#firing meth to the head of my

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

cowboy like me | r. reynolds

a/n: guess who's back. haha. sorry i said i was on hiatus and then wrote this. i saw thunderbolts and made it everyone else's problem so here is a fuck of a long fic. i dont know i just wanted to put all my ideas in one so there is a lot going on in this one but yeah. uhm. no real smut because i didn't wanna write because they fuck a lottt also the entire concept is based off this one screenshot i have and i do not know where i got it (it was from some sort of meme) but yeah! warnings: SELF HARM!! no really super serious descriptions but the reader is mentally ill and so is bob and reader does hurt herself at some point and bob wraps them. lots of talks of addiction and alcoholism and sobriety. lots of kissing and allusions to sex and teasing and everyone (bob and reader) is mentally ill and, yeah. sentry and void have a conversation with bob in his brain. also book club. word count: 9.4k summary: you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits. pairing: bob reynolds x sober!reader now playing: cowboy like me - taylor swift "now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of babylon/with your boots beneath my bed/forever is the sweetest con."

The first text comes at 5:43 on a Tuesday.

‘do you wanna start fucking again like maybe once a week?’

You must’ve sat, staring at your phone for twenty minutes. Who the fuck..?

The second text comes at 6:32.

‘it can be like a little book club, we can read the same book and discuss’

Book club..?

You ask yourself if this is some sort of joke, and another text shows up three minutes later--

‘i also have a real bed now.’

And then you remember this meth head you used to sleep with, some Florida guy who was always taking odd jobs to fuel his addiction—Cashier, house sitter, alligator hunter, amusement park mascot.. until he got fired, which always seemed inevitable.

You suppose you have no room to judge. You had only been in Jacksonville after your last friend in New York told you no more, that they wouldn’t watch you destroy yourself. But you didn’t need them to, you never needed an audience to fuel the urge to rip every little bit of your soul apart.

You had taken a job working at a Dunkin Donuts that was right next to a liquor store. It seemed as if the universe had given you a sign. You could retire here. Nothing but part time shifts, a bottle of vodka, and a shitty room for rent from the kinkiest 72-year-old lesbian you had ever met.. You had a little bit of respect for her, a sort of ‘good for her’ attitude.

And then, you met Bob.

You met Bob at a dealer’s house.

Romantic, right?

Bob was about to take his first hit in six or seven hours, and you sat uncomfortably scrunched against the couch, trying not to think about how many fucked up things had happened there.

And he sat on the other side of the couch, Bob sat, flicking his lighter on and off while he waited.

..The girl you were with was currently.. paying for the coke she wanted. You were never a fan of drugs, alcohol was your one and only, your soulmate—you could never cheat on her. But this girl promised to buy shots at the next bar. And now you had to listen to her ‘pay’ her dealer—and you presumed Bob’s dealer in the other room.

“Hey.” He speaks first.

You give him a side glance.

“Hey.”

“Waiting for.. stuff?”

“Just waiting for my friend.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A beat.

“What’s your—“

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Cool. Mine’s meth.”

“Great.”

A beat.

“I need a fuckin’ hit man, I don’t know what’s taking her so long to fucking pay—”

God, you wanted a drink in that moment.

“So, he’s your dealer?”

“Yeah. And my roommate. My rooms the one down the hall.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

You began tapping your foot against the carpet.

“Oh my god, it doesn’t take that long to—”

“It fucking takes a minute, relax,” You scoffed.

“Not this long.” You caught the unspoken words.

And then, almost in sync, you looked at each other, fully turning your heads to really see what one another looks like. Your eyes flickered up and down his features. Drunk as you were, you knew you could do much worse than this guy.

But before you could say anything, he spoke again,

“Wanna see my room?”

Your ‘friend’ didn’t really seem to be finishing up her transaction anytime soon. Plus, it.. had been a while.

“Sure.” You said, and you followed Bob two steps behind on the way down to his bedroom. When he opened the door, you know deep down sober you would be mortified—well, only if the sex was bad.

His room was small, clothes laid about in various piles across the room—a few lighters, a coin or two next to the odd chip bag.. and in the corner of his room, a twin sized mattress laid on the floor, black sheets and a red blanket, one that had been clearly loved.. and a very old pillow.

You just stared until Bob grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the bed. He sat on the bed first, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and gently prompted you to ‘c’mere.’ As you sat on his lap, you realized that this guy was cute enough for this to become a regular thing.

Your lips locked with his, slowly pulling him in with slow, gentle kisses as if the two of you weren’t giving plenty of time for the moment to be interrupted by the end of the transaction in the other room.

And then, your hands traced up from his shoulders, past his neck and ears, curls wrapping around your fingers.

As if you couldn’t help yourself, you found yourself gently tugging at his hair, listening as he let out this soft moan, and you couldn’t deny—you could totally get used to this. 

And after, when you laid back on his stupid twin sized mattress without a bedframe, your finger stayed twirled in his curls. Then, when he heard the other bedroom door open, he pulled on his boxers and got up, grabbing a sweatshirt as he headed to the door. He glanced back to you to ask,

“’m going to take a hit, want anything?”

“Something to drink?”

“I’ll get you a beer.” He had offered, and you found yourself smiling.

So, you came back. Again. And again. And again. And again. And then you got sober. Or at least, that’s the version you’d give your therapist when you next spoke.

When you got sober, you had gone from a smartphone to a flip phone, deleting and blocking many of the numbers from your party days.. until you had gotten to Bob. All you did was delete his contact from your phone—he still had your number if he wanted to reach out.

But he hadn’t. Not for the past nineteen months, and you’ll be honest—Month eight was such a big month for you (being able to babysit your niece by yourself for the first time, saving up for your own apartment, no roommates or family, and enrolling in a night class or two), so you had forgotten the meth head who purred when you played with his hair.

And yet..

You felt this.. tug. At something.

You found yourself responding—

“hey, i’ve been sober for nineteen months. not interested if ur still using.”

Your texting habits reflected your archaic tech.

But you meant it—Bob was.. well, you didn’t like to think about the things you felt for him, but it was enough to make you bury it as deep down as you could.

“me too”

And then, seven minutes later,

“therapy too lol.”

You glance at the time. You think about your favorite bar’s bottomless margaritas on Tuesdays, and you realize it has been a while.. it was typical for people not to date within a year of sobriety. But it had been nineteen months..

And this wasn’t a date.

It was book club..

“what do u want to read?”

You toss the flip phone on your bed and walk over to the shelf in the corner of your room. You inspect the spines of the few books you have and realize they’re not book club material.

You pick your phone back up to read the text—

“great gatsby? i never read it in school”

Neither had you. Maybe you had been assigned it once upon a time.

“okay. next thursday enough time?”

You were serious about the book club aspect of this. You know two things—

One, no mater how he answers, you’ll have to talk this over with your therapist. Maybe even your sister. You barely ever take risks, not since getting sober, and this risk scares the shit out of you..

Two—You are almost giddy at the idea of tugging at Bob’s hair. You’ve been alone for too long, but you can’t seem to trust yourself enough to download a dating app and hook up with strangers (you theorize you could become as addicted to hookups as you were to alcohol) and the idea of getting into a serious relationship makes you feel sick.. so maybe this is a good compromise.

You glance at the phone in your hand and see one more text--

“sure :)”

So, you send him an address to a coffee shop near your apartment. He asks you if three works. You say yes.

When you tell your therapist about it the next day, this huge smile grows on her face as you tell her about your dilemma—to be or not to be, to go or not to go, to fuck Bob or not to fuck Bob.

You debate this back and forth, and your therapist eventually tells you—

“As your therapist, I shouldn’t and couldn’t push you to do this. Read the book. Go to coffee. At the very least, you’ll get some closure. Or.. you could have an outlet. Remember your boundaries, and don’t pursue anything you aren’t comfortable doing. Ask him questions about his sobriety if it’s important for you to know to feel comfortable. Think about it, and we can talk about it next week before you go.”

And that was pretty good advice. You contemplated it, back and forth, bouncing a mental tennis ball off a mental wall in an imaginary room. Sometimes, there are bottles of booze in the imaginary room, and other times, Bob sits in the corner. Quietly watching you ‘throw the ball.” Somedays it’s just you and the tennis ball.

You’re very normal.

When you told your sister, she just laughed.

“So, at what point did you start seriously considering this?”

“..When I realized he had an actual bed now.”

And that’s all you can respond, because you can’t explain how curious you are. He was a meth head named Bob who had no bed frame, and yet.. you want him. After nineteen months, you think about the way he focused his attention to you in between sips, in between hits, in between fucks.

How his hand rested on your side, how those stormy eyes studied yours as you talked, asking questions about your delusional rambles—

“Right, but what does that mean?” He had asked one night.

“What does what mean?”

“What the fuck does it mean that I ‘am’ the.. hanging gardens of Babylon?” You had rolled your eyes, and the pads of your fingertips against his lips.

“They were a uh,” Your eyes flicker up and down his face. “These.. gardens. City of Babylon, a long long time ago-- They were supposed to so beautiful but there’s no archeological proof they ever existed, except they’re mentioned in poetry, so.. They may or may not be real and we’ll never know. You remind me of them.”

Bob just stared at you for a long time. He didn’t say anything but the way his eyes fixated on you made you alive.. And maybe more alive than the booze, and that thought petrified you because up until that point, drinking was your life. So, you ignored it. What else were you supposed to do?

When you’re done with therapy for the day, you go to the closest bookstore. You pick up the cheapest paperback you can find of Gatsby and then, your eye wanders, as it always done in a bookstore. You spot a book on The Seven Ancient Wonders of the world.. And you decide to buy it when you see the large chapter on The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

///

The week passes quickly because you find yourself filling any free time you have with reading, underlining and circling quotes and words that F Scott Fitzgerald decided were good enough to convey his themes.

You barely register that it’s Thursday morning when it comes because all you want to do is reread your favorite parts over and over again while you get ready for the day. Before you know it, it’s.. time for book club.

You decide to get there ten minutes before three, hoping you’ll be able to grab a drink and relax before Bob shows up. The bell on the door of the café rings when you walk in, and there are a couple of patrons..

But you find yourself stopping in your tracks when you see a familiar face in the corner, a book on the table, as his finger traces a pattern on the cover.. absently. Like he’s somewhere else.

And then his head picks up, and he notices you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you smile.

In an instant, you’re not sure if you can do this, if—

“Decaf red velvet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon for Bob?” The barista calls, and he stands and approaches the counter, mumbling a thanks to the barista. When he glances down and notices your name scribbled on the side of a cup marked ‘half n half’ and ‘two splenda’, he picks it up and turns, handing you the cup.

“Hi.” He says, and you find yourself reaching out to take the cup, as if you just saw Bob yesterday.

“Hey.” You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wordlessly, the two of you sit at the table.

And there is quiet.

Until, Bob asks,

“So.. how have you been?”

“..Fine.”

“..Cool.” You remember this awkward feeling. Like right before the first time, you slept together. “Thanks for meeting with me.” He breathes after a moment, and you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe, and then he asks,

“You’ve been sober since the last time we—”

“What did you think about the book?” You ask, reaching to take a sip of your coffee. Bob nods, taking the hint.

“I.. liked it.” He says, “It was a good first book for this. I liked that.. that Nick reflects on his life through these other characters and realizes what he does, or doesn’t, want.. How about you?” He asks.

“I liked it too,” and you find yourself wanting to just ramble about your analysis but you bite your tongue. “I think Daisy is a fascinating character too, especially in the way she seems so trapped in her situation. Like being with Gatsby is the only way she can feel alive or free or something.”

Bob considers this for a second.

“Yeah,” He starts, “But she’s.. a rich woman. She’s inherently part of the system that you claim traps her and is actively benefiting from her wealth.”

Wait.. was your awkward meth head situationship kinda.. smart?

You adjust from your rigid position and lean into the conversation a bit.

“Well, Why can’t it be both?” You wonder, “She can benefit from these systems and be miserable in them—she’s miserable, maybe because she’s benefiting from it, and her wealth doesn’t negate the abuse and strain on her marriage.” You say and go to take another sip of your coffee.

Bob is quiet.

Then, he says—

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”  He smiles a little, and you feel your heart in your throat. “So do you think the green light was actually supposed to be as important as pop culture makes it seem, or was that just..”

“I think it is as important as we’re led to believe, because it’s a symbol of what things could be.” And then, before Bob can say something that would lead you to change your mind, you say, “Yeah, I stayed sober since the last time we talked.. When did you quit?”

He inhales and then closes his mouth, and you watch as he holds his breath, noting that his mouth is sort of puffed like a chipmunk. When he exhales, he responds,

“Right after that, I guess. I joined this.. medical.. study and quit to do that.. Then, I guess I just.. stayed sober.” He says, and you laugh, so with a bit of a smile, he asks, “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Then, Bob starts to laugh too.

“Do I?” He leans forward like he’s about to tell you a secret, and he says softly, “Because some days I feel like I’m drowning and maybe meth would be the key to being able to breath again..”

“So, what do you do when you feel like that?” You ask softly, not because you’re looking for an answer but because you need to know if sobriety is as big for him as it is for you.

Bob gestures to the table.

“This. Sugar, reading—” He cuts himself off like there’s something else when he meets your eyeline. “Do you want to go to your place or mine?”

And there’s no hesitation when you answer,

“Mine.”

///

Bob spends a long time studying the details on your shelves. He notices the pictures of a seven-year-old he doesn’t recognize and you, the small lego structures in between them, and he finds a small jar next to your TV with little chips in them.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He hears you ask.

“No, thanks.” He calls back, and you appear in the doorway.

“Too much sugar in that latte you had?” You tease, and in that way you love, he just stares at you for a long time, in that way that makes your heartbeat too fast.

“Can’t help it,” he says, “No meth means lots and lots of sugar.”

“Right,” You nod.

Your fingers itch by your side, and you decide—Fuck it. You’re not getting any younger, any more sober. So you go over to him. Like a scared deer, Bob just stares at you, while you try to not scare him off. Your hand ever so gently reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Then, he shakes his head a bit.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone in a while.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Then, because you think you’ll tell him to leave and never come back if you don’t, you lean forward and kiss him, and as if that is how he gets air when he feels like he’s drowning, his hands are on your side, slowly stepping so that you’re backing up towards your bedroom.

Then, you pull away,

“Bob,” You start, “I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now,” You start, and his lips begin to leave sloppy kisses, first along your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.

“Mhm,” is all he responds with.

“I’m being serious,” You sigh as he continues to step forward, pushing you back towards the bedroom, his mouth hot on your skin. “I’m still working on getting my shit together,” You continue.

“I get it,” he says, his voice gentle.

“Do you?” You ask, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Because it seems like you’re trying to sleep with me—”

“No, No,” He shakes his head a bit, “I’m not going to sleep with you, silly girl,” He hums, and you never want this moment ends, “I’m going to fuck you.” He says gently. It makes you laugh, and he chuckles too.

You decide to take the initiative and slip your shirt off-- Then, he takes off the sweater he’s wearing, and you have to take a second. You really look at him and begin to smile.

His stomach is rounder than it was nineteen months ago when you last met. He’s.. thicker. His rips aren’t poking out of his stomach. No, thicker isn’t the right word.. He looks.. healthier.

And that is hot.

“What?” he asks, “What is it?” he wonders, and you just shake your head.

“Nothing. You were saying something about fucking me?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Right, right.” He says softly, grabbing your face and bringing you in for another kiss. Your hands trail up his neck and find his hair as he slowly sinks down, so he’s kneeling between your legs.

Your hands find his hair, and in between kisses, you gently tug on his hair, and just completely melt when you hear a soft moan leave his lips..

And old habits die hard.

So, you do it again.

///

You lay on your stomach, your face smooshed against the pillow you have your arms around. Bob is sitting up in bed, and you find yourself looking at him for a long while.

“So, What are you doing for work now that you’re sober and in New York?” You ask.

Bob plays with your sheets.

“Uh,” He lets out a soft half chuckle. “..You know the uh.. New Avengers?”

“Vaguely.” You shrug. You don’t really have the time to keep up with that sort of thing, between your job, between babysitting your niece, between being sober.. And it’s not like you have social media, so.. yeah. Vaguely.

“..That.”

“That what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Bob, I’m not following.”

His finger begins to run down your arm.

“I guess I.. sort of count.. as a.. New Avenger.”

“…What?”

“I need you to stop asking me that,” He sighed. “Do you remember the uhm.. medical study thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Something they did.. it changed me.. A serum.”

“So you’re like, some sort of superhero or something?” You wonder, and you say it like it’s funny. Bob looks uncomfortable—much more than he usually does.

“..No. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” He says. “I’m dangerous, I.. Do you remember last year when the.. the Void attacked New York? Right around the time that the New Avengers got announced?” He asks.

You pause.

“I mean, yeah, but I was in Jersey at the time, at a wedding.” Your first since getting sober. It was a rough weekend.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“..What was you?”

Bob wishes he could sink into your mattress and never show his face again.

“The void.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m not allowed to go on missions or.. get into any emotionally challenging situations..” he sighs. “Because I.. I can barely keep him.. or even the.. Sentry at bay.. I’m working on it.” He finally looks at you. “Which is why I don’t want a serious relationship either.” He says. “We.. we could just be friends.”

“Friends who fuck.”

“Book club with Benefits?”

You smile.

“Friends who discuss literature and also fuck.”

Bob rolls his eyes a bit, his lips pursing into a reluctant smile.

“Book club with benefits.” His pointer finger starts at the top of your back and travels down your spine, “Lots.. and lots.. of benefits.”

And if you could focus on anything other than how good that felt, you might’ve noticed the flicker of gold in his eyes.

///

“Decaf Caramel Frappuccino with extra caramel and whipped cream, and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” The barista calls, and you step forward to grab your drinks.

You hand Bob his glorified milkshake and sit at the same table you sat at last week.

“So,” You start, “Lord of the flies.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “I.. I didn’t really like this one.” He shrugs.

“I think the concept is interesting enough.” You respond, “And it’s interesting that the group is only made up of privileged little British white boys. The horrors they put each other through might never have happened if they had been a group of schoolgirls, or if they had faced any hardship before this.” You shrug back, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bob nods as he studies the atmosphere of the café.

“Hey, do you wanna split a slice of cake or pie or something?” He asks, and you find yourself giggling.

“You’re ridiculous.” You scoff. Bob huffs.

“You’re boring.” He accuses and you just laugh more.

“I am not boring, I’m consistent.” It makes Bob shake his head.

“Coconut cream pie?” And the way he makes those puppy eyes makes you sigh.

“Fine. But you’re one piece of pie away from me accusing you of being addicted to that in place of Meth.”

“You wouldn’t.” He smirks, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Sure I would.” You shrug, “I’m just a concerned friend, Robby.” You smile, and then you watch as Bob gets up to get a slice of pie, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

///

“And then I said to him, I say, ‘If you want to hire spider-man to try and do your bidding, be my guess, but I—”

Bob is biting his tongue as he listens to everyone talk. He’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, watching as John moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner. He’s been staring at the same page of The Outsiders for ten minutes, just thinking.

Bucky is complaining about Sam, and before anyone can respond with anything, Bob clears his throat and puts his book down.

“Can I ask you guys something?” he wonders, and everyone’s head immediately turns to him. He barely talks in these group settings, so Yelena, who sits by his side, nods.

“Sure, what’s up?” She asks.

“..I need.. advice. I need to get a birthday gift for.. a friend of mine.” is how he starts.

“Not anyone in this room, right?” John asks, and everyone, including Bob, just looks at him.

“No. I know you think I’m socially inept, but I know not to ask what I should get someone while they’re in the room.” He huffs.

“Alright, who’s the gift for?” Bucky asks.

Bob wants to tell them all about you—your quirks, your laugh, the way your brain works, the way you feel wrapped around his—

But he hesitates.

“Just.. a friend.” He breathes. “From.. Book club.”

“Book club?” Ava answers, and already it feels like a mistake to have asked them but they’re his only friends besides you.

“Yeah, we.. choose a book to read every week and we meet up for coffee every week to talk about it.”

Yelena glances down to the book on the counter.

“Book club..” She nods, “And how long have you known this friend?”

“…It’s complicated.” He breathes.

“And do you hangout outside of book club?” John asks.

Bob’s cheeks flush.

“Sort of.”

“What does that even mean?” Ava asks, and he shrugs.

“We.. do some other stuff. I don’t know, she—”

“Oh, she?” Alexei finally pipes up, letting out a gruff laugh. “So you like her?”

“It’s just difficult to explain!” He snaps, and everyone pauses when the lights flicker. For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Bucky huffs,

“So just try.” He gently prods. Bob hesitates.

“She’s.. I do like her. We started book club last month, but.. We met before.. Y’know.” He gestures around, “We..” his cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “When we’re done with coffee and talking about books, we.. we go back to her place, and we..”

Immediately everyone either groans or laughs. Bob feels like he might die on the spot.

“That is so weird,” Yelena laughs, and Bob groans as he covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“Never should’ve told you guys.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “You knew this girl before the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. We both were.. were addicts in Florida. We started hooking up, and I knew from before I went to Malaysia that she was moving back to New York, so I looked her up and—and you all said I needed to get a hobby!” He offered.

“We meant like,” Ava shrugs, “Knitting or—”

“Book club?” Yelena smiles. Bob bites the inside of his cheek.

“So, what should I get her for her birthday?"

“Well, what kind of message do you want to send?” John asks. “That you want to be more than.. whatever it is that—”

“..Book club with benefits.”

Everyone looks at him.

“What?”

“..That’s what we call it.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena and Ava are giggling now.

“Okay. What kind of message do you want to send?” John asks again, and Bob hesitates.

“..That I care about her, that..” he shakes his head, “that.. I’m sorry for..” he picks his head up and notices everyone staring at him. He can hear the Void laughing at him in the back of his head.

“For..?” Bucky offers gently and Bob shakes his head. And then, he begins to tell his teammates about the last time he saw you.

///

Nineteen Months Ago

You and Bob had been sleeping together for months. Hanging out in between fucks and hits—or drinks. He had burrowed his way into your heart and taken up this big chunk of it, replacing booze in your late-night fantasies.

When he wasn’t extremely high, and you weren’t extremely drunk, you found yourself falling for him. The attention he showed you had been it’s own high, and you had let yourself become addicted to someone who you would never have a normal life with.

But he was there, waiting for you with a shot after every shift. You often helped him light up. The two of you encouraged each other’s destructive behaviors. Became each other’s self-destructive behaviors. Like the mentally ill addicts you were.

Your sister had flown down to Florida to see you.

You hadn’t asked her to. You knew she wouldn’t approve of this.. lifestyle. And at first, you wished she had never come to see you, because you did not want to stop drinking.. and then she wore you down. Your big sister always knew how to get you to do whatever she wanted.

So, the night before she was scheduled to fly back to New York, you went to see Bob. His roommate let you in, and you found him high and on his bed.

“Robby,” you said as you walk in. He smiled twenty seconds later when he registered your presence.

“I love it when you call me that.” He spoke.

You smiled weakly. You took a seat on his mattress.

“I have to talk to you.” You had said. He sat up, leaning forwards.

“Mm, All you do is talk to me,” he said slowly, and his hand grabbing yours. “Come kiss me instead—” His lips catch yours, in a soft, sweet kiss. He pulled away, and you whispered,

“Robby, please.”

And only then had he registered an important detail.

“You don’t taste like booze.”

You always tasted like booze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No,” he said softly, “No, don’t—”

“Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York with my sister. I’m going to rehab.”

He shook his head, sighing.

“What.. what changed your mind?” He asked, and you shrug.

“My niece. My sister told me that.. she’s sick of having to talk about me like I’m dead. That she wants to know me. She’s six. Her names Ella.” A smile tugged at your lips. “She does dance. And she.. she loves to read, my sister said.. It reminded her of me.” Then, you shook your head, tears brimming your eyes. “I want to be in her life. I want to taste my mom’s cooking again. I.. I want to get better.” You cleared your throat.

“I’m going to Malaysia tomorrow.” Bob said, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I got fired from my job, so they gave me my last paycheck.. So I spent it on a plane ticket. I’m going to Malaysia with.. thirty bucks in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find the answers. Or, at least more drugs..” He shrugged. “Come with me.” He had offered.

You just shook your head.

“No.”

“No?” He scoffed, “What do you mean no?”

“No. I won’t go to Malaysia. I’m going torehab..” You started, and you inhaled before you asked, “And you should come with me.” You offered.

Bob let out a humorless chuckle.

“You..” He shook his head. “You’re just like everyone else.” He sighed, and you shook your head.

“Robby,” You whispered. “Please come with me. Get clean. Be.. be with me.” You said quietly, and when you leaned in to kiss him, he tilts his head away from you.

Oh.

“You should go.” He huffs. “I need to pack.”

You nod.

“You’re right. I should go.”

You stand, and make your way to the door, wiping your tears as you go.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

You stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at your sweet boy with no bed frame one last time.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And then, as if you weren’t soul crushingly and devastatingly in love with him, you left. And you hadn’t seen him again. Not until you started book club.

///

“Decaf vanilla bean macchiato with whipped cream and cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob grabs the drinks today, and when he sits across from you, you start—

“So. Frankenstein?”

Bob sighs.

“I liked that it’s the first ever sci-fi novel, and it was written by a young woman. It’s interesting.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” You nod, and you open your mouth to say something but Bob beats you to it,

“I mean, I don’t.. I don’t know. Victor is just.. so stupid but also so.. self-centered. He’s— He’s the one who created the monster, why can’t he take accountability for it? Why is the monster doomed to always.. be a product of his creator?” He sounds frustrated, so you gently shrug.

“It is bullshit. But I think the person aspect of him, the human aspects of the monster are all him.  The best parts of him comes from the work he does on himself.” You shrug, and Bob knows this conversation has strayed from Frankenstein. Kind of.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly.

A beat.

“And I agree.” You shrug, “Victor is a fucking idiot.”

Bob just smiles, and then asks,

“Wanna split a chocolate chip muffin with me?”

///

Bob calls you on a Saturday afternoon between book club meetups.

“Hey,” You say into the phone, “Everything okay?” You usually don’t talk except for your weekly meetups.

“Yeah,” He says into the phone.

“Okay.” You smile. “Do you.. need so—”

“Come over.” He gently requests, “I- I mean, You don’t.. you don’t have to, I was just wondering if you wanted to—I guess..” He breathes.

“Robby, it’s not even Thursday.” You tease.

“I don’t.. care,” He breathes.

“I..” You start, “Would.. really love to, but I gotta do laundry.”

“Do your laundry here.” He offers.

“Bob.”

“What?” he whines, “I..I just need.. to see you.”

You bite your tongue, but it would be nice to see him. To see his new, full bed. And you know that if he has a washer and dryer, it would make laundry a lot less frustrating than doing it in the laundry mat down the road from your apartment.

“Okay,” You sigh. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You promise.

Bob meets you in the lobby of New Avengers tower, watching as you walk in, holding a bag of laundry as you make your way to him.

“This place is crazy,” You tell him, and Bob just smiles awkwardly.

“It’s.. just a tower.”

“Yeah, but like.. It’s definitely not just—” You cut yourself off when you realize how out of his element Bob looks. “Where’s this awesome new bed I hear so much about?” You ask, and it seems like it’s enough for him to relax.

“Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” You follow him into the elevator, and when the doors close, he says, “So.. You’ll.. probably meet the team, or at least some of them.”

“Oh, I get to meet—” You clear your throat and wipe the smirk off your face. “That’ll be nice.”

Bob just looks at you for a moment.

“They’re.. kind of.. intense.” He breathes.

“Bob, we were addicts in Jacksonville, I can handle a couple of.. teammates.” You shrug.

Bob gives you an awkward smile.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs. The doors open, and you follow Bob out, looking around the apartment. Like he’s looking around for trouble.

“Bob, seriously I—”

“Heads up!”

You and Bob duck at the same time when a football comes flying towards your head.

“Sorry,” a voice says, and you see.. The US Agent and The Red Guardian, coming to retrieve their ball.

“Ah, Bob,” The Red Guardian says, “Who is your girlfriend?” He smiles. Your cheeks flush.

“Uh, She’s.. just my friend. Who happens to be a girl.” He says.

“Right, right.” He nods.

“We’re in a book club together,” you start and both men start laughing while Bob looks intensely embarrassed.

“Oh,” One laughs, “You’re the book club girl.. I’m John. This is Alexei, are you staying for dinner?” He asks.

You glance to Bob, who looks back to you.

“Uh,” He shrugs, “I don’t.. maybe.” He breathes.

“Maybe isn’t—”

“Too late, we’re doing laundry, Bye!” Bob says, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. You just smile and bite back a comment about how jealous he seems.

“They seem nice.”

“They aren’t.” He grumbled, and you just laugh.

When you’re done putting on your laundry, Bob takes you to his room, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your room. It’s a little messy, but there are books here and there, cozy blankets, warm lighting, and.. no meth. No booze.

You jump onto Bob’s bed, stretching out with a soft laugh, this stupidly large grin on your face.

“Oh, My Robby situationship has a real bed now, how divine,” You hum, and Bob just stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face.

“I missed you.” he says softly, and you shake your head.

“Well, I’m here now,” You offer. He scoffs and walks over to the bed, finding his place on top of you as you lay back.

“Not really good enough for me,” He confesses.

“Needy Robby.” You jest, but before you can tease him further, he kisses you.

Your fingers find his hair in familiar movements, and Bob deepens the kiss further, his tongue slipping past your lips. His fingers dip under the shirt you’re wearing, and a soft shiver runs down your spine as he scratches up your sides, and when you moan in response, it seems to make him more confident in his movements.

Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging just barely on his hair. In between kisses, you mumble,

“Need you,” And he just catches your lip in his teeth, tugs a bit, and goes back to kissing you. And kissing you, and kissing you—

Until you hear the shatter of a glass on the nightstand. Both you and Bob pull away and your heads turn to look at the pile of glass and the water dripping off the nightstand.

“Did you..”

Bob’s face flushes.

“I-I didn’t mean to, I just—”

There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens, and a short blonde woman walks in.

“Bob, is everything okay, because—Woah,” She stops, noticing the compromising position the two of you are in, just as Bob takes his hand out of your shirt. “Oh, this is what happens at book club, huh—”

“Yelena!” Bob snaps, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Your eyebrows furrow when you see his eyes flicker gold.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re okay! The lights were flickering..”

Bob groans and rolls off of you.

You just smile awkwardly to Yelena.

“He’s fine, we were just..” You shrug. “Uh..” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Right, just.. Tell him to relax whenever he comes back down to earth,” She says, and then steps forward and holds out her hand, “I’m Yelena, it’s nice to—”

“Okay,” Bob stands suddenly, walking towards Yelena, “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He says, and she just smirks.

“Have fun at uh.. Book Club.” She says, turning to leave. Bob closes the door behind her and then glances back to you, and then groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Bob,” You grin, a soft laugh lacing your words, “Baby, it’s really not that bad.”

He looks at you when you call him that.

“It’s not..?”

“No.” You smile. “Come back to bed..” And then, you try, “Please, baby?”

Bob moves like lightning to kiss you again. It’s actually impressive. Not as impressive as breaking the glass or turning off the lights because he was just too.. needy. But, his speed is pretty impressive.

///

“Decaf pumpkin spice chai with extra cinnamon and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” You take the drinks from the barista, and slide into the seat across from Bob, glancing over to him.

“So,” You start, “1984.” You sip your coffee.

Bob gestures to you.

“Go for it.” He smiles gently.

You begin to talk about the political implications of the novel..

And Bob becomes slowly lost in thought. It starts out simple enough.

He notices how gorgeous your hair looks. You’re always so pretty.

We could take such good care of her, a voice says in the back of his head, She should know everything we could offer her.

Or..

No, Bob thinks. It’s bad enough that the ‘Sentry’ wants a piece of you, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he entertained any thought of letting the Void out.. especially if he wanted to get anywhere near you.

Why not?, the voice asks, you could help.. We could help. She wouldn’t have to worry about her sobriety or any of her silly thoughts.

He’s right, The Sentry agrees, and Bob feels like he might be sick, How could you even know what she wants if you haven’t asked?

Because, Bob thinks, you don’t even want him. Why would you want either of these—

Because I’m better than a God, The first voice tells him, And he’s..

Everything you aren’t.

Exactly.

Shut up, Bob thinks, She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t at least a little bit into me.. right?

You’re so naïve, Bobby, He could hear the Void mocking him, and it was even worse when Sentry cut in—

She could get a fuck from anywhere, and let’s face it, you’re not particularly tal—

“Let’s go back to your place,” He says suddenly, cutting your rambles off.

“Everything okay?” You ask, watching as he stands, grabbing his jacket.

“Uh.. Yeah.” He smiles awkwardly, “I’m just..” He shrugs, “In a.. a giving mood.” His cheeks flush when he says it, and the tips of your ears go red when you realize what he’s saying.

“Okay,” you nod, “No, like—pastry or brownie or—”

Bob clears his throat and inhales like he doesn’t want to regret what he’s about to say,

“I’ll have something sweet real soon,” He says. Your ears get redder.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You stand up and take the last sip of your coffee.

“Okay.” You say, throwing out the cup on your way out the door.

“Okay.” Bob smiles, following you to your apartment.

///

“Decaf caramel dolce Frappuccino with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and a medium hot coffee with half n half and two Splenda for Bob?” Bob takes the drink from the Barista and slides into his usual spot.

He hands you his drink, and then you start,

“I cannot believe she married Rochester!” you whine, tossing the book down on the table. Jane Eyre was the book selection for this week—well, two weeks, it took you guys some time to get through it.

“Yeah,” Bob breathes, shaking his head, “I.. I mean—”

“Do not defend the man who kept his mentally ill wife locked in an attic and got with a nineteen-year-old,” You start, and Bob smiles a bit. He stares at you for a long moment and then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, no-nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just..” He shrugged, then he clears his throat, “She got a family, right?” You sigh.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And yeah, it would’ve been.. nice for her to end up with someone her age, but..” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s really good for her.” You just look at him. “Or maybe he died tragically young and left her his money.” You smile then.

And after a moment, you say,

“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, right?” You wonder, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

Bob feels like he can’t breathe.

You notice he looks it too.

“Wanna split a brownie?” You ask, and Bob smiles.

“Yeah.”

  ///

1:32 A.M.

You’re not sure if this counts as relapsing. You twist your phone in your hands and try to focus on breathing. In and out and—who should you call?

Your therapist? Your sister? What would you even say? ‘Sorry, I know you’re usually worried about me drinking but I just couldn't fight off the compulsions or the depression tonight, so can I come over so I don’t do what I just did again?’

You open your stupid fucking flip phone and dial Bob’s number.

“Hey, everything okay?” You note the lack of sleep from his voice. He must’ve already been up.

You inhale to try and answer, but you hesitate. You don’t want to start crying.

“Can I come over?” Is all you can say.

“Sure,” he answers immediately. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

You do. You want to see him as quickly as possible, but.. you have this insane thought that you don’t deserve the comfort, that you must wait to see him.

“I’ll walk,” And if Bob notices the distant tone, he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. I’ll see you in ten, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He says gently, and you nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

You get up from your place on the bathroom floor, but you don’t hang up, so after a moment, his voice comes through the other end of the phone,

“Everything okay?” And you wish he would stop asking it.

“Mhm,” Is all you manage as you get your shoes on. You make your way down the stairs, the phone pressed against your ear.

Maybe he knows something is wrong, so he asks,

“Have you started reading The Hunger Games yet?” He asks. It was for ‘book club’ this week, and he just needs to hear you talk so he knows you’re still there.

“Yeah,” You breath as you walk down the stairs, the movement down the stairs more instinctual and second nature than conscious movement, like your brain is fixated on the fact that if you can get to Bob, you’ll be safe—safe from what, you do not know.

“What did you think?” He asks, as he slips on his own slippers, trying to think of anything else he can ask.

And in your daze, in your foggy brain that you try to stumble your way through, as you walk down the streets of New York, the cold air sending goosebumps up your arms, the breeze even stinging the fresh cuts on your arms. A group of girls about your age come down the street past you, drunk and giggling and you think about how alone you feel.

Your feet stop in front of a bar, and you take a moment to just stare at the neon sign, thinking about how easy it would be to get a drink. Another breeze plucks you out of your spiral. You wish you had brought a sweater or something.

Your head turns and you can see the ‘new’ Avengers tower just a few blocks away. So, you keep walking. You can make it there. Bob is waiting for you in the lobby.

“I like that the first thing we learn about Katniss is that she loves someone,” you say, walking towards the tower now. Your hands are beginning to shake. “We don’t know anything about her, her name, her place in the world, or even anything about the world.. we just know that she loves someone.” And when you say ‘someone’, your voice cracks. You can see the doors of the tower now.

“Yeah,” he says on the other end of the phone, and as you get closer you see him there, a small smile on his face as he stands there, and it registers in your brain that he is smiling as he’s talking to you. It registers, just barely. “Sometimes I.. I can’t believe how smart you are.” He says, and it makes you feel almost.. anxious. Like he’s lying.

You hang up as you walk through the doors, and Bob’s shy, isolated smile falls when he sees you. When he sees your arms.

“Holy fuck,” is what he says, and that does not make you feel better.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your tears now falling freely, and not because you’re sad, but because you’re ashamed, and because you feel bad that Bob has to deal with this and because..

This definitely counts as a violation of your ‘book club with benefits’ agreements.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “it’s alright, we can handle this,” He says, but you hear the shakiness in his voice. You know he’s pushing through his own terror in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taking a step back from him, but he shakes his head as you continue, “I.. I shouldn’t have come here,” And you go to turn but you feel Bob’s hand grab yours.

“Yes, you should have.” He says, “Because if it were me and I didn’t call you, and I just let myself spiral further, you’d be so mad at me.”

You know he’s right.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“But I want to.” He says gently. “So let me.”

And you nod, because you know the path you’re on. You know what letting him in leads to.

So does he.

You don’t say much else, but you let him lead you upstairs, his hand clutched around yours.

The ride up the elevator is quiet. Bob just keeps his grip on your hand and then he asks,

“What else did you.. like about the book?” He asked.

You search your brain for an answer. You know he’s trying to keep you distracted.

“I like Peeta. He’s a sweet character.” You say gently. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “He reminds me of you.” Your hand shakily comes up to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. You notice the way a small smile tugs at his face. His head tilts and he kisses the palm of your hand.

The doors to the elevator open, and Bob’s fingers lace with yours.

“Let’s..” he nods towards the door, and you nod in return. He walks just a step ahead of you, but you notice the way he takes the occasional glance back. Both of your heads pick up when you hear footsteps approaching, and there stands Yelena, in these plaid pajama pants and a big tee shirt for some beer company. She looks half asleep but she smiles when she sees you two.

“Oh look, book club meets late now, how—” she stops, her face growing concerned when she sees your arms, “What did—” But she stops when she sees Bob shake his head. Instead, she glances back to you and in a way that leaves no room for argument, she says, “You call if you need me.” And without another word, she turns and makes her way past you down the hall.

You and Bob find the bathroom. “Take a seat,” he gently says, and you decide to sit on the edge of the tub. He shuffles through the supplies and pulls out some bandages and some antibiotic spray. He takes a rag from off the counter and soaks it in some warm water. Then, he turns back to you. “Can I see?”

You just hold your hands out, and Bob starts by just looking at the cuts. There’s not a ton of them, but there are enough for him to notice. He gently cleans them with the warm rag and then sprays your wrists with the antibiotic spray.

“When did you learn first aid?” you ask.

Bob shrugs.

“When.. when you’re the standby in a team of superheroes..” he shrugs. “You pick up on a few things.”

“You’re a hero too.” You say softly. Bob doesn’t respond, he just wraps your wrists with the bandages he holds. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s no hero, that he’s hurt so many people that he thinks he’ll be repenting for the rest of his life.

He turns around to put the spray and bandages away, and when he turns back, he sees you sitting on the floor, leaning against the tub. He sighs and sits next to you on the floor. Then, he asks,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. “C’mon..” he says softly. “It’s just me.” He reminds.

“I..”  You sigh. “I haven’t.. self-harmed like that since.. middle school. I just wanted to feel something, anything that didn’t feel like I was drowning.” You confess. “I’m sorry I bothered you, I don’t know—”

“Stop,” he says softly, “We’re..” He sighs. “I meant it. I want to take care of you.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling as you shake your head.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

Bob’s voice is genuine when he says,

“I want to know all of it.”

Finally, you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m falling back in love with you.” You tell him. He nods.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asks softly. You feel a smile tug at your lips, and it makes Bob smile too.

“Sure.” You answer.

“I never stopped.” He said, “When I saw you again, it was like..” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone to rehab with you.” He whispered. Your heart aches. “I never.. never should’ve went to Malaysia or..” He frowns. “I could’ve built a life with you. A real life, not just.. One where I have to pretend like I don’t.. like I don’t want to ask you to stay.”

Your heart breaks when you see tears brimming his eyes.

“Robby,” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you in this bathroom. The lights flicker just a bit, so you lace your fingers with his.

“I.. I was so.. so stupid.” He shakes his head, “I never..” His eyes meet yours. “I really screwed it up, and.. I’m sorry. And I love you.” He confesses.

“What about uh..” You sniff, “What about neither of us wanting to be in a.. serious relationship?”

“Fuck that.” He says, and his confidence in it takes you back, “I’m tired of.. of not seeing you everyday. A week is too long to go without seeing you.” He confesses, and your free hand comes up to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I love you too.” You tell him. You lean your forehead against his and then say, “So ask me.”

“Ask.. Ask you what?”

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper, “And maybe I will.”

“..Just.. Just maybe?”

“Guess you’ll have to ask and see.”

“..Stay.” He says softly. You can’t help it, so, you say,

“That’s not really a question—” Bob stares at you for a long time, a smile making his glare much less intimidating.

“Will you stay? Here, with me?” he wonders, “Be with me.” He requests.

You kiss him, but there’s no expectation in this one. You don’t expect him to want to fuck, to want to sleep with you. This kiss is pure, with no strings attached. No benefits.

When you pull away, you nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.” You promise, and Bob smiles a bit, looking down to your intwined fingers.

“That’s.. nice.” Your awkward Loverboy responds, and you’re shocked when he asks, “Do you.. uhm..”

“Do I..?”

“Do you.. wanna watch.. Star Wars with me?” he wonders.

You can’t help but smile.

“Which one?”

“The best one.” He shrugs. “Revenge of the Sith?”

“Sure. That sounds nice.” You confess.

Halfway through the movie, you would fall asleep right on top of him, and Bob would realize that this was always where he was meant to be.

///

For your birthday, Bob hands you a small present, wrapped in paper decorated with sprinkles. When you open it, you find a copy of The Great Gatsby.

Only this copy is bound by leather and has this beautiful dark blue and gold cover on it. It must’ve cost Bob—well, it wasn’t cheap, but It’s gorgeous, and inside, you find a note scribbled onto the title page—

“I found what I was looking for.

Love, Robby.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Allen's Bar - Jake Seresin x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @calirindo @alisbackalleybbq @djs8891

Companion piece to:

The Other Family - Jake didn't realise his father was still alive...

Surreal - You locate Jake after he disappears.

Break Your Heart - Jake's heart is broken in the aftermath of his father.

What Did You Do - You discover an injured Jake on your porch.

You’re sitting in the waiting room at the hospital with Beau’s wife Ally, when the notifications start chiming on Jake’s phone. You ignore them at first but they keep coming one after the other until you pick up the device and that’s when you see the charges on his banking app.

All from Allen’s Bar...

The amounts, they’re small, incremental, the price of a single drink, something top shelf and they’re all from the past couple of hours. A time frame that's impossible because Jake’s been in surgery since he got here, they’re trying to release the swelling in his brain from his head injury. You sift through the pockets of Jake’s flight jacket, the one you have resting in your lap but his wallet, it’s definitely missing.

“I need to be somewhere.” You say distractedly to Ally as you tuck both phones into your own coat. “Can you call me if he gets out before I’m back?”

“Of course but where-”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” You say handing her the flight jacket.

You Uber to Allen’s Bar. There’s this feeling in your chest, this rage building inside you because you think you know what happened last night, who it was that Jake went to see.

You find him sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, the man whose house you found Jake sitting outside last night, the one who sold him for meth all those years ago.

That fury it burns like the fires of hell as soon as you lay eyes on him, Jake’s wallet resting haphazardly on the bar.

You don’t even know what you’re doing until he hits the deck, pain radiates through your fist as you stare down at him, blood jetting from his nose. He’s scrambling to his feet, screaming at you but you don’t hear it because all you can thinking about is the bruising on Jake’s face, the other injuries they found underneath his clothes.

You thought it had been a fight at first but it was a beating, one that had resulted in fractured ribs and internal bleeding they’d just about managed to get under control before the craniotomy. There’d been defensive wounds but none offensive because even after all this time Jake still couldn’t raise his hand to the man who betrayed him.

“What the fuck?!”

“You beat the shit out of your son and then took his wallet.” You hear yourself shouting. “What kind of heartless asshole are you?”

“What are you his fucking wife? You have no fucking right-”

You hit him again, a rapid jab to the nose that has him howling like a banshee.

“You put your son in the fucking hospital-”

“You think I want my old life accosting me when I take out the trash, whining about how I gave him up?” Jake’s father rallies, snatching up the napkins on the bar and clasping them to his bloody nose. “I have a wife now! A family now! I don’t want him, I never wanted him!”  He shakes his head, his voice muffled. “But that kid, that fucking kid, he just didn’t get the message.”

“So you made sure he did?” Your voice breaking because you can not imagine how Jake must have felt in that moment. “And then you decided to take yourself off for a drink on his dime?”

“I figured he owed me a little something for all the trouble.” He says, pulling the tissue away, the bleedings slowed now, a trickle as opposed to a flood “For trying to fuck up my life.”

“You didn’t deserve him then and you certainly don’t deserve him now.” You respond, the sound of a siren echoing outside the shabby little bar.

“That’ll be your ride.” He tells you, tossing the tissue onto the bar. “And trust me I’ll most certainly be pressing charges.”

“They’re not just here for me asshole.” You tell him, pulling your phone out of your pocket, pausing the recording you’ve just made of your conversation. “They’re here for you too.”

Love Jake? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[tinydefector]

Learning How 111

Bob reynolds x Trans male reader

Author notes: so, I may have spent most of today and tonight working on chapters 2,3,4,5 for this because of the weather and Mt own mental state, so enjoy the rollercoaster

Bob Playlist

Warnings: Classic Thunderbolts warning, drinking, sex jokes, and playful banter.

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

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__________________

The Watchtower was alive with the buzz of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. It was rare for the Thunderbolts to have this kind of downtime, and they were making the most of it. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance, a light show dancing in the clouds outside. But inside the fortress. 

John, leaning back in his chair with a smirk plastered across his face, decided to stir the pot. "You know, Bucky," he drawled, pointing a finger at the super soldier, "I gotta say, for a guy who’s spent decades brooding and making excuses to avoid women, you give off some closeted gay man vibes." He calls out while taking a mouthful of his beer.

Barnes raised an unimpressed eyebrow, his hand casually swirling his own drink. "You’re just mad because your wife left you and is now seeing her yoga instructor," he shot back, his voice calm but laced with venom. 

The table erupted into laughter, which only fueled John’s grin. "Ouch, Barnes. Real original. At least I’m not a hundred and twenty and still afraid of therapy."

Yelena Belova, sitting cross-legged on the couch, snorted into her vodka and soda. "Says the man who has nothing better to do than harass a world war two veteran." She tilted her head and fixed John with a pointed look. "What’s next?"

John smirked, leaning in to be a dick with his next snarky comment. "Actually, I was gonna call you a bedroom assassin. You know, because you seduce people and then—"

"I do not seduce people," Yelena interrupted, her tone sharp as she rolled her eyes. She took a sip of her drink before continuing, "In fact, I’ve never had sex. I’m Ace. No interest. Ever. But nice try, John. Gonna have to find someone else who feels sorry enough to sleep with your insufferable Ass, it's not gonna be Barnes, Y/n or me " she calls to him in a sickly sweet voice. 

“Jesus Lena” Bob mumbles under his breath while trying to stay out of the shitstorm of the team's drunken activities. Bob himself sat there nursing a large strawberry and Banana thick shake with ripped cream and syrup on top. 

“Hah you tell him my mishka, go for his throat” he egged on. Y/n himself chuckles over the bickering of them team but it was nice to See them all enjoying each other's company. 

The room fell silent for half a beat, and then Ava, perched on the arm of the couch, grinned wickedly. "Well, that explains why you’re always cranky, darling. Probably pent-up energy."

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Or maybe I’m cranky because I have to share oxygen with idiots like them." She counters while pointing at John and Y/n. It makes Y/n nearly spit his own drink out. 

“Ay why am I in the firing line? I was sitting Here quietly enjoying you roasting the shit out of Walker, don't turn on me Yelena!” He shoots back only for her to shrug. 

“You looked at me funny” is her only response. 

Ava laughed and turned her attention to Bob, who had been quietly nursing his drink at the corner of the table. "You know who really gives off virgin vibes, though? Bob."

The room collectively turned to the dirty blonde man, who looked up from his glass with a calm, almost unnervingly steady expression. For a moment, everyone thought he might stammer or blush like he usually did when the spotlight was on him. Instead, he set his drink down, leaned forward, and looked at Ava, Then the rest of them.

"Ava," he began, his voice steady and even, "I was a meth and drug addict for years. I’m not naive, and I’m definitely not innocent. I used to fuck my dealer when I didn’t have money for a hit."

The room went dead silent. Everyone just stared at him, stunned. Even John, who always had something to say, was momentarily at a loss for words. 

“Bob! I didn't know that!, your dealer wasn't a creep were they” Yelena says her jaw dropped as if seeing her friend in a new light. 

Shostakov, groaned. "I did not think he had it in him," he muttered. 

Bob shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he took another sip of his drink. "Not really something I’m proud of," he muttered.

 "But now I have to know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but morbid curiosity. What drug gave you the best sex drive?" Asked, it's clear he's already flushed from alcohol and wasn't going to hold back questions. 

Bob blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "Uh… I mean, probably coke. Makes you feel invincible and horny as hell, but…" He hesitated, then shrugged. "Honestly, heroin’s a close second. It’s not the same kind of high, but it makes everything feel… intense."

"Oh my God," Yelena muttered, her face a mix of horror and fascination. "This is not the conversation I thought we would be having right now."

Ava let out a low whistle. "Bloody hell, Bob. You’re full of surprises tonight." I think we have All learnt more about you tonight,” she chuckles while enjoying her wine. 

John finally found his voice again, shaking his head in disbelief. "I mean, I knew you had a rough past, but damn, man. That’s… that’s a lot."

"You’re just jealous," Bob shot back, his tone dry. "At least I was getting laid." the Snark wasn't something planned but in that moment he felt safe enough to be able to banter and snark the rest of the group.

That set Y/n off again, and even Bucky chuckled into his beer. Alexei, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "You Americans," he said, his thick Russian accent making the words sound even more judgmental. "Always so open about everything. In Russia, we do not talk about these things."

"Because you don’t have sex in Russia?" Ava quipped in amusement.  

Alexei glared at him. "We have plenty of sex. We just do not talk about it like schoolchildren."

"Aw, don’t be shy, Alexei," Ava teased. "What’s the wildest thing you’ve done in bed?"

Alexei huffed. "I will not dignify that with an answer."

"Translation: missionary only, with my mother" Yelena said, smirking. She was going to take pot shots at him. 

Alexei turned red. "That is not true!"

The room dissolved into laughter again, and for a while, the conversation spiraled into a chaotic mix of jokes, questions, and increasingly outrageous stories. It wasn’t often they got to relax like this, but when they did, the Thunderbolts knew how to make it memorable.

Bob enjoyed sitting there, it was nice not being able to smell the alcohol and the fact that everyone wasn't messy drunk. He leans back into his seat before shooting Bucky a look. “How did you and Y/n meet?” He asked which gets a few looks from the others as they inquire. 

“Yea Barnes, L/n how did you two get tangled up with each other you don't really seem like the likely ones to cross paths” John hum while opening his next beer. 

“I agree when he brought you here you're not what I was expecting when he said He was calling in a friend” Alexei continued. 

Y/n let's out a disgruntled groan. “You gonna tell it or am I?” He asked Bucky. 

“It was a wrong place, right time sort of situation. Right after Shield fell due to Hydra infiltration, I'm sure a few of you remember the helicarriers falling in DC.” Bucky begins to explain. 

“Right after I pulled Steve from the river I went on the run, still half brainwashed. Ended up in an old factory for a while. He” the brunette says while pointing at Y/n. “Somehow snuck past My traps into the building and I went after him–”   

“And Dumb ass got his arm stuck between an old boiler and generator trying to kill me” Y/n cuts him off. “I bolted out of there and came back 4 hours later to find him still stuck.” Y/n chuckles remembering it. “It took two days for him to break out of his training enough for me to cut him out with a grinder.” He finishes. 

Buck sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “After that Y/n helped me. He had friends involved in illegal activities and helped me get fake ID, passports and I ended up in Bucharest before getting dragged back into all of this by Steve” he explains. 

“I got dusted in the Blip hence the reason I look so young” Y/n states while taking a handful of chips. “But we reconnected after Thanos, Buck only really had Sam and I offered To help where I could, became their unofficial community runner.” Y/n slurs slightly before his eyes land on John. 

“And that's how we Met you and your Boy” he finishes the story. It still left quite a lot of information out about just who Y/n was or how this somewhat normal man had gotten involved with Super soldiers, and now them. 

“Woah OK honestly wasn't expecting that, I thought you might have had some sort of ties with Barton” Yelena muttered.

“Nah I was just unlucky enough to come across him at his worst. He's not good with communication.” Y/n states which earns a grumble from bucky. “Yea grumble all you want old man, I have seen you scoff down a full water pie, how you're still alive is beyond me with your eating habits” that earns a hearty laugh from everyone.   

“How did you all meet Bob?” Y/n asked next since they wanted to know how he met Bucky.  

“Valentina incineration vault” Ava, John, Yelena and Bob all state together. It makes Y/n's eyebrow furrow as his mouth hangs open in shock. 

“She hired us each to try and take the other out while in there, while fighting Bob just kinda popped Up out of a container.” John states remembering it. 

“Yea we got locked in there with him thinking he was a civilian. John was a total dick to him” Yelena shoots him a look which has John making a noise. 

“I've apologized since then! Bobby, do you still despise me?” He asked, turning to Bob who looks like he's contemplating what his answer would be. “Bobby!?! After I made you Southern style chicken strips and brownies! That's a low blow, low blow” it has others laughing.  

“Hmmm fine you're forgiven but I still think you're overcompensating and a dick. But you're a good cook and team member” it was the best John was going to get from Bob. 

Y/n started wheezing as he fell back so that his head was in Bob's lap, he started coughing slightly as he caught his break. "I think you have had enough to drink” Bob says to Y/n watching how flushed the man's face was from the five drinks. 

“noooo…” He whines only to yelp as Bob picks him up. Y/n had almost forgotten that Bob was enhanced, he didn't look like he wasn't jacked up and most times he wore loose and baggy clothes which didn't show the definition of Bob's body. “I'm going to go put Y/n in bed before he turns into a mess, please don't make me have to put the rest of you in bed” he calls back to the others. 

They laugh as Y/n is taken away carried like a toddler. “but I was having fun” he grumbles as he presses his head against Bob’s shoulder. 

It wasn't a long walk to Y/n’s room. The place is a slight mess but looks lived in. Bob walks him over and lays him down on the bed and helps him take his shoes off. 

“I'm going to get you a glass of water and some painkillers for in the morning” Bob hums with a smile. 

“thank you Bobby, mmm sorry for having too much, I'm meant to be helping you not the other way round.” Y/n grumbles while grabbing Bob's hand. “scale?” he asked Bob hoping he had been miserable all night due to everyone drinking. 

Bob sits down on the bed with a smile. “ 8 today, it's been a good night, and I had fun. But you need to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow Y/n” he pulls the sheets and blankets over Y/n making sure he is comfortable. 

[theehorsepusssy]

The old hood

A. Cucina! Cucina! Was a shitty chain restaurant I managed at the Rose Garden arena (1997-2004) paid well, free food. I weighed nearly 300 lbs

B. Red Lion Hotel parking lot. Where I had to park on game days. Busted smoking pot out of a beer can with my boss. Huge rats and feral cats. Surprised I didn't get fired....or rabies.

C. Memorial Coliseum. I dropped The Red Hot Chili Peppers spaghetti take out order and had to run back to restaurant to replace. Took it back unaccompanied, was waved thru and wandered around backstage trying to find who to give it to. Nearly ended up on stage holding a take out pan of spaghetti during Give It AwayNow

D. Jags was a bar in the hotel where I would go play Video Poker when I was too tweaked to be around customers at my job. It eventually became a Detox center and sober house years later. Fucked a couple straight guys who liked to get freaky for meth hanging out near here

E. Budget motel. Had sleazy sex here a couple times in 90s

F. Warehouse where they held Mr Drummer leather 1990 maybe. my friend stood me up and I was alone.....on acid . There was a sex party afterward-$20 . Large room covered in unrolled black garbage bags. Coil's Hellraiser soundtrack played. I was tripping balls. Saw guys climbing up on a dudes wheelchair and face fucking him. Saw someone getting fisted for first time. Was told to leave while getting a titty twister from leather daddy. Years later, my friend turned the downstairs into Dirty Little Secret salon/spa and that stupid Eagles song "dirty little secret, dirty little lies, dirty little fingers in everybody's pies" gets stuck in my head and I think of the aforementioned fisting I witnessed

G. Walgreens I went to daily. Where to buy needles with a side of eye roll because I would confuse my insulin size order with the dope size other order. No ATM fees there.

H. Head Shop across from Franks Noodle House. Lousy meth pipe selection. If any. Dunno. I never smoked it always some trick would whine that they would only smoke and we'd end up here.

I. Lloyd Center mall. The bottom level bathroom was a decent place to poop when I was homeless for a while

J. The park I had registered as my "home" when I was homeless.

K. The hotel where I went to a Craigslist sex party and the host had a suitcase full of Ethyl Chloride cans and huffed so much we thought he died for a moment. Half the guys attending kept repeating " I'm straight, I've never done this before" I wish I had a camera

L. My mom worked here. I avoided these blocks for years, afraid of bumping into her while I was high

M. Tony Roma's Ribs. This was an occasional night out for me and Robert 1992-95. There used to be street whores on MLK back then

N. Hotel to party at. Call girls worked this one hard. You could still smoke in the rooms

O. The Red Robin I worked at for 2 weeks 1996. Worst job ever. I was told to learn to steal cuz no one tips. It was true

P. Courtyard Marriot. I would use lobby ATM for dope money if I was in a hurry. Met a online hookup there many years earlier who used a fake pic. Got there and dude was like 500lbs and asks if I can give him some meth and i ask how much he want to spend and fat boy gets all cheap and wants free and I'm thinking if I want to try and rob him before a moment of clarity and I leave

Q. The McDonald I got "groceries" at the last year I was using. I ate maybe once a week. I weighed 150lbs. It's by a Burger King that never had any customers the 20 years I was in the area. Is it a mirage? Is it haunted? Is it a money laundering front?

R. The 7/11 where I bought Camel Lights and Diet Mt Dew everyday. The old owners would whip out their shotguns when robbed. The new owners just let the robbers take the money

S. The seminary and Catholic church. You would see priests with unaccompanied minors at the Wendys across street. Suspicious. One night I was out smoking a cigarette and all the Catholics came marching out of the church playing Jesus dress up for Easter and the parade passed me and one dude thought I looked destitute and whipped out some cash for me and all Bless You my child or some shit. I was gonna give it back but went up to 7/11 for cigarettes and Diet Mt Dew. Thanks Jesus!

T. The Merrick. Casa de Horsepussy 2009-2016. 90% of all those old pics I post are on that block

U. Serene Court (a.k.a. Syringe Court) apartments.Used to be cheapest apartments in downtown area when I first moved here. Was exotic to cross the river from downtown proper to buy a bag of crank in this spooky old place

V. The Yards. I had an employee who sold pot lived here. I had to fire him. It was awkward as fuck

W. The Greyhound station was where to find heroin from someone who sold to someone I knew. Probably an open fent market these days

X. The Main Post Office. I had a meth dealer 2002ish that would mail tweak to NYC cuz those people would pay ridiculous price for an 8ball. He would get nervous about going in saying he was too high and have me mail it. Only later did he tell me what was in package

Y. Fancy loft area where one time I was having very intense drug induced roll play sex with some guy and he was veering into some script where I was his wife who drugged his beer and yeah, ok but then I think he just wanted a beer but it was all blurred reality with the sex game and I put 2 Zyprexa in his beer bottle and dude went down...hard. I had to dress him and get him back to his loft but he was practically dead from the sedatives and I didn't know where he lived exactly and just kind of rolled him out the car onto the curb off Lovejoy and sped off at 4am.

Z. My dad worked at some building under the 405. I lived a few blocks up the street and would find other routes to walk to the arena for fear of running into him

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 15- The Call

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: My throat and head hurts so bad. Somebody kill me like actually

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

You are so childish. Valeria does something you don't like and you avoid her. You argue with her, ice her out, leave her home when it's in your best interest to stay. Valeria has scarcely seen you since dropping you back off at that shithole apartment complex you call home. You want nothing to do with her and she hasn't the faintest clue why. She tries to focus on the necessary paperwork needed to travel to El Paso but her thoughts keep straying to you.

Her pen lightly scratches over notebook paper, loosely jotting down everything she'll need to bring with her. She should tell you so you can do this for her. Only, you aren't here. Finding work elsewhere in the compound. She's not sure how, considering the only thing you do around here is cook meth and you kind of need a lab to do that, which you don't have. Valeria sighs heavily and leans back, her neck aching from having been hunched over for so long. she runs a hand over the back of it while she thinks.

Valeria is tired of you acting like you're above the rules. She gets up and walks over to the door to her office and pulls it open, looking for someone. She spots two of her men deep in discussion and calls them over.

"Hey." She says. They turn to look at her, looking wary. They walk over. She tells them to find you. "Bring her to my office." They nod and go looking for you.

Valeria retreats back into her office, shutting the door loudly. She pours herself a shot of whiskey and sits back down at her desk. Her fingers tap along the top of it impatiently. Finally, she hears a knock on the door. She shifts into a more casual position.

"Come in." She says lowly. You walk in, not looking all that excited to see her. Normally that doesn't bother her because nobody ever looks excited to see her. However now it only frustrates her. She feels... pleased whenever she sees you, she wishes it were the same for you.

Valeria narrows her eyes at you.

"We had a conversation about you avoiding me a few days ago." She says. "Are you having memory problems or are you being annoying and rude on purpose?"

Your expressions morphs into indignation. "I'm being rude and annoying?" You ask with disbelief.

Valeria rubs her forehead. It's like you two are cursed to have the same conversation over and over again. If you weren't you she'd have fired you long ago. "You're supposed to be working in here, with me." She replies flatly.

You frown.

"Why?"

Why? You're asking why? You've gotten too comfortable. Valeria must be losing her edge. She begins to wonder if the others have noticed. "Because I said so." She growls warningly, hand purposefully fidgeting with the gun laid flat on her desk. You look like you're about to argue but decide against it.

"Alright." You grit. "What do you want me to do?"

Valeria looks down. Grabbing the paperwork for El Paso. "We're going to El Paso, I need you to read these and sign them."

You straighten. "We are? When?"

"Soon." Valeria pointedly flaps the paper at you.

You grab it from her and situate yourself on the couch. Leaning down to read the first page. You're obviously interested in going to El Paso, not so much about working in the same vicinity as her. Well, she thinks, that's too bad for you. Valeria nurses her whiskey while she works. Calmed by the steady thrum of rain that has started up against the window. She sneaks a glance at you.

"Did you go to Saint Marie?" She asks suddenly. Wanting to make conversation about something you two may have had in common.

"No." You reply, not elaborating.

"Saint Vlad?"

"Mhm."

Valeria frowns. "How's your leg?" She asks. "Slip in the shower again?"

"It's fine." You say.

Valeria downs her drink and pours another. It doesn't take much intelligence to see that you don't have any interest in conversing with her. She rolls her eyes and looks away. Your relationship has shifted and not in the way she wants it to. You're really making her fight for what she wants. That's fine. Valeria had to fight to get scraps of recognition and respect from her brothers in arms, had to fight her way up the chain of command in the cartel. Fighting is what Valeria does best. 

She opens her mouth to speak but her phone rings, cutting her off. It's one of the men she sent to El Paso. She answers the call and is caught off guard by the heavy breathing.

"We need help." He pants, voice sounding rough. "Fuck. They killed them. There's so many of them."

Her blood freezes. You sit up and look at her, noticing her stiff body language. "What are you talking about?" She asks harshly. To her surprise you get up and round her desk, crouching beside her so you can listen in. You didn't ask, but you smell good so she lets it go.

"They broke in during the night." He rasps. "They- everyone is gone. They didn't even hesitate."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I don't know. They said 'stop looking.'" He says.

Valeria knows who. It's the people she's looking for, the people responsible for all this mess. "Where are you?"

"I don't know. I ran. I'm in the middle of nowhere." He says, voice lowering. "I think I'm dying. I think I'm dying please send-" 

Valeria hangs up on him. Staring ahead of her intently. She's getting closer. 

"You hung up on him." You say, surprised and sounding appalled. She looks at you coldly.

"There's nothing I can do for him." She replies. There truly isn't. It's a shame, but at the end of the day, he was expendable. You don't seem to have a response for that, however you still don't seem pleased.

"What now?" You ask, brows furrowed with concern. 

"Now we go to El Paso, we're going to finish this and everything will go back to normal." She shrugs. 

"You're very calm about this," You state. "your men just died and you don't seem to care."

"I don't." Valeria replies, taking another sip of her drink.

You shake your head like you're disappointed.

"When are we going?" You ask.

"I'll figure it out." Valeria stands. Looking at you head on. "Finish up those reports for me, I need to go talk to Diego."

You frown. "Fine." You say. Valeria is a little surprised that you didn't try arguing with her. She expected you to ask to come. To ask why you had to do her work for her. You move around her and gather the papers up in your arms. Carrying them back over to the couch and setting them on the coffee table. Thunder rumbles warningly in the distant. The true storm has yet to hit.

[moanologue]

Under Watch

Chapter 2 - I See You Seeing Me / POV: Steve

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Fandom: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)

Relationship: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

I know he’s watching.

Danny’s out there, holed up in his dark little apartment, eyes glued to a grainy feed, probably cursing himself for every second he doesn’t look away. I can picture him: his laptop casting a blue glow across that sharp jaw of his, blonde hair a mess from running his hands through it, those blue eyes wide with that mix of guilt and hunger he can’t hide. He’s all Jersey fire, all bluster and heart, and it’s that rawness that gets under my skin. The way he argues with me over case files, voice rising like he’s ready to throw a punch, but his hands shake when he thinks I’m not looking. I’m always looking.

Today was a mess - raid on a meth lab in Kalihi, bullets flying, Chin taking point while Kono flanked the back. I had a dealer’s arm twisted behind his back, his sweat soaking through my gloves, and all I could think was how Danny would’ve bitched about the heat, the plan, the everything. He wasn’t there, stuck on desk duty, doctor’s orders after that shoulder tweak last week, but his absence was loud. Kept expecting his voice in my ear, yelling about protocol or my “reckless Navy SEAL bullshit.” It’s that fire I miss when he’s not around, the way he pushes back, makes me sharper. Makes me want to push him harder.

I’m on the lanai now, sprawled in the chair I know his camera loves. The tank top’s thin, clinging to my chest, and I let it ride up as I shift, giving him that sliver of skin he can’t stop staring at. I found his camera last month, tucked in the smoke detector I “fixed.” Clever, Danny. And not clever enough. He thinks he’s got me pinned, but he doesn’t know I’m watching him too. My own feeds: his car, his living room, that balcony where he paces like a caged animal are better. Last night, I watched him unravel, shirtless, muttering to himself, his hand slipping where it shouldn’t. That little hitch in his breath when he stared at my feed it’s burned into me. He’s all edges and soft spots, and I want to press on both.

The pineapple’s sweet, sticky, and I take my time, letting the juice drip down my chin. I know what it’s doing to him, picturing that Jersey scowl, the way his lips part when he’s trying not to react. He’s probably groaning right now, like he’s fighting a losing battle. I’ll check the footage later, rewind to that moment, watch his face crumple as he gives in. It’s a rush, knowing I can do that to him, make him break without touching him. Danny’s not just a partner; he’s a puzzle, all sharp wit and hidden cracks, and I’m hooked on figuring him out.

Work’s been relentless. The meth lab bust was only half the day, spent the afternoon debriefing with the governor, dodging questions about collateral damage. A car got totaled, not mine, but Danny would’ve had a field day, ranting about taxpayer dollars and my “penchant for chaos.” His voice lives in my head, even when he’s not there, all sarcasm and loyalty wrapped in that accent I shouldn’t find as hot as I do. I’m still wired from the adrenaline, the kind that makes you want to run ten miles or fight someone or, in my case, play this game with Danny. It’s better than any drug, knowing he’s watching, knowing I’m in his head.

I lean back, stretching, letting my arms flex just enough to pull the tank top taut. The night air’s heavy, Hawaii’s humidity sticking to me like a second skin, and I know the moonlight’s doing me favors. Danny’s probably losing it right now, his fingers twitching, maybe biting that lip of his until it bleeds. And I wanna taste it right now... I’ve seen it on my feeds how he chews it when he’s deep in thought, when he’s watching me like I’m the only thing that exists. He’s got this intensity, like he’s carrying the weight of the world, and I want to take it from him, just for a second, see what he’d do if I pushed him past his limits.

This game’s not just his. He thinks he’s the only one crossing lines, drowning in guilt like it’s his job. But I’m in it too, just quieter. I don’t spiral. I don’t lose sleep. I set the stage, and he walks onto it every time, eyes wide, hands shaking, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he lets go. Me? I’m not afraid. I’m curious. What would happen if I looked right at his camera, held its gaze, and let him see me seeing him? Would he show up here, all bluster and excuses, that Jersey accent tripping over itself? Or would he just sit there, frozen, hating himself a little more?

I don’t look. Not tonight. Instead, I stand, letting my shorts slip a fraction lower as I move toward the kitchen. His camera’s in the vent above the stove - found it weeks ago. I know its angle, know it catches the line of my back, the way my shoulders shift. I pour a glass of water, letting the liquid glint in the dim light, imagining Danny’s eyes on me, his breath catching. He’s probably cursing himself right now, that loud, messy brain of his spinning out of control. I love that about him: how he can’t hide anything, not really. Every thought’s written on his face, in the way he moves, the way he fights to keep it together.

Work’s left me raw today, the kind of day where you feel the weight of every decision. The dealer we nabbed had a kid in the back room, wide-eyed, clutching a stuffed shark. Reminded me of Danny’s kid, Gracie, the way she looks at him like he’s a hero. He doesn’t see it, but I do, how he’d burn the world down for her, for any of us. It’s that loyalty, that stupid, reckless heart, that keeps me coming back to this game. I want to see how far it goes, how much he’ll give before he breaks.

I grab my phone, pull up his number. You working late again, Danno? Get some sleep. I hit send, knowing it’ll hit him like a punch. Let him wonder if I know, if I’m taunting him. I set the phone face-up on the counter, the screen glowing just enough to catch his eye. Let him sweat it out, picturing me texting someone else, when it’s always about him. Always.

I grab a dish towel, sling it over my shoulder, and slowly start wiping the counter. My hands move in lazy circles, and I know he’s fixated on them, seen it in his footage, the way his eyes linger, like my hands are a problem he can’t solve. Danny’s hands are different, smaller, quicker, always gesturing, always talking even when he’s not. I’ve watched them on my feeds, waving through one of his rants, or gripping a pen like it’s a lifeline. I want those hands on me, just once, to see if they’re as restless as he is.

I pause, tilting my head, listening to the silence. The cameras hum, a faint buzz I’ve tuned out. His mic’s off, he’s too careful for that, but I wonder if he’s groaning again, that low, rough sound I caught last week. I’ll check later, pull up the feed from his apartment, watch his face as he watches me. I’ll see the moment he breaks, the way his shoulders slump, the way he drags a hand through his hair like he’s trying to pull himself together. It’s those moments that get me, the real Danny, not the one yelling at me about SOPs, but the one who can’t look away.

Today’s bust still lingers: the kid’s eyes, the dealer’s screams, the weight of my badge. Danny would’ve been there, in my face, telling me to slow down, to think. He’s the only one who calls me out, who sees through the SEAL armor. That’s why I keep him close, why I let this game go on. He’s the one thing I can’t predict, and it’s driving me crazy in a way I don’t hate.

This isn’t just a game. It’s a chessboard, and I’m playing to win. Danny thinks he’s the only one with moves, but I’ve got my own cameras, my own angles, my own secrets. And when the time’s right, I’ll make my next move. Maybe I’ll call him over, let him walk into this house knowing I’ve seen him too. Maybe I’ll look right at his camera, just once, and watch him fall apart for good.

Or maybe I’ll keep this going, keep him on the edge, because there’s something about Danny. His fire, his fight, the way he looks at me through the lens, that makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years.

Checkmate, Danno. Your move.

[dysfunctional-doodle]

~~Electro~~:

gas station food is FIRE tho

i’d risk everything for gas station sushi

~~MagicMike~~:

sobbing

Bread:

[Photo ID: A screenshot of the chat, but it’s cropped, so all you can see is ‘Bacon, Egg and Cheese are typing…’]

Guys please don’t

Bacon:

YOU

ME

Cheese:

you me gasstation

Bacon:

GAS STATION

Egg:

What are we getting for dinner?

Bread:

:(

Cheese:

sushi ofc!

Bacon:

UH OH!

there was a roofie inside of our gas station sushi!!!!

Egg:

We black out and wake up in a sewer

Cheese:

were surrounded by fish

Bacon:

HORNY FISH

Cheese:

you know what that means!!

Egg:

You know what that means

Bacon:

FISH ORGY!!!!!!!!!!

Bread:

STOP

LostTheBraincell:

No no, go on

i’m invested

Egg:

The stench drives in a bear

What do we do?

Bacon:

we’re gonna FIGHT IT

Egg:

Bear fight

Cheese:

bear handed

bare

Bacon:

bare NAKED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!??!!!!

OH YES PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cheese:

oh yes please

CaptainLeo:

What am I walking in on…

Egg:

We befriend the bear after we beat it in a brawl, then we ride it to a chuck-e-cheese

Bacon:

DANCE

DANCE

REVOLUTION

Egg:

Revolution? overthrow the government?

Uh,,,, i think so!

Bacon:

next thing you know i’m reincarnated as JESUS CHRIST

Cheese:

then i turn into a jet

fly into the sun

black out again

AteTheBraincell:

What the fuck happened in here

Cheese:

wake up

do a bump

white out

Egg:

(which i didn’t know you could do)

Then i smoked a joint

GREENED out

Then i turned into the sun

Bacon:

UH OH

LOOKS LIKE THE METH IS KICKING IN

Egg:

BFNCBMSNAIQYSGHDGAHSBJDNSKDNKCIWHSKAJDNDBJSNS,SKWINDJDBSJBDJD

Cheese:

HSJAHAKSHIAHSKSNAKOAJDNSJKANSKSNSKDNKSJSMSNKSNSMDNDJSNJAHWBSKSNDKND7€*#)2/8+(#’HEHGAKAHDKSJKAJSKDNDKNDJDHDJ8162\|]$$}$}{)@)@(€’naoKjs😬🫵😬😎😭💯😭💯😭😭😭NANAJAHJhsjanjshjJjHUjhNjbjJbjhahjGHAJBjj👍🏼🤩😬🤩😬MAMAJAJHAJJihKUIU778nMnkhJhj✨#(*@)(#((@)%(BHgHg%babgHbhJk,,JhuHkmLuyayJHHJKBFcuJo

Bacon:

FAKJHFEGJHKAEFGJKAEHFGFEAJKHGFJHKADGFHJKAEFGJKHEAFGJAHEKGFKJHAEGFJKHEAGFKJEAHFJMHVSKHJADFGFDJAKHHGFEAKJHGFHJKDABCJKCEAGKHJAEFBFKEJA(FEAIOHGFEJO(JKHGFEAJHODAFGYKJEAFGKHJFEGKJYEAFGJYKDFGYUDFAKGFDAUKYGFDAUYKFDGAKUYAFDGUYAKEFGUYKEFAKFDJHGYJFDKAGFDAJKHGDFAJK(GADFYJKFGEHJKSDFBUJDFBNIECANIUAEFGUYIAEYIUVEWBYVEJHBKVDSBKHJVZCM NBVDAGWEVIYUWEFGUIYEFWGFEWIUYB

Bread:

I’m so embarrassed

RabidChihuahua:

what the fuck

what

Bootyyyclapper9000:

@ Bootyyyshaker9000 new weekend plans

Cheese:

did u like our performance

LostTheBraincell:

Kids these days and their newfangled memes!!!!!!!

RabidChihuahua:

did you seriously memorise all that

Cheese:

yes

RabidChihuahua:

???

WHY

Egg:

Because it’s funny, next question

~~Electro~~:

RESPECT

Bread:

It isn’t, it really isn’t

Cheese:

ur just a hater

I love this holy shit

(And is it bad that I have that whole meme memorised in my head? Sometimes I will just recite it in my brain and it talks way too loud, especially when I’m in an exam lol)

[hereyeswithoutaface]

A couple of fruits (act 2, part 4)

A/N: GUYS THIS GIF IS SENDING ME LMFAOOOO also it's my birthday in 6 days yayyy! right this chapter is a little sad....and mysterious hehehehe. barely any pookie lemon in this chapter i do apologize but he will be back next time i pinky promise (mostly because i miss him) AND i've almost finished the actual bullet train book, after like 6 months or something HELP ME LOLZZZ also what happens to Ash+Tan in this chapter is lowk inspired of this one episode of the punisher HAHSHAHHA okay i know the romancey bit of this chapter is so WEIRD but i think it really think it just highlights the characters and who they are, especially with Ash

TW: violence, smoking, violence, strong language, did i mention violence? blood, i can't write romance for shit,

An hour earlier, Ashley had been in the kitchen, sorting out the box and putting everything back in as the guys had left, leaving her in a peaceful quiet apartment.

However, the calm didn't last long, and a clatter of glass could be heard from her bedroom window. Without missing a beat, Ashley shot up and ran round to the kitchen counter, pulling out a sharp knife and clutching it tightly by her side as she walked quietly to the room. Slowly, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the door, and pulled it open, she wasn't about to just ring the police.

The second the door opened, the man saw her, and she hid quickly the blade behind her back, he didn't run at her at first, and tried to plaster a fake smile on his face, making 'light' conversation.

"Ah- sweetheart, hello. Would you mind telling me where the twins are?" He asked, a thick Armenian accent in his voice.

She couldn't believe her eyes, or ears- this guy had just broken into her apartment and was now trying to make casual conversation, but she was not stupid, she wouldn't tell him where they were. "Twins? I'm sorry but i don't got a clue who you're on about."

"Do not play stupid with me, the twins. Tangerine and Lemon, they owe me money. Where are they?" His face got slightly less fake-friendly on that sentence, and tilted his head.

Ash wasn't rising to his challenge though, and stayed completely casual, more making fun of him now, she scoffed loudly. "Tangerine and Lemon? Mate- are you on hard meth? What sort of names are those?"

"Shut up!" He suddenly snapped, brandishing a small compact silver gun, pointed right at her. "You know where they are, you bitch- i will not ask you again, where are the twins?"

And then suddenly, it wasn't so funny anymore, she gulped and took a step back, the knife still hidden from his view. "I don't know who you are talking about! You've got the wrong place!!" She was going to carry on lying if it was the last thing she would ever do.

"Lies! You know them- Ashley Edwards, you know all about them, they were here." He spat out her name like it was a sick disease, stepping closer to her as he did so.

That caught her off guard, why did this random bald guy know who she was? "Uh- how, how do you know my name?"

"Sweetheart-" He started, but she cut him off.

"Don't fucking call me that- you tosser."

"Okay, fine- bitch, in my line of work, we are very, how would you say...precise. And that means we locate anything that could help us find who we are looking for. And you, you don't make yourself very well hidden, i know everything about you, things you would never tell the twins. I know what you did to that girl, i know about the case, about the injury, about how she had to-"

His sentence was cut short, whilst he had been too busy staring her dead in the eyes, she had taken the opportunity to stab him in the stomach, causing him to gasp for a breach and clutch his stomach after she pulled her knife out.

"And in my line of work, we learn to do what we need to and listen to people talk at the same time." She gave him a cold bitter smile, wondering what he would do now.

He fired the gun, and she quickly jerked her head to the side, narrowly missing her head. Then, without warning, she threw a punch to his face, which he blocked and grabbed her arm, so she kneed him in the crotch. He groaned and twisted her arm back, she screamed and plunged the knife that was in her other hand into his leg, he let go and stumbled back. Before running right back at her.

The aggressive back and forth continued for a while, before Ashley managed to get the high ground and in a fit of rage and fear, clammed the knife over and over again into his chest, blood splattering everywhere. How did he know everything about her- especially the incident with the girl? She didn't want to think about it.

After a while she came to her senses, and slowly got up and stepped back, shaking with the bloody knife in her hand, she could see herself in the reflection, covered in this mans (and her own) blood, the knife glittering with the crimson red liquid dropping off it, she felt awful, animalistic, assassin-like. She sat on her bed and moved to the other side, trying not to look at the body, curling up in on herself, rocking back and forth slowly as she tried to calm down.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Where we left off last chapter.

The two sat there in a quiet moment alone, for a while. Tangerine was scared of speaking, not wanting to work her up again, or even more, because she evidently had not calmed down yet, but why would she? This was a new experience for her, dammit she had killed someone, it was not an easy thing to come to terms with for anyone. But luckily she was the one who ended up speaking first.

"He- tried to attack me, when i said i didn't know where or who you both were, he accused me of lying, and obviously i was, but that doesn't matter. He knew my name, Tan. He knew who i was. God, he even knew-" She stopped herself, she couldn't say, she wouldn't say.

"What? What did he know, Ash?" He asked, grabbing her face softly and turning her to look at him.

"I- nothing, it- it doesn't matter, i don't want to talk about it." She quickly shook her head, and lifted her right hand, sliding it into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulling out a cigarette, and a lighter, she set it up and took a drag, smoking had seemed to be the number one coping mechanism for anything that came in the way of the pair.

Tangerine didn't speak a word, he just took his jacket off and wrapped it around her, before he moved and stood up, walking out of the room to the bathroom. Once he got in there, he sighed and leaned against the door with his back tilted against the cold wood. Carefully, he put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps. He then pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and dialed Lemon.

"Mate."

"I'm on a date, the fuck you want?"

"Some prick just tried attacking Ash, and now there's a dead body in her room."

"Who did it? You or her?...And are you in the bath?"

"Why would i be in the bath you wanker? It's for her, she also is the one who did it, yeah. Look i just need you to come over here and get rid of the body whilst i get this sorted out, she's real fucking scared."

"What about my date? She's gone bathroom- i can't just bloody ditch her."

"I don't give a shit Lem! Fucking get here."

"You owe me one."

As Tangerine ended the call with his brother, he glanced at the bath, noticing it was full, he turned off the water and checked the temperature, and walked back out the door.

She seemed to have known what she was doing, because she stood there in front of him, in just her bra and bloodied pants, staring at him with a cigarette in between her lips, she didn't even seem bothered as she stepped into the bathroom, he raised an eyebrow.

"You're gonna bathe fully clothed?" He laughed slightly, helping her in with a raised eyebrow, she was just as strange as the day he had met her.

"Yeah- what if the prick comes back to life or some shit- i don't want him seeing me butt ass naked. Here, take the cig." She shrugged slightly and handed him the lit cigarette, atleast her sense of humour was back.

He scoffed slightly and took a drag, kneeling down on the floor, rolling up his sleeves and washing the blood off her arms. "If anything ever kills us, it's gonna be these fucking things."

"Well i'm not planning on dying, i don't know about you." She shook her head and bit at her nails with a slightly distant expression.

"Oh yeah? Me neither love, we'll haunt the world forever." He spoke calmly as he exhaled a swirl of smoke and continued with his washing, the two falling into their usual comfortable silence.

[porcelainseashore]

The Other Son - WoD HalloZine "Haunting"

Commissioned art by @medeaft

Author's Note: It’s been such a joy to take part in @vampemoqueen’s WoD HalloZine—my very first zine! Thank you so much for this experience and putting it all together. Here’s a short story of Kai, my beloved Ventrue, and the shadows of the past that haunt them.

Content Warnings: Brief references to drugs, self harm, maybe suicide (if you squint?), nihilism, and murder of a child.

“Jesus!” they cursed as their feet plunged into the silty drainage and mud squelched underfoot.

It had only been a little over half an hour since Kai entered this godforsaken place, burrowing their way underground like vermin. Beyond the manhole covers overhead, cars zoomed by and train tracks rumbled. They were still close to the surface, close enough to hear the city breathe.

However, down here, filth and grime carved out names for themselves on the grooved walls. At first, they gagged at the stench, finding it unbearable, but as their senses adjusted, one smell blended into another, like a sickness they could no longer distinguish. 

Under normal circumstances, they would never be caught dead wandering around the sewers downtown. But since when were things normal? Like all fledglings turned neonates, they had been obeying tall and elusive orders every night since their Embrace. Except, they weren’t like the others—they were groomed to succeed and never to fail.

There was another splash as the ground sucked them in, causing them to sink knee-deep.

“For Christ’s sake!” they yelled again in frustration.

All at once, they heard the scolding voice of Liezel, their mother, resounding in their head just like it was yesterday, “Kai! How many times must I tell you? Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” 

They mouthed the words as it came. Liezel’s arms were akimbo, her brows furrowed as spittle flew across the room. She had rapped their knuckles harshly with the wooden handle of a feather duster for good measure.

Kai could feel the sting of pain upon their hand, as clear as day, but sharper still was the humiliation, the hurt pride. Their younger stepbrother, Alfie, had giggled to himself in the corner. They clenched their fists. People said they took after their mother’s temper, and more often than not, they found themself agreeing.

At this point, their tailored pants and leather shoes were soaked through and ruined. Even dry cleaning wouldn’t be able to salvage them in their miserable state. Grimacing, they brushed beads of waste water off their waistcoat—it was Sisyphean, almost—as new drops replaced old, blooming in piss-drunk patches across silk weaves. 

Why had their sire, Elena, sent them here again? Oh yes, “The sewer rats,” she said. “They’re hiding something from us. Find out what it is.”

They flipped their damp bangs away from their face in annoyance. Nearly two decades as a Kindred and they were still an errand runner—to Elena, to Lady Josephine, and in turn, to Baron Judge, the overarching Camarilla… Stringing them along with faint promises of power, like seductive wisps of smoke unfurling from their tongues, slithering into their ear and making a home in the hollow cavity of their skull.

Well, there were no sewer rats here. Through the dimmed shadows of light, all they could hear was the sound of sewage flushing through the system, pipes hissing and shaking, and molded moisture leaking from the arched ceilings. As they took a right, a group of vagrants huddling over a naked fire in an oil drum eyed them suspiciously. One crawled out from his tattered cardboard bed and shambled over to them.

“You got any er—”

Fentanyl. Meth. Heroin. He probably thought he could score some. The mole people—the homeless, the addicts, the outcast. They lived underground, in the flood tunnels, because there was nowhere else to go. Sometimes the water would reach so high that a bunch of them would drown. Not being quick enough made them easy pickings for the Nosferatu, but still bad blood all around.

Kai scrunched their face in disgust before relaxing their expression. Maybe they would have some use for this pitiful thing in front of them. With a practiced smile, they simpered, “I do… but first, tell me, how well do you know this place?”

The man coughed and shivered, grinning with swollen gums and putrid teeth. “Like the back of my hand.”

A guide. The gatekeeper of the sewer entrance had talked at length about its subterranean depths. Perhaps this man would know more. Raising an eyebrow, Kai focused their gaze, making sure their eyes met. A thin ring around their irises glowed—subtle, enticing, yet demanding. “Take me to its belly.”

He blinked slowly, once, twice, and then nodded. “This way,” he beckoned, turning around and trudging off through the labyrinth like a good soldier.

And so, Kai carried on, past winding corridors and forgotten lairs, crushing soiled glass and used needles beneath their heels. At the sides, strange altars decorated with melted wax candles and rotting pomegranates honored secret gods. The tunnels got darker and colder, so much so that they had to rely on their phone light to brighten up the path, but the guide didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he became livelier the deeper they went, as if he were drawing energy from some unknown source.

“Albert and Persephone would have a field day with this,” Kai grumbled under their breath, mocking the two absent members of their coterie behind their backs. Sarcasm dripped from their lips, cloying and condescending. 

They recognized that same unease they felt whenever Albert conducted one of his ceremonies, or the time they witnessed Persephone casting eerily-shaped shadows from her bare hands. The taint of Oblivion clutched at their unbeating heart and made their skin crawl.

Distant screams and moans from an alley interrupted their thoughts and a gnarly hand tugged at their arm. “Not there,” the guide warned before taking off again along another passageway.

The metallic stairs they descended afterward screeched on its hinges, clanking against the wall. Kai wondered how far down they went. It felt like they had been walking for miles. At some point, their phone light flickered and went out, and they stood in total darkness on the suspended staircase swaying in the chilled air.

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop, which was weird, precisely because they heard nothing. No creaking, no footsteps, not even the sound of one’s breathing.

Where had their guide disappeared to? Was this some kind of twisted prank they had fallen for? But it couldn’t be, that mortal should’ve succumbed easily; they saw him submit, enslaved by their will, he couldn’t—

“Kai! Help me, please!” a shrill cry pierced their left ear, shocking them to the core as they stumbled blindly forward, tumbling down the flight of stairs.

When they finally hit the rock-hard ground, something wet and sticky trickled down the side of their face as a dull, throbbing ache blossomed from the crown of their head. “Shit,” they muttered, tasting tangy iron on their lips, like licking a battery.

Dazed, they tried to pick themself up, only to slip on the waxy surface, falling into the muck on all fours. Shame and embarrassment rushed in twofold, rising like waves of heat towards their chest. That prickly feeling at the back of their throat returned, threatening to come apart. This couldn’t be happening—not to them, they didn’t deserve this.

“What do you think you deserve?” the same voice whispered in their ear. Cold, unnatural, and unfeeling, but uncomfortably familiar.

“I deserve a lot more than you!” Kai had screamed, back when they were kids playing on the cliffs along the coast. Resentment reared its ugly head as they glared down at their stepbrother. His chubby hands grasped the cliff’s ledge while he dangled in mid-air, squirming beneath Kai’s feet.

“I deserve all of this!”

They could crush him right now, that stupid weakling who’d never worked a day in his life, who’d everything handed to him on a silver platter, just because he was the favorite. 

No one would know. 

Crush him.

Do it.

The whispers grew louder as they buried their head in their hands and growled.

“Kai! Help me, please!”

They took one more look at their stepbrother’s soft brown eyes and the ocean of tears that had welled up in them, before setting their foot down on his tiny fingers, treading on them like ants. Alfie lost his grip and Kai had watched quietly as his body was reduced to a simple ragdoll in the tempestuous wind. His limbs tossed about wildly as the howling gust drowned out the boy’s cries. Jagged bedrock by the cliffside framed its subject like a moving watercolor painting. If they squinted, they could pretend it was a bird diving to catch its prey.

They waited, patiently and then some more, until the red sea foam turned pale, and all that was left was a memory of what once was. One less mouth to feed, one less child to fawn over, one less rival to tussle with. Time didn’t bring any remorse. Perhaps they had been a monster even before they were reborn.

From afar, an unearthly roar and mechanical whir shredded through the stillness, jolting them back into the present. Was this what the Nosferatu were hiding? Kai had heard stories of otherworldly entities that existed on this plane, undecipherable, unseen to the naked eye. There were more than just Kindred around, and they were beginning to realize that they weren’t on the top of the food chain.

Bolting forward, they couldn’t care less if they looked more animal than human as the sludge clung to their feet. It felt like a mass of hands creeping up their legs, dragging them down into the dirt where they belonged. They should’ve been put down for what they did. But they felt nothing. Years and months of nothing. At the funeral, they pressed a shard of glass into their palm, squeezing it within the pocket of their trousers, so that they would cry. Liezel couldn’t look at them for weeks.

Maybe this was the day of reckoning, their last chance to repent, but was there really something to feel guilty for? They had merely taken what was rightfully theirs from the beginning—before their mother remarried another man they were forced to call father, before they were told to sacrifice whatever they had for the sake of the other son.

They had reached the end, knowing this to be so as loose stone and rubble gave way, crumbling into the void pit below. It was pitch black, a long drop into a vortex of emptiness. For every second they stopped to pause, the darkness enshrouded them further, heavy and suffocating as it seeped in through their orifices.

And they were back on the cliff, at the scene of the accident. Although, instead of Alfie, it was Kai who was standing at its edge, waiting to be pushed.

“How does it feel to be in my shoes? How does it feel not to exist?” The tone was derisive, contemptuous.

Did Alfie expect them to accept their fate? To beg for forgiveness and mercy? They convulsed with laughter, the sound ricocheting off the walls. Their body was hollowed out, empty, a vacuum where nothing could be replaced.

There was only one thing left to do. Fear and weakness had no place in the Clan of Kings.

“Don’t you know?” they remarked, eyes black as coal. “I always win.”

And then, they jumped.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[diangelodork]

reading the political parts of red white and royal blue as a queer, trans, person of color in a southern technically swing-state but it nearly always swings red will never not fuck me up (/pos).

“You think y’all are off the hook for institutional bigotry because you come from a blue state. Not every white supremacist is a meth-head in BumFuck, Mississippi—there are plenty of them at Duke or Penn on daddy’s money.” - acd

“…and none of those populations seem to care enough about what’s good for them to vote.” - WASPy hunter

“Maybe those populations might be more motivated to vote if we made an actual effort to campaign to them and showed them that we care, and how our platform is designed to help them, not leave them behind… Imagine if nobody who claims to have your interests at heart ever came to your state and tried to talk to you, man.” - my king acd

“There just aren’t the same number of bigots and blue states. If they don’t want to be left behind, maybe people in red states should do something about it.” - WASPy hunter

southern states and red states being misrepresented and misunderstood fucks me up so bad and this take is so TRUE.

so many southern red states are made up of primarily people of color who have been fed a certain way of thinking and a certain type of propaganda. they don’t think people care about them because they don’t know how to talk to them, how to see them as people, how to actually give a fuck about THEM. they’re afraid. now i’m not saying they’re blameless—they cast their own ballot—but it is an INSTITUTIONAL issue.

it’s the way hunter doesn’t CARE about the southern people because he can’t comprehend that it’s an institutional issue. he’s so casual throughout this conflict whereas alex is fired up and shouting and causing a scene exactly because he DOES care. passion does that to an argument. hunter tries so hard to act all “holier than thou” because he comes from a state where people vote “correctly” without thinking for a second that maybe the people who vote incorrectly haven’t been educated by the people running for THEM and THEIR rights. he doesn’t get it. he’ll never get that he’s the problem. it just hits a little close to the truth.

[mjonthetrack]

pressure

Prologue

The afterparty was a whole mood — velvet ropes off, lights dimmed just right, and the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and laughter. This wasn’t some typical Hollywood scene where everyone was glued to their phones or grinding for the next “Insta moment.” Nah, this was a rare vibe where legends and stars just let their guard down, like a secret club you had to be lucky enough to find.

Taliyah Jasmine Nichols wasn’t on some girly cocktail or leaning on an industry man or athlete for the night. Nah, she was laughing — full-bodied, genuine laughter — her pretty smile flashing like a beacon as she cracked jokes with Anthony Anderson and Eddie Murphy. The trio was a mix of old-school charm and new-school wit, joking like it was just another casual Tuesday. TJ, as her friends called her, felt the freedom of the moment—the kind that doesn’t come with flashing cameras or forced smiles.

Her fire goddess locs framed her face perfectly, catching the low light and making her glow even brighter. She leaned into the conversation, throwing a witty jab at Eddie, who responded with that classic Eddie Murphy grin that made the whole room light up. No act, no filter — just real, effortless fun.

And then, like a shift in the soundtrack, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Method Man. Not some copycat or wannabe—the Method Man, walking in with that iconic confidence that made time slow for a second. The man was legendary, the kind of name that carried weight without trying too hard. And yet, as he approached, she felt something new — a mixture of curiosity and that rare spark you don’t see coming.

She cleared her throat, heart quickening but her grin staying sharp. Offering her hand like they were old friends meeting for the first time, she said, “Oh shit, it’s Mr. Meth!”

Anthony and Eddie burst out laughing, the genuine sound echoing like music against the backdrop of murmurs and jazz notes. TJ laughed too, pausing to shake her own head at the ridiculousness of the moment. “Sorry, not like the drug,” she added with a playful wink, “Definitely not giving meth head vibes.”

Method Man’s laugh was low and rich, that unmistakable blend of surprise and approval in his eyes. “I like that,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of years lived well. “Ain’t nobody called me that in a minute.”

The air between them shifted, no longer just a crowded room of celebrities but two people seeing each other—really seeing—through the noise.

“Where you been hiding, Mr. Meth?” TJ teased, leaning in just a little, her eyes sparkling.

“Out here, living,” he replied, flashing that crooked grin she’d heard about but never expected to see up close.

And just like that, the party faded away, leaving only the start of something neither of them saw coming but both felt deep in their bones.

Chapter 1

Her smile came easy, lighting up the corner of the room like it belonged there — natural, unforced. Taliyah Jasmine Nichols lounged back a little, the weight of the night settling around her shoulders like a familiar blanket. Her goddess locs framed her face perfectly, soft and strong, like a crown she never needed to explain.

“Well,” she said, voice steady but playful, “I’d introduce you to Anthony and Eddie, but I’m pretty sure you all go way back. Like, on a whole other level I’m not even close to. They’re pros at this. I’m still figuring out how to tie my shoes.”

She snapped her fingers lightly, letting out a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry, I forgot the formal part. I’m Taliyah. Taliyah Jasmine Nichols.”

He nodded, that faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “TJ, huh?”

She shrugged, tilting her head with that easy confidence. “Only people who matter get the nickname. So, no pressure.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her like he was storing the sound of her voice for later.

“You got that look,” she said, eyes twinkling, “like you’re trying to figure out if you should call me that or stick with the full name.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Maybe I’m just sizing you up.”

She smiled wider. “Well, size me up, then. But don’t get it twisted — I’m a little more complicated than I look.”

They shared a look, one that held a quiet understanding. No rush. No hype. Just a natural pull that didn’t need to be shouted over the noise of the party.

“So,” she said, glancing around the room filled with familiar faces and flashing cameras, “what brings you here tonight? Not like you need to be anywhere but your own stage.”

His eyes flicked back to her, thoughtful. “Sometimes, you just show up to see what’s real behind all the noise.”

She nodded, feeling that. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Not to play a part, not to pose for pictures, but to just… breathe for a second.”

They were quiet for a beat, the buzz of the party humming in the background but somehow distant.

“I get that,” he said finally. “It’s rare.”

She looked back at him, her smile soft but genuine. “Yeah. And when you find it, you hold on.”

He gave a small nod, like a silent promise.

And in that moment, between the laughter of friends and the hum of the night, something settled — quiet, steady, like the beginning of a story neither of them saw coming but both felt was worth telling.

Chapter 2

The afterparty was still pulsing, a kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and low conversations folding into one another like an endless wave. But for Taliyah, the night was starting to wear on her feet — specifically, those damn heels. She shifted her weight and stretched her legs out under the high table, letting out a soft groan.

“Ugh, these heels are a nightmare,” she muttered to herself, flexing her ankles like she was trying to shake off the slow-burning ache. She glanced down at the thin stilettos, all shiny patent leather and viciously unforgiving angles.

She’d trade them in for her Timberlands any day of the week — the heavy, sturdy kind that felt like armor and didn’t stab into your skin with every step. The thought made her smirk.

With a quick brush of her hand along her dress, smoothing a wrinkle she hadn’t even noticed, she turned back to where Eddie Murphy and Anthony Anderson were still holding court nearby, the two legends deep in some animated debate about the best ‘90s comedy skit of all time.

“Alright, fellas,” she called out with a grin that was all warmth and affection, “I’m about to make my exit before these shoes do some real damage. Gotta save myself for tomorrow’s madness.”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “Girl, you’re the definition of grace under pressure.”

Anthony nodded in agreement, “Yeah, TJ, you holding it down like a queen as always.”

She gave them a little mock bow, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll catch you both on the flip side.”

As she turned away, her gaze drifted and locked onto Method Man, who was standing a few feet away, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his jacket, surveying the room with that signature calm confidence. He was the kind of presence you didn’t ignore, even if you tried.

She caught herself smiling again, this time with a quiet kind of respect. No screaming fan-girl moment, no frantic “Can I get a picture?” or “Autograph, please!”—she wasn’t here for that noise. Not tonight.

Instead, she walked over, heels clicking softly against the floor, her movements smooth, natural, like she belonged just as much as anyone else in this constellation of stars.

When she reached him, she offered a polite hug — brief but genuine — and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“It was so nice to meet you,” she said softly, voice steady but carrying that subtle warmth that made it feel like more than just a formality. “Take care of yourself, OG.”

Method Man’s eyebrows lifted just a bit, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, like her words landed exactly where they were meant to.

“Same to you, Taliyah,” he replied, his tone low but sincere. “Keep shining.”

Without missing a beat, she gave him one last smile—something that held promise, mystery, and a touch of something neither of them could name yet—before she turned and melted back into the crowd, weaving her way toward a cluster of familiar actors.

As she moved away, her mind lingered on the moment—the quiet exchange that wasn’t loud, but somehow said everything.

The night was far from over, and somewhere deep down, TJ knew this was just the beginning.

Chapter 3 Her name stays in the air like cologne. Soft, but strong. And now, he can’t shake it.

Method Man didn’t expect to be thinking about her this much.

It had been what—four days? Five? Since that afterparty where she glided in, cracked jokes with Eddie and Anthony like they were her uncles, and dipped out on a hug and a “Take care, OG” like she hadn’t just casually flipped something in him.

He hadn't thought much of it at first. She was charming, no doubt. Beautiful, obviously. But there were plenty of beautiful women at events like that, floating through the room like whispers in Versace. He’d seen enough of them come and go to know when one was just for the night.

But then—boom.

She started showing up everywhere.

First it was the billboard. He was riding through L.A., window cracked, his playlist bouncing between throwback Hov and Larry June, when he saw her—massive—on Sunset, leaning up against a sleek red convertible, lips glossy, eyes all heat, and her locs cascading down like they were spun from gold and smoke. The title of the movie was bold: “Fall Hard”, some new romantic drama that looked like heat on heat. Taliyah Nichols. Damson Idris.

Wait—hold up.

He slowed the car just a little, eyes narrowing.

Taliyah.

It clicked. That was her.

He hadn’t even realized it in the moment. She hadn’t been performing that night, hadn’t come with an entourage, no screaming PR rep in tow or designer tagging every fit on Instagram. She’d just been real, laughing with oldheads, talking shit about her heels, and disappearing like a dream.

And now? He couldn’t not see her.

Next came the talk show.

He was half-paying attention, lounging in his home studio with his laptop open, flipping between beats, email, and sports scores, when he heard Jennifer Hudson’s voice.

“And up next—we’ve got the star of the upcoming blockbuster Fall Hard, the internet’s favorite femme fatale, but trust me—she’s even more fun in real life… give it up for Taliyah Jasmine Nichols!”

The audience roared. The camera cut to the backstage tunnel, and there she was, caught in motion.

TJ was dancing her way through the crew’s little "spirit tunnel" — a tradition for big guests — slapping hands, spinning once, laughing with her full face, like she meant it. She was in an oversized varsity jacket, short leather shorts, thigh-high boots, and those goddess locs swinging wild with every step. She gave the camera a wink before disappearing through the curtain.

Meth sat up straighter.

“Damn.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it slipped. There was something about her energy that was loud in the quietest way — unapologetic joy mixed with a steel backbone. Onscreen, she looked at ease. But he knew now, that was no act.

He watched her plop down on the couch beside J-Hud, crossing her legs with that same self-assured grace she carried at the party.

“So this movie,” Jennifer grinned, “It’s got all the internet clutching pearls. The chemistry between you and Damson is—whooo—next level!”

TJ laughed, shaking her head. “Girl, Damson had me rolling on set half the time. Half those steamy scenes, I was like, ‘Sir, if you don't get your British self together!’”

The crowd laughed. Meth found himself smiling, too. She was magnetic — not just because she was gorgeous, but because she was herself. Always. On screen. Off camera. Backstage. In a room full of stars, she held her own.

And that night at the party?

She’d known exactly who he was… but she never once acted like she needed anything from him. Didn’t fawn, didn’t flirt, didn’t drop hints for favors. Just gave him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and told him to take care.

Now she was damn near haunting him.

And maybe… he didn’t mind.

He reached for the remote and rewound the backstage segment again.

She danced through the spirit tunnel, smiling like the world was hers.

He didn’t know what it meant yet. Didn’t know why he suddenly couldn’t hear her name without paying attention, or why her voice had replayed in his head ever since she called him OG with that little smirk.

But he knew one thing:

She wasn’t done showing up.

Chapter 4 "It’s all love though. He’s been great to work with. But don’t worry, ladies—Mr. Tea and Crumpets is still single."

The studio lights were damn near blinding, but TJ didn’t flinch.

She was perched on the plush couch across from the host, legs crossed in a sleek black designer jumpsuit that fit like it was made for her and her alone. Her locs were pulled into a half-up crown that let a few curl-kissed strands fall across her shoulders. Gold hoops glinted beneath the lights, catching every head turn, every tilt of her chin.

Next to her, Damson Idris sat equally camera-ready in an all-black suit with crisp white sneakers, relaxed, grinning, playing the perfect co-star to the internet’s new obsession.

This was the final leg of the press run for Fall Hard, and the heat was unreal. The film hadn’t even dropped yet and already fans were making compilation edits on TikTok, arguing in comment sections about who was the hottest new onscreen couple, and flooding their DMs with speculation.

The host—an excitable blonde who looked like she’d been guzzling iced coffee since 6 a.m.—was halfway through the sit-down, and naturally, couldn’t resist stirring the pot.

“So let’s just talk about it,” she leaned in, wide-eyed and grinning. “The chemistry between you two is insane. I mean… that rooftop kiss scene? Whew! Fans are saying this might be the next iconic duo. Like Brad and Angelina in Mr. & Mrs. Smith territory.”

Damson chuckled, leaning back. “It’s called acting, mate,” he said smoothly, British accent laid on thick as honey.

TJ laughed right along with him, but her smile turned knowing as she glanced at the camera and then back to the host. “It’s definitely called acting,” she echoed, Harlem all in her tone now—rich, grounded, unbothered.

“But,” she added, turning toward Damson with a softer grin, “it’s all love though. He’s been great to work with. I think a lot of that chemistry y’all are picking up on? That’s just friendship. You spend months on set with someone every day, it becomes easy to play close. Familiar.”

Then she turned to the host with that glint in her eye—the same spark she had at the afterparty, when she’d joked about her shoes and breezed out like a boss.

“But don’t worry, ladies,” she said, flashing her dimples, “Mr. Tea and Crumpets is still very single.”

The studio erupted in laughter—Damson even leaned forward and fake-fanned himself while shaking his head. “Wow. Harlem came out. You see this?”

“She always does,” TJ said, winking. “She’s never far behind.”

The host leaned back, clearly delighted. “You two are unreal. I love how down-to-earth you are with all this attention. Do you feel the shift? Like, you’re officially in that A-list territory now. Taliyah, you’ve become one of the most sought-after young stars in Hollywood. That’s got to feel a little surreal.”

TJ’s smile softened. “Sometimes it does. But it’s also... I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been working for this my whole life. Even when nobody was watching.”

She glanced toward the camera again, more serious now.

“I just want to keep telling stories that mean something. Whether it’s a wild love story, or a drama, or something fun. But I’m not tryna be anybody’s fantasy 24/7. I’m just tryna do my job. Live my life. And hopefully inspire some girls out there with locs and brown skin and a whole lotta voice to know they can do this too.”

Applause again, not just polite—but real.

She looked over at Damson, who was nodding.

“Damn,” he said with a grin. “Can I clap too? That was bars.”

She laughed and leaned back, eyes twinkling, voice lower now. “Thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

Later that night, the interview clip would be reposted everywhere. TikTok would loop “Mr. Tea and Crumpets is still single” with edits of Damson giving her heart-eyes. Twitter would argue about whether they were secretly dating. Instagram would repost her quote about not wanting to be just a fantasy, tagging her a “real one.”

But Taliyah?

She’d be on her couch at home, bonnet on, eating Thai food out the carton, scrolling through the reactions with a quiet smile and zero stress.

Because she knew what the world was just starting to learn:

She was more than a sex symbol.

She was a whole damn blueprint.

Chapter 5 “La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-laaa…”

The night was thick with music and magic.

It wasn’t just any night—it was a tribute concert to Stevie Wonder at a tucked-away, invite-only event space in Silver Lake. The kind of room you didn’t just walk into unless your name rang out in the right places. There was no stage, no barricades. Just dim lights, wine being poured in crystal glasses, and the kind of timelessness that only comes when Stevie’s voice fills a room.

“My Cherie Amour” started playing live—Stevie’s voice still as golden and honey-drenched as it was decades ago. And right up near the front of the intimate crowd, TJ was singing.

Not politely mouthing along like some too-cool actress tryna preserve her image. Nah. She was singing. Loudly. Passionately. Head tilted back, her goddess locs swinging as her voice hit the “pretty little one that I adore” like she meant every word.

Beside her, swaying in rhythm, was none other than Erykah Badu. Draped in layers of silk and mystery, eyes closed, smiling like a proud auntie who’d just watched her niece graduate and drop an album on the same day. Her arm was linked through TJ’s like it was second nature — because it was.

Most folks didn’t even know they were close. But the bond went back years. Erykah had clocked TJ early on — back when she was a fresh face doing indie films with too much attitude for her age and eyes that saw everything. One day on set, a P.A. had been rude to TJ, and Erykah had silently walked over, stood next to her, and never left her side since.

And now? Erykah was like her unofficial spiritual compass. Never clout-chasing. Never posting about her. Just there.

TJ looked over at her mid-chorus and grinned, brushing her locs back as she leaned in. “You know this was one of the first records I ever learned word for word?”

Erykah opened one eye, lazily amused. “Of course I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it for, like, a whole month back in 2018.”

TJ burst into laughter, eyes glinting under the low lights, voice still trailing Stevie’s melody without missing a beat.

“‘La-la-la-la-laaa’” she sang again, swaying with a joy that was unfiltered, unbothered, and unmistakably hers.

Across the room, Method Man stood with a drink in hand. Tall. Cool. Quiet. He hadn’t come to be seen. He’d come because it was Stevie. Because his older cousins used to play these records on Sundays in Staten Island while frying fish and playing Spades, yelling at the kids to get out the kitchen.

He hadn’t expected to see her here.

Not again.

But there she was. And this time, he knew exactly who she was.

Taliyah Jasmine Nichols. Movie star. Style icon. That girl the blogs couldn’t stop talking about. The same woman who’d hugged him soft and disappeared like smoke.

And here she was now, looking like joy wrapped in locs and laughter. Singing Stevie with her whole chest. Not caring about who was watching. Just being.

He watched her from his spot, his usual calm rattled in a way he couldn’t name. Because what was it about her that pulled like gravity? It wasn’t just the beauty—though that was undeniable. It was the ease. The freedom.

He saw the way she threw her head back and laughed at something Erykah whispered. The way she didn’t pose, didn’t angle herself like she was waiting to be captured. She just lived.

That night at the afterparty, she hadn’t tried to impress him. Hadn’t flirted. Hadn’t even lingered.

And now, here she was again, not knowing he was there, and still stealing his breath.

For a second, he debated walking over. Saying something. But it didn’t feel like the moment yet.

So instead, he leaned against the wall, watching, smiling to himself.

Because the song was called “My Cherie Amour.”

And maybe… just maybe… that’s exactly what she was becoming.

[historrietvspellingbook]

Movie like the lifetime Anna Nicole smith movie kinda**

Starting scene @ me in bed 2025 at my apartment I’m about to lose. Staring off holding my Torrie Wilson raw deal deck box. Suddenly all the memories from the last 10 years being on shit run through my head. On a trail to the condo fire. And all I think to myself is I REALLY MESSED UP THAT ONE DIDNT I? IF NOT TO SAVE MYSELF, WHAT IS MY PURPOSE THEN? On the road to recovery in the end. But we are at the beginning…and I think to myself WITHOUT THAT FIRE HAPPENING, I WOULD OF NEVER GOT MY CLOSURE WITH TORRIE WILSON, AMONG OTHER BLESSINGS LIKE CLEANSING MY MIND, GETTING ON GOOD TERMS WITH MY PARENTS AND BEING ABLE TO SAY I WAS A SUPERVISOR FOR AWHILE HOLDING A JOB LIKE I ALWAYS WONDERED…OR MAKE MY HULA HOOP DREAM SOMEWHAT A REALITY.

So what space I have here is the divine feminine ⭕️ and I cherish this so but why? I guess you could say I’m a girls girl but still a boy. And it’s all very spiritual to be in alignment with my core…little blessings so to speak. But what is my greater purpose? Am I a myth? All because of this meth? (don’t d.a.r.e.) a perfect mess. But I always knew I was going to crumble; im just not that strong. Im delicate. And overloaded with the real world. But I survived…

Keeping my head up her butt. && back to the…will I survive this next journey? Of course, I’ve got t-dub as I reinvent the 🛞 wheel 🛞 when it was first invented the efforts were BARBIES with GIRL COUSINS but I needed a touch of promethius ET @ PINK POWER RANGER.

Spice girls too and in the end there was always Crystal making me feel alright ha ha ha ha ha. HOCUS POCUS BAILEY SARAH’S SONG 🎶 trail the Barbie world in round up back to what’s cute and adorable like me…little foot, transformers, Jurassic park, but grandpa Charlie won with the pink power ranger as I’m merging with POKÉMON. Yeah, I’m a mainstream bitch…happy meals and Princess Leia all the way. But I need to have my things to obsess over, it wss survival of the fittest out there on the playground…GIO, ABDEL, KENNY, RENE…

[lemonmaid]

Imagine bassist Shoko

Fem reader, pick me friend. This does NOT contain lyrics, I kinda cringe at song fics.

Imagine going to a sad bar on the edge of town with your friend and meeting a super hot bassist.

"This place looks like a dumpster fire...." You cringed, "and smells like one".

Your friend rolled her eyes, "Listen I understand but there's this band-"

"Oh god".

"Just shush!!! Listen, I went here on a date with a guy and these guys were playing and they aren't that bad! To be honest the singer is kinda cute-".

"So we are supporting a small band based on their looks?".

"No! They are acually really good!!".

"What's their name then?".

"....".

You sighed. Not want to argue anymore but also grimacing at the disgusting outer outside interior. "I'm sorry (Friend's name) but this literally looks like we are about to be sold meth".

Your friend rolled her eyes before opening the door to the bar. Now, it wasn't so bad, the stairs down into the small basement; there was a small bar in the corner, then a "stage" on the otherside of the wall.

"There's my number one fan!".

You both turn around to see a tall white haired man, he was... hot but there was a vibe that gave 'I will literally suck you dry, mentally and physically'. You smiled awkwardly, while your friend gave the guy a crushing hug.

"Of course!!! I told you I wouldn't a miss a show silly! I lovvvvveeeee y'alls single Satoruuuuu~".

'Gross' you thought.

"Ah first name basis already? Wow this was is different Satoru".

You made eye contact with a longed hair, pierced face man. He gave you a small smile then re focus his attention to Satoru.

Your friend made a face, "oh of course we are on a first name basis!!! He said the next song he'll write will be about me!".

Satoru rubbed his neck, giving his friend a cheeky smile while he in return was given an eyebrowed look.

"What's our next song about?".

Coming down the stairs with equipment in hand, was a beautiful, brown headed and brown eyed woman. Now, you were the type to be into people that were in a band but Jesus, talk about a tall glass of water.

Satoru laughed, "oh you thinking and throwing some ideas around..... thanks for grabbing the stuff Shoko!".

Shoko nodded, she then made her way towards the stage.

You kinda looked around, noticing how empty everything was, "uhhh I thought this was a concert or a performanc".

Suguru and Satoru stared at you, before Suguru coughing, "oh.... we are just planning on rehearsing tonight, SOMEONE, can't figure out an "adjective"...".

Satoru dramatically sighed, "it's a form of ART, this takes time.... Greece wasn't made in a day".

"But it was almost destroyed in a day" You mumbled.

You heard Shoko snickered behind you, your face turned a small hint of red.

Suguru stared at you and your friend, "So.... you wanna help us set up..... and give us a feedback?".

(Friend's name)'s eyes light up and immediately grab Satoru's guitar and bringing it to the stage leaving, three boxes to Suguru.

Shoko sighed but smiled softly at you while you help grabbed the cording and speakers, "let me guess... you were dragged to this?"..

You chuckled, "how could you tell?".

"You look fed up".

You looked back at your friend who was hanging off Satoru's arm, "kinda, I was expecting a show.... not being techie, but can't complain".

Shoko hummed, "Well" looking at your friend, "Let's hope she lasts".

You raised your eyebrow, "what do you mean?".

"Satoru is a slut".

If you could spit out water, you would. Your jaw dropped, "I mean... I got the vibe but I didn't-".

"Oh yeah no, his 'art' is just tickling other people's chords while he can barley raise his".

You started laughing.

"Do you really think... that guy can write a song? You should thank his ghostwriter Suguru".

You laughed harder.

"What are you two ladies talking about?"..

Satoru came up behind both of you, wrapping his arms between you, "can I know what's so funny?".

Shoko rolled her eyes, "thinking about taking a smoke break, you in....sorry I never got your name?"

"(Name)".

Shoko hummed, "Well (Name)... help me find a lighter in the van?".

Going outside, Shoko opens the back door of the van, inviting you inside.

The inside wasn't what you were expecting, it was an older model for sure, seating around the windows, red rugging, alot of red.

"Cozy".

She hummed. Grabbing a ciggerate and flickering the lighter a few times before lighting. She offers you a ciggerate but you polity decline. "Sorry I don't smoke-".

"Don't apologize... it's a bad habit".

The silence between the two of you was awkward, well for at least on your end.

You awkwardly laughed, "the outer exterior of the van doesn't do the inside justice".

"What's wrong with my van?".

"Oh no! I didn't mean it like that!"

Shoko laughed, "I'm kidding, I know it's a shit box, Satoru found it on Facebook and nagged me and Suguru to buy pitch in and buy it... fucker is a nepo baby....".

"Now that you mention it, he doesn't seem like the singing type-".

"Oh god, he can't sing, but he and Suguru can yell... to be honest, I think your friend and others just come to see Satoru and his looks. "

The silence was comforting now, Shoko gets out of the van, "Welp, I'm bored. Let's see what those freaks have been doing". She grabs your hand, helping you out of the van.

Before you and Shoko enter the bar, she puts her lighter in your hand, "You should come to practice more often, kinda nice not being the only girl."

A/N I might make a part 2 tbh, I lovvvveeee Shoko ♡♡

[bullet-prooflove]

Cupcakes: Jeff Clarke x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @telepathay @iworldlywriter @caffeinatedwoman @winchesterszvonecek @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @upsteadlogic @skyesthebomb @neapolitantoebeans @olymosity @stxrryswvrld @courtney-elizabeth93

When you need cheering up Jeff brings cupcakes, ones with icing decorated in the shape of roses because he knows how much you love them. The guys on Squad always tease him but he doesn’t mind the ribbing, you’re worth any amount of crap he gets off them.

It’s been a terrible twenty four hours for you.

A kid had been rushed into the ED after consuming a bag of meth he’d found in his mother’s purse. You’d held his hand as he slipped away because his parents were too busy trying to find their next score. They’d been arrested a couple of hours later, whilst you were watching their six year old son being zipped up into a body bag.

You’d been despondent when he’d picked you up from the hospital, exhausted and overwrought. He’d taken care of you, tucked you into bed, held you as fell apart. Things were better this morning but he could still sense the weight of it, you carry it around the same way he does. He thinks that’s why this thing between the two of you works so well. You understand each other, the highs of the job and the lows.

“I thought this might make you smile.” He says when he turns up at your apartment and pulls the cupcake box out from behind his back.

He sees the delight in your features when you open it. It’s red velvet, your favourite. He watches as you use your fingertip to scoop a blob of icing before you lick it off your finger. His cheeks colour just a little as a flush of heat runs through him and you give him that look.

“How long do we have?” You ask him, tilting your head towards the door where the rest of his Squad wait inside the fire truck. He smiles as he leans in close.

He can taste the sugar on your lips as he kisses you. You moan just a little and he can feel himself stirring within the confines of his trousers as he backs you up against the work surface, slotting perfectly between your legs.

“About five minutes.” He says regretfully, his thumb ghosting along the line of your jaw. “But I can come back tonight, when my shift is over, make it up to you.”

“I’d like that.” You tell him and he smiles before kissing you again. “I’d like that a lot.”

Love Jeff? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kylejsugarman]

as a dedicated andrea crusader i must know, how does au^2 impact andrea and jesse's relationship? do baby and brock get along? i'm picturing it in my head and🥹🥹

ANDREA CRUSADERS UNITE, u are one of the ultimate andrea understanders 🥺 so their relationship is a little different in au squared!! around the time that jesse infiltrates the recovery group and actually meets andrea is the same time that demi moves back to abq and tracks him and baby down. he and demi have a weird, semi-formal relationship for a while before they start developing romantic feelings for one another and during that time, jesse dates andrea. any initial plans to just sell meth directly to her as a recovering addict and put together his own walter white-esque "fund" for his daughter instantly evaporate when he sees brock and realizes that andrea is also just a single parent trying to navigate addiction. they're so similar and jesse, having not encountered anyone in this specific situation yet, kind of desperately clasps onto her. he really likes her and she likes him, but a big part of it is truly just. jesse desperately wanting to be around someone who Understands. and andrea does understand!! she has support from her mom, but she had to figure out a lot of this child-rearing stuff by herself and sees a lot of her slightly younger self in jesse. the way he wants to provide the Best for his kid, but doesn't trust anyone else to give it to her. she feels the same way about brock a lot of the time, even though she knows now that its not necessarily them vs the world.

the thing about au squared andrea is that she realizes through observing jesse's behavior and his feelings about raising baby that he's a very sweet guy who is great to be around, but they are not on the same timeline and she doesnt really feel like "dating" is the right arrangement for them. andrea's not in a place yet where she wants to incorporate a romantic relationship into her life and jesse, god bless him, has an overeagerness to him that tells her that he's diving into this because he badly wants A Connection, which doesn't necessarily have to be romantic!! she talks to him about this and asks instead if they can just be friends, so that's what they become. andrea is his dear friend :') jesse still cares very deeply for her and brock and tries to spoil them both (if he's going to get baby a swagged out play mat, then its only fair that brock gets a sick new transformer toy and andrea gets memory foam slippers for after long shifts on her feet at work. u know. if he's already going to be out). brock adores him, but is initially less enthused about baby because well. she's a baby. she can't really talk coherently or play a significant role in his games and he can't use his toys with smaller, choking hazard parts around her, so he doesn't really know what his mom expects him to do with baby while she and jesse are talking. but he realizes that it's actually kind of fun to assume a "big brother" role (brock's a sweet kid :') he likes to be helpful) and teach baby things; she basically copies whatever he does after a certain point, which is extremely validating to him. plus, she's a pretty patient, docile little playmate, so she can play the role of "building that is on fire that the brave firetruck must extinguish" with tremendous skill. the highlight of his month is when they all go to the zoo together and brock gets to feed a handful of feed to one of the giraffes while baby looks at him just shocked and awed like :O

andrea remains a source of support and eventually befriends demi too, but as things get darker towards the end of the show (post-drew shooting), jesse withdraws a little from her to try to protect her. he already feels responsible for tomas being murdered and drew's killing just reminds him of how nobody, no matter how innocent, is safe from this shit. andrea and brock are too important to him to endanger, even if it means cutting himself off from a good friend. demi visits them a few times while jesse is in captivity just to be around Someone and so baby can play with brock, but it's weirdly uncomfortable and baby isn't acting the same without jesse there and demi soon worries too that the cantillos might become endangered through association with them, so she reluctantly withdraws. once jesse escapes and he and demi and baby make the trip to alaska, he still writes a letter for brock that he gives to ed, but he also writes one for andrea. he wants to thank her for the support she gave him, for guiding him and baby through so much uncertainty, for being such a wonderful woman and friend. "i hope baby grows up to be like u. i want to make sure she grows up to be like u." andrea never learns what became of jesse and baby and demi after the news breaks, but she keeps that letter in her nightstand drawer along with a messy scribble drawing that baby made for her and the ticket stubs from that zoo trip. she doesnt care what the news says. she doesnt care what the dea agents who come to question her think of jesse or their friendship. she knew him, the real him, and she will always love him.

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 15

Summary: Lloyd takes things too far in his threat against Deputy Russell and has to change tactics mid-stream. Princess and Zach decide to push back against Detective Roth's allegations.

Word Count: 3,936

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of drug trafficking, murder, legal proceedings, spy/intelligence agencies, corruption, stalking, violence, threatening, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors. 

The Princess & the Lawyer Chapter 15

Lloyd stood at the stove stirring a noxious mixture of gasoline and aluminum hydroxide. Pungent fumes hung thick in the air, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose with a bandanna. 

The screen door slammed, and familiar footsteps echoed through the hall. 

“Ugh! What is that stench? Did a gas line rupture?”

Elliot’s voice rang through the house before he came around the corner into the kitchen. 

His bright-eyed appearance was in sharp contrast with Lloyd’s sleep-deprived state. Knowing his cousin had been left in charge of their captive all night, Lloyd couldn’t help but draw the obvious conclusion. Elliot’s excessive cheerfulness was derived from a more potent source than caffeine - he was smoking ice again. 

“I followed your instructions and made a copy of Carl’s phone,” Elliot said, buzzing with excitement. “Guess what? Sheriff Holbrook’s texts are still on there, tucked away in some encrypted app. We could use it as leverage!” 

Lloyd shook his head. “No. We can’t deviate from the plan. Did Russell agree to a meeting time?”

“Eleven o'clock at High Meadows.”  

“Not a bad choice. Lots of entrances and exits,” Lloyd said. “I’m almost finished here. There’s water cooler jugs filled with this stuff piled up on the back deck. Bring your truck around and start loading them for me, will you?” 

“Sure thing, man.” 

Elliot bounded down the hall and Lloyd rubbed his tired eyes. He desperately needed some sleep unless he planned on asking Elliot for a bump of meth to keep him going. Lloyd shut off the stove, checked the final batch of chemicals, and rinsed his spoon in the sink. He stuck his head outside to inform Elliot he was going to bed and headed up the stairs. 

Just as he lay down, his phone rang. 

“Hello?” 

“Mr. Hansen? This is Judy Lange from the HOA. I wanted to let you know that the association swimming pool has been fixed and approved for reopening on Monday. Should I leave your keys in the mailbox for your house sitter, or wait until you’re back?” 

Mrs. Lange didn’t actually hold an official position with the Homeowners Association. Her husband had campaigned for the post out of pure spite. His single-minded crusade against Della Collins’ window box planters and their “busy-looking” Ultra Star Petunias earned him a landslide victory in the election. He’d passed a statute banning all multicolored blossoms from public spaces and after his triumph, lost interest in executing the duties of his office. 

Despite her eccentric husband, Lloyd found Mrs. Lange to be a reasonable person. Her annoying habit of speaking at a million words per minute was made up for by impeccable manners and a sharp sense of humor. Even Mrs. Collins, who was still torqued at Mr. Lange a year later, couldn’t resist her charms. 

After his brain finally managed to process her rapid fire words, Lloyd grunted. 

“The mailbox is fine. I’ll text my friend and let her know to pick them up.” 

“Excellent. I apologize for calling you at such a time, Lloyd.” 

Mrs. Lange’s voice carried a hint of horror, as if she’d just realized she had contacted someone in the midst of a family tragedy. Lloyd didn’t view the situation as such, but he recognized the apologetic shift in her tone as she launched into a long winded explanation. 

“With everything going on, I am sure now is a terrible time for you… I just didn’t want to forget. You’re the most frequent patron of our athletic facilities. Well, usually the only patron to be frank. Mrs. Collins isn’t getting around like she used to after her knee surgery. Anyways, I’ll personally take those keys to your friend so they’re ready when you get back. And if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.” 

She really meant it, Lloyd thought, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. If only she knew what the man who he was supposed to be grieving had done to him. 

“Thanks, Judy. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course, darling. I’ll see you around.” 

Already half asleep, Lloyd hung up the phone. His last thought was that he needed to call you. Hearing from Judy reminded him of home, and of you. It had been days since your last talk and that was far too long. Before the meeting with Russell, Lloyd promised himself he’d make time for a conversation. 

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

You stalked back and forth in front of Zach’s desk, breathing hard, your fists clenched in frustration. 

“I can’t believe his nerve! Can you believe this? Can you?!” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Zach grunted and continued tapping on his keyboard.

“He has the audacity to accuse us of leaking information to the media, without a shred of evidence? It’s unprofessional!”

Zach nodded, seemingly absorbed in his work. 

“I spent so much time building them a database and now no one can use it. The whole process was exhausting and tedious and… are you even listening to me?” 

“Yes. Roth is an infuriating bastard. I knew it from the start, and you thought he was cute.”

“I did not!”

“Did so,” Zach said. 

“Did not.”

“Let’s not lose sight of our most important objective here.”

“Yes, let’s not. What is that objective, again?” you asked. 

“Getting back in Roth’s good graces and thereby, restoring our access to information and resources.”

“I’m sorry, were we just in the same room? About twenty minutes ago, when Roth kicked us to the curb and Bishop had a melt down?”

“We’re not going to let our hard work go to waste. There’s more than one key for every lock, you know?”

“Uh… that’s not how locks work.”

“It is when you know how to pick locks,” Zach quipped. 

“I haven’t even told you about my conversation with Mr. Liu!” 

He resumed typing, his attention focused on the monitor. “No sister?”

“Well, that’s a very anticlimactic way of putting it, but yes. He’s certain that Julia didn’t have a sister.” 

“That’s the conclusion I ended up at too.”

“Should we tell Roth?”

“I’d rather clear our names first,” Zach said.

“How?”

“Look at this.”

Zach pivoted his monitor to show you the screen. 

You stared at a map of Arlington with a route highlighted in purple. Squinting, you noted the web address of a popular running app called PacePal. The account’s username was generic and the profile picture was an image of a man's athletic shoes. 

“What am I looking at?” 

Zach smirked. “This PacePal profile belongs to Peter Shaw. The account photo is of the same running shoes he’s wearing in the Twitter he shared last year of himself finishing the Miami Marathon.” 

“Okay, not to make myself look like an idiot, but who is Peter Shaw?”

“A very tenacious investigative reporter with Rolling Stone Magazine. He’s also the only person who knows the real identity of the leaker, and thanks to his lax attitude toward social media security, we know where Mr. Shaw will be at two o’clock this afternoon.” 

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, we’re going to give Detective Roth a taste of his own medicine?” 

“I intend to serve him a fresh plate of crow as soon as humanly possible,” Zach said. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Ruthless much?” 

“I didn’t pull in that jackass Lattimer without a damn good reason. We’re onto something with Julia’s supposed sister and if we don’t keep pushing the trail will go cold. What do you say, Princess? Shall we go put Shaw on notice?” 

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

Lloyd called you when he woke, but reached your voicemail instead of you. He sent a text instead and dove into the shower to scrub off the lingering stench of gasoline that clung to his skin. 

None of the clothes he’d packed suited the character he wanted to portray tonight, so he rummaged through Joe’s closet in search of better options. In the back, he discovered a garment bag containing the winning ensemble: a navy suit with wide lapels, bootcut trousers, and a matching waistcoat. It screamed 1970’s gaudy at the top of its lungs. 

To complete the look, Lloyd installed the hair extensions he’d sent Elliot to acquire from a beauty supply store two towns over. Cutting the remaining extensions into three-inch pieces, he applied them carefully across his jaw, smirking as he remembered April's suggestion that he should grow a beard. The overall effect was a cross between Jerry Garcia and Medusa on a bad hair day. 

For accessories, Lloyd raided Joe’s dresser. He added rings, a gold chain necklace, and a pair of lightly tinted orange sunglasses. The oversized frames elevated the look from vintage inspired to unmistakably costume like - a perfect fit for the character he was putting on. He slapped on a strongly scented aftershave he found in Joe’s medicine cabinet and instantly regretted it when his eyes watered from the fumes. 

Resisting the urge to wash it off, he turned his attention to more practical matters. Joe’s gun cabinet yielded a wide assortment of armaments. He owned weapons from every firearms manufacturer on the market in the past fifty years. Lloyd wasn’t keen to give a hopped up meth addict a gun, but circumstances demanded it. He picked up a Winchester Renegade and checked the ammunition.

“Hey, Elliot! How’s your aim these days?” 

Elliot turned around from his task of cleaning up the kitchen and did a double take of Lloyd’s outfit. 

“Better than most people’s. What are you wearing, dude? Are we going to make a drug deal or audition for Saturday Night Fever?” 

Lloyd snorted at the question and held out the Winchester Renegade. 

“I need you to watch my back while I’m meeting with Russell. Just in case things don’t go according to plan.” 

“Understood. I’m the second shooter on the grassy knoll,” Elliot said. 

They took back roads to the meeting spot. By the time they reached their destination, Elliot’s old truck was covered in mud from the unpaved roads that cut through the vast Idaho landscape. They were deep in the countryside, hidden from prying eyes of passersby on the highway by miles of barren hills. 

High Meadows had once been a thriving venue for team roping and barrel racing events. Now, the clay earth he remembered as being meticulously groomed played host to an invasion of dandelions and scotch thistle. The red aluminum roof over the pavilion had faded to a dull rust color and the cedar panel fencing that encircled the space was bent with age and broken in several places. 

He helped Elliot unload the water cooler jugs filled with the gelled fuel that he’d spent the morning cooking. Lloyd marked out a circle, about twenty feet in diameter, in the middle of the arena and cut a small trench into the ground. With Elliot’s help he poured the viscous mixture into the trough and raked the displaced dirt back into place. 

They hid their equipment in the bed of Elliot’s truck and moved the vehicle into a ravine near the main access road to High Meadows. 

Lloyd turned to his cousin. “Go take up position on that hill over there.”

He pointed to a spot beyond the dilapidated grandstands. “It has the best vantage point. Also, there’s a thermal scope in your backpack in case the night vision doesn’t cut it.” 

Elliot slung his backpack over his shoulder and disappeared into the hills. Lloyd took his position in the arena as the sun settled behind the horizon. He lay down on one of the risers in the grandstands, propped his feet up, and dozed until the sun went down. Suddenly, the crackle of the Bluetooth in his ear brought Lloyd back to the present as Elliot’s voice broke him from semi-unconscious. 

“Russell is pulling in,” Elliot said. 

“I see the headlights,” Lloyd confirmed.

The beams of Russell’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the arena. Lloyd leaned casually against a pillar on the far side. The position gave him plenty of time to observe Russell as he approached. The deputy was clearly spooked - he’d worn a bulletproof vest over his khaki uniform. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Lloyd called out in greeting. 

Russell stepped into the arena, his eyes scanning the space, trying to assess the situation.

“Who are you?” 

“Didn’t Carl tell you? We’re the Canadians,” Lloyd said, flashing a mischievous grin.

Russell’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Now, let’s get down to business!” Lloyd clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Don’t look so tense, Luke. I’m here to make you rich, and myself even richer. You see, I came here to shake down a former associate, but the trouble is this jackass died before I could get to him. So, I found a locally connected businessman and squeezed until he spilled your name.” 

The deputy’s nostrils flared, a warning sign Lloyd waved off dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of him.” 

“What do you mean you ‘took care of him’?” Russell demanded. 

“I took him for a swim in Redfish Lake, the kind you don’t come back from,” Lloyd said, punctuating that statement with a wink. 

Russell’s shock was palpable. Lloyd gave him a beat to recover, but when he just got a blank stare in response, he shifted tactics and threw his arms out in exaggerated frustration. 

“Oh, come on! Be fucking for real, bro. Do you have two brain cells left rattling around in that ugly mug, pig? I got rid of your dealer because, number one, he’s a snitch and I don’t fuck with snitches. Number two, getting rid of Carl gives you the opportunity to set up a more reliable distribution system. Isn’t that nice? An open playing field with no territorial disputes from the locals? You can thank me now, or later.” 

Russell hesitated. Lloyd didn’t let the silence linger. 

“Okay, then. You’ll thank me later. Look, about-” 

“You really killed Carl?”

Lloyd sighed. “Would I lie to you? Me? I have a reputation to uphold, Deputy.” 

“You’re a fucking psychopath, that’s what you are,” Russell said, edging backwards.

“Hey! We’re not done talking business!” Lloyd yelled after the man as he turned away.

“Yes we are. Go to hell!” 

“Don’t walk away from me, pig! This isn’t the kind of conversation you can just walk away from!”

Lloyd’s voice echoed through the pavilion, ringing with anger.

Russell glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, Luke… My number one rule is simple: I don’t fuck with snitches. Rule number two? Dirty cops who know your face are bad business. You see, they always end up being snitches. It’s like different flavors of the same ice cream. Triple chocolate fudge or brownie delight, who can tell ‘em apart?” 

As Russell’s hand went for his gun, Lloyd flipped open his lighter and tossed it on the ground. The carefully prepared mixture of gasoline ignited instantly, shooting up and forming a wall of fire that raced around to encircle them. 

Taken by surprise, Deputy Russell instinctively moved away from the searing heat of the flames an action that inadvertently drew him closer to Lloyd. 

“Isn’t this nice? I find it rather cozy, like stepping into a bubble of security.”

Lloyd chuckled, his smile twisted with madness.

“This is how you conduct business?” Russell hissed, eyes glinting with shocked desperation as the flames continued to roar around them. 

“I find it refocuses the attention when a deal starts getting off track.” 

“What the hell do you want?!” 

“I’ve made myself very clear, Russell. You need to work on your attention span. Here’s the deal: we become business partners… or you become a victim of what I like to call ‘spontaneous human combustion.’” 

“Spontaneous,” the deputy muttered, looking at the flames.

“I never really plan on cremating anyone,” Lloyd said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world to discuss incinerating your business associates. “Every time I’ve actually gone through with this, the whole thing happens so fast, it really does look spontaneous. Now, Deputy… What do you say? Ready to make a deal?” 

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

You sat beside Zach on a park bench, trying to make the most of the slight shade of a tree that offered a tiny bit of respite from the blistering August heat. The sound of approaching footfalls was a major relief. Five more minutes out here and you would have melted. You glanced up to see Peter Shaw, a man of average height with close cropped dark hair, nearing your bench. 

Zach stood up and moved to the center of the path, blocking access to the parking lot. 

“Peter Shaw. I’m Zach Hightower and this is Y/N. I assume you know who I am?”

The journalist stopped a few feet away from Zach. He was dripping with sweat, but still had the energy to offer a cocky smirk. He glanced in your direction and arched an eyebrow. 

“The investigative duo. Where’s Hansen? Isn’t he usually your partner?” 

“I read your article this morning. It was very interesting,” Zach said. 

“Thanks. What part did you enjoy the most?” 

“I thought it was very well researched. You even knew where the recent evidence was being stored. That was a very… interesting… detail to include in the article.” 

Peter shrugged. “I take pride in my work.” 

“The other little thing that jumped out and grabbed me was about the evidence collected in the Nguyen case twenty years ago. Your source criticized the chain of custody related to Shun Nguyen’s cell phone. That was extremely specific.” 

Shaw’s grin turned from smug to sly. “I always make sure my sources have a keen eye for detail. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“One more thing. The criticism you leveled at the State Police for handling the digital evidence from that cell phone? Well, it went over my head, but I’ve got a guy who’s a genius with that kind of thing. When I showed him the article he said you’d need to consult with an expert in digital forensics to break down those kinds of technical concepts as clearly as you did.”

“Actually, I’m just that good,” Peter said, crossing his arms. 

“You have a degree in English and absolutely no background in tech. You’re not that good… but I believe your source is. The level of insight they gave you left their fingerprints all over that article, Shaw. Your man’s days are numbered. If you were as good as you think you are, his head wouldn’t be heading for the chopping block.” 

The journalist snorted. “Do you run, Mr. Hightower?”

“Only when someone’s shooting at me. Why?”

“Just wondering if you get any other forms of exercise, besides jumping to conclusions.” 

“It’s more of a step-by-step chain of logic that links together quite nicely. You really are a good writer, Shaw - very organized. That made it much easier to fill in the blanks. Does the name Leo McKenzie ring a bell?”

The blood drained from Shaw’s face, turning his lips white. Zach grinned.

“Good talking to you, Pete. Thanks for your time! Come on, Princess, let’s go.” 

“You’re way off base, Hightower,” he called after you.

Zach gave him a cheerful wave. “Hey, Pete, since you’ve undoubtedly got my number, why don’t you give me a call next time you need a source? I can teach you how to cover your tracks so you don’t keep burning through informants.” 

Then he lengthened his stride, forcing you into a jog as you tried to keep up. Once you were in the privacy of his vehicle, you gaped at him. 

“Are you crazy? Did you just invite that sleazebag to call you?”

“Sure. He’s made more progress on this case than anyone else. We can’t ignore that.” 

“How did you know who his source was? Did you guess?”

“Deduction isn’t guessing and that look on his face was all the confirmation I needed.” 

“We should tell Detective Roth.”

“No. Let him figure it out on his own. He won’t believe anything we tell him at the moment.” 

“But the security of the investigation is at stake!” 

“Not for long. Shaw will contact his source and alert them that we’re onto them. I want to give Detective Roth the chance to redeem himself. Also, if he can’t find a mole in his own department, I’m not sure I want to work with him.”

“Right. Hey, where are we going?” 

Zach turned onto an unfamiliar exit, one that headed away from his office.

“I’ve got to make another stop. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” 

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

Elliot drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You really freaked him out."

"Mmmhh."

"He's going to send those drugs up in flames."

The insight was spot on. Deputy Russell’s wavering commitment to the sale was becoming more evident as dawn broke. He had raced back to the security of the Sheriff’s Offices after meeting with “the Canadians” and spent the rest of the night holed up there. Through the front window, Lloyd watched his shadow move behind the blinds. 

The silhouette moved from left to right, and then crossed back again, from right to left. Russell was already a paranoid bastard and introducing a real threat to his life may have been a step too far. His restless actions raised a red flag in Lloyd’s assessment of the situation. Watching him through binoculars from their high vantage point in the parking lot of the White Rivers campsite, Lloyd decided it was time to ease the pressure and give Russell an escape hatch. 

He was too spooked to hand the drugs over directly to the Canadians. After the ring of fire incident Russell was probably more likely to shoot Lloyd if he ever saw him again instead of cooperating with him. 

“We’re going to plan B,” Lloyd said. “Give me a burner phone.” 

He held out a hand and Elliot pressed a device into his palm. Lloyd dialed and watched through the binoculars as the blinds of the Sheriff’s office raised. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew Russell was somewhere inside. 

The call connected. 

“Hello? Who is this?” 

Lloyd spoke hoarsely. “Hello. Deputy Luke Russell?” 

“This is he.” Russell sounded suspicious. 

"This is Agent Ambrosio of the ATF. Do you have a moment to speak with me? Somewhere private would be best if possible."

"Yeah, yeah. I can do that," Russell said.

There was feedback as he moved, the the sound of a door closing. He must have gone to his office. 

“Okay. I can talk now.” 

"Russell, I'm calling about your boss, Sheriff Holbrook. Are you aware of the case against him?"

"Uh… you mean that thing from last year?"

"Eighteen months ago," Lloyd clarified. "The federal investigation into Holbrook's involvement with the drug trade has continued, which is why I'm reaching out. We need your cooperation."

"What can I do to help you, agent?” 

"We have everything that we need to make an arrest. This is a courtesy call, Deputy. We're moving on him tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Oh… Wow… Okay, is there anything I can do?" Russell asked.

"We're still organizing things. Holbrook is constantly armed, and we're aware of how high-risk this operation will be. I’d be more comfortable with the situation I’m sending my men into if we had your cooperation.” 

“Absolutely. Whatever you need, sir.” 

Lloyd’s mouth curved into a smile. Pushing too hard may have been the right play after all. His prey had just swallowed the bait without noticing the hook that pierced his lip along with it. 

Game. Set. Match. 

All that was left to do was reel in his catch. 

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

Next - Part XVI

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