the neck.

Boom! The recoil of my shot allowed me to hit his face. My first victim went down. Two of them were staggering so I skipped them considering their threat level was zero. Regardless of that I ran into another pair anyways. I took aim.

Boom! Double kill. I managed to do this because they were lined up. I made it to the end of this alley way but my situation didn’t improved. They have formed a horde and have occupied both sides of the streets. There was no way I could evade any of them. My breathing is getting heavier and my heart is pounding harder. I was tired and out of stamina. This will be the end for me, I closed my eyes.

“No!” I shouted at myself. Don't give up, I thought. I am a fighter, there has to be another way. I looked around for an opportunity and I found my answer. There it is! It was an alleyway. I ran for it while I reloaded the shotguns. The moans and groans grew louder behind me as they gathered. There was no turning back anymore. I pumped the forearm of this shotgun and took a few deep breaths. This is a dark alley. Exposed in darkness, I couldn’t even count how many there was ahead but I know my fourth victim is coming to me. I raised my gun and took aim.

Boom! My fourth kill went flying. I pump the forearm and aim at the next shadowy figure.

Boom! Headshot! I took a deep breath, pumped the forearm, and aimed again.

Boom! I grazed my target’s face almost missing my blast. Slow and steady now, I mumbled under my breath, pumped the forearm, and aimed.

Boom! I was getting good at this but it wasn’t over yet. Another one is approaching me so I kicked her and pumped the forearm.

Boom! She’s dead. This is what it comes down to now. I kick, I shoot, and therefore I live. I need to start treating this like a new daily routine. If I can do that then I might be able to make it out alive. I pumped the forearm and took aim.

Boom! I hit the shoulder blade but he wasn't going down. Still standing and inching closer to me, an idea hatched in my mind. I grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and with every ounce of my strength I whack his head against the stock. He drops before me but he continued to move. I pump the forearm and shot him while he was on the ground.

Boom! How is he still alive? I repeat and boom! Finally, he’s dead. I was feeling invincible. Nothing can stop me! I smiled for the first time ever since this epidemic commenced. My kill count is increasing. This one advancing to me is getting closer and she looks cocky as she gets ready to bite my face off. As soon as I pump up my shotgun, I'll send her dead along with the rest. I was so fired up and I was feeling a tremendous amount of confidence. Perhaps I can really survive in this new world. Deep breaths, take aim.

Click!

@esuteryc‘s first short story and post!

#short story #zombie #writing #first person view #first person #creative writing #survival

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ryewi · 6 years

Text

Ain’t No Time - kdh

Summary: Donghan is a competitive person, ready to pull out a veni,vidi,vici whenever he has a chance to, but so are you. As the media announced the annual dancing competition between k-pop idols with their significant others, both of you were excited to begin practicing and be in it to win it.

Pairing: Idol!Donghan x Reader (y’all not an idol in this one, sorry)

Genre: fluff i guess?

Words: 2,4k

Warnings: Kim Donghan, that’s it, that’s the warning

AN: This is based off of a dream I had 2 nights ago that served as a casual reminder to not watch Donghan videos after 3am

For what felt like thousandth time, you shot hand guns towards the mirror, attempting to feel the outfit you were wearing. It was interesting, how mismatched colors or weird pairings didn't matter as long as they felt comfortable. Many would argue that the main priority is to feel snuggly, but is it really when you literally pair up a green top with red sweatpants?

This time though, the colors matched perfectly, probably because both the top and sweatpants were black. Yet, even if they didn’t fit well together as an outfit, you felt amazing; hips swaying left and right, then proceeding to smile at how silly you acted when you were alone sometimes.

A silent beep shook the daze off, the screen of your phone lighting up, a small message notification popping up not long after. The wallpaper shone brightly, showing off a beautiful selfie your boyfriend took two months ago. If his picture wasn't enough to make you smile, the message sure was.

From ♡ Moon 'n Stars ♡ - 13s ago

If my respectful girlfriend is ready, I'd please her beautiful face to come over to the studio

Putting a hand over your mouth to stifle the sudden wave of uncontrollable laughter, you texted back a cute heart emoji. Standing up suddenly, your vision blurred for a moment, as if your body screamed "yo, what happened, calm down woman". Regaining balance on previously wiggly legs and shaky eyesight, you grabbed a bulky backpack resting on a king-sized bed. Your eyes caught on to a sparkly award placed on a shelf next to the bedside table. It was from a music show on which your boyfriend, Donghan, got his first win. Just looking at the award still sent chills of excitement and proudness through your body.

Inside of the bag, you never carried much stuff, although the carriage itself was slightly too much. Usually, a bottle of water, a towel, shower gel and spare t-shirt were the only things inside along with phone and keys. With more than sixty percent left free, the bag sometimes looked funny to you.

Outside, it was pretty chilly for the customarily burning August, with 23 degrees Celsius (73,4F), you felt better and ready to start dancing. Donghan was supposed to teach you a choreography to his song, called 'Ain't No Time' today. Reasoning behind that activity, was that there was a competition between k-pop idols and their significant others in dancing. Each official couple was supposed to learn one of idols’ choreographies and perform it together.

Exactly because of that, the k-pop community faced a huge wave of couples announcing their relationships. Fans were attacked from every angle by never ending reports, causing even more drama as they fought which couple is the OTP. Fortunately, you weren't one of the newly declared relationships. Donghan's company freely revealed it around a month after you two started dating, taking time to check if it wasn't a short-timed fling only. What made the relationship even more interesting was, you weren't an idol, just a girl he met on a bus ride home. The two of you began conversating casually about a passenger who caused drama two stops ago and exchanged numbers after enjoying each other’s company so much.

His fans were amazing. When the relationship was revealed, your instagram was leaked just as quick as a snap of one's fingers, but instead of hate comments, what you got was pretty different.

Take care of our Donghanie well!

Thank you for making our baby happy!

What a stunning girl, our boy sure is lucky!

All of those comments people left made you feel happy. You weren't sure what was to expect, but this definitely wasn't a first thought that crosses one's mind. Fans were quick to make edits, although they weren't left hanging with just their imagination for long. Donghan made sure to post a selfie with you just two days later.

Occasionally, your phone would buzz with notifications of them trying to contact you through dms and although you didn't have time to reply with a big paragraph to every single one, you tried to be as pleasant as possible. In the end, they were a powerful force you didn't want to awaken in a wrong way and neither was there a need to do so.

When you finally reached the dance studio, ten minutes later than expected, you made no effort to be undercover when entering. There were many employees swiftly changing their routes and mumbling quiet excuses whenever they bumped into each other. It made you giggle when Kyungjae, a dancer employed two years ago, entered the female's bathroom on accident, scared women screaming in unison back at him.

"Kyungjae!" You screamed, making him jump and nearly drop the drink he carried in his right hand. On the sight of such a cheerful creature, Kyungjae smiled, advancing towards you in long strides. Jae was a lanky person, with doe like eyes, pointy nose and plush lips, shy at first but extremely talkative afterwards. Whenever a company dinner was held and your dear boyfriend tagged you along, Kyungjae would be the main attraction of the night. Jokes, swearing, dissing the politician system, whatever there was to think of, he had his mouth already opened to talk about.

"Hey! I heard you were coming, how are you?" He replied, arm now thrown around your shoulders comfortably. It was okay, both of you were very comfortable around each other; he was most probably your favorite employee here too.

"I'm great, thanks for asking, how are you doing today, my kind Sir?" Your voice was serious, but the slight twitch upwards of your mouth gave away the soon to splash wave of giggles. Kyungjae himself was near the shore too, lips extending into a thin line to suppress his incoming laughter. Replying with only thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod, he pushed you towards the entrance door which had a big "DANCE PRACTICE ROOM" written on them. Many cheerful voices broke through the barrier of closed door and made you smile as Donghan began to shush down his dancers.

"Let's all be serious now, my girlfriend must be near and we have to be professional" From reasons unknown, his face just appeared in front of you while he said that. Nose slightly scrunched and point finger up in the air, trying to indicate a serious point while attempting not to laugh at his sudden change of demeanor.

Suddenly, as if on que, you forcefully but playfully opened the door, arms opened as you ran towards Donghan's tall figure. He didn't have much time to react before caring arms wrapped around his waist tight, trying to express the fondness you felt throughout this simple, yet meaningful action. Donghan turned around in the little cage, wrapping his own hands around you too, receiving at least a thousand awws from around the room.

To say that your face was now shining with happiness would be an extreme understatement. Every single emotion Donghan awakened was now present on your face, showing just how much love there was for him to take from you. He was also smiling, cheeks rising to impossible heights, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your forehead. He wasn't someone who's content with a lot of PDA, satisfying himself with just holding hands most of the time. Yet, when your feet make a first step into the shared apartment, Donghan's hands would be all over you; not in a sexual way, just in a rather innocent and comfortable manner, as if your waist and cheeks were the only place his hands knew about.

"Well look who blessed us with their presence" Donghan joked, caressing your right cheek for a second too long. Noticing that indeed, there are way too many people watching right now, he turned around and clapped twice, indicating that the practice can start. You both made an agreement that he'll show the whole piece first, just to get a good in-detail look of what you'll be learning.

Hurry up to my side, give me a hug

Whenever your boyfriend danced to this song in particular, you were in a trance. Sunset was a song you enjoyed too, easily getting down to the beat every time it was played, but Ain't No Time was your most favorite ever. Donghan's body moved so smoothly, hands travelling flawlessly over his neck, arms, thighs as if they were touching pure silk. He danced with so much emotion. It might be because you were so close whenever he performed, but it's as if whatever he felt at that moment, came out through dancing. Whether it was frustration, sadness, excitement and happiness, his moves and aura changed each time, creating a unique and special experience. Often you wanted to ask was he controlling his emotions or were the emotions controlling him while performing.

Even though your eyes left his numerous of times to focus on a certain part of his body, trying to remember pieces of choreography, his never left yours. They were locked on to your moving irises, displaying an unexplainable amount of fondness towards his one and only.

For the time you two have been dating, Donghan never felt his emotions change, especially when your angelic face was the first thing his eyes focused on in the morning. When you were his first good morning and smile of the day. He loved you to the point where his heart ached.

When his dance neared the end, you anticipated the hand heart he throws when I love you line finishes. Instead of doing just that, Donghan walked over in a few long strides, grabbed your waist and kissed you. The sound of obnoxiously loud clapping indicated an end to the performance, dancers present in the room already ready to help you with learning.

“The choreography will be the same, but you’ll be mirroring my moves” Donghan spoke up, ruining the balance and resulting in confusion overtaking your body. Mirrored moves? Seeing uncertainty painting your soft features, he moved to stand right next to you and explain what he meant.

“I move my right hand, you move your right” His hand moved flawlessly through the air, motion looking like a swift wave on calm water. You mirrored his actions, succeeding to time it perfectly the first time. But why?

“We will be turned back to back for our performance” Donghan continued to explained and you suddenly felt panic rise up to fasten your heartbeat. You weren’t going to see each other during the performance, that’s too risky. He noticed the way you slightly bit the inside of your cheek, an obvious action that gave away the current emotions of his girlfriend.

“We will introduce it as a ‘trust performance’,” it was only respectful to let him finish his introduction and clarification even though there were so many questions to be asked, “basically a dance in which we have to trust our partner to offer just as good of a performance as we do”. You weren’t so comfortable with the idea, in the end you really could miss the beginning beat start a second before him, you could accidentally push him or back up a moment too early. So many ways that it could go wrong...

But at the same time, you were extremely excited. If the plan went well, performing such an interesting and unique show could probably bring a lot to favor. Donghan and you often did covers and each time the timing of both was marvelous. Not even milliseconds early or late, just on time, for three or four minutes in which his camera managed to capture the hard and amazing teamwork of you two.

You could and you will do this.

“Let’s start then!”

2pm is when you walked in through the door of the studio, it was currently 8 and you were on your knees, head in hands, frustrating puffs of air leaving your lips. The next try would be 36th attempt of the same move and you were pretty sure It'll be the same as previous. Backup dancers have already began clearing up, going home to their respective families and you wished you could too, yet there was just so much more to do.

Pushing exasperation and fatigue away, you stood up, approaching the huge mirror that took a whole wall of space. Turning on the music and getting into position, you began dancing, eyes fixed on to your figure that magnificently swayed to each beat and break. Donghan looked at you from behind, eyes hooded and arms relaxed on his sides, already too tired of trying to convince a stubborn child to go home. Each time he pleased you, reasoning and sweet talking, you brushed it off, saying that it’s a must to master this. The only problem is, it wasn’t possible. Even your mind was weary, already forgetting pieces of movement you thought was settled and learned.

Donghan was tired of seeing you beat yourself over, hands slapping the ground, palm outstretched on the smooth parquet floor, nails dragging over it lightly. You can’t and won’t give up.

“Darling, please,” Donghan cooed, approaching the tired figure in front and caressing tired shoulders with his tender fingers. Your body visibly relaxed on his calm touch, muscles pacifying from previously felt tension. Everything suddenly felt better, black cloth lifted from the cage, when Donghan’s arms wrapped around your figure from behind. “We can change the choreography if you’d like”

“No!” You replied, furiously shaking your head no, while holding tight onto the two hands that provided warmth. “No, I’ll learn it, I’m just...just tired”.

“I believe, my sunshine, we will be back tomorrow okay? We will work on this together, we have plenty of time” He picked your hand in his, fingers caressing the top of it in a comforting matter. Donghan was just as tired as you were, if not more, but he used the remaining bits of energy to offer comfort to the most important being in his life.

“Let’s go home, hm? Let’s rest?” He tried again, although skeptical because of the replies he got the past hundred times that exact question was asked. You turned back to look at your boyfriend, squealing after noticing that his head already rested on your shoulder. Nodding and letting him help while sitting up, both of you finally made it to the changing rooms and out of the building.

That night, Donghan had to use his power of light repetitive kisses and hugs to lure you to bed and stop from practicing in front of the big bedroom mirror.

AN: This could and actually most probably will have a 2nd chapter but like you didn’t hear that from me

#donghan #kim donghan #jbj donghan #donghan fluff #donghan fanfiction #donghan scenario #jbj #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenario #idk what to tag this as #like i have no idea what to do with tags anymore help #ill throw his last name in too #kim donghan fluff #kim donghan scenario #kim donghan fanfiction

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concussed-to-pieces · 6 years

Text

Fixation; Part One

Fandom: WWE/NXT/FCW

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Leakee

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: A little MoxLea for my birthday! It's a bit of a departure from my usual thirsty fare, but I hope it's still enjoyable all the same. There will be another part to this story as well, it was just getting a bit unwieldy so I decided to make it into two pieces. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[This takes place in an odd timeline where FCW is just becoming NXT but a few folks are here that wouldn't have been around for FCW, just as a heads-up!]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains an allusion to D/s play not going according to plan and a brief, vivid description of a mental fray/breakdown. Stay safe!]

It wasn’t as if he had never dealt with something like this before.

Leakee bent down to tie his sneaker and when he straightened back up, he realized he was being watched. Blue eyes were focused on him, a pink tongue darting out to absently lick at already-chapped lips.

Leakee expected the other man to look away once he was caught staring, but on the contrary. He seemed to observe even more brazenly now that he knew Leakee was on to him. The dark-haired young man finally huffed in annoyed confusion and put in his earbuds, doing his best to dismiss the creeping sensation of being watched.

He was used to it to an extent, of course. He hadn’t gotten to his impressive size without drawing some attention (mostly from cousins who outdid him by a good hundred pounds or so). It just always made him feel off-balance, like he was a zoo attraction. Less than human, but smarter than a few of the other animals behind bars.

Leakee could still feel those eyes on him as he went through his warm-ups. “Can I help you, man?” He asked abruptly, more than irritated at this point.

He didn’t expect to be met with a shit-eating grin. “Depends. Is there a cell phone number attached to the rest of you?”

Leakee almost snorted with laughter, barely reining it in. “Definitely not.”

“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’, right? The name’s Moxley. Jon Moxley.” Jon didn’t extend a hand or anything like that, obviously not one for regular pleasantries.

“I’m Leakee.”

“Leah Key?”

“All one word. Le-ah-kee.” Leakee corrected. “You don’t need to know my last name.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” He asked curiously.

“Mostly because I said so.” Leakee grunted. “But also because it’s not important.”

“Huh. Okay then. Lee-ah…Leakee. Shit, the little hitch is what gets me. I’ll figure it out.” Jon promised, curling his lip with a determined look.

…

There apparently was never a man more eager to get his ass kicked than Jon Moxley. Leakee understood to a degree, but Moxley’s penchant for showing up to promo attempts with his mouth busted was a thing of odd regularity. It added a touch of sincerity, Leakee thought privately. Jon could easily come off as simply abrasive or cocky without his lip a little split, his face a little bruised.

It was hard to watch sometimes, when his scabs would inevitably crack during his ranting and blood trickled to blot into his stubble (Leakee never could manage to look away, though).

Jonathan Moxley was, frankly, a mess, raised wrong, trained too hard and put away wet. The light-haired man made no bones about his life and career before this endeavor. Not that it would have mattered, a quick Google search outed him easily.

Leakee knew he should ignore him. Tolerate him at best. Definitely shouldn’t hand him a paper towel for his mouth after his promo was done. Shouldn’t smile at the way Jon still was trying to say his name right, the thinner man finally resorting to tacking the hitch in wherever he pleased or calling Leakee ‘Leeloo’.

Leakee wasn’t here to make friends. Leakee was here to make professional business acquaintances that would help him achieve his goals in the long run. As long as none of his ‘classmates’ dug too deeply into his background or tried to get too chummy, he would be fine.

Jon wasn’t even really friendly to him, that was the thing. No more than he was to anyone else. But he didn’t visibly dislike Leakee, at least not as much as he disliked Seth. Jon would snap his teeth at Rollins constantly if the two of them were in the same room. Whether it was an attempt to get into his head or into his pants was a line of reasoning Leakee didn’t devote much thought to.

Moxley would tap fists with Leakee whenever they had a training session together, and Leakee noticed with confusion that Jon only extended him that courtesy. Everyone else got a noncommittal grunt or blank stare, the line between character and reality thinner than most. Jon cultivated an image of haphazard disregard, always in motion, putting in a hundred and ten percent whether he was running heel or face moves.

“Get up!” He would yell regardless of his role, “C’mon, fight me! Is that all you’ve got? Fight me!”

Rollins had lost his temper and belted him hard in the mouth during one such session, storming off furiously when he was told to hit the showers. Jon sat in the middle of the ring, holding his jaw gingerly.

Leakee wiped his feet and climbed between the ropes, his heart in his throat as he stretched out a hand to the other man. “You okay?” He asked brusquely.

Moxley watched him with narrowed eyes, like he was expecting something. Leakee didn’t miss the way Mox’s free hand jerked up slightly when he stepped closer. “M’ fine.” Moxley replied sullenly after a minute, waving off Leakee’s help as he stood.

“Why do you do that, man?” Leakee couldn’t help asking.

“I need it.” Was Jon’s short, unsatisfying answer. The light-haired man squared his shoulders and brought his fists up. “C’mon, your turn. I’m good to go.”

“Yeah?” Leakee moved like he was about to lunge forward and Jon retreated so quickly he fell onto his back, obviously startled. His hands came up even higher, shielding his face from blows that weren’t coming. “Good to go, huh?” Leakee couldn’t resist needling, grabbing one of Mox’s hands and prying it away from his face so he could pull him back to his feet. “Take five, get your head straight.”

“Fuck you Leakee, you don’t-” Jon began angrily, flinching again when Leakee draped an arm around his shoulders. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“You’re gonna’ come with me, we’re gonna’ take a seat on the bench.” Leakee said calmly, “free up the ring.”

“Like hell we are, get--let me go!” Jon snapped, shoving at Leakee’s side as the larger man essentially strong-armed him over to sit down on one of the benches. “What the fuck is your problem, Lea, fuck’s sake, I got work to do-”

“Don’t we all, man. Settle down.” Leakee grunted. “I need you to explain this shit to me.” Moxley froze and Leakee pressed his advantage, “You and this whole…goading thing. What’s up with it?”

“Look, I can’t really--you wouldn’t get it.” Jon muttered sullenly. “It’s hard to feel real when you’re like me, when you’re running through fakey moves. It’s harder to do your best if you’re so used to...man, Leeloo, what does it fuckin’ matter?” He asked abruptly, his fingers in Leakee’s hair.

Leakee knew Mox was just trying to distract him, to deflect him like he’d probably done a thousand times before. Didn’t stop the shudder from tripping down his spine because people did not touch his hair. “It matters because it’s disruptive, Moxley.” Leakee did his best to sound stern. “You’re more focused on getting a reaction out of guys like Seth instead of focusing on your footwork or chops. Y’know, the reason you’re practicing in the first place?”

“Leakee, have you ever been in a real fight?” Moxley’s fingers stilled in his hair. “I mean a real, ‘you-or-the-other-guy’ style fight.”

“No.” Leakee responded curtly.

“Well I have, motherfucker.” Jon removed his hand, a quick, violent jerk that made the larger man start. “Time and again. This fake shit is easier on my body, yeah, but it doesn’t exactly instill a sense of urgency, y’ feel me?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Leakee grumbled. “Figure out another method of getting your work done, Mox. Nobody is gonna’ hire you to work in their promotion if you’re a belligerent, antagonistic fuckwad.”

“Harsh, Leelee.” Moxley chuckled. “You sayin’ my charming personality outside the ring doesn’t make up for that?”

“Fuck no.” Leakee found himself cracking a grin without meaning to, and he knocked his forehead into Jon’s. “Think on it. I know change doesn’t happen overnight.”

Mox refused to meet his eyes, pulling away after a second or two. “Yeah.”

…

Moxley showed up the next day with a black eye. He looked worse than usual and Leakee made sure to mention it, getting nothing but an irritated grunt in reply. That was the most he, hell, everyone got out of Jon all day. Noises, a head nod. Thumbs-up or down.

Leakee caught up with him after the day’s classes, the slender man propped up against the building and enjoying his solitary cigarette. “Mox?” Leakee addressed him cautiously. Jon exhaled heavily and rolled his head to look at Leakee. His eye looked terrible, still swollen half-shut. “What happened?”

Mox cleared his throat, taking another drag off his cigarette. He paused, then offered the cigarette to Leakee, who declined as always. “I asked for it.” Moxley rasped. His voice normally walked the line between ‘almost okay’ and ‘beginning stages of laryngitis’, but today it ventured into ‘therapeutic screaming session’ levels of gritty.

Leakee winced. “You want a cough drop or something?”

“Ha ha, fuck you.” Jon replied half-heartedly, crushing his cigarette beneath his boot. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, uce? The mouth is one thing, but you’ve never come in with a busted-up eye before.” Maybe this was tipping his hand a little too much. It’s not as if Jon needed to know that Leakee paid attention to his mouth on the regular.

“What, you worried Leeloo?” Moxley teased with a gravelly little chuckle. “Don’t be. I ain’t goin’ to that guy anymore. Too handsy. You wouldn’t believe the amount of guys that wanna’ feel you up after they’ve kicked your ass.” He said as he shrugged, like he was talking about something totally normal.

Leakee abruptly realized breathing was difficult.

“Like, I figured I’d finally gotten the perfect gig. Guy was clean, he’d even wear gloves while he busted my mouth open. Great guy. Last night he just…he went a little further than I expected.” Jon was staring at his boots, scuffing the ground over and over. “I normally don’t lose my cool.”

“Mox, did-”

“Calm down, he didn’t get my pants off if that’s what you’re gonna’ ask.” Moxley scoffed. “Not for lack of tryin’, but he shoulda’ checked his knots before he decided on that shitty course of action.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.” He had absolutely been about to ask that. “I was going to ask if you killed the guy.” Leakee swallowed hard when Mox gave a ragged bark of laughter.

“You’d believe me if I said I did! That’s why I like you, Lake.” Jon grinned. “No bullshit.”

“I wish you’d stop turning my name into a crime scene.” Leakee commented dryly. “I’m Lake now?”

“Lay-uhh-kee. Better?”

“I dunno’, how do you feel about being called Juh-awn-uh?” Leakee mocked, receiving a set of knuckles grazing the side of his head in response. “Could call you Mucks if you’d prefer.”

“I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you, Leeloo.”

“Yeah, reclaim those four to six words.”

…

Despite his proclamation that he would be alright, Jon only seemed to get worse as his face healed. He would scratch at his neck and bite his lower lip until it was bruised from the pressure. He picked at shaving nicks until they bled and Leakee knew he wasn’t imagining the relief in Mox’s eyes when Seth swung at him again. Without provocation this time, but Rollins had never been that even-tempered.

Mox didn’t fight back and that just seemed to piss Seth off even more. Leakee felt guilty for allowing him to get a few extra shots in before dragging him off of Jon and sending him packing.

I need this.

Jon seemed almost giddy, running his fingers over the torn skin of his bottom lip and grinning so hard he ended up pulling the split even wider. He rolled to his feet and all but threw himself at Rose (or Kruger or whatever he was calling himself now), laughing hysterically.

Adam floundered under the assault, his hands flailing wildly as Mox caught him in a tight headlock and then began cranking his head to the side. The whole time Jon was laughing that crazed laugh, the noise screeching across Leakee’s senses. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Leakee shouted Bo’s name and then gestured at Adam, the younger man nodding in understanding after a second or two. Leakee got back into the ring and worked on prying Jon’s arm off of Rose’s neck. “Moxley.” He grunted, trying his best to keep his voice calm. “You need to let Adam go.”

Jon’s raw laughter petered out into snickering, tears starting to make their way down his face. “O-Okay.” He hiccupped, his grip sluggishly loosening. “Okay.”

“That’s it, nice and easy.” Leakee murmured, easing Rose out from beneath Jon’s arm. Dallas hauled Rose to his feet and scooted him back out of the ring, out of harm’s way.

Jon was sniffling at this point, struggling with Leakee when the dark-haired man held him tightly. “Lea-”

“Quiet.” Leakee said sternly, and he felt Jon go limp in his arms. Then a little gentler, “Quiet. I’m sure Dream is gonna’ want to talk to you. Pull yourself together, Jon.”

Moxley’s fingers dug into his back hard, the light-haired man clinging to him. “Fuck, Leakee, no. I was s’posed t’ be okay.” He blubbered, burying his face in Leakee’s shirt. “I was s’posed t’ be okay…”

...

Jon emerged from the meeting with Dream subdued, a neon yellow Band-Aid slapped on his chin. Leakee had faith that Dusty, Regal or a combination of the two had managed to talk some sense into his thick skull, so he didn’t bother trying to find Mox before he left.

But Moxley didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after that.

Concern hounded Leakee until he sought out Dusty, doing his best to be respectful while he essentially demanded to know what The Dream had said to the other man. “That’s between me and him, Baby Reigns.” Dusty answered calmly over a mountain of paperwork and barbecue sauce-stained napkins. “I told Gingersnap to work on himself, and not to come back until he could promise me no more slip-ups.”

Leakee's fists clenched at his sides. “Mr. Rhodes, what if he doesn’t come back?”

“Then I guess this wasn’t the field for him.” Dusty shrugged. “Hard work and discipline. It’ll be a shame if he doesn’t come back, I know I’ll be disappointed. He’s fun to watch, great on the mic. But he can’t stick around if he’s gonna’ fly off the handle.” Dream waved a hand dismissively. “Plus he’s got a real penchant for gettin’ punched in the mouth.”

“He said…” Leakee hesitated, unsure if this was crossing a confidentiality line. “He said he needed it, because of the other stuff he’s done.”

“’Needed it’, huh?” Dusty leaned back in his seat and fixed Leakee with a Look over his glasses. “What kind of man needs to get punched?”

“He basically said it motivated him, because when…when he got busted open, it was real.” Leakee watched Dusty rub at his scarred forehead and wondered privately whether The Dream had said anything else to Moxley.

Dusty sighed heavily after a minute. “You know where he lives, sweet Baby Reigns?”

“No sir.”

Dusty appeared surprised. “Well, seein’ as you’re the first person to inquire after him, I figured you two were close.”

“Not close enough to know his address, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Alright, gimme’ a minute.” The old desktop computer wheezed to life, Dream hen-pecking at the keys until he located the information he sought. Leakee just stood awkwardly in the doorway, listening to Dream mutter under his breath. Then, “Ah, bingo. You got a phone on you, Baby Reigns?”

Leakee ground his teeth at being called Baby Reigns, nodding curtly and taking down the address Dusty read off to him.

“I’ll cover for you today, understand?” Dream said abruptly. “You go get Moxie. Phone call isn’t personal enough.”

“Moxley.” Leakee corrected out of habit.

“He’s got Moxie, Baby Reigns. Don’t sass your elders.” The Dream scolded, pulling his glasses up so they rested on top of his head. “Look.” He continued after a moment. “I ain’t always been the sweet old grandpa figure, Baby Reigns. If I’d known the info you just shared with me, I probably would have said a few things different to that boy.”

“I told him he needed to figure something else out.”

“Well well, locker room leader.” Dream leaned back in his chair, giving Leakee an appraising look. “Jon told me he started the fight with Rollins.”

“The most recent time? No, Tyler--Seth was just having a bad day and slugged him in the teeth. Mox didn’t even fight back.” Leakee remembered Jon’s wild-eyed expression vividly, his unhinged laughter as he wrapped his arm around Rose’s neck like a python. “After Seth hit him it was like a switch flipped, like the dam broke.”

“He was trying to deal with it himself.” Dusty realized. “He’s been so damn twitchy, I saw him picking at his face.”

“He needed it.” Leakee’s heart sank. “It had been a week. Longer than that.”

“Go get him.” The Dream’s tone brooked no argument, not that Leakee would have argued. He was already halfway out the door.

…

Jon wasn’t home, but his roommate sure as hell was. Leakee could see why they had taken up together, he snapped and growled like a wild animal. “The hell are you? The fuck do you want?” The young man asked through the gap in the door, baring his teeth.

“Leakee.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m looking for Jonathan Moxley.”

The guy’s face softened the barest bit. “Who sent you?”

“The American goddamn Dream.” Leakee answered wryly. “Is he here or not?”

“Mox didn’t come in last night.” The guy confessed. The door closed briefly, then reopened without the chain on. “He ain’t gone to class?”

“Would I be here if he was at FCW?”

“Alright listen cockmunch, don’t get rude with me.” The guy bristled. “Name’s Callihan. You an’ Mox buddies or somethin’?”

“Classmates.”

“So fuckbuddies…?”

“Class. Mates.” Leakee snarled, inches from grabbing Callihan around the neck and shaking Jon’s location out of him. “Do you know where he is or not?”

“I may.” Callihan leaned casually against the doorjamb.

“Well?!” Leakee asked impatiently. “Where?”

Callihan raised a finger to point over Leakee’s shoulder right as someone’s hand came down on it like a sack of bricks. Leakee whirled around, his fist already cocked back. “Wait! Wait, Jesus fuckin’ Christ Leakee, don’t kick my ass.” Jon pleaded, flinching away. His knuckles were bloodied and his face looked like he’d taken a good old-fashioned pummeling.

“Jon.” Leakee had never been simultaneously relieved and horrified in his life. “What the hell happened?”

“I see you’ve met Sami.” Mox said instead of answering the question, slipping past the two men to get into his apartment.

Leakee stormed after him, daring Callihan with his eyes to try and do something about it. “Jon, what the fuck?”

“Dream told me if I couldn’t keep it together I couldn’t come back. Well obviously I can’t keep it together.” Mox licked his bleeding knuckles, only harassing the broken skin further. “I could have really hurt Rose, man.”

“Jonathan Moxley-”

“Oo.” Callihan breathed from the doorway, snickering, “You’re in trouble now, man.”

Leakee shot him another look and Sami quickly shut his mouth. “Mox, Dream wants you to come back. He didn’t know, okay? Why did you lie to him about who started the fight?”

“Why the hell would I tell him it was Rollins?” Jon asked, grimacing in pain as he put a bag of frozen french fries against his swollen cheek. “Seth’s the future, man. I’m not anything special like him. I’m not gonna’ get him in trouble.”

“Dream wants you to come back.” Leakee repeated.

“Rollins didn’t make me try to pop Rose’s head off.” Jon said sullenly. “That was all me, man.”

“Dream says you’re great on the mic.”

That got Mox’s attention, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut widening in disbelief. “He…really?”

“He said you were fun to watch.”

“Oh damn.” Moxley sat down in a kitchen chair that looked like it was held together with duct tape, putting his head into his hands. “Dream, fuck.”

“Jon, if you come talk with him-”

“I want to. Lea, this is all I ever wanted to do with my life.” Jon interrupted him despondently. “I just…he told me to get lost until I could figure myself out.”

“I think he might have said something different if he knew it wasn’t your fault.” Leakee cautiously moved forward, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back with me, uce.”

“This is so fuckin’ touching I think I might puke.” Callihan huffed, making a retching noise. “Dammit Mox, just go.”

Moxley dug around in his pocket and fished out a crumpled mess of dollar bills. “I want food. You want food? Order somethin’.” He said, shoving the wad into Sami’s grasp. “There’s at least four hundred bucks. Takeout and rent.”

“Four--Christ, Mox.” Callihan sounded almost distraught. Almost.

“Hey, my face didn’t get this pretty from losing, man.” Jon grunted, chuckling when Callihan flicked the side of his head. “What do you want, Lea? I know a place that makes fuckin’ great egg rolls.”

…

Dream actually asked Leakee to be present during he and Moxley's meeting, something that Leakee really could have done without. Jon was reduced to a stammering, shaky mess under the penetrating gaze of Dusty, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. It was almost painful to watch him essentially cower in the chair in front of Dream’s desk.

Plus, Leakee really wasn’t a locker room leader. He sure as hell didn’t want to be, at any rate. He had to keep reminding himself that this had nothing to do with him.

“Leakee told me you weren’t at fault for the fight. Why didn’t you say anything, Jon?”

Moxley covered his battered face, mumbling through his fingers, “I been in the business a while, Mr. Rhodes. I know when someone’s being groomed, y’know?” He sighed. “I didn’t wanna’ ruin his chances. Seth’s a great athlete.”

“That doesn’t mean anything if he’s going to lash out at folks because he’s had a bad day.” Dusty said pointedly. “I want to help you though, Gingersnap. What can we do to help you?”

“I’ll be okay. I…I don’t…” Mox paused. “I-I guess what it comes down to is I was so used to everythin’ bein’ for real that…that I really didn’t know how to do shit any other way. S’why I’m so mouthy. Piss a guy off, he loses his cool and gets less methodical, makes mistakes, you live longer. There’s no application for it in this, but it’s a habit.”

“This is good information to have, Snap.” Dream wrote something down on the notepad by his elbow. “I want you all to be the best you can be, do the best you can do, understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Dusty sir.” Jon bit his lip.

“Leakee, big guy, do me a favor will you?” Dream asked him, making Leakee straighten up from his spot next to the door.

“What do you need?”

“Keep an eye out.” Was all Dusty said in reply, giving the young man a wink that was so obvious it made Mox snort.

An eye out for what? Leakee wondered later on while he sparred with Husky. Or Bray, or whatever he had decided his name was this week. I’m not a locker room leader, Jesus Christ Rhodes.

Bo whooped and hollered excitedly from the practice ring across the way, having finally mastered a top rope move…more or less. Bray took a second to chuckle at his brother’s enthusiasm. “You ever seen a happier boy, Reigns?” Bray asked conversationally.

“It’s Leakee.” He looked around, hoping that no one else had heard Bray say that. Bray and Bo, being third generation, occasionally took liberties that made Leakee grind his teeth in annoyance.

Husky just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get used to the family name someday, Lea.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Leakee retorted, his mood thoroughly soured. “Look at the opportunities you and Bo have, making your own characters as you go. Some of us aren’t so fortunate.” He tensed his arm on reflex, drawing attention to his tattooed shoulder.

“True enough, as always.” Husky’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured behind Leakee. “That boy, that Moxley fella’. What’s he up to?”

Leakee looked where Bray was pointing, noting with confusion that Jon was just standing in the middle of a practice ring, Rollins across from him with his hands on his hips. Leakee couldn’t hear what was being said, but Seth didn’t look too pissed off about it. He shrugged, turning back to Bray. “Maybe they’re figuring it out.”

“An’ maybe I’ll be World Heavyweight Champion someday.” Bray snickered.

“Look Son of Schyster, anything is possible in this business.”

…

“Rollins ain’t so bad.” Jon said grudgingly as he savored his cigarette.

Leakee glanced up at him from his spot slouched on the ground. “Yeah? What changed your mind? Because before all you seemed to want was for him to bone you or punch your teeth down your throat.”

“Lea’k, I’m shocked at your vulgarities.”

Leakee grinned. “The hell you are, Mox.”

“Alright, maybe not shocked but…I mean hell, Lea, I can be wrong sometimes. First time I met Rollins I used the phone number line on him and he flipped.” Jon sniffled carefully, probably trying to keep his bruised nose in one piece. “I was just tryin’ to be funny. Break the ice. I ain’t good with people.”

“He thought you were serious?”

“Yeah.” Jon mumbled. “Like, he thought I was outing him in front of everyone.”

Leakee grunted, stretching his legs and getting to his feet. “Guess that’ll do it.”

“I explained it better today, I think. I hope. He showed me a picture of his dog, so I’m pretty sure we’re square. Also apologized to Rose.” Mox seesawed his hand. “We’ll see.” He gave Leakee a curious look. “Hey, why’d you come to get me?”

“Orders from The Dream aren’t exactly something you can ignore easily.” Leakee noticed with confusion that Mox looked a little crestfallen. It’s true though, Dream told me to grab him, he reasoned with himself. Moxley had clearly been expecting a different answer. “I…I asked what he’d said to you and that got his whole process rolling.”

“You asked about me?” Ah, that was apparently what Jon was looking for, the light-haired man perking up slightly. “Were you…like, worried about me? Kinda’?”

“You gave everyone a pretty good scare the other day.” Leakee hedged, for some reason unwilling to outright answer Jon’s question.

“Scared the shit out of me, too.” Mox admitted. “I thought I was doin’ okay. Not great or nothin’, but I didn’t expect any miracles. Then he popped me in the mouth and my brain just...turned off.”

“It was the stimulus you’d been waiting for.”

“Sounds better when you say it.” Mox shrugged. “When I try to explain it I sound like a fuckin’ lunatic.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning widely. “I’d say this has been more than enough excitement for one day. I’ll see you around, Lea.”

Leakee's walk home seemed shorter than usual, his mind in a thousand different places. He ended up leaning on the sun-bleached railing of his apartment’s tiny deck, staring aimlessly at the traffic on the street below. His stomach rumbled in the background, reminding him that he had just been through yet another grueling day of training and that he should probably eat something, seeing as how he hadn’t had anything since the impromptu brunch of egg rolls (though Jon hadn’t been fibbing, they were great).

His apartment felt too quiet. Leakee tried his damnedest to ignore the sensation, putting in his earbuds to fill the silence. He needed to get to the laundromat at some point urgently, needed to vacuum. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to taking a half-day tomorrow. He doubted his father would be thrilled with the notion of his son showing up to practice wearing the same stained tank top three days in a row.

“You’re representing the whole family, Lea, I expect professionalism.”

Maybe he should wear his sports jacket. That was clean, he wasn’t sure if he’d even taken the tags off of it. He had a dress shirt and a severely-ironed pair of khaki pants as well, not exactly ring attire but for promos…

It just might work. Buy him some time on the laundry level, seeing as he was essentially out of clean clothes as of this morning. A pair of too-small boxer briefs was the sole resident of his underwear drawer at this point. Since Leakee wasn’t sticking around for the physical training, that would probably be fine.

The outfit wouldn’t work in terms of his main character, per se, but Dream and Bloom were all about experimentation, dimensions. Regal was less onboard with that aspect, but then again he had the benefit of an accent that wasn’t a drawl. Leakee still wasn’t sure what his character even was. He had some heavy-handed tribal influences but Dusty encouraged him to expand, to broaden his repertoire.

“You don’t need to be Wild Samoan three point oh, y’know.” The older man had said pointedly. “You can be whoever you want, Baby Reigns.”

Still going to be Baby Reigns though, Leakee thought with an irritated snort. You can dress me up but you can’t take me out. He got up from the table, raking a hand through his hair and heading for his closet. Might as well make sure that everything was pressed if he was going to dress up.

…

Leakee wouldn't lie and say that he was comfortable. But he did at least feel like he was giving off a different vibe, so that was pretty interesting. Sasha shot him a quick “looking good, Lea!” in the hallway, which made him grin to himself and straighten his lapels. He had opted to go sans tie, keep it casual. He still buttoned his sleeves before heading into the classroom, which took him a good five minutes because of how tiny the buttons were.

When he opened the door though, his heart sank. Because a very familiar figure was chatting with Dusty, the two men turning at the sound of the door opening. Dream gave a wolf whistle, beckoning Leakee over. “Look at you in these duds, hot shot!” He said appreciatively, “Talk about branchin’ out, eh Big Reigns?”

Sika nodded, giving his son their customary handshake. “What’s the occasion, Leakee?” He asked curiously.

“Laundry day.” Leakee could feel the entire class staring at him as his father laughed. They were probably all wondering why Sika knew his name.

Dusty chuckled and patted Leakee’s shoulder, gesturing to his empty seat. “Go on and sit down, we were just about to get started.”

The door banged open loudly behind Leakee and he heard a breathless “shit”.

“Snap, on time today! Great stuff.” Dusty praised. Leakee closed his eyes, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. If Jon so much as tried to make an off-color comment or tease him, his father would absolutely murder-

A hand grabbed his arm and tugged him to turn slightly. “Leakee, whoa! You’re always a pro but you mighta’ outdone yourself today.” Moxley said, his eyes wide in what Leakee could swear was genuine wonder. “A new character idea?”

“Laundry day.”

“I think the whole roster needs more laundry days, wow.”

Leakee narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Mox was being strange, which didn’t bode well for anyone. He was staring and his hand hadn’t left Leakee’s arm. Teeth worried the pink skin of his busted lip and was it always this hot in here…?

“Alright, let’s kick off. Settle into your seats. Mox, you’re up. I know your face is a little tender, so when you need a break…” Dusty trailed off when Jon shook his head quickly, stepping back from Leakee.

“It helps.” Mox admitted, giving Dusty and Sika an embarrassed shrug. “S’ an honor, Mr. Reigns.” Leakee felt a little queasy at the shyness in Mox’s voice.

“Just pretend I’m not here, alright son?” Sika urged, and Leakee saw that almost-imperceptible shift in Jon’s posture.

Street dog.

Jon always paced as he spoke, but today he was practically stalking back and forth between Dream's desk and the door. “I know that I shouldn’t be worried about anyone who thinks they’re better than me.” Jon slammed his hands down on Charlotte’s desk as he started, making her squeak out an amused giggle. Not much could unsettle Flair. “Ain’t no one better than me, that’s a fact. Failure is a temporary condition for Jonathan Moxley.” He snarled, looking over Charlotte's head to stare down the rest of the class.

Leakee saw Mojo shift nervously in his seat out of the corner of his eye. Mox seemed to hone in on the motion, sliding off Charlotte’s desk to saunter down the rows.

“Nobody will outdo me.” Jon whipped around to face Leakee, a fist landing on his table. “Nobody, understand?” Blue eyes snapping even in the fluorescent lighting of the room, that nervous lick of the lips so close to his face and…

And Leakee wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Respect is earned.” He retorted, getting up from his seat and arrogantly straightening out his jacket. Jon took a step back, a cocky smile dimpling his cheeks. “Discipline and dedication, not empty posturing.” This was a far cry from his usual attempts, where Leakee would ramble about honor and fill in his silence with grand gestures. Now he smirked, brimming with an oddly heady confidence from his formal clothes, his demeanor utterly foreign.

Something different.

“Ain’t no man alive that I respect.” Mox spat, and Leakee believed every word. “Ain’t no man alive that can humble me, ain’t no man alive that can break me.” His smile was mirthless.

“No one’s ever earned your respect, sure, but I bet you’ve never earned the respect of anyone else either.” Leakee shot back with dizzying speed. “Mox’s loyalty can’t be bought or sold, we get it.” Moxley was momentarily speechless and Leakee worried he had gone too far, the other man full-on glaring at him. “You’re all talk and teeth, Moxley, always have been!” Leakee continued, trying to jar a response out of him so Dusty didn’t notice him falter.

“I’ll show you teeth, big man.” Moxley snapped his jaw shut hard enough to clack his teeth together audibly. Leakee fought back a flush. “You ever had your face broken?”

“If you managed to lay a hand on me in the ring, I’d be downright impressed.” Leakee sneered with a vitriol that was entirely unfamiliar. Moxley was regarding him warily, and well he should be. This was something new, something Leakee was trying on in (admittedly) the most ham-fisted way. He had never devoted much thought to a character like this, someone who ‘knew’ they were better due to their pedigree. Regal meets Hunter Hearst, condescending, sarcastic. Leakee advanced on Mox, forcing him to yield a step. “My bloodline speaks for me, not that it needs to. But it certainly saves time when it comes to weeding out people like you.” Leakee flicked his wrist and re-buttoned his sleeve carefully. “You’re not worth my time or my respect.”

Mox loudly exhaled a breath through his teeth. “I know.” He said finally. Before Leakee could reply, Moxley held up his fists. “That’s why I’m gonna’ beat it out of you!” He continued eagerly, his eyes lit up with what Leakee could only assume was excitement. “I'll take your respect from your cold, dead hands, and I'm gonna' love every second of it!”

He was taken aback at the glee in Mox's tone, almost missing his cue for the usual ending statement. “By all means,” Leakee inclined his head haughtily. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Moxley was still staring at him with that excited expression, as though he was seeing Leakee for the first time. Dusty finally whistled long and low. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Leakee asked hurriedly, already worried that he might have upset his father. Sika looked thoughtful.

“If I’d known you could fire back like that I’d have paired you up with Gingersnap sooner!” The Dream was obviously thrilled. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Damn, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife! Scrappy underdog and purebred fighter, crowds eat up that dynamic somethin' fierce. I’d swear you boys practiced beforehand, I ain't never seen you that quick Leakee!”

“It helps that Lea earned my respect ages ago.” Moxley replied easily. Leakee knew that gaping at Jon was not a productive thing to do, but he couldn't exactly stop it. “Definitely hang onto this character, man. The well-bred thing was working like a charm, I almost-”

“Thoroughbred.” Leakee interrupted, flushing a little.

“I like it!” Dusty announced. “What do you think, Big Reigns?”

Sika's smile was small but still genuine. “We'll have to see where it goes. I thought it was...interesting to watch.” He allowed.

Leakee exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding.

…

“You and me, we gotta' talk.” Jon grunted, grabbing Leakee's arm and dragging him off to the side of the hallway so everyone else could get around them. “What the hell was that?” The light-haired man asked when the area was finally deserted. “Shit Lea, you trying to kill me?”

Leakee floundered to answer, not really sure what he was being asked. “I don't...understand.”

“You, Jesus Christ. You've been practicing, you memorize some notes or somethin'? Also yeah, why didn't you ever tell me that your dad is Sika?” Moxley was pacing again. “You ain't never rattled off anythin' like that before, you showin' off for your pops?”

“No, I improvised. I felt like you were issuing a challenge.”

“I was, but damn. A warning before you start getting high and mighty on me would be cool, you're gonna' give me a heart attack. You look the part, and back there you sounded the part. I...” Mox swallowed hard, as though he was debating something. “Got me a little interested, I ain't gonna' lie.”

“Interested?” Leakee's voice cracked, making Jon grin. “What, because I'm a Reigns? Because I'm Sika's kid?” Leakee continued bitterly, hating himself for the way Mox's smile faded. This was why he went by his first name, because people always treated him differently when they knew who his family was. He began unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up, irritated that he was letting something like this have an effect on him yet again.

Jon's hand covered his own on his arm. “Lea, I ain't that kinda' person.” He said quietly. “It's a surprise more than anything, y'know? And I'm not gonna' blab about it, or make it weird or whatever. Dunno' if anyone else put it together.”

“We look incredibly similar.” Leakee said dully. “We also share a lot of mannerisms. If no one else realized that I'm his son, I'm a little concerned.” Mox cupped his face, startling him as he tilted Leakee's chin up.

“Look Leeloo, the fact remains that you shredded my existence earlier. I don't give a shit who you're the son of, you feel me?” Moxley knocked his forehead into Leakee's. “I wasn't lyin'. I've respected you for a while. You never seemed to care about me bein' a little...uh. Wired wrong. Take it from me, your family doesn't define you, alright?”

Leakee closed his eyes. “I wish it was that simple.”

“You can still own who you are, without it bein' the only thing you are, y'know?” Moxley's fingers were in his hair again. “I own my shit upbringing, my fighting. Everythin' that shaped me into what I am today. But I ain't gonna' slide back into bad habits. Feels like every day I'm breakin' another nasty behavior pattern, and I'm gonna' keep at it until there's none left.” He said determinedly, smiling. “I'm better than the folks that made me that way.”

Leakee dropped his forehead to rest on Jon's chest, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Mox hummed in confusion. “It's a lot for me to handle, sometimes.” Leakee murmured.

“I know.”

I know.

The simple response stuck in his brain long after Leakee had departed the center. He scoffed to himself as he watched one of his loads of laundry swirl back and forth, the smooth motions soothing as always. He tended to hover by his washer and dryer when he did laundry so that nobody would take it upon themselves to touch his clothes; typical laundromat etiquette that he had perfected over the years.

Lugging everything home was always sweaty work, but that was the price he paid for his independence. As Leakee trudged up the stairs he decided he was taking a hot shower, putting on a clean pair of boxers that fit and tucking in early. This day had been more than enough, thank you very much. His stomach rumbled and he sighed. Dinner too, I guess.

His phone rang while he was in the shower but Leakee paid it no mind, running over the events of the day. At least Dusty had been impressed with he and Jon, that's what was important.

He had done his laundry, he vacuumed the other night, responsible adult Leakee Reigns. Leakee groaned, leaning against the wall and just letting the hot water work the tension out of his shoulders. The way Mox had looked at him when they were going back and forth abruptly returned to the forefront of his mind and Leakee groaned again, stretching languidly under the spray.

Moxley had seemed awed, thrilled. Like he believed what Leakee was saying. Like he was about to get on his knees for him.

Leakee stopped dead, the heat rising in his face. What?! But now that the image was there, it wouldn't quit. Jon unzipping his pants, lip busted, those eyes looking up at him-

Leakee hurriedly turned off the shower and stepped out, the comparatively cold air making him hiss in discomfort. Jesus Christ, I'm hooked, he realized, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. But that's not all I want. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Leakee wanted to be the one Jon could go to when he needed something, wanted to be the one to make things better for him. What the fuck, all because of how he looked at me? Really? He chided himself, roughly toweling off before he checked his phone.

An unfamiliar number had called and left no message. Leakee's eyes narrowed, his finger hovering over the call button for a good minute before he finally pressed it. The line rang once and then there was a loud click! as someone picked up. “Hey, is this Leeloo? Dream said this was your number but he mighta' been wrong.”

Leakee barely resisted the urge to slap himself on the forehead. “Sorry, I was in the shower. I just got in from the laundromat.”

“So uh, Dream might have also given me your address. Can I...can I talk to you? In person?”

Leakee hated everything, but he especially hated one American Dream right now. “Sure. Absolutely.” The knock on his apartment door startled him more than he wanted to admit and Jon chuckled nervously. “How long have you been out there?!” Leakee sputtered.

“Like ten minutes?”

“Well you're staying there for another five, I'm still nude.”

“Oh?”

Leakee hung up the phone, crumpled his towel into a ball and bit down on it instead of screaming in frustration. Did everything have to be so damn difficult? Of course once he did throw on some clothes and open his apartment door, he was stunned momentarily. Jon was wearing a button up shirt. A legitimate button up shirt, tucked into his usual ragged jeans. “Who are you and what the hell have you done with Jon Moxley?” Leakee asked, making Mox snicker.

“Weird, right?” Jon sauntered past him into his apartment. “Hey I figured if it worked for you, I could give it a shot.” He smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt self-consciously. “Whatcha' think?”

“Well, the pants throw it off a little.” Leakee teased, circling around the other man to get the full view. “This shirt is too big on you. You look like a kid wearing their dad's clothes. Next size down, maybe.” He mused thoughtfully, tugging at the fabric on Jon's shoulder and watching the way the cuff fell. “It's big on your wrists too, so you should be okay.”

“Shucks, and here I was hopin' I'd come over and impress you with my innate fashion sense.” Mox sighed, making Leakee laugh.

“No impressing required, man. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” Leakee asked curiously.

Moxley shoved his hands into his pockets, digging the toe of his boot against the worn rug. “Leeloo, today kinda'...it got me thinkin'.” He began, seeming almost sheepish. “I...I was wondering if...I mean I can't really re-use my line since Dream gave me your number and all. Kinda' fucked myself on that one. I was just wondering if you'd ever...I-I mean, if you'd thought about...” Moxley covered his face, obviously embarrassed. Leakee felt like he couldn't breathe. “If you'd ever thought about kickin' my ass for fun.” The light-haired man blurted out between his fingers.

Leakee swallowed hard, relatively certain from Jon's hesitance that he wasn't joking. “Like whoever you went to before? The guy who wore gloves?” He asked finally.

“Uh, kinda'? Look, I...I know it's weird. M' sorry. I don't exactly want you to kick my ass. Not like how everyone else has.” Moxley inhaled deeply. “Different way.”

“What makes you believe I can do something like that?”

“I respect you for a reason, Lea.” Mox grunted. “I know if you ain't right for it, if you don’t think you can do it, you'll tell me.”

“Jon, I don’t have a mean bone in my body, how the hell could you even-” Leakee protested but Jon was already shaking his head.

“This ain’t about bein’ mean, Leakee. It’s about me trustin’ you. I know you ain’t mean. But you showed earlier that you could rip a guy to pieces without touchin’ him. Sometimes that’s what I need.” Moxley flushed. “Sometimes I need to be taken apart.”

“In what way?” Leakee didn’t mean for it to come out so sharp, briefly confused by the way Mox shivered when he spoke. “Oh. Oh.”

“I don’t like to beg.” Moxley said bluntly. “I’m awful proud for a guy that’s got nothin’. But sometimes to get my insides to shut the fuck up, I gotta’ give someone else the wheel.” He straightened up. “The last guy didn’t respect my boundaries. I know that you would, because you don’t push me to begin with.”

“Is…” Leakee forced himself to focus, to ignore the images his brain was excitedly whipping up for him. “Is this a sexual thing? I know sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t.”

“I ain’t never had it be before, but I mean…” Moxley paused, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact. “You’re different, man. I wouldn’t exactly be complainin’ if it was, y’know?”

“What if something goes wrong?”

Jon froze at that and Leakee’s heart sank. “You think I’ve had great luck so far, Lea? C’mon.” The light-haired man scoffed finally. “I’ve been way worse off than this. I ain’t compromisin’ my safety ever again when it comes to these situations.”

Leakee’s mouth was dry as a bone, his thoughts spastically bolting from being flattered to the terror that he would inevitably screw something up royally. “Jon, I would never hurt you intentionally.” Mox met his eyes at that. “I don’t know if I could do…what you’re asking. I’ve never had anyone approach me for this.” Okay, that was a bit of a fib, but Jon didn’t need to know about past requests. Leakee was a larger, occasionally outright imposing individual. He understood how he looked and what it would make people think. “I’m not sure that I could give you what you need, man.” He finished simply.

Jon’s eyes half-lidded. “Okay.” He replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “That’s fair, Lea.”

“I could try, though.” Leakee offered after a moment of heavy silence. “For you.”

“R-Really?” Those blue eyes looked suspiciously damp when Mox glanced up at Leake again. “You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah.” Leakee shrugged, gesturing around his kitchen. “You want something to eat?” He didn't wait for an answer, instead rummaging through his fridge in search of something edible while Jon just stood in the doorway, the thinner man seeming a little lost. “Sit down uce, I promise the chair won’t bite.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah.” Mox floundered, rushing to sit at the kitchen table. “Sorry, I figured this wouldn’t go so well. Now I don’t really know what to do.”

“How about you relax, for starters?” Leakee teased, getting a weak grin in reply. “You’re safe here, right?”

“Yeah, I...guess I am, ain’t I?”

Part Two

#jon moxley #leakee #jon moxley/leakee #fcw #nxt #wwe #moxlea #ambreigns #no smut #i do apologize #Also this was supposed to be done on my birthday #whoops #few days late #last year y'all got empire #this year it's fixation #but either way it's Roman or Leakee so I think you're winning #enjoy!#not so thirsty wednesday

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the-kryomancer · 6 years

Text

A Trickster’s Apprentice

Chapter 3: The Plan

Warning: Spoilers for Season 13 episode “Devil’s Bargain”, people are killed, Castiel gets mad

Tags: @imagines-by-loki-and-kylo @ukcatsgirl10 @tobys-timeout-box

Don’t be afraid to ask to be in the tags list

——————————————————

“Are you sure? Elin, you need to be one hundred percent sure about this.” Sam told her as he paced back and forth. It couldn’t be true. She was wrong. Gabriel couldn’t be alive. He died saving them from Lucifer. There was no way.

“I’m sure!” Elin stood up from her chair. She pulled off the ring on her finger and held it between her thumb and index finger. “This doesn’t lie. It only glows when Gabriel is near or if he needs me to contact him. He’s alive.”

“Okay, look. There’s gotta be some sort of logical explanation for this.” Dean gestured to the ring. “Are you sure it’s not broken?”

Elin looked at him like he just insulted her mother. Well, she would have preferred him to insult her mother rather than what atrocious words came from his lips. She felt like punching him.

“No, it’s not broken!” She exclaimed with a death glare toward the older Winchester. If she wanted to, she could crush him like a bug. “It doesn’t break.”

“Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” Dean snapped.

It was midnight and she couldn’t sleep. She felt like there was some kind of force holding onto her skull, preventing her from falling into the comfort that was sleep. He had been gone for days and still no sign of him. He promised to be back soon. This wasn’t soon.

“Gabriel, I swear to all things sweet and sugary, I will kill you if you don’t get back in ten minutes.” She mumbled into the pillow, her voice so muffled even she could barely make out her own words. She flipped onto her back and stared at the wooden ceiling of her room. She could hear the wind outside the window and patter of snowflakes assaulting the glass of the windows. A winter storm is not what she needed right now.

“Geez, all you had to do was ask nicely,” Gabriel said, suddenly in the room. Elin screamed and toppled off her bed, landing face first onto the floor. She groaned and sat up, lifting her pain ridden body onto the bed. Gabriel stood at the foot of her bed and snapped his fingers. The candle on her bedside table lit. He was holding something in his left hand.

“What do you have there? Is that why you’ve been gone for days?” Elin practically wanted to bondard him with questions, especially ‘where the hell were you?’

Gabriel sat down next to her and opened his palm, a shiny silver ring in the middle of it. There was strange writing on the inside of the band. It was a language she had never seen before.

“It’s for you,” he explained. “That’s enochian.” He pointed to the text on the inside of the ring.

Elin picked it up and examined it. “I don’t speak enochian. Isn’t it a dead language?”

“It’s not dead,” Gabriel scoffed and plucked the ring out of her hand. “And if you must know, it says “Promise to always come home”. Meaning, that no matter how far away we are from each other, you can always come to me.”

“Wait,” she paused and her eyes lit up. “No matter how far we are? Does this mean I can–”

“Yes,” Gabriel interrupted. “You can be your own, independent Trickster.” He smiled at her. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” she took the ring and placed it on the ring finger of her left hand. “I know, Gabe. And I’ll never stop being that troublesome kid you took in like, what? Four hundred years ago?”

He nodded followed by a laugh. “Almost five. Time flies. I can’t believe you’re so grown up.”

“Hey, earth to Elin!” Dean snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You there?” Elin jumped back to life with a gasp. Sam and Dean flinched as she clenched her jaw. Elin jammed the ring back onto her finger and walked towards the exit of the bunker, frustration practically radiating off of her.

“Where are you going?” Sam called after her.

“Out!” She shouted and slammed the door shut.

Elin’s blood was boiling—no. It was on fire. She felt the fiery heat of a thousand suns burning in her chest and she hated it. Gabriel was important to her, he was her family. And he left. She kept the promise to always come back to him; looks like he didn’t keep his. He never was good at keeping promises.

But right now she needed to put her anger aside. Her informant was going to be there any moment.

“Elin, it’s good to see you again.”

There he is.

The demon smiled curtly at her. His black eyes seemed so dark and dangerous, yet at the same time held fear and dread. Gerard had been her hellish informant for years now—ever since Gabriel’s demise at the hands of his brother Elin did her best to keep tabs on Hell.

“I need answers, Gerard.” Elin spoke shortly, her annoyance and anger seemed to be bubbling to the surface. It made the demon uneasy but he wouldn’t show it and let her gain the upper hand.

“Regarding?” His voice was almost suave, enough to sweep any girl off her feet.

Elin crossed her arms. “What do you know about Gabriel being alive?”

Gerard took a sharp breath. “I know a lot about the subject. But before we get to the details, I need something in exchange.” He gave a uneasy smile. “Trickster blood is very hard to come by, and it’s essential for certain spells.”

Elin rolled her sleeve up and held out her arm. “Okay, whatever. Just tell me what you know.”

Gerard pulled out a knife and twirled it in his hand for a moment before bringing it towards her skin. Elin pulled her arm away with a tisk.

“Nu-uh. Not until I know this info is worth my time.” She folded her arm back into herself. “Now spill.”

Gerard sighed. “Asmodeus has Gabriel locked up in the dungeons. He needs Gabriel. Asmodeus recently acquired the Archangel blade, which, according to the lore, is only effective in the hands–”

“Of an Archangel.” Elin finished. Sighing, she nodded. “Great. Asmodeus is still a pain in my ass.”

“So…” Gerard rubbed his hands together. “About that blood.”

“Yeah…” Elin trailed off and pulled an Angel blade from a pocket inside her green camouflage jacket. “About the blood.” Before Gerard realized what she was doing, Elin stabbed the blade through Gerard’s chest and he glowed orange that flickered for a moment before his body fell lifelessly to the ground. “Thanks for the info.” She used his jacket to wipe off the blood on the blade before putting it back into her pocket. Snapping her fingers, Elin appeared at a playground with a sand box.

She stood there, waiting for someone or something to notice her presence. What she was going to do next twisted a knot in her chest. She knew this was risky. She knew Gabriel wouldn’t be happy with her for this. She had no other choice.

A whirlwind of energy emerged from the sandbox and two well dressed figures came out of the energy. They both held blades that matched Elin’s.

“What do you want, Trickster?” A woman growled.

“I want to talk to your boss: Lucifer.” Elin crossed her arms. “I know he’s taken the throne. But I need to talk to him.”

“You will do no such thing!” The man to the female Angel’s left shouted. Elin rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers, the vessel exploding everywhere.

“Now,” she took a step towards the remaining Angel who had a look of horror on her face. “Let me talk to your boss.” The female Angel nodded and disappeared back into the light. Moments later Lucifer stepped out.

He frowned at Elin. “What do you want, kid?”

“I have a deal to make with you.” She stated simply. Lucifer scoffed at her. Elin continued. “Look, I know you’re getting tired of having your ass kicked by Asmodeus. But he has a weapon. One that can and will kill you. An Archangel blade.”

“Hate to break it to you sister, but an Archangel blade can only be used by an Archangel like moi.” Lucifer pointed to himself. “And I don’t think I’ll be sticking myself with that knife.”

She rolled her eyes at how pompous he was. Elin held up four fingers. “Let’s do a head count, shall we? Michael is in the cage—” she put a finger down, “—you’re standing right here—” another finger went down, “—and Raphael is dead.” She put down one last finger, leaving only the pinky. “So that leaves your baby brother, Gabriel.”

“Who I killed.”

“Or did you? Because as of right now, Asmodeus has him trapped in Hell.”

The fallen Angel let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you saying?”

“I propose a deal. You distract Asmodeus and keep him out of Hell long enough for me to sneak in, get Gabriel, get the blade, and get the hell out of there.”

He hummed. “And what do I get?”

“You can have the Archangel blade.” She told him. “I’ll have Gabriel back so there’s no need for the blade.”

“Fine. When do you want me to lure the little urchin out?”

“Tonight. Ten p.m. That’s when I’ll go to Hell and get Gabriel out.”

She knew Sam and Dean would be mad. Probably beyond furious. They would shout at her, threaten to kick her out. In the end it wouldn’t work. She wasn’t scared of them and she could do so much worse to them. She could make them inside out or take away every nerve in their body. She could remove their tongues, or just slowly kill them from the inside out. But at this point, it would be counterproductive.

When she got into the bunker, Elin prepared herself for the hellstorm that would soon arrive. She glanced at the clock. Eight p.m.

“Where have you been?” Dean asked as soon as she entered the room. She snapped her fingers and took a bite of the chocolate bar she now held. She was a stress eater and she hated it.

“I was getting information from a source. And I may have helped us.” She explained through a mouthful of chocolate.

“You know where Gabriel is?” Castiel inquired, unsure as to what she was up to.

Elin nodded. “He’s in Hell, trapped there by Asmodeus. Along with an Archangel blade.”

Castiel‘s eyes widened. “Are you sure? The Archangel blade has been missing for millennia. How would Asmodeus have gotten it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. All I care about is getting Gabriel back.”

“How are we going to get into Hell without being caught?” Sam spoke up. He was leaning against a bookshelf. “There’s probably demons everywhere. Not to mention the risk of running into Asmodeus.”

“I… kind of have that covered…” Elin rubbed the back of her neck.

“What did you do?” Castiel demanded.

“Okay, so I kind of talked to Lucifer and–”

“Kind of?” Dean shouted. “There’s no “kind of” talking to Lucifer!”

“Look,” Elin’s eyes glowed gold. The color was more prominent than before. It wasn’t subtle anymore. “I made a deal with him. He distracts Asmodeus and I’ll give him the blade.”

“You’ll what?” Castiel growled. He stomped over to her and grabbed her by the neck. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I wasn’t going to give him the blade!” She exclaimed. “I needed him to distract Ass-modeus so you three could nab Gabriel and the blade. Easy-peasy.”

Dean ran a hand over his face and pointed at Elin. “Your plan better work. If not, I won’t hesitate to gut you.”

Castiel let go of her neck and Elin didn’t hesitate to rub the sore spot. “It won’t,” She snapped. “I’m excellent at persuasion. I got you three to help me, didn’t I?”

Sam shrugged. “She has a point.”

“When do we go into Hell and liberate Gabriel and nab the blade?” Dean asked, taking a sip from the beer he had on the table.

“I told Lucifer ten p.m. so be ready by then.”

“We have time to prepare.” Castiel walked out of the room, glaring at Elin all the while. She stuck her tongue out at him and took a bite of her chocolate.

She sat in the library with Jack and Mary. Jack was reading something—probably a lore book since that is all that there seems to be in the bunker. Mary was watching Elin the whole time, trying her best to settle the Trickster’s nerves. Elin couldn’t stay still. She washed the dirty dishes, tried to read three different books, even ate six chocolate bars. Her stomach was queasy and she immediately regretted eating all of that chocolate. Nothing seemed to occupy her for long. In short, she was a big ball of nerves.

“Don’t worry,” Mary said gently. They were supposed to be words of encouragement. “If anyone can get him back it’s my boys.” She gave Elin a soft smile. Elin looked at her, eyes glowing intensely gold.

“I’m not worried that they won’t bring him back. I’m worried that they will.” Elin explained.

“What do you mean?” Mary inquired. Jack sat there, book forgotten as he listened intently to the conversation.

Taking in a sharp breath, Elin glanced at the clock. It was half past ten. “It’s comp–”

She was cut off by the sound of the bunker door opening and closing.

“They’re back.” Elin whimpered.

#supernatural oc #supernatural lucifer #lucifer #supernatural #supernatural gabriel #gabriel #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #mary winchester #jack kline #my writing

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discoursecatharsis · 6 years

Note

I don't know if I should start filtering out b/ack pa/ad1n L4nce now because I am already ten thousand percent done with it as it had filled my dash all day today (I'm on mobile most of the time). I've been seeing theories and it's taking everything in me to not reblog the post and scream in the tags "BP L4nce is not detrimental to his character amd it isn't a catalyst for him to have "good" character development, jfc." I'm tired. 😩

Hang in there for 2 more weeks. Season 5 will air and maybe these people will finally accept the fact that “well it looks like BP L isn’t happening and that’s okay!”

That... or they’ll be in denial and get even worse and shit on the show writers for “bad writing for not making L become BP!” Then can you filter out BP L. Until eventually these people accept that it’s not gonna happen.

#ask #Anonymous

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coligo · 6 years

Text

look down.

His own footsteps feel artificial, autonomous, out of his control. His head is throbbing; his breath comes in ragged gasps; his eyes burn from exposure to the wind and snow; his fingers clutch tightly at the chain hanging loosely from his neck.

He knows where he is, but he doesn't know why. He must have seen these streets in a dream. His feet feel as though they've chewed up this concrete for decades; his fingers remember the roughness of the trademark Brooklyn brownstone bricks. Even the varnished wood of the nondescript apartment door feels familiar as his knuckles rap against it. The man on the other side, however, is a complete stranger to him.

What is he doing in this place he's never been but clearly remembers? He's traveled thousands of miles for longer than he can remember just to be here, but why? The man is looking him up and down, clearly concerned about this disaster of a human being standing in his doorway; his gaze becomes particularly worried when it lands on the clenched fist of his metallic arm.

His head spins. His heart is pounding; his ears are ringing.

"Is this 569 Leaman Place?"

The man nods, and for some unexplainable reason, he suddenly feels safe, like he can lay down all his burdens and stop struggling. He sways on his feet, and the man reaches out to catch him. Before he blacks out, he's aware of the worried voices of a woman and child coming to meet him.

—————

The first thing he realizes when he comes to is that he's warm; he can feel the weight of many blankets stacked on top of him. There's the smell of coffee in the air — freshly brewed, not that bitter powdered shit from Vladivostok. More important than what he can smell is what he can't: his blood- and sweat-stained coat is gone, he realizes with a start, and instinctively, he reaches for his neck and the chain he hopes is there.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he feels the cool chain hanging loosely from his skin.

Satisfied, he lifts his head with some effort, gazing around the modestly decorated and thoroughly unfamiliar apartment. He's on the couch, almost drowning in blankets, and curled up at his feet is a sizable black and tan german shepherd; his gaze lands on the dog and, realizing it's been noticed, it pricks up its ears and stands, approaching to bathe his scruffy face in kisses.

"Sage, off!"

It's the man's voice. Obediently, the dog stops its assault and returns to its previous spot at his feet. The man apologizes; he waves it away. He likes dogs.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing." He doesn't recognize his own voice. It's hoarse, rough from the winter wind, and from screaming. "I don't know what I'm doing here, or how I got here, or-"

The man, clearly overwhelmed, raises a hand to stop him. Like a good little soldier, he immediately goes quiet, biting off the end of his sentence like it could sustain him.

"Take it easy. Let's just start with your name, son."

He furrows his brows. He doesn't know his name. Fuck, he doesn't know his name. His mismatched fingers fumble for the chain, follow it to its apex in the center of his chest; the tags there clink together as he lifts them up to read the information etched into them.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He recites it aloud, but it doesn't feel right on his lips. That can't be his name; there's no way in hell that's his name. It feels wrong, like he's never been called that a day in his life. But there's another name on the second tag, one that resonates with him from his brain down to his bones.

"My name is-"

"Good morning, Bucky."

He's vaguely aware that the all too familiar voice in the distance is speaking to him. He rolls over with a groan, burying his face in the pillow to block out the sudden light of the curtains being pulled back.

"What's so good about it?"

He hears Steve chuckle fondly, feels the bed shift beneath his impressive weight as he sits beside his sleepy partner. Musclebound bastard. Not that he's any better. For awhile, there's silence, comfortable and companionable; when Steve speaks, it's in a quiet but sharp voice.

"Three things."

The silence is much more tense now. Steve's all business, one hundred and ten percent Captain America and only thirty percent the friend Bucky knows him to be; Bucky doesn't have to see him to know he's serious. He furrows his brows in a mixture of slight irritation and deep concentration.

"You were an art major at Auburndale; your favorite medium was charcoal. You were always so eager to sketch me: you'd ask me every day when I got back from work."

The corners of his chapped lips twitch upwards into a smile as he envisions his scrawny roommate sitting at the table, fingers stained black with charcoal, eyes shining, lips set into a hopeful grin as he begged his tired friend to model for him. 'C'mon, Buck: just for a few minutes?'

He never could say no to that obnoxious smile.

Beside him, he feels Steve shift; he's silent, but Bucky knows he's nodding for him to go on. He concentrates further, pushing the image of Steve's happy face out of his mind and letting another memory swim sluggishly into view.

"We went to see The Wizard of Oz in theaters; tickets cost twenty three cents. Twenty three cents, Rogers."

"Anybody with access to Google knows that, Buck."

Steve sounds unimpressed. Bucky grins into the pillow.

"Not just anybody could know that you were terrified of the flying monkeys. When they showed up, you squeezed my hand so tight I thought it was gonna pop off."

Dry humor at his own expense gets him through his days. He hears Steve give a good-natured and somewhat impressed huff of breath. He lets go of the memory of Dorothy and Steve being terrorized and reaches deeper, sloshing through a hodgepodge of images and sounds in search of something that will really knock Steve's socks off. He screws up his face and thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

And then, it comes to him.

"Remember when I taught you how to dance? I spent four bucks on that Glenn Miller set and played it on that piece of shit gramophone you salvaged from the alley. Moonlight Serenade. You tripped over your own stupid feet and fell face first into me. I think that was the first time we kissed."

Steve's fingers felt bony between his, the hand at the small of his back shaking and uncertain. Those big blue eyes looked up at him in utter embarrassment; his cheeks were rapidly going from pink to red. 'Shit, Buck, I'm so sorry-'

"You said someone needed to keep the dames in dance partners with you gone."

Steve's tone has become warmer, much less clinical; Bucky's mind isn't on trial anymore. There's a large hand carding through his tangled hair, and Bucky leans into it, something akin to pride swelling in his chest. Though they've been doing this ritual for months now, each time he passes, he's still amazed at what he can recall.

"On your feet, soldier. There's something I want to give you."

Bucky makes a face. He doesn't move.

"Is it a shot of whiskey?"

There's a hard but playful slap to his shoulder. His real shoulder.

"No, you insufferable moron. Just get up and come into the kitchen."

"-Bucky. My name is Bucky."

The man nods, as if he already knew.

"It's nice to meet you, Bucky. C'mon in, honey: it's safe now."

A woman, presumably his wife, appears with a tray in her arms; her daughter shyly clings to her skirt, watching Bucky with wide eyes. A plate is set in his lap, and a steaming mug of coffee is pressed into his hands.

"Eat, then sleep. You'll need your strength for your trip back home," the man says, pulling his daughter into his lap and bouncing her on his knee. Her eyes remain fixed on the man with the metal arm lying on the couch.

Bucky's heart sinks, and he pauses mid sip.

"You didn't call the cops, did you?"

The man laughs, and his wife chuckles, albeit a bit nervously.

"No, son. We called the man who used to live here."

He gestures to the tags hanging around Bucky's neck, pointing to the third line: the next of kin line. The breath catches in his throat; he nearly chokes on his coffee. His heart soars.

"Dog tags?"

He gives Steve a puzzled and somewhat irritated look, and the blond rolls his eyes, clearly not interested in putting up with his shit today.

"Hold still and let me put them on you."

Bucky squirms out of Steve's impressive grip.

"We're not in the army anymore, Rogers: I don't have to wear that bullshit."

"You don't have to, but I want you to. Please? For me?"

Steve pouts, and he makes a show of it, sticking out his lower lip and everything. Damn those big puddly eyes. Bucky holds still with a resigned sigh, allowing his friend to drape the chain around his neck.

"Only because I like you. If you were anybody else, I'd take your head off."

Steve flashes him an award winning smile, the same smile that made him famous, the same smile he'd given him when he'd pulled his friend from isolation in that HYDRA shithole, and Bucky thinks his heart might have stopped for a few seconds.

"Just keep them on, will you? They're a safety measure, just like the three things we do every morning. If you ever lose yourself, all you have to do is look down."

Oh. Still practical. Except that instead of the army looking for me, I'll be looking for my own dead self, Bucky thinks. It irks him that none of this weird shit bothers him anymore. He can't come up with a witty retort, so he doesn't; instead, he takes the shiny metallic rectangles in between his fingers and carefully reads the etch.

"569 Leaman Place? Stevie, I don't know if you know this, but we don't live there anymore."

The look Steve gives him makes his heart swell with pride again. The captain is clearly impressed.

"I know we don't, but I couldn't put the address of the Avengers headquarters. This is a place only you and I know. Don't worry, the current residents know to expect you."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up so high he's afraid they've escaped his forehead. Current residents? As in random citizens?

"So it's totally okay with you that the Winter Soldier could show up, armed and dangerous, on some poor schmucks' doorstep?"

Steve scowls.

"That won't happen. I trust you, Buck."

"But do you trust him?"

Steve remains silent, but the hard look in those steely blue eyes tells Bucky that the conversation is over. He'll wear the tags whether he likes it or not.

Hours pass. Bucky consumes his entire plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, though it takes him an hour and a half to do so. He knows if he eats too fast, he'll be sick; besides, there's something about regaling this kind family with his war stories in between small bites that makes that feeling of pride rise in his chest again. Steve would be so proud of what he's remembered, and all because of the stupid dog tags around his neck. Once he finishes his plate, the wife insists that he sleep; he wants to help with the dishes and she's having none of it, and she orders the dog to sit on his chest until he falls asleep. She eagerly complies, watching the soldier with glee in her shiny black eyes. Full and safe and warm and pinned down by a happily panting dog, Bucky does something he's almost never done: he surrenders, and drops off into a deep sleep.

When he wakes up, it's only because he hears a knock at the front door, followed by the enthusiastic barking of the german shepherd. On alert, he jerks his head up, only to be eased back against the pillow by the child's small hands on his sallow cheeks.

"It's okay. Captain America is here to take you home," she says very matter-of-factly.

Bucky relaxes, not knowing what else to do. He's notoriously shit with kids, and doing time as a well-honed assassin did nothing to improve that aspect of his persona. Dozens of thoughts race through his head like a train through the snow of the Swiss Alps: will he be upset with me? Where is he gonna take me? Where is home now? I don't even know how long I've been gone. Fuck, do I stink? I must stink, it's been over a week since I've showered-

"Bucky."

That familiar voice quiets his thoughts, and he looks up to meet Steve's intense blue gaze.

He doesn't look mad; he doesn't look upset at all, really. More than anything, Steve looks tired and so, so grateful. Though the girl had called him Captain America, he wasn't wearing the suit, but rather a well-worn leather jacket and faded blue jeans — though he does have the shield dutifully strapped to his forearm. Clearly he was anticipating some sort of trouble. He'll be surprised to know that he'll get none, Bucky thinks as he gives his friend a lopsided grin.

"Hey, Stevie."

The look Steve gives him is unreadable. He shifts his attention to the husband and wife, thanking them profusely for taking good care of his escaped friend. He takes the time to briefly explain the night Bucky lost himself to the couple, and Steve begins wildly gesticulating and giving away just how Irish his heritage is. Bucky quietly waits his turn; when Steve is in the spotlight, it's his job to sit back and make sure all is as it should be.

When Steve returns his attention to his friend, his gaze is fearsome — it would put the fear of God into any self-respecting HYDRA agent. Something in Bucky recoils: the remnants of the wolf at the door to his mind retreating into the darkness.

"Three things."

Bucky grins. He's been waiting for this.

"Hey, Rogers: remember after your mom died and you tried to turn me down? We sat out on the fire escape and fought about it for hours until it got dark and you got too cold and too sick to keep arguing." Bucky glances over towards the fire escape, conjuring up the ghost of his former self and a much tinier Steve shivering against him. "We went inside and got together all the pillows and blankets and whatever warm clothes we had, and we laid on the couch with all of them, and it was so uncomfortable because there wasn't enough room and you were so damn bony and-"

"Alright, Buck, that's enough."

Steve's smiling. He offers a hand to his friend, and Bucky takes it happily, letting Steve help him off the couch. The dog tags clink against each other as he moves, and Steve glances down at them before fixing his partner with a pointed, decidedly smug but clearly happy look.

If you lose yourself, all you have to do is look down.

Steve had been right. Bucky will never admit it to his face.

#marvel #stucky #starbucks #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #winter soldier #written.#my first foray into marvel fics!!

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shyawn · 7 years

Text

Naive

(take with this what you will. this is supposed to be anyone)

(please send in requests!!!! I will write about whomever I tag below)

Maybe I was naive, maybe I was gullible, or maybe he really meant what he said. Whatever the truth may be, I still ended up in pieces. A million, tiny, sharp pieces that would cut you open if you ever came close to me. I trusted him, and he betrayed me.

I loved him. He was the first person I had ever loved. I wanted to believe so badly that we would defy the odds and come out on top. I wanted us to last forever, and he told me he felt the same way. Unfortunately, he lied and I cried. How does love go to hate so fast?

I remember when we first started talking. He told me to keep it between us, and I told him I thought that would be fun. No one knew about us and the deep conversations we would have at ungodly hours of the night and morning. I told him all of my secrets and he told me his. He told me I was one of a kind and he thought that was the best thing about me. I told him to stop making me blush.

I remember when I finally cracked and first told my best friend about us with the biggest smile on my lips. She lacked the enthusiasm I contained, telling me she failed to see what was so great about him. I told her that he was different from what she thought. She said that he was definitely not what I thought he was and he wanted to keep us a secret because he was embarrassed. I told her she was wrong, and that I would prove it to her. I should have believed her.

I remember the first time I went over his house. We sat on his couch watching dumb Spanish soap operas, even though the both of us were mediocre Spanish speakers at best. What my best friend had said messed with my head, and I did believe her for a bit. I found it difficult to pay attention to the show and he noticed that. He asked what was on my mind and I meekly replied, “nothing.” He knew there was never nothing on my mind, so he persisted. I told him.

I remember his reaction. He stared blankly at me for a few moments before letting out a deep sigh and lightly shutting his eyes. I stared up at him with big eyes and a hope that what my best friend had said was untrue. He looked at me again and pulled the typical boy move. He pushed my hair out of my face and reassured me that he wanted to be with me and that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I believed him and I wish I hadn’t.

I remember walking into school with him the next day. The people who knew us stared and whispered and within the first block of the day, everyone knew we were together. People in my classes whispered, people in the halls whispered, teachers even whispered. I was overwhelmed and he knew that. He told me that was what he wanted to spare me from, but I told him I could handle it. It just took some getting used to. He got me to relax, and I was immensely grateful.

I remember the first time we ever really kissed. I was sad about something dumb when we were together and he hated that. At first it was just a hug, with his chin resting on the top of my head. It was simple, but it was sweet. He whispered sweet nothings to me as I moped about, and he found that ineffective. I was sad and I told him that nothing could change that. He tried to fix me anyways.

I barely remember the moments before and after the kiss. He had my head spinning in tens of thousands of different ways. I was ranting about why I was sad and I had failed to notice the look he was giving me. After I finished speaking, his lips were on mine within seconds. I melted into his touch, my stomach doing flips and my heart running laps around my entire body. I had never felt that way in my entire life and I never wanted to stop feeling that way. I was putty in his hands and he knew that.

I remember the first time I fell asleep at his house. It was a Friday night after an excruciatingly long week of school, and I desperately needed to relax. He and I had been dating for about two months at that point and they had been the best two months I had experienced in a while. I had dozed off on his shoulder while we watched a movie. I woke up to a million soft kisses on my neck and a billion selfies of me sleeping on his shoulder.

I remember the day I realized I loved him. We were driving around in his car with no destination in mind. We were silent; the only sound was the drops of rain and music that softly flowed from the speakers in the car. He had one hand on the wheel, the other strategically placed in mine. My eyes followed the street lights as we drove past them. I found myself very happy with him and the place I was at in my life. Looking over at him, a feeling so crushing to my chest flooded through my body and I knew. I knew then that the overwhelming feeling that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time was love. I loved him, and I prayed that he loved me back.

I remember the day he told me he loved me. I made him bake cookies with me, and no matter how many times he denied that it was fun for him, I knew it was. He got to eat cookie dough, which I couldn’t because of my raw egg allergy. He made a point to rub in my face all of the cookie dough he could eat. I had just put the cookies in the oven when I caught him staring at me with a light in his eyes that made me want to scream. I asked him what he was staring at. He told me, very nonchalantly, “the girl I had the pleasure of falling in love with.”

I remember the feeling I got after hearing him say that. I stared at him, blankly I suppose, because his smile dropped completely after a few seconds of no reaction. I was beyond happy that he loved me, and I was more than one-hundred percent positive I loved him too. For some reason, my lungs felt like they were being squeezed by concrete hands and my stomach felt like it was twisting in a million different directions. He apologized, reached out to me, and pulled me into his arms. I cried, told him about my problems with love, and promised him I loved him too. It was then I realized how deep my issues were rooted.

I remember going to the junior Prom with him. We had been dating for six or seven months, and I was still amazed by him. He dealt with my issues, which I was slowly overcoming, and never made me feel like a burden. I was more than excited for Prom because I knew it was going to be the best time of our high school careers. I wore a red dress with jewels on the top and a high neck. I even thought I looked great. I refused to let him see me in it before pictures for the prom. I only sent him pictures of the color so he could get a suit and a boutonniere.

I remember the look on his face when he saw me for the first time in the dress. He looked wonderstruck and like I was an angel gracing his presence on Earth. (He told me that was what I looked like soon after.) I had never seen him look at me like that, and it made me feel absolutely every happy emotion there was. He made me feel like a princess, and he definitely looked like my prince. My mother cried and so did his, and the both of us just laughed at them. Nothing could bring us down. Nothing at all.

I remember the party after Prom. He had offered to have it at his house, and everyone graciously accepted. He invited both of our friends, which had started morphing into one group with the progression of our relationship. Everyone got along, which made everything that much easier. Half of the grade ended up showing their faces at the party, which stressed him out a lot. Most were drunk, and we were on our way to getting there with them. It was a good thing we all had changed out of our expensive clothes.

I remember what came next. He had gone to the bathroom and I was alone on the couch. I held a drink in my hand and slowly looked around at everyone in the house. A different boy sat next to me, and slowly slid his hand up my thigh. I attempted to move it, but it flew back like a magnet. The boy told me that I was too good for my boyfriend. The boy told me that if I ever wanted a good time, a better time than with the boy I had, he was always available. The boy told me to leave with him so he could show me that good time, for future reference. I told him to “back the fuck up” and he didn’t.

I remember the fight that sprung from the dumb boy’s stupid remarks. He had come back from the bathroom and found me uncomfortably trying to get the boy away. His anger and jealousy reached its boiling point and he pulled the boy away from me. They started fighting while most watched except for a few who tried to pull them off of each other. After multiple screams from me and others to stop, they were pulled apart from each other.

I remember leaving them both in that room. I made my best friend take me home. I left him and the dumb boy at the party. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so mad, but I was. He could have killed that boy, and although he deserved it, I was scared. I wanted to believe that he was better than that. After I got home, I ignored him for a few days. I ignored his texts, his calls, his attempted conversations in the hallway. I ignored him to the best of my ability.

I remember how he showed up to my house the following Saturday, soaking wet from the rain and frown on his lips. I finally stopped ignoring him and let him in my house. I gave him a towel and waited for him to start speaking. He started off by apologizing and explaining about how it made him sick to picture me with any other guy. He began rambling on about that and about how much he loved me and wanted no one else but him to be with me.

I remember telling him to shut up as I laughed slightly. I kissed him a few times. I gave him new clothes to change into and showed him to the bathroom. I sat on my couch, scrolling through Netflix. I tried to find a movie to put on but failed miserably. Nothing looked good to watch. I made him pick a movie after he changed and we ended up watching Pulp Fiction for the fifth time. Halfway through the movie, he asked what the boy from the party said to me. I told him everything.

I remember his reaction like it happened yesterday. He frowned, his anger etched in his eyes and facial expression. His hands balled into fists and he let out a long sigh. I muttered his name a few times, trying to get him to relax. Instead, he looked at me, a blank expression on his face, and asked if I was unhappy with him. I felt my heart crack in half at those words. He was genuinely curious. He thought I was upset about being with him. I guaranteed that if I was unhappy, he would know it. I, then, proceeded to tell him that any girl who would be unhappy with him was dumb and unaware of what they were missing.

I remember that night being the first time we had sex. We kissed for a while after that conversation. Sweet, simple, happy kisses. Slowly but surely, those kisses became more. I moved onto his lap. His hands gripped my hips as we began getting more heated. I gently kissed his neck as he stood up and carried me to my room. He laid me down on my bed and pulled my shirt over my head. We kissed until all of our clothes were off and his hands had touched almost every part of my body.

I remember seeing colors. Red, orange, yellow colors clouded my vision in a mix, splattered across the walls. Brown, his eyes staring deep into my heart and soul. The colors made it seem like everything was a dream, but the feeling was very very real. Red faded into orange and orange faded into yellow. I felt like the sun, shining warm, bright colors from every pore of my body. Everything was so beautiful. The colors, the sounds, us as one. I thought things couldn’t get any more perfect. He was all I ever needed, and I knew that then. I know that now.

I remember spending the summer with him. We went out together almost every single night, whether it be going to the movies, a restaurant, or one of our houses to watch Law & Order. Shockingly, we never got sick of each other. We went on college tours together, we went to the Fourth of July festivities together, we went to every party together. People were shocked that we were still perfectly content with each other. Some even made bets as to when the relationship would end. All of them were wrong. I blame this summer for the beginning of our downfall.

I remember our first major fight that we were both angry in. Towards the beginning of senior year, it was evident that we were spending too much time together. Certain comments that were made by either one of us would result in arguments, banter or even worse comments. We were getting into slight arguments almost all the time, and then the biggest fight of them all occurred.

I can’t quite remember what the fight was about, I just remember the screaming match we got into over it. Disgusting words were thrown at each other and we both said “fuck” and other variations more than we ever had in both of our lives. The fight occurred the night before the homecoming game, where the Queen would be announced. Both of us were on the Homecoming Court. We screamed, and I cried, and he called me pathetic. I was devastated. We didn’t talk until the football game.

I remember us making up after I was crowned Queen. I was happy, although there was the underlying dismay cast upon me because of the fight. He was the first person who greeted me after I got off of the field. He hugged me, we both apologized, and hugged some more. The next day he was crowned King and after the Homecoming dance, we had the best make up sex.

I remember the day I realized that our relationship was on its way to the end. We were watching Spanish soap operas on his couch and there was a tension in the air. Everything was different. We felt as if conversation was needed to avoid silence, when we preferred the silence before. We started fighting more often, and slowly, our relationship started to become based off of sex. We had sex more than we hung out regularly. After I got home from his house, I cried for hours. I couldn’t believe that was happening to us. Our relationship was so beautiful, so different, so loving. It was a shame to see it go up in flames so fast.

I remember the day it really ended. Somehow, we had made it to graduation together, and a few weeks into the summer. We had both decided upon colleges to go to. We were going to the same city, but our decisions were not influenced by each other. We had grown apart. I barely told him anything anymore, and he held back from me too. Most often than not, we were fucking or uncomfortably watching TV with each other. It was a mutual decision to end it. I was still beyond heartbroken.

I remember shutting everyone out for the rest of Summer. He had broken me. Any time someone tried to talk to me about him, I would tear them down with nasty comments and rude tones. I was mean to every person who cared for me, and I sometimes made my mother cry. I felt bad, but I was broken. I had never been hurt more by a person than I had been by him. Only after everything was over did I realize he had so much control over me and my emotions. I loved him then, I loved him after it ended, and I love him now. I always will.

Now, you tell me. Was I naive? Or was this real? Did he mean what he said? Or did I have too much hope for something that was bound to fail? Whatever the answer may be, our relationship was the most beautiful pleasure I have had in my life. I know I will never find anything like us ever again. Maybe, if we’re truly meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.

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