#I fucked up the arm actually waving because it was a late addition but whatever

[irbcallmefynn]

Wanted to try something. I realized that when I draw Euphi from the side, it's always a complete profile view. But when I draw Fynn from the side, it's at an angle. So I wanted to try drawing Euphi at a similar angle. I think heart looks extra cute like this I should do this more often.

And then I made a funny :3

[damienthepious]

making the tumblr post late because i was Just Too Sleepy last night aahhhhhghghgh. LKT on wednesday. it’s FINE

Fog

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, FEAT: ACTUAL KISSIES, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Head Injury, Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Sexual Tension, (in which i fuck around with the duels again sorta), Altered Mental States, Affection

Summary: Damien is concussed. Arum is concerned.

Notes: This fic didn't exist this morning and then [waves hand]. I wrote So Much today it feels like. Warnings for injury, disarrayed thoughts, and emetophobia, alas. there MIIIIIGHT be a follow up to this?? i do not know. I just wanted to get it out and done, quick and dirty. Poor Arum. Damien i will feel bad for tomorrow morning, when all his self-crit and self-censorship comes screaming back.

~

Damien swims back to himself somewhere near horizontal.

It isn't the first time this has happened, of course. He's a knight. A common drawback of the profession is injury, and with injury occasionally comes a lack of consciousness.

Chances are Damien should be... somewhat more worried about that than he feels, just at the moment. However, so far as he can tell, nothing seems to be actively hurting him. In fact, when he draws his focus in (a struggle, truly), he recognizes the touch of hands on his face, on his chest, gripping his wrist- and they feel gentle. Careful. Soothing, if... strained, perhaps? Whatever he currently lays on feels gently warm, as well. Not soft, but-

Ah. Legs. Head pillowed on someone's legs. Hands holding him as a rasping voice pleads-

Pleads?

"I'm awake," he says, a little surprised at how loud his own voice sounds, and even more surprised when the body holding him jolts. "I'm alright," he continues, an automatic assurance. More than likely, it's true. Saint Damien protects him. And he doesn't feel all that hurt, or even uncomfortable, aside from a vague pressure, pounding in his head. At least, not until-

"Honeysuckle," the voice whispers, and only then does Damien remember-

Middle of the night in the jungle. The duel. The monster. Knives and arrows and running feet and a voice in the dark and-

An ogre?

That... can't be correct.

"You're- you're awake? Are you-"

Arum's fingers flutter against Damien's cheek, his scales a fascinating texture on Damien's skin. Damien blinks up at him, trying with some difficulty to focus on the violet of those eyes, vivid even in this dimness.

"Lord Arum," he says mildly. "Good evening."

The monster makes a choking noise, tumbles into a strangled laugh. "Can you-" he starts, his other hands gently helping to try to lift him, and Damien uncertainly wobbles to sit a little more upright, still clinging to two of Arum's arms for support as the jungle surrounding the pair of them swings worryingly. "Damien. Are you-"

Damien. So strange to hear the monster say his name. Strange before, as well, when-

(Ogre twice Arum's height appearing from the trees, a moment of sheer betrayal at the trap before Arum appeared from the dark as well, shouting, swinging knives but not at Damien, and when the creature uprooted the tree to wield like a club, Arum had leapt and-

Nothing, after that.)

Damien tilts his head, his neck rubbery and uncooperative as he tries to find-

Yes. There. The shape of the ogre, decidedly dead. One of Arum's knives abandoned, blooming from the creature's neck. He tilts his face back towards the living monster, and Arum's expression is so strange. Unfathomable, that would be the word. He feels almost like he's falling, looking into that face, into those eyes.

"Are you alright?" the monster manages, sounding pained himself on the final word, wincing through it, and Damien considers the question.

He lost consciousness, so the ogre must have struck him, at some point, but he cannot say precisely how it happened. He still does not feel... hurt? Again, beyond the pounding in his head and a general... dreaminess, perhaps. Unease.

"Honeysuckle," the monster prods, and Damien looks towards him again. His hand- he still has a hand wrapped around Arum's wrist, thumb brushing scales. He can feel Arum's heartbeat, if he focuses. It feels as fluttery as his hands. Like a bird at the bars of its cage.

More hands. Arum lifts two and, after a flicker of hesitation, he cups Damien's cheeks, lifting his face to encourage Damien to look at him more directly.

"Your eyes aren't focusing," he murmurs, his brow furrowing with concern, the corner of his mouth curling down with displeasure. Damien remembers the way he roared for the ogre to get away from him. Remembers the way Arum snarled.

(He's mine-)

"You saved me," Damien says, surprised again by his own volume, the way the words seem to echo behind his eyes.

Arum drops his hands as if the contact burned him, wincing and making that rattling noise at the back of his throat, but Damien's hand around another wrist keeps him from pulling away completely. "Don't- don't be ridiculous."

Ridiculous. But-

True. Another monster tried to kill Damien, and Arum killed that monster instead. And Arum stayed with him. And Arum must have pulled him into his lap, held him there. Arum called his name. Arum pleaded for him to wake-

Arum asked if he were alright, when he woke again.

"Arum," he says, and he can still feel Arum's heart in his wrist when he pulls the monster closer. Violet eyes go wide, brighter in the dark, and knelt on the dirt he is still notably taller than Damien, but all that means is that Damien needs to pull Arum down when he leans up.

The way Arum gasps into the kiss is like a shower of sparks behind Damien's eyelids. He shivers, almost trembling, an arm curling around Damien's back and holding him steady until Damien breaks the kiss, tipping his head to the side so he can breathe, so he can speak.

"Thank you," he whispers.

The monster swallows, pants out a breath, and then- goes still.

"You..." he clenches his teeth, but he does not quite pull away. Which is a relief, because- well. Damien feels adrift, and particularly shy, at this exact moment. "It hit you in the head. Honeysuckle, you are not thinking clearly. You hit your head and you cannot focus and you aren't responding normally and when you realize-"

"Oh, Rilla will be rather upset with me if I've gotten myself concussed again," Damien murmurs, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. But- perhaps Arum is right? He does feel... something adjacent to tranquil. Dreamlike, he thought before. Perhaps that is accurate. "Do you think I have?"

"I think that you will not be so amicable towards me in the future, Sir Knight."

Arum's voice... oh, he sounds angry. Or- no, angry, but- something else, too? Damien cannot tell.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he tries, still feeling untethered. "I did not mean to upset you. I only wanted to thank you for-"

"Don't thank me," the monster snarls, putting his snout to Damien's nose, and Damien bites his lip to resist the urge to kiss the monster again. It did not seem to go over terribly well, that first time. Which is rather a shame, he thinks. It made his own stomach flutter with something like joy, something like desire. "Stand up. Come on."

Damien obeys as best he can, trying to ignore the way the trees surrounding the both of them seem to swim and wobble and wave like seaweed. Arum wavers too, and Damien resists the impulse to reach out to hold him still.

Arum reaches, though, inhaling sharply and gripping Damien's shoulder, still careful despite the claws, and when Damien blinks in surprise and looks towards him, Arum cringes, flicking his tongue.

"Don't look at me like that."

Damien blinks again. "Like..."

"You almost fell. Don't."

"Did I?" Damien looks down towards his feet, but immediately regrets that decision.

He's grateful that he manages to miss both his and Arum's feet, when he's finished emptying his stomach. He closes his eyes, then, breathing as slow as he can as Arum makes a worried noise and squeezes his arm.

"I'm afraid that I've ruined the romantic mood," Damien murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then the monster makes a noise more like a squawk.

"Do not-" his voice strangles off, and Damien gingerly straightens, enough to look at Arum, at least. He looks pained, again. Confused and distressed. Damien frowns, reaching out and touching the monster's arm, drawing his fingers up his bicep until another of Arum's hands intercepts him, gripping his wrist. "Stop."

Damien stills, observing in a detached sort of way the gentleness of Arum's grip, the focus in his violet eyes.

Observing the detachment of his own observations. Hm.

"... Lord Arum, I regret to say that I appear to be quite concussed."

Arum laughs, still sounding panicked. He glances aside, then back towards Damien. "What... how can I..." he pauses. He inhales, his eyes flicking between Damien's for a moment, and then he closes his eyes and mutters, "What do you need me to do."

Damien doesn't know. Certainly Arum should continue touching Damien, at least. It is a comfort, and apparently Damien is not quite so steady on his feet as he should be.

Because he is certainly concussed. Which is an issue. Or- should be an issue. It is difficult to focus on, oddly.

"Damien," the monster prods, and Damien startles, realizing only belatedly that he hasn't answered.

Concussion. Concussion. Rilla will be furious.

Rilla. Right. She would know what to do.

"Doctor. My doctor, dear doctor, she lives close by the Gate of Tranquility. It's nearby, I should be able to manage-"

"Idiot," Arum snarls, and-

Ah. Arms, again. Carrying him.

"Lord Arum?"

"You can hardly stand up straight," Arum mutters, looking over Damien's head with his expression utterly flat. "You are not going to fumble through the night and collapse. You are not going to wander off and die tonight."

The words that come after that sort of assertion should be I won't let you. Damien hears them in his head, though Arum does not say anything further as he starts to march back towards the bells. It's obvious.

"So careful for someone so strong," Damien murmurs, closing his eyes, and Arum scoffs above him.

"Don't sound so fond."

"Mm. That might be difficult. I am."

"What?"

"I feel rather fond of you at the moment, my rescuer."

The words are like another creature, spilling from him like they do when he composes, or when he imbibes. He isn't sure from whence they spring, but he means them, once they are said. Arum, however, scoffs again, with more viciousness.

"Stop saying things like that. You will not mean them when you are well again and I don't want to hear-" a pause. "Stop. You'll regret this later and I-" another pause. "Just... be still. We'll be with your doctor soon enough."

Damien does not feel as if he will regret any of this, tomorrow, but- tomorrow feels an age away. Perhaps he cannot judge properly. And... regardless, he does not want to upset Lord Arum. Rather the opposite.

He sighs. "Well... in any case." His voice sounds wavering again to his own ears, murmured and musical. "It feels... nice. To be carried. Thank you."

"Don't-"

"Thank you, I know. I apologize, Lord Arum, but I am afraid that I am grateful, whether you should prefer to hear me say so or not."

At the odd angle from where Arum carries him, pressed against Arum's chest, Damien watches his jaw clench, his snout twitching.

Dreamlike, the rest of the walk. When they reach the gate, Arum shakes him, and he realizes how close he had come to simply falling back to unconsciousness in Arum's arms. He vaguely remembers Rilla warning against that, so soon after a blow to the head, but he cannot recall why. He can't seem to make himself all that worried about it.

He murmurs directions against Arum's scales, the route so easy and familiar that he needs not even think about the words. Arum's scales smell like waxy leaves, like tea, like plums.

"Hush, honeysuckle."

Swinging in someone else's arms... it feels almost like rocking on the deck of a ship. Gentle swaying, safe and held.

"Shh. Be still."

Two more turns. They are very close, now.

"Close now, honeysuckle."

Arum shouldn't be worried. This is hardly a scratch. Damien has had worse and worse by far, and he always heals with remarkable swiftness. Rilla will know precisely what to do, anyway.

"I'm not worried," the monster spits, but his hands all squeeze gently, regardless. "Hush. Hush."

Damien smiles, the chimes in Rilla's garden gleaming in the dark, shimmering sound through the clearing as Arum hops up the steps on deft, near-silent feet.

"I'm going to set you down, now," Arum whispers, too close to Damien's ear, making him shiver. He barely understands, however, and Damien wobbles when his feet hit the wood. Arum hisses again, low panic, steadying him with a hand curled to support his back, and Damien-

Feels Arum, so close and so gentle and so strange and compelling and wild and careful, and Damien feels outside of himself, feels like he can see his own desire like a reaching grasping thing in his chest. He lifts a hand, observing it as if it belongs to someone else as he dusts his fingers along Arum's sharp jaw, gingerly cupping his cheek as Arum stares at him, worry and some sharp pain so terribly obvious in those violet eyes.

Light paints his features, lovely green and speckles of black and gold on his scales, his irises narrowing against the light to slits of black in so much violet for a moment before Arum turns his face away, towards the light. Damien cannot help himself, leaning up again, pressing his lips with gentle care against Arum's cheek as he startles and whirs at the back of his throat.

"Thank you for bringing me home," he murmurs.

"Ah... Damien?"

He turns, blinking against the light, only realizing belatedly that it comes from inside. Rilla stands in the doorway, staring at him with wide dark eyes, and then flicking them towards Arum as well.

He stumbles forward as Arum pushes, and Rilla catches him in her arms with an exaggerated oof.

"He hit his head," Arum snaps quickly, his tail flicking and his frill flared entirely out. "He's concussed. He is not in his right mind. He very clearly did not mean any of that."

Damien huffs, then twists in Rilla's arms so he can glare back at Arum, but- Arum doesn't meet his gaze. He's too busy grimacing, looking aside as he backs towards the edge of the pool of light cast by Rilla's open door. He only flicks his eyes back up once, and then he tilts his head back down.

"Take- take care of him," he mutters. "Farewell."

Damien makes a noise without meaning to, and he sees Arum's tail twitch just before he disappears into the dark.

"Well," Rilla drawls, readjusting her grip to help Damien stand more easily. "I can't say this is how I expected my evening to go."

[voiceless-terror]

#21 and #46 for kiss prompts, maybe? I can't get enough your writing tbf

kiss on a dare- a little jonmartin season one fluff <3 All in all, this is one of Tim’s better Friday nights.

It’s been ages since Jon’s hung out with them, and never with Martin along for the ride. The Archives had been off to a messy start after the Dog Incident and Jon’s subsequent panic over the state of the place. What used to be an ‘every couple of weeks’ tradition turned into an almost-never one as the newly-assembled team got buried under more and more boxes of dusty statements. He’s pretty astounded that Jon agreed to dinner and drinks- although it’s a Friday night, Jon’s been apt to stay weekends more often than not. He figured if he arranged for it at one of theirs instead of a pub, Jon would be more likely to come. He always preferred less crowded settings.

No, the real feat was getting him to come knowing Martin was invited.

Jon’s been getting...better around him, that’s true. He was perfectly fine at his birthday party, going off about emulsifiers for a solid fifteen minutes. Tim’s always been rather fond of Jon’s infodumping, and if he’s comfortable enough to do it around Martin that must be a good sign. Despite an initial freeze-out, he now thanks Martin for his tea and saves his most pointed comments for Martin’s more egregious screw-ups (and even those have less bite than usual). Still, a colleague does not a friend make, and Jon’s never been good at opening up to people he doesn’t know all that well. However, Jon just nodded at the Martin caveat, seemingly not giving it a second thought. And Martin didn’t seem all that worried either.

Whatever, Tim’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s just happy they’re all here, having a good time. It’s late and Jon’s had enough wine to keep a smile on his face. He missed that. It’s nice how easily they slot together, even with all of the upheaval and a new addition. Martin himself isn’t so shy after a drink or two, more willing to engage in banter and keep the conversation going. This is what it should be like all the time, Tim thinks. Shitty archive job or not. 

It’s when they retire to the living room, drinks in hand, that he finally notices the little grin on Sasha’s face. And Tim, knowing exactly what that means, is both a little afraid and excited. Four-drink-Sasha has always been a host unto herself.

“Why don’t,” she begins, a hiccup interrupting her as she slumps into an armchair. Tim snickers and ignores the glare this earns him. “Why don’t we play one of our old games-”

Tim raises a glass in agreement as Jon, predictably, groans. Martin looks quizzically between them. Ah yes, time for your initiation, Marto! Not that they’ve played this in about a year or so, of course, but it's always fun to revisit the good old days.

“Seriously? We’re not children-”

Tim gives Jon a playful slap on the back that sends him flying forward on the couch, spilling a bit of wine on Sasha’s rug. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “C’mon, it’ll be fun, boss! Nothing like it to break the ice, and there’s definitely some ice that needs breaking.”

Martin blinks, hand tightening on his glass. He looks nervous, like he always does when he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. Which is a shame, because he’s been so nice and open all night. Even chatting with Jon. “Sorry, what are you talking about?”

Jon rolls his eyes, giving Martin a commiserating look. “Truth or dare.”

Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh, relaxing minutely. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Jon’s foot reaches out to shove at Tim’s leg. “Tim loves pulling ridiculous stunts-”

“-Hey, you loved the karaoke idea-”

“You sing?”

“No.” Tim would dispute that, but the look on Jon’s face declares it a bad idea. “And Sasha likes to ask probing questions.”

Sasha preens, though the remark was certainly not meant as a compliment. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Truth-”

Tim snorts. “Hacking and blackmail more like-”

“Anyway-” Sasha sings out as Tim dodges a pillow to the face. “Tim….truth or-”

“Dare, always dare.”

“You’re absolutely no fun,” Sasha pouts, though it doesn’t take long for her eyes to narrow in thought. There’s very little Tim won’t do, but that’s a dangerous look. “I dare you...to text…”

“Text? You can do better than that, Sash.”

“Text...Elias.” That’s more like it. 

Jon immediately scowls. “Tim, no-”

“I don’t have his number-”

“I do-”

“Sasha!”

“Jon, it’ll be fine! He’ll just say ‘oops, wrong number’ afterwards, no harm, no foul-”

Tim takes this time to snatch at Sasha’s phone, sitting precariously on the arm of her chair. She doesn’t notice, too busy gesturing at Jon empathically. He scrolls through her contact list.

“And then it’ll come down on me-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “How is he going to connect it to you? It’s not like he knows we’re all together-”

“Done!” Tim tosses the phone back onto the couch with a little grin. Sasha blinks, looking down in confusion.

“Wait, that’s mine-”

The screech and smack on the arm at Tim’s hastily fired off ‘u up? ;)’ to Elias Bouchard were definitely deserved. He’s sure he’ll face consequences for that in the near future, but Jon and Martin’s immediate laughter had been well worth it. Shouldn’t dish it if you can’t take it, that’s Tim’s motto.

In the next round, Tim manages to get Martin to confess to his poetry-writing habit, an admission that has him turning an attractive shade of red. Jon just giggles quietly to himself as Martin reads through one of his poorer attempts at rhyme saved to the notes of his mobile. Tim watches the two of them; Martin keeps looking up at Jon throughout it all like he’s the only one in the room and god, his crush is so evident and yet Jon is oblivious, smiling at him like he’s not on the receiving end of some of the most loaded glances of all time. 

Martin gets Sasha to admit to her most recent perusal through confidential institute records, which turned out to be previous archival expenses (solely to find out what Elias would cover with their new jobs, of course). At first glance, there wasn’t much in the way of extravagant meals or supplies, but a bit more digging had her finding Gertrude’s extensive travel budget. For an old woman, she certainly was a globe-trotter.

“All I’m saying, Jon, is that we could definitely do with a trip to China-”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Elias about Gertrude’s trip to China, something I certainly shouldn’t know about, and he’ll have to let us go.”

“Refill?” Martin’s on his feet, taking Jon’s wine glass in his hand and Tim watches as their fingers brush- go Martin!- and yet Jon just nods his thanks, completely oblivious to the seduction taking place before him. Tim’s given it some thought and honestly, he thinks they’d make a cute couple. An odd pair, for sure, but Jon’s so soft once you get to know him, and Martin’s one of the funniest, sweetest guys he knows. They could be good for each other.

“Well, I still think it’s worth a try.” Sasha’s eyes are starting to blink heavily - she’ll be out for the count tonight, for sure. “Anyway, it’s your turn. I dare you-”

“I didn’t even pick!” Jon says, though he doesn’t seem too put out by it. This is the Jon Martin should know, the easy-humored, smiling man sprawled out before him. He’s even taken his little sweater vest and tie off, looking more like the familiar friend from research Tim knows so well. It warms his heart.

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare, I suppose. Seeing as how you already have one queued up.”

“I dare you to...to...to give a little kiss to someone in this room.” She waves her glass around imperiously. “Anyone you like.”

Silence. Tim gives Sasha a warning look that she ignores. She’s well in her cups, and he supposes any sense of propriety has gone out the window along with her sobriety. He’s actually seen Jon give quite a few kisses on a particularly memorable New Years Eve, but that was a different time. He doesn’t want him to feel pressured, not when he’s just starting to open back up.

 “Jon doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you remember-”

“It doesn’t matter- Jon, you can skip this one if you like, we can think of something else-”

“Tim, it’s alright.” Jon puts a hand on his arm to stop the argument, and there’s a strange look in his eyes that can’t be attributed to liquor. It’s mock-serious, almost playful paired with his little sly smile. He thinks for a moment that Jon’s going to lean in and kiss him but instead he gets up from the sofa in a smooth motion and walks across the room to Martin, who’s just turned around with two glasses in hand. He freezes in place as Jon gets on his very tippy toes, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him. 

Jonathan Sims. Kissing Martin Blackwood. Against a kitchen counter. Martin Blackwood, who, once he’s over his surprise, puts the drinks down behind him and kisses right the hell back, arms winding around Jon’s waist like they belong there.

What. The. Fuck.

_____

“The leg bit was a nice touch.”

“Hmm?” Jon’s in Martin’s lap, sprawled out on his couch back at his own flat, eyes closed in contentment as he leans back against the other man’s chest. Martin’s got one hand in his hair, and the other entwined with Jon’s, twirling the black ring on his finger. It’s heavenly.

“Thought you were trying to climb me.”

“Well, you usually pick me up at that point, make it easier.”

“Sorry, next time.” Kissing Jon’s always fun but kissing him out in the open, in front of their friends? Was that something they could do now? “Should we tell them we’ve been dating for two months?” 

Two whole months since that night in Document Storage when Jon had finally let his guard down. When Martin had held him in his arms. Jon was very particular about keeping up appearances, though that all seemed to have crumbled tonight. Sasha rather fashioned herself a matchmaker, and Jon didn’t do anything to dissuade the fact. It’d been nice, having their relationship to themselves, the secret of it, the obliviousness of their friends who still thought Jon only tolerated him. It’s not that he wanted to keep it that way, of course, but it was nice while they were still figuring it out. 

“If you’d like. Maybe it’s time.” Jon tilts his head back, giving Martin a fond look. “Though I know how much you enjoy playing the lovesick fool-”

“There’s something so poetic about unrequited love, yknow?”

“All the more when it’s requited, I’d say.” Martin couldn’t argue with that. He leans down to give Jon’s forehead a peck. 

“Hmm. Give it a few more weeks. Act out the honeymoon phase for a bit, it’ll be fun.”

And when Jon squeezes his hand and smiles back, Martin thinks he won’t need to do much acting at all.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31318724

[jonspurpleskirt]

Sharing Comfort

A/N: This is for @archivalpride. Prompt was “Sharing Clothes” and “Pre-Canon” so I wrote a fluffy piece to celebrate the quiet moments of trust. 1.7k in word length. No warnings apply.

___

Jon did not make friends fast. Most people he found to be too intimidating, boring or exhausting and not many knew what to do with his sudden info dumps and sharp comments that shot out of his mouth seemingly at random.

He'd been alone in Research for a long while because of it and happily so. Things had changed when Tim had joined the Institute, though. Tim had come into the library and sat down opposite Jon with a thunder cloud hanging over his head and pain in his dark eyes. He'd been quiet and snappy in a fake cheerful way that screamed undealt trauma. At least to Jon, who seemed to be the only one to feel the vibes of "Leave me alone" and "I'm grieving" that Tim gave off in a constant stream.

Having Tim as his desk partner was an intense experience despite the way they only ever nodded to each other in greeting at first. But it was also intriguing. A mystery. Jon loved mysteries.

The instances he had ever willingly initiated a conversation with a stranger could be counted on one hand. Which marked the day he tapped Tims shoulder - after roughly two months of co-habiting - to tactfully ask him what he was groaning about as a very special day indeed. They steamrolled into friendship from there, both personalities clashing in the best ways possible.

Jon pulled Tim into nerve wracking research expeditions, Tim flirted them out of being arrested a few times, they went out for drinks and karaoke and movies and stayed late nights to crack nutty cases of supernatural bullshit together.

This went on for months. A nice, comfortable new routine. Jon wasn't alone anymore. And Tim broke out of whatever had pulled him down so much, becoming more cheerful and flirty by the day. Which didn't matter to Jon because Tim would always come to him the most, would always seek out to partner up with Jon and would defend his prickly personality to his dying breath.

And then Sasha joined them. She came from Artefact Storage, which made her a prime target for every curious researcher in a five mile radius. Tim and Jon included. Alright maybe they were the worst of the bunch.

Although Jon only thought of himself as a partner in crime in this one. He had been dragged along by Tim, after all. Sure in the end he had been the one to ask the most questions, but that wouldn't have been the case if he had just been left alone to be antisocial in front of his laptop.

Sasha and Tim, much to Jons chargin, hit it off within the first few seconds. And ever since then their cozy two-someness had turned into a group effort. With specially leverage put on the word "effort".

"Morning Jon!"

Jon let out a deep, rumbly hum, voice not up to the task of supporting words this late in the- He glanced at the little clock at the bottom of his screen. Ah... early in the morning.

With a laugh that was far too cheerful however you would describe the current hour, Sasha sat down next to him. She leaned in to look at what he was working. He leaned away to get her out of his personal bubble.

Her legs brushed his and the rustling drew his gaze downward. She wore a thick wool skirt, long enough not to go against the dress code. It was a somewhat dull navy blue and fell down in enticing waves around her crossed legs.

It looked very soft and comfortable. Jon itched to touch it. Instead he rubbed against the stiff fabric of his own cream coloured dress pants.

"Would you mind?" He snapped at her.

"No. You spelled 'aboriginal' wrong."

"Thank you for your insight. Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

"Don't you?" She shot back, light and quick as though they were just bantering and not fighting over the right to sit at this table.

Sasha huffed at his glare and slid a cup of something steaming over to him. "You keep staying so late that I can buy you a drink at the asscrack of dawn and be sure you're still here to consume it hot. I'm not usually one to judge anyone's sleep schedule. But I'm judging your sleep schedule."

"And yours is any better?" Jon muttered, taking the offering and peeking inside. Black tea with a bit of cream and hopefully enough sugar to rot his teeth out of his mouth. He needed both the coffein and the sweet energy source.

"I'm getting at least two more hours of sleep than you do on a daily basis, so I'm good."

"Tim would have both of our heads if he knew."

Sasha put her hand on the table and stretched out her pinky. "I swear secrecy if you do."

With a snort Jon linked their pinkies. "I'll hold you to that."

So... Maybe Sasha wasn't that bad. She was a little aggressive in her befriending techniques, Jon mused. At least he hoped the early morning chats and cups of tea and coffee were that and not an elaborate plan to get rid of him via slow poisoning. But she was about as curious as Tim and Jon and her skills with computers were very happily exploited by the both of them. So Jon eventually had to admit that she was actually a very nice addition to the group.

Not that he could have ever said no to their friendship. Tim and Sasha put together were a maelstorm of affection, sucking Jon in with a force he had no chance to defend against. And before he knew it they had successfully gotten him accostumed to friday nights at the pub and saturday mornings in their flats, smashed together on a couch or a bed or a mattress depending on who had had the misfortune of playing host that week.

Jon hadn't been this comfortable since Georgie. And that wasn't only the booze talking. It was one of those nights where they ended up leaving the pub early to lounge around Sashas massive sofa instead. Jons head was swimming within a blissful haze of tipsiness.

He was slouching over one end of the couch, head tilted just so that he could watch his two friends bicker. The words didn't really register, but the noise was nice and their expressions were funny.

Without his conscious saying so, his gaze slid down to Sashas leg area. She wore a very eye catching, fluttery red skirt this time around and the way the warm glow of the ceiling lamp was reflected in the material was mesmerizing.

"Oh Jonny boy, don't you know staring like that is rude?" Tim half-joked as he noticed.

Sasha slapped him on the shoulder. "Shush you there's like zero sexual longing in his gaze, Tim. You don't need to go all protective big brother on me. He just really likes my skirts."

"They look comfy." Jon muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

"Awww. Jon. Jon my love. My friend. My buddy." Tim scooted over to him, nearly face planting on the floor in his eagerness to slide into Jons side. "Is this jealousy I hear?"

"No. Did you just degrade me from lover to lowest friendship tier?"

"Oh I beg to differ." Tim sang, ignoring the question and making Jon scowl harder.

An arm got thrown over his shoulder and Jon was tugged into Tims side, relaxing into the tight hold against his will.

"You know if you didn't make it a sport to buy the most uncomfortable clothing ever, you wouldn't need to glare at Sashas fashion choices all the time. Making other people think things about your intensions."

"Fuck other people."

Jon waited until the surprised laughter of his two friends ebbed down to speak again. "I wanna be comfortable too..."

"Say no more. Sasha to the rescue."

Tim and Jon both whined as she hopped off and darted away into her bedroom. She hadn't been part of the cuddle pile, but her presence was still dearly missed. Thankfully not for long because a few minutes later she reappeared with a long, purple skirt.

"Here you go mister. Go on try it on."

Trading places with her Jon didn't hesitate to shug his trousers off and slip the skirt on. Tim wolf whistled behind him and Jon dutifully showed him a finger. The yelp he heard shortly after told him that Sasha must have taken more direct approach to disciplining Tim.

"Bad boy. I picked that colour for a reason."

Jon flushed at the reminder that Tim and Sasha knew. That they knew and accepted him and even went out of their way to make him comfortable.

"I may not be allowed to touch, but I can still appreciate beauty when I see it."

"Do you need glasses, Tim?" Jon couldn't help but ask while he settled back down.

It was his turn to be slapped on the shoulder. "Nu-uh! No self depricating jokes in my household!"

"Yes ma'am." He scooted over to Sashas side, marveling at the slide of the soft material against his legs. "Anyway. Touching yes. But no sex, only cuddles."

Sasha laughed in delight as she pulled him closer so he could stretch out, the two of them nearly shoving Tim off the couch.

"Wait, wait, wait Jon you're definitely not comfortable yet!"

"Hm?" He frowned at the renewed shifting, jeez everyone was being so squirmy today.

"Dress shirt? Really? Wait a sec."

Tim ended up finding a truly attrocious night shirt he had stored in one of Sashas cupboards. It was rainbow coloured, but at least it was made of a soft cotton and about a size too big on Jon.

"Awww Jon you're adorable!"

"Timothy Stoker don't you dare take a photo."

"Fine, fine. But I will remember this day forever."

It turned out that he didn't need to. The next time they were over at Sashas Jon asked to borrow their clothes again and the next time after, and the next time after that, too. It kind of escalated from there, clothes mixed together until it was hard to remember who owned what.

And that was perfect. Because the most comfortable clothes were always the ones that belonged to his friends.

[troubatrain]

better man - m. tkachuk

a/n: a repost from my old blog!

Matthew’s life was a mess. Well, you thought his life was a mess, he thought everything was just fine. You’d watch your friend, or mutual acquaintance if you were being honest, make poor decision after poor decision and you weren’t sure if you could take it anymore. When you’d first met Matthew, after Noah introduced the two of you at a team party, his antics were normal. He’d go out a little bit, but never the night before a game, and aside from the fact that he slept with every girl that walked into his life, things weren’t too bad. You bit your tongue about that one, knowing Matthew would just tease you for being jealous if you’d tried to say a thing about it. But, things were out of control now, it was the night before you knew the Flames had an afternoon game and Matthew was standing across from you at the bar, slamming back a shot with whoever his flavor of the week was.

“Just let it go, if he’s going to ruin his life, it’s not your place to stop him,” Your best friend, Madi, comments, “I’m serious Y/N.”

You watch the girl who’d been under Matthew’s arm slip away and head towards the bathroom, you turn to Madi, “This is the last time, I promise.”

While you didn’t actually consider Matthew your friend, mainly because you don’t think he thought much about you at all, you’d been in this position before. That time ended with Matthew hunched over you for an hour while you prayed to whatever higher power there was that he didn’t throw up in the back of an Uber. You walk over to the bar, a hand on his back while you leaned onto the bar next to him.

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asks, amused with running into you, “I thought you didn’t go places without your boyfriend who’s not your boyfriend.”

“Noah’s not my boyfriend,” You remind him, just like you always did when he accused you of liking Noah. In reality, Noah moved across the hall from you when he’d first got traded to Calgary, and while he’s moved out since, you were still close, “And you have a game tomorrow.”

“I know I do, I’m also a little busy right now,” Matthew smirks, a smug look on his face. His words were slurring together, and the bags under his eyes told you he hasn’t slept in days. Your heart broke, you didn’t understand why he was doing this to himself, the once lively sort of pain in the ass guy you’d met forever ago has turned into a shell of his old self.

“Matt, let me take you home,” You plead, your eyes boring into his, a pout present on your lips, “You need to be home.”

“I’m a grown ass man Y/N,” Matthew argues back, “I can do whatever, and whoever I want.”

“I will march into that bathroom and tell that girl that we’re dating and you’re a cheater, and then I’ll call Gio and tell him his winger is blacked out at a bar when he has an afternoon game tomorrow,” You threaten, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to go. Matthew’s eyes widen, “You wouldn’t call him.”

“I won’t if you go home,” You say, “I’ll pretend this never happened.”

Matthew sighs, closing his tab and calling himself an Uber. He slid off the barstool to head out, and his body hit the ground as soon as he stood up. You turn back to your friends, watching Madi shake her head at you, while you mouth that you were leaving to her.

“C’mon,” You say, grabbing his arm and tossing it over your shoulder. Matthew was a big body, and lugging him out of the bar was no easy feat, but you knew he was in better hands with you than anyone he’d been surrounding himself with lately. You get him into the Uber, sliding in next to him. You watch as the city passes you by, glancing over at Matthew to make sure you weren’t going to have a repeat of last time. His eyelids were starting to get heavy, and he leaned his head onto your shoulder.

“You’re too nice,” Matthew whispers, breaking the silence in the car, “Too nice.”

You smile to yourself, you knew you were too nice sometimes. You forgave too easily, and you definitely cared way too much about other people. But you couldn’t stand back while you watched Matthew continuously ruin his own life - it just wasn’t going to happen. The car finally halts in front of Matthew’s building, and you head inside with him. You were going to get him to bed, and you were going to slip down to Noah’s, who lived on the floor just underneath his, to crash in his guest room, that was the plan.

You’d never been in Matthew’s apartment before, but it certainly looked like a more barren version of Noah’s, despite the fact that Matthew lived in this building way longer. The furniture in it was the furniture that was staged in the apartment, and that you knew for a fact, and he was in desperate need of some curtains. You look around, not noticing one remnant of the fact that anyone actually lived here.

“I can get myself to bed,” Matthew huffs out behind you, finally slipping his shoe off, “Unless you want to join me.”

“I just wanted to be sure you were actually home,” You snark back, turning to look at him with an amused look on your face while he struggled to slip off his other shoe, “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No mom, I got it,” Matthew chirps, tossing his shoes in the front of his door and stumbling into his bedroom. You heard a few drawers open and shut, followed by what you assumed was him brushing his teeth. You waited a few minutes, grabbing a water and some pain relievers to ease the hangover you knew he was going to have. You slip in, setting them on his nightstand.

“You should just stay here, it's late,” Matthew mutters into his pillow, causing you to jump.

You knew you should go down to stay with Noah, your key to his apartment was hanging on your keys as you stood there. But, you didn’t want to tell Noah what you just had to do, afraid it was going to become locker room talk that you were sure Matthew didn’t want to be a part of. He trusted you, at least enough to leave with the addition of your threat, and you couldn’t break that. So you nodded, stepping into Matthew’s guest room and opening the closet to pull out a pair of his shorts and a shirt - falling asleep almost immediately.

--

You woke up the next morning before the sun rose, slipping out of bed after your stomach started growling. You padded out of Matthew’s guest room, hoping he had some sort of groceries in his fridge. Your options were slim, but at least he had some eggs and a coffee maker. You get to work, pulling out a pan as quietly as you could, and brewing a pot of coffee for yourself. Your logical half of your brain screamed to just leave, slip out of his place before he woke up and you learned what kind of hungover monster he probably was, but you couldn’t help yourself. You just wanted to show him some kindness, hoping that could push him a better direction than the one he’d been flying full speed in.

“Are you making breakfast?” Matthew asks, causing your head to snap up from the eggs you’d been making. His curls were a mess, sticking out in all directions while he ran a hand through them as if that was going to help.

“I was hungry,” You admit, whispering because you were afraid to set him off, “I can go if you want-”

“No, stay,” Matthew waves you off, “I’m sorry I had like nothing in my fridge, I haven’t been the best about that.” You watch Matthew walk behind you, throwing open his fridge door and grabbing the orange juice from his fridge, smelling it to make sure it was still good, “I could teach you how to grocery shop you know.”

“I can handle myself Y/N,” Matthew rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and sitting on one of the stools in his kitchen, “Nice shirt by the way.”

You blush, looking down at the USA hockey shirt that hung on your frame. Matthew’s last name printed boldly on the back, you knew it was his, and it had been for a long time. It was soft and comfortable, and it looked like the coziest thing in his guest room closet the night before, “It was the only one in there.”

“I’m sure,” Matthew says, stealing a bite of the eggs you slid in front of him, “Oh these are good.”

“They’re eggs?” You say, confused as why he thought you made a gourmet meal out of the three ingredients he had in his entire apartment.

“I’ve used my stove once since I moved in here three seasons ago,” Matthew admits, shrugging and digging back into his food. You lean against the counter, putting your face in your hands. He was hopeless wasn’t he?

--

You bit your lip while you rode the elevator, skipping Noah’s floor and heading to the one right above it. You hoped he was home, prying the Flames current practice schedule out of Noah without him questioning it further. You walk up to Matthew’s door, knocking lightly. Hopefully he answered you, and hopefully he wasn’t doing anything too reckless this early in the day. Your mind starts to race, what if you were crossing a line?

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asks, confused as to why you were lost in your own thoughts in front of his apartment door, “Are you lost?”

“No, I just,” You start, trying to find words that sound better than Hey, I think your life is on a downward spiral and I think that I can stop you before things get too bad, “I’m going to teach you how to grocery shop.”

“I told you I can take care of myself,” Matthew reminds you.

“Is your fridge still as empty as it was the other day?” You ask, smirking when you saw his eyes shift. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” Matthew says, grabbing his hoodie that was hanging off his couch, stepping out and following you to your car, “I don’t know what kind of brownie points you’re getting for this, but it’s fucking annoying.”

You smile, you were still getting your way regardless of how annoyed Matthew was, “You came here willingly.”

“I was just hungry,” Matthew grumbles.

Grocery shopping with Matthew was an experience to say the least. He’d found a new way to pester you throughout the entire store. He complained about everything you told him to buy, reminding you that he didn’t even know how to cook. You responded quickly, telling him you could teach him easily. You weren’t a chef, but you had a few tricks up your sleeve that you were proud of. Matthew just teased you, telling you that you just wanted to spend more time with him. He poked your sides every time you tried to reach up and grab something, causing you to giggle while he gently nudged you out of the way to grab it himself. He called you mom in the store with every chance he got, the elderly couple across from you giving you an odd look as to why he was acting like a grumpy teenager. You were straight up exhausted by the time you were done, leaning against the counter in Matthew’s apartment while you watched him put away all of the groceries he’d bought against his will.

“So when are you going to teach me how to cook half this shit?” Matthew asks.

“I can show you now?” You ask, wondering if maybe he had plans that didn’t include for the evening. You saw him debate it internally for a moment, looking down at his phone and typing out a message before he nodded at you.

You started with something simple with him, salmon and some veggies, it was healthy and easy enough for him to cook on his own without you. Matthew was a little chaotic at first, unable to stand still while you tried to show him how to cut the lemon you were using to add to the Salmon. But you worked at it, calming him down enough to watch him searing the fish in his pan, his tongue sticking out of his mouth a little bit.

“Am I doing this right?” Matthew asks, and you peer over his shoulder, nodding when you inspect his work, “So, do you do this with Noah or am I your only project?”

“Noah knows how to cook for himself and stay in when he has to play the next day,” You remind Matthew, “So yes, you’re my only project.”

“Why aren’t you dating him? I mean you, spend enough time at his place and you’re always together,” Matthew pries, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You didn’t actually spend all of your time with Noah, but Matthew only ever saw you when you were with him.

“He hooked up with my friend Madi,” You explain, the exact reason why Noah was a no go zone for you, “And then he stopped talking to her.”

It was true. When you’d been neighbors you introduced the two, hoping they’d end up together like you wanted. It worked out at first, noticing that they both had chemistry but then Noah didn’t call her after they hooked up and Madi was devastated over it. The pair had talked it out a few months ago, but that still didn’t mean you were going to date Noah like everyone assumed you were.

“Dick move,” Matthew mutters under his breath, “I mean I’m not better but-”

“I’d honestly prefer to never talk about it again,” You shake your head, tensing up at the thought of the year you had two of your favorite people at war with the other, “That’s done.”

“I can’t believe you’re domesticating me,” Matthew chirps, sitting across from you on his couch because he lacked a dining room table, “This is pretty damn good though, compliments to the chef.”

You roll your eyes at his smugness, “Some girl is going to be very lucky after I’m done with you.”

“So I am your new project?”

--

Phase two of Matthew’s transformation was that you were going to help him make it seem like someone actually lived in his apartment. You’d walked into his apartment with some plans, mostly a firm belief that it wouldn’t kill to own a throw pillow but you didn’t know what kind of monster you were actually dealing with. Apparently, Matthew’s time at home was spent watching an unhealthy amount of HGTV with his mother and he knew more about home decor than you initially thought. Shopping was actually fun, until you mentioned that you really thought he should get a dining table, reminding him of the empty space in his place that needed it, and now you were bickering in the middle of a furniture store.

“I don’t like have people over for dinner parties Y/N,” Matthew argues, his voice growing louder, and you could feel how tense the poor person who was showing you around the store was.

“What about when your parents are in town?” You ask, “I’m sure your mom would appreciate it.”

“In my experience, your girlfriend is probably right,” The man standing next to you squeaks out and you both turn to him at the same time.

“We’re not dating!” You both yell out in unison, reminding this man for the third time that there was nothing going on between the two of you.

“Just get the table,” You huff, tired of embarrassing yourself in public. You pout, mustering up your cutest face, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Matthew closes his eyes and throws his head back, “I’ll get the table.”

You clap silently to yourself, watching as Matthew scheduled a delivery for the table. You really didn’t think pouting would work, especially because Matthew can be exceptionally stubborn when he wanted to, but you were happy he did.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to buy that table,” Matthew says, leaning over to look at you while you drove back to his place, “Not cool to bring my mom into this, but you were right, she’s going to love it.”

“You’ve lived here for almost four years, your place needed some work,” You say, you wanted to tell he needed a home but you knew the teasing that ensue so you bit your tongue.

“You’re going to like, help me with this right?” Matthew asks, pointing to the things you’d bought in the back of his car, you nod. Silently making a mental note to cancel your dinner plans with Madi, you knew she was going to be mad, especially because your reason was because you thought you could guide Matthew into being a better person. But you wanted to spend time with him, because despite how much of a grouch he was, he wasn’t all bad.

--

Sometimes you thought Matthew was invincible. You thought nothing could hurt him, especially after sitting close enough to the glass and hearing just how hard he’d taken a hit. But it turns out, a bookshelf was going to be what took him down. It’d been hours since you got back to his apartment, and while you set out some of the other things you’d bought, Matthew insisted he could put together the bookshelf. You leaned against his couch, watching him struggle in the middle of the floor.

“Matthew let me just-” You try and interject, yet again, and offer your help.

“I can do it,” Matthew says, “I just keep losing pieces.”

Matthew’s demeanor was frantic, he had nails and pieces of the bookshelf scattered around him while he read the directions for the hundredth time. You squat next to him, placing your hand on his back and rubbing up and down. You can feel how tense his back was, and how he was calming down under your touch, “How about you order us some food, and I just finish this real quick?”

Matthew lets out a breath, “Why are you so much better than me at everything?”

“I don’t even know how to skate so,” You shrug, there was one thing he definitely had on you.

“I’d teach you, but you’ll find a way to outshine me and we can’t have that,” Matthew jokes, standing up to go get his phone from another room and call and order you food. By the time he came back, you had half the shelf built already. He rolls his eyes, jumping on his couch and picking a movie on Netflix - telling you that was the only other thing he was better than you at.

--

You sat in the stands with Madi at the Saddledome, cringing as you watched Matthew skate to the penalty box for the third time that evening.

“What the fuck is he doing out there?” Madi asks, “Collect your man Y/N.”

You were too confused to go into defense mode on how Matthew wasn’t yours. He wasn’t. But you spent all of your time together when he was in the city, so you knew he wasn’t someone else’s either. You shake your head, your eyes moving to the penalty while you watch Matthew break his stick against the boards. The Flames were down 4-0 and it just seemed like everything wasn’t going in their favor. With three penalties under his belt, and two of those goals scored against them on the power play you understood why he was so mad but you didn’t understand why he’d kept retaliating against whoever was trying to get under his skin.

When the third period ended, you felt your phone vibrate while you were heading back out to your car. A text from Matthew appearing on the screen.

Come over?

You hear Madi scoff behind you, “If you go you’re never going back and I promise you that.”

“We’re friends,” You argue back, a little annoyed with your best friend's constant disdain for anyone that went near you.

“He’s going to do to you what he's done to countless other girls,” Madi retorts back, “Just like Noah did to me, they’re all the same.”

You roll your eyes, “Then I’ll worry about it when he hurts me.”

You stomped over to your car, leaving Madi to go to hers alone. You take a deep breath, pulling out of the lot and into the direction of Matthew’s apartment. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes while you thought about Madi’s words. You weren’t anything more than friends with Matthew but if he walked out of your life today you weren’t sure if you could recover as quickly as you thought. You slip in Matthew’s building unnoticed, sitting outside of his apartment door and allowing yourself to have a quick cry before you heard the elevator ding, signifying that he was home.

“I’ve got to give a key,” Matthew grumbles, “My neighbors probably think you’re stalking- are you crying?”

“I’m fine,” You rush out, standing up and wiping your eyes, “It’s fine.”

Matthew sighs, his eyes going soft, “Come inside.”

Matthew’s hand landed on your lower back, guiding you into his place. You take notice that he’d moved a few of the things you scattered around his place, making them his own. You also took notice of the neatly folded laundry on his table, meaning he actually did his own laundry instead of taking everything to the cleaners. You watch Matthew stomp around his apartment, still in a mood from his game, and while you were upset you knew calming him down was the first thing you had to do.

“Matty,” You whisper, a nickname you’d taken a liking to, mostly because while he claimed he couldn’t stand it, he never stopped you from saying it, “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew shrugs, leaning against his couch, “Usually I’d go out after a game that bad, but then I could hear your reprimand me in my head.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You suggest, a small smile at his confession, you were getting through to him.

“Do you want to talk about why you were sitting in my hallway crying?” Matthew says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“You first,” You push, hoping you could pry it out of him.

“I’d really rather not relive the fact that I’m the sole reason that we lost that badly tonight,” Matthew mutters, “I’m going to have to watch it all over again tomorrow anyways.”

“It’s a team sport,” You remind him, even though you were there, the Flames may have lost but you know it wouldn’t have been by a four goal deficit if he could stay out of the box, “It wasn’t-”

“You were there, and you’re a terrible liar,” Matthew interrupts, a look on his face that you told you to just admit it, it was his fault.

“I’m not going to pile onto the guilt you’re feeling,” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fine, tell me what’s up with you then,” Matthew says, nodding at you, waiting for an explanation.

“I got into it with Madi, it’s fine,” You brush off, you really didn’t want to admit to Matthew that he was the reason you’d been getting into it with her a lot lately.

“You said no secrets the other day,” Matthew reminds you, opening his arms for you to step into him, “That goes both ways.”

“Let me keep this one,” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist, “Please.”

“Just this once.”

--

Matthew’s family were some of the loveliest people you’d ever met in your life, and it was honestly shocking to you that his parents raised such a pest. Especially now, watching Matthew move around his kitchen while you sat on his couch with his brother who was in town along with his parents and his sister. You’d declined his invitation for dinner at first, not really sure if there was a line that you were crossing having dinner with his family, the whole thing just felt so domestic to you.

“So did you just switch his brain with someone who’s nicer?” Brady asks, pressing you about what you did with this brother, “Or is it like a clone situation?”

“Brady leave her alone,” You hear Matthew call out from his kitchen, showing off to his parents the new cooking skills he’d acquired over the past month.

You laugh, taking a sip of your wine, whispering to Brady, “It was a brain switch.”

Brady nods, whispering back, “I knew it.”

Watching Matthew with his family definitely wasn’t helping the feelings you’d been harboring. You thought it was a small crush, that was probably because you spent most of your time with him, but it’d been snowballing into more as of late. You watched him talk to his sister and about his sister like she was the most important person in the world, and you think to him she probably is. You heard how soft his voice would go when his mother called out to him or how hard he laughed when his dad cracked a joke. This was the Matthew you knew was shoved under a million layers of angst.

“I can’t believe you actually taught him how to cook,” Chantal muses, smiling at you gently, “I’d never been able to stop him from making a mess, even when he was a kid.”

“Mom,” Matthew protests, trying to stop her from embarrassing him with stories from his childhood, “She doesn’t need to know how bad I was as a kid.”

“I think she can figure it out for herself,” Brady calls out, holding his hand for a high five to you. You slap your hand against his, laughing when you see Matthew pout next to you.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Matthew protests, “No loyalty around here.”

“I am on your side,” You remind him, your hand squeezing his thigh under the table. He smiles, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. The gesture was so small, but the electricity you felt through your body was unmatched. Matthew’s hand didn’t leave yours for the entire night - until he’d gotten so mad at Brady for “cheating” at the board game you’d all decided to play that he stomped away leaving you alone with his parents.

“Should we do something about that?” Brady asks, trying to read the room.

“Yes go apologize to your brother,” Keith sighs, as if this was something that happened often. You couldn’t be surprised, in a family that athletic there was no way that they weren’t a little competitive.

You watch Brady walk out of the room to go say he was sorry to Matthew and you feel Chantal’s hand on your arm.

“I know my son isn’t good with his own feelings,” She starts, her voice as warm and kind as it could be, “Just don’t give up on him.”

You smile, nodding, “I won’t.”

--

When Matthew woke you up on a Saturday morning with a heavy knock on your door, you were worried. You didn’t even know what he could have done in the ten hours since you’d last seen him but he didn’t always do the right thing - so naturally you panicked.

“Are you okay?” You ask, throwing your door open and forgetting the fact that you were still in the shorts and t-shirt you were sleeping in.

“Nice fit,” Matthew smirks, his eyes scanning up your body and you realized you’d been wearing the same shirt you stole from the first night you stayed over at his place, “I’m never getting that shirt back am I?”

“No it’s way too comfortable,” You say, because it was, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m teaching you how to skate,” Matthew smiles, proud of himself for the idea.

“I thought we couldn’t have me outshining you?” You ask, throwing his own words back at him.

“I want you to come to our Christmas skate but I don’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of that many other people,” Matthew shrugs, “Please?”

Matthew knew you couldn’t resist his stupid pouty face as much as he couldn’t resist yours. You were eachother greatest weakness and that’s just how it was. You nod, telling him you needed to change before you headed out to wherever he was going to take you.

You didn’t expect much, and when Matthew started to head in a direction opposite of any ice rinks you were severely confused. You pulled up to a park, a large pond that had frozen over ahead of you. You step out, watching Matthew pull two pairs of skates and hockey sticks out of his trunk.

“How did you-?” You start to ask how he even knew what size skate to get you.

“I asked Noah,” Matthew shrugs, “Apparently he knows more about you than you think.”

You laugh, the text that Noah sent you about Matthew being soft as hell making way more sense now than it did the other day. You follow Matthew to a bench, watching as he bent down to tie your skates for you, “You’re not going to let me get hurt right?”

The question was simple, but the glimmer in his eye when he told you nothing would happen to you told you that he meant more than just the skating. Your hands were in his while he skated backwards, pulling you around the ice.

“You know a month ago I probably would have let you fall on your ass,” Matthew comments when your skates started to slip underneath you, “But you’ve really turned me into a better person.”

“If only I could get you to stop getting into scrums,” You tease, even though you secretly loved to watch him defend his teammates the way he did. He always justified it to you after a game, telling you if he didn’t do it, someone would bully Johnny and he couldn’t let that happen. It was part of his game, and it was the way he liked to play.

“I told you,” Matthew says, dragging out his words, “I need to do it. Stay here.”

Matthew skated to the end of the pond, grabbing two sticks and two pairs of gloves for the both you, tossing them to you. You looked ridiculous, in hockey gloves that were four sizes too big and a stick that wasn’t cut to your height.

“Wait stay like that,” Matthew pulls out his phone, snapping a picture while you stood in the standard peewee hockey pose, laughing to himself while you assumed he sent it to Noah, but when you opened your phone you say a tag from Matthew’s instagram story and you knew he posted it for the world to see.

“Matty!” You call out, about to reprimand him for posting it while your phone continued to vibrate with follow requests.

“What? You look so cute right now,” Matthew says, while you started to charge at him, forgetting he hadn’t taught you how to stop yet. You skate right into his chest, unable to knock him on the ground like you’d intended, “Easy there killer, you don’t get to start fighting with people until you learn how to stop first.”

“You’re a bully,” You mutter, crossing your arms at him.

“You love it,” Matthew teases back, but in reality, you think you actually did.

--

Matthew didn’t owe you an explanation for anything he did, and you knew that. But with him gone on the East Coast for almost two weeks, you were grateful for his daily check ins and silly snapchats. It made you smile, to see he was in bed watching a movie instead of out partying like you knew his teammates were definitely doing. You were internally counting down the days until he’d back, trying to pull off a little surprise for him in the meantime.

You sat in his apartment, using the key he’d given to you before he left, with a bunch of empty picture frames you bought a few days ago, a package from St. Louis right to them. After you had dinner with his parents you’d talked to his mom once a week. Mostly for her to tell you thank you for forcing him to call her more often, but other times it was just to gossip.

But you’d asked a few weeks ago for some pictures to hang up around his place, realizing he didn’t have one picture of his family anywhere in his place. His mother sent over every family photo she had a copy of, slipping in a few photos of Matthew as a toddler that made your heart melt in a puddle. You smile pulling a photo of the Tkachuk siblings together, Matthew probably showing off the loss of his two front teeth. You learned from his father during that dinner, that Matthew didn’t actually lose his two front teeth, instead they were knocked out by his younger brother before they had the chance to fall out.

You set the last photo on the bookshelf that you put together, tilting it so it leaned against the others in a perfect way. You heard the knob of his front door turn, revealing a very sleepy Matthew in front of you.

“I thought I saw your car,” Matthew smiles, dropping his bag to the floor, “What are you doing here?”

“Notice anything different?” You ask, gesturing around his place, his head turns to scan the room, a growing smile on his face. The kind of smile where his dimples were on full display, one you noticed he reserved for his family and for you.

“How did you get these?” Matthew says, picking up a picture that you picked out of him and his siblings at one of his father’s All Star games.

“I asked your mom for them,” You shrug.

“How often do you talk to my mom?” Matthew asks.

“Once, twice a week,” You mutter out, like your calls with his mother had been your little secret.

Matthew laughs to himself, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out, “Thank you.”

“I’m confident you’d do the same for me,” You say, because at this point you were sure he was at least 50% less selfish than he used to be.

“I’d do anything for you,” Matthew says, looking over at you to gauge your reaction. Chantal’s words about how terrible her son was with his own emotions running through your head.

“Hey Matty,” You say, trying to get his attention while he walked away to change out of the suit he’d been wearing on the plane, “You said no secrets right?”

“I believe that was our agreement,” Matthew smiles, turning around to look at you.

“I love you,” You say, you couldn’t take it anymore, you just needed to let it out. Matthew stood there, his eyes moving to everything in the room besides you, for the first time in his life, he was silent, “Oh my god this is embar-”

Matthew took three long steps over to you, placing both of his hands on your cheeks before he took a deep breath, “I needed you to say it first.”

You smile, connecting your lips with his,

“You’re going to say it back right?”

And in his apartment that you’d turned into a home, Matthew stood in his living room, pecking your lips while he repeated the three sweetest words to you.

“I love you”

[alphabet-blues]

Here it is, chapter one of my baby, my magnum opus. This fic is going to be so long so I hope you guys are buckled up and ready. Each chapter also is accompanied by a literature/media excerpt and five song mini-mix as a YouTube playlist. - Venom

Read on Ao3

Title: drowning lessons

Pairing: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland), and MCU

Chapter: One

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Angst, Depression, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Graphic Drug usage, Addiction, Graphic Usage of Opioids, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, brief mentions of forced prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, drug overdose, Graphic Depiction of a Drug Overdose, Getting Together, Fluff, Banter, The Euphoria Fic, Blowjobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Addict Harley, Aged-Up Harley Keener, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Drowning Lessons, Falling In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Partying, Purchasing of Drugs, Harley's Nirvana Hoodie is a character

Summary: It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

In which Harley takes pills, listens to Nirvana, and doesn't want to be alive anymore.

Falling for Peter is easier than breathing, and also the least of his problems.

(Also known as the Parkner Euphoria Fic)

Mini-Mix 1 for Chapter 1

The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We Left school. We

Lurk late. We Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We Die soon.

- Gwendolyn Brooks

It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

He was 14, and it was his first party. Well, not his first party, but his first party with actual high schoolers that involved booze that wasn’t snuck out from a parent’s meticulous liquor cabinet. Harley though, didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol.

The smell of beer on people’s clothes was tainted by memories of his Father. He’d had his first beer when he was 10, given to him by his Uncle with strict orders not to tell his Mother. It was bitter, rancid, and burned as it went down and Harley couldn’t understand how people loved this stuff. Or how his Father had chosen this over their family.

The party was a little ways out from the main road and tucked behind a line of trees that led to a few rolling fields of corn. It was October, and there was a slight chill in the air. The corn had been combined at the end of summer, leaving a desecrated patch of land in its wake. By the time next summer rolled around, there would be stalks nearly as tall as Harley. He was fascinated by the cycle of it all.

Technically, there wasn’t supposed to be any freshman at the party, but he had weaseled an invite from his friend Joey’s older brother, Mike, as long as he followed his strict orders to “be cool.” Harley could do that.

When Harley made his way into the house he watched the different crowds of upperclassmen interact. Some were dancing to the loud thumping of the music playing from the speakers by the TV in the living room, while others were huddled into tight groups, either drinking, or passing a joint around. An ache settled inside Harley’s chest.

Harley committed to his role of being a wallflower and held back from all of the groups as he made his way through the house. He had sat on the couch for close to a half-hour when someone passed him a joint and told him to take a hit. Harley did, and was careful not to choke so he didn’t look green at his first-ever real party.

The joint in question got passed around their circle a few more times until someone put it out. At that point, Harley had taken several puffs and was starting to feel light-headed and fuzzy, but in a good way.

The ache in his chest morphed - it spread warmth over Harley’s ribs and clavicle, but it still burned.

Harley floated through the house afterwards, giggling at nothing, and took whatever was offered. He drank something bitter and sour that made him want to hurl before he was passed something sickly sweet but felt like acid as it washed down. When he finally stumbled out of the house he felt a happy buzz wash over him. He could barely feel the cold nip of the air, and goosebumps raised all up along his arms.

He found his bike where he had discarded it on the grass lawn when he arrived. It was hard to see in the dark, especially with his head swimming, but he managed to pull his bike onto the road. The wind of the night air blew through his shaggy overgrown hair as it fell in his eyes. He biked down the eerily quiet streets of his hometown as the persistent aching in his chest eventually subsided, for the first time since it had arrived. No one was around, and his ears were filled with static due to the lack of sound - a sharp contrast from the thudding bass of the party.

He fell off his bike twice before he got home, and winced as his elbow got scratched up from the gravel. But instead of being frightened, he was elated, he couldn't really feel it. He snuck back into his room through the window he kept unlocked for that exact purpose, and made sure to be as quiet as possible, even though the motor functions in his hand were failing him and it took him multiple tries to get his window up.

He changed his clothes, noting how they smelled, and buried them deep into the bottom of his hamper so his Mom wouldn’t get suspicious. When he finally collapsed onto his bed he felt sated. He was warm, and the rocking of his bed from his head spinning as he closed his eyes lulled him to sleep.

It was probably the best sleep he’d gotten in years.

That was the start, but it wasn’t the beginning.

The beginning was not quite a year later, at the start of summer break. He was invited to a pool party by Mike’s friends. As soon as the sun went down they all changed out of their bathing suits and into t-shirts, and shorts. They relocated to Maddy’s basement - the girl who had been throwing the party. Harley was expecting the alcohol, and the weed. He’d gotten used to it by now, and even knew how to roll one of the best joints in town. He kept a stash in a sealed bag buried deep inside his nightstand that he would pull out and smoke in the backyard by the shed whenever things got overwhelming. Or, for when that well-known emptiness crept into his veins, that instead of making him angry, just made him sad, and desolate.

He was used to the weed, but the pills were something new. He was halfway through a joint that he had matched with a girl he vaguely recognized. She had introduced herself as “Tasha” when one of Mike’s friends stumbled over and sat down next to him. Harley passed the joint over to Tasha. His head was swimming pleasantly, and he grinned over at the guy who he was pretty sure was named Toby.

“Look what Jessica’s sister brought,” Toby said excitedly as he held up a baggy with a bunch of tiny perfectly round blue pills. “She’s like the fucking tooth fairy, I swear to God,” He crowed as he handed a pill to Harley and one to Tasha. Tasha glanced over at Harley nervously, and Harley didn’t say anything until Toby left, probably to go distribute the pills to the other partygoers.

Harley looked down at the pill he had clutched in his palm. It had a ‘5’ etched big in the center, with a smaller ‘325’ carved under it. Harley recognized the pills from health class. It was percocet.

Tasha finished the joint and then stubbed it out on a spare plate that everyone had been using as a makeshift ashtray. “I’m gonna go see what Josh is up to,” She told Harley in a small voice before handing him the pill she had been given. “I’m good with just weed.”

Harley nodded dumbly as he watched her scamper off. He took in the scene of the party going on around him as he stared at the now two pills in his hand. It felt like an old cartoon where there was an angel and devil sitting on his shoulder arguing over what he should do. He stared at it for entirely too long before he said, “Fuck it,” and swallowed one down dry. He tucked the other one into his weed grinder for safekeeping, figuring that even if he hated how it made him feel he could probably sell it to someone at school for a couple of dollars.

The next twenty minutes passed slowly as he waited anxiously for it to kick in, to see how it would feel. He didn’t feel anything for the first while and was gonna accuse Jessica’s sister of being an idiot and buying counterfeit pills when it started washing over him in waves. He went out to the back deck where the pool was, and where it was relatively empty. He sat down on the edge as his eyes went half-massed, and the ribbons of euphoria made their way through his bloodstream.

For a blissful while he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. He laid out flat, head facing the water, and started swirling circles in it with his pointer finger. He watched for what felt like hours as his finger caused ripples in the pool.

It wasn’t until later, much later, when Joey was helping him into his house quietly, because he was too fucked up to stand, that he pulled the grinder out of his pocket. He opened it once Joey had gone home and looked at the little pill inside of it. Harley didn’t understand alcohol, but he understood this. He would do anything to feel nothing again.

It wasn’t an all-or-nothing type beat, at least in the beginning. It was more gradual. As the low simmer of Harley’s misery built so did his coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until right after he turned 16 that he was sneaking out to parties every single weekend, coming back high, drunk, or sometimes something worse.

He bought from Jessica’s sister for a while until she left town. Then, he bounced around various dealers getting wildly different qualities. He tried a little bit of everything, and never turned down a pill if it was offered. He passed out in so many different basements he lost track. He could tell that his Mom was catching on to his worsening attitude and sunken eyes. Hell, even he had noticed the weight he had lost and how he was able to count most of his ribs without sucking in anymore. None of that mattered. All that mattered was how he could get rid of the emptiness inside of him, even if it was just for a night, or however long the drugs in his system lasted.

He got a job bagging groceries at the mini-mart downtown. Most of the people that he worked with were college burnouts who sold and did drugs whenever they weren’t showing up for a shift. He bought baggies of pills in the parking lot whenever he got off work with the money he made from his minimum wage. He knew that he couldn’t keep up the delicate balance forever, and eventually there would be a tipping of the scales.

It was a month before his 17th birthday when he ran out of money.

He needed a fix so bad that his hands were shaking and he could barely see straight. He had nearly crashed his bike 10 times on his way over to Tyler’s apartment. He wasn’t the best of dudes, but his shit was always pure, and Harley knew he could deliver.

Once Harley climbed up the steps he walked along the railing until he got to the door that led to Tyler’s apartment. He rang the doorbell as he fidgeted with his hoodie and dug his fingers into his palm so hard he nearly drew blood. When Tyler opened the door he followed him inside, chewing on his lip.

Tyler went back to his room as Harley waited anxiously in the foyer. He didn’t have any money, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he needed another pill. He needed everything to stop. He bit his thumb as he waited for Tyler to come back out. After a few tense moments, Tyler came back out with a baggy full of familiar pills. He sat them down on the coffee table and glanced at Harley expectantly.

“I can pay you back next Friday. That’s when I get paid,” Harley told him, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Tyler sucked on his teeth and grabbed the pills back up, before Harley had a chance to reach for them. “You still owe me for last time.”

Harley’s stomach dropped. “Right. I know that. Just- ... I can pay you back next week.”

Tyler shook his head. “And what’s in it for me?”

Harley’s eyes widened as he took in the setting of what was going on. “W-what do you mean?”

Tyler shrugged. “How bad do you want ‘em, kid?”

Harley bristled, and brought the sleeves of his hoodie down to hide his hands. He wanted to hide from the situation completely, but knew he’d be right back here tomorrow if he didn’t leave with the pills that he needed. “What do you want?”

“I heard you gave Colson head at the bonfire party a few months ago,” Tyler said, as Harley’s face burned. “You any good?”

Harley counted to 10 in his head. He thought about a lot of things in the time it took for him to count. He thought about his Mom, his Dad, and his sister. He thought about his one English teacher from the previous year who always had an absurd amount of faith in him and told him that he was capable of great things if he just put his mind to it. He thought briefly about Tony and his billions of dollars while here he was broke as shit and questioning his morals. He thought about Colson, who he’d had a crush on for a couple of months, who let him blow him at a party and then told him afterwards that he wasn’t gay, and that they probably shouldn’t do it again. Lastly, he thought about how shaky his hands were and how all of this would be over as soon as he got his hand on the pills. There were five in the baggy. If he paced himself he could last until next Friday when he got paid and he would never have to do this again.

With that resolve in mind, he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees.

| | |

When he left Tyler’s apartment he couldn’t stop wiping at his mouth, and how it felt dirty and raw. He got halfway down the street before he let his bike fall to the ground and bent over to wretch into the grass on the side of the road. He didn’t have much in his system so it was mostly just bile, but anything, literally anything, was better than the lingering taste of Tyler’s cum in his mouth that only served to remind him what he had let him do.

Once he gathered his wits back up, he was able to make it to the 7-Eleven that was only a few blocks away from his house. He parked his bike in the bike rack outside half in a daze, feeling like he was no longer inside his body. He went into the bathroom with his hood up, and made sure nobody else was inside. He wiped down the edge of the sink with soap, and dried it meticulously with the thin paper towels from the machine. He took one of the pills out of the baggie and smashed it until it was basically powder. He spread it with his finger into a line on the edge of the sink and snorted all of it in one go.

As soon as he did he felt the immediate head rush and stinging pain in his nasal cavity that made his eyes burn and well up with tears. He grabbed onto the sink for dear life as he took several deep breaths. He looked up and finally made eye contact with himself in the mirror. His hair was a messy tangle, and greasy, on top of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red, as well as his mouth, which looked rubbed raw. In a certain light, it could have been enticing, but Harley knew that he just really looked wrung out.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror until someone else walked into the bathroom. Harley froze in place and waited till the guy took his position at one of the far down urinals. “Whatever,” he whispered to his reflection as he turned around and left the bathroom, wiping at his nose with the bottom of his hoodie sleeve. The moment he reached his bike he felt it start to kick in and he breathed out a sigh of relief as the telltale rush he had gotten used to spread from his head down his shoulders, all the way to his toes as his chest flooded with warmth.

He just had to make it until next Friday, and then everything was going to be okay.

| | |

The thing was, Harley was a pretty angry person. He wasn’t angry all the time, but the slightest thing could set him off. He had a temper like his Dad, and it was always hard to stop himself from doing something rash, or impulsive. His Mom liked to say that he thought with his fists before his head. His anger was more like a low simmer, on a backburner constantly until something set him off and he snapped. It had only gotten worse since he started the pills, but so had everything in his life. He knew he had a problem, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop.

Harley had been getting into fights at school for almost as long as he could remember. There was a day in elementary school where he had to wait outside the principal's office with a split lip and torn-up knuckles. He could hear his Mom crying through the door, he could hear her saying how tough it had been since Harley’s Dad had left and it made him feel awful. But, it also kind of just made him want to punch stuff more.

Kids at school were mean, but all kids who are growing are mean, and seem to have endless bouts of nasty shit to say. They picked on Harley because he was weird, and nerdy, and his Dad had left. There wasn’t even a divorce like some of the other kids in his class. He didn’t have elusive tales of two Christmases, or weekends at his Dad’s - all he eventually got was Tony Stark showing up in his garage when he was 9, before he fucked off just like everybody else. Sure, he had decked out his garage, but that didn’t mean much. Tony was a fucking billionaire, it was probably the equivalent of him giving a homeless kid on the street a 5 dollar bill.

Harley got better at learning how to deal with his anger. He also got better at not getting punched, and throwing his own. He learned how to hide bloody knuckles, or bloody noses, and only got pulled into the office a handful of times. They made him go to the school counselor and she said it was a coping mechanism; that the violence was a way for him to act out and ask for attention. Harley thought she was mostly a quack who didn’t actually give a shit about the kids she was supposed to be helping. The fighting had been self-defense, but the pills? He could admit that those were probably the coping mechanism.

Harley thought about his school counselor as he locked the door to his room and threw the baggy of pills that he had worked so hard for into his nightstand, under a pile of books he was supposed to be reading for class and knew he never would. He wondered what she would think of him now, or what he had done. He laughed mirthlessly at the picture of her horrified face as he told her that the school system had failed him, just like his Dad, and just like everybody fucking else.

Despite everything, his grades were good. Harley was smart. He knew he was smart, and that was half of his problem. He stopped having to try in school after the second week of 6th grade. He always showed up, and always finished his work though, even if he was working on his projects high out of his fucking mind. He usually wrote his best papers that way.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he thought about his Dad. He thought about what his Dad would say to him and his pills. Maybe an outsider would draw parallels to him and his Father, from one addict to another. He wasn’t anything like his Father, though. Yeah, Harley had a problem, but he was still here, still doing the shit he was supposed to be doing. He was still a functioning member of society as far as he was concerned and hadn’t ran away as soon as things had gotten tough. His Father was a coward and that’s all he’d ever be.

Sometimes though, sometimes, in the dead of night when he was shaking and sweating from either a comedown, or withdrawal, he would try to discern if his Dad would be sad, if he even gave a shit at all. He wondered if he would be disappointed.

Whenever those thoughts took hold he would just text one of his friends to see if a party was going on, and there usually was. He’d smoke a joint, or take a pill that was offered and suddenly he’d forget all about the thoughts that had previously been consuming him.

But the thing about all of his anger is that he would gladly take it over the sadness. There was a hole inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure when it formed, but it was there. It threatened to consume him whole on nights he was alone and could only stare at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom. The only time when he didn’t feel empty was when he had some chemical pumping through his veins. So that became his thing.

He couldn’t ignore though, how it was hurting everyone he loved. Abbie and his Mom never said anything, but sometimes it was like they knew. They would give him a look with their sad eyes like they wanted to help him, like they somehow had the capability to heal him. When he came home on certain nights, pupils blown and speech slurred, his Mom would look at him like he was his Father.

Maybe he was slowly becoming his Father.

Either way, it hurt, and he couldn’t stop. The only thing that didn’t hurt anymore was the dizzying rush he got whenever he snorted the pills that he had come to love so much.

There was one night that Harley could remember. He had slammed his bike on the front porch a little hard, and had made a little too much noise coming in through the window of his bedroom. He was high as shit and the world was thick, but buzzing around him. He changed out of his jeans into an undershirt, his hands fumbling and not working right, like they were no longer connected to his brain. When he finally finished his task he stumbled out into the hallway to go to the bathroom before he could pass out for school in the morning.

As soon as he got to the door of the bathroom he could hear his Mom talking in the living room, and he froze. Her voice was muffled, but he could still make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was on the phone with someone, which wouldn’t be an unusual occurrence for her, especially at this time of the night. It always made Harley smile whenever he would come home and she would be gabbing excitedly with one of her girlfriends, or spilling town gossip. This time, however, Harley could tell she wasn’t chatting with her friends.

“He’s just been so withdrawn. I know he sneaks out of the house almost every night and I don’t know if I should let him have his freedom or be concerned.” Harley heard her say, her voice sapped, and weary. “He’s so bright. You know that. I’m worried that’s going to be what gets him.” She paused for a while, so someone else on the phone must have said something. Harley took that time to let his head fall against the door of the bathroom.

Harley had a feeling the conversation was about him and it made him sick. His fuzzy brain was taking in all the words she was saying and knew that he didn’t want her to feel that way. He didn’t want her to worry. But he also couldn’t stop. His brain was whirring all the time and the only thing that ever gave him peace; a fucking reprieve, stopped the voice in his head - the one that sounded like his Father, the one that told him he was a waste of space, that he was nothing - were the pills that he took, or snorted, whichever was easier, or quicker, really. At least when he was high he was a good nothing.

“No, I know. And he’s so good sometimes. He’ll be happy and chatty, and he’s always been so good with Abbie...it could just be a teenager thing. Sometimes I’m just at a loss. I know he needs something, but I don’t know what that is.”

The world to stop turning, Harley thought, with a sudden flash of vengeance. If there was one thing he could write on his Christmas list it would be for the world to stop turning, and for him to stop breathing. But that would definitely cause his Mom more concern and he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to listen to the conversation anymore, so he made sure to open the bathroom door obviously, and took a few stomping steps inside, hitting his hand on the counter in the process, that way she would be alerted to his presence in the hallway.

He couldn’t make out her voice after that.

Harley stared at his face in the mirror. He took in his red eyes, pupils swallowing his irises, skin pale and sickly. At one point he might have been something to look at, with sweeping blonde hair, and a crooked grin that his Mom used to always pinch and say was her favorite.

He didn’t look like that anymore.

He didn’t even look like himself anymore. His outside finally matched his inside - a hollow shell of someone pretending to be a person.

When he got out of the bathroom his Mom was no longer on the phone, and he couldn’t pretend to be anything other than absolutely exhausted, so he shuffled into his room and fell back onto his bed. He played the words she had said on the phone call over and over again in his head until he fell asleep.

| | |

Harley was smart, brilliant, actually, that was the thing. School was a breeze, but he knew that even though he kept his grades up, every time he snuck back in through his bedroom window his Mom was disappointed in him. He knew that she had no idea what he was doing, but she also wasn’t stupid, and somehow knew he was close to doing something that would throw his life away.

If only she knew that this was the only way he could keep on living. If only she knew he probably would have slit his wrists in the bathroom if those tiny little blue pills hadn’t kept him company, and drove away all the malicious clawing thoughts that flickered through his brain constantly.

Harley had an affinity for building things. He also had an affinity for hacking, which would have been worrisome if he wasn’t good enough to hardly ever get caught. After he burned his bridges with Tyler he started exploring his other options. Hacking into the local hospital’s database was so easy it was almost laughable.

He quickly learned it was going to be a dead-end because they kept all their opioids in a Pill-O-Matix which was an automatic drug dispenser that used doctors’ credentials to unlock it. Even if Harley could somehow bypass it he would have to disable the security cams, and it wasn’t something he could do on a regular basis. It wasn’t worth it.

After that, he did some digging into his local pharmacy, but that was mostly a dead end as well. Their computer systems were out of date, but most of their pill tracking was manual, as it was a tiny small-town pharmacy. If any of their opioids went missing they would surely be noticed.

So Harley started bouncing around dealers again. He knew it was dangerous. But the hole inside of him was just as, if not more dangerous, so he knew what he had to do. He got shitty pills from freshmen with older siblings that dealt; who didn’t know the worth of what they were selling. On one occasion he got a set of pills of oxy that were cut with speed that made his heart race and he felt like he was having a low-grade heart attack for hours.

He didn’t want to be this way - a junkie. But he found something that worked when nothing else had. He could feel himself getting worse and worse and knew rock bottom was just around the corner. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know if it was a sick desire to actually hit rock bottom and to see what that felt like, or if his own self-control had finally waned to a point of no return.

It all came to a head a week before his high school graduation.

Graduation parties were popping up all over the place, and Harley wasn’t about to miss any of them. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see his friends (friends that he could barely even call friends anymore because he didn’t really talk to anyone who wasn’t going to eventually sell him drugs).

It wasn’t even that he wanted to have a nostalgic cry fest with all the people who had tortured him his entire adolescence. He just wanted to get as smashed as possible so he could forget everything. Then he wouldn’t have to think about college, which he couldn’t afford, or all of the stress that came with being on the cusp of adulthood.

He could tell that something was off as soon as he took the first pill. He got high quicker than usual, and he also felt higher than what was normal. He relished the buzz, every second of it, and used his impairment as an excuse as to why he took another one, and another one once it was offered. He was never one to turn down free drugs. By the time the third one kicked in he could barely walk outside. He must have fallen on the grass lawn because one minute he was looking at the driveway that led to the house, and the next minute he was blinking up at the night sky.

He didn’t even realize that he was puking until someone was rolling him over with a bruising grip on his arms and back. The bile that had been clogging his throat rose and fell out of his mouth as he heaved and heaved. He puked into the grass for what felt like ages until he tried to focus his eyes and could only make out a vague blob of a person standing over him.

“Fuck, Harley,” he could hear the voice saying, but it was distant. It sounded like they were crying, but he couldn’t figure out why they would be crying. Harley opened his mouth to speak but when he did he only choked on bile once again until he was forced to spit it out in the grass.

A loud ringing was in his ears and all the talking he could hear was muffled and unintelligible. He started shivering violently and couldn’t stop. The hand that was holding him reached for something in the pocket of his jeans but Harley could barely feel it. He came back to himself enough to glance over with glassy eyes and recognized the person as Joey. Fuck. He shouldn’t be seeing him like this.

Joey had a phone pressed to his ear, and Harley tried to piece all the details together to figure out what was going on but it was hard to think. All he could feel was the sudden pounding in his head and how his whole body ached in a way that made him feel like he had just been run over by a semi.

It could’ve been hours later, or only a few minutes, time was passing weird for Harley. But suddenly he was seeing his Mom. She was pale as a ghost as her face floated in front of him, blocking his view of the night sky. “Mom?” Harley said, not quite believing what was in front of him. Just saying those words scratched against his raw throat and suddenly Harley was so, so tired. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up.

“Harley, baby.” His Mom said, her cool hands pressed against his face. He was burning up. When did that happen? “What did you take? We need to know what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Harley mumbled out, his words barely coming out as sounds or words. His Mom must have understood because her face turned thunderous.

“What did you take!” She yelled, her voice turning shrill as she screamed. Harley winced and his eyes fell shut until someone was shaking him, causing him to blearily open his eyes again. His Mom and Joey were like little pale-faced moons over his head as he could hardly make out the details of their faces, or why they were looking at him like that, or why they were so concerned. Couldn’t Harley just go to sleep?

“...hospital,” He heard his Mom say distantly. Then jerkily he was being pulled up by two pairs of hands until he was upright. The movement jostled him and his head fell back painfully like a rag doll. The sudden motion caused him to start puking again, and he bent over and heaved on an empty stomach which only made his throat feel like it had been hacked at with razor blades. Every inch of his body hurt.

He didn’t realize he had been put into a car until he was laying in the backseat while Joey held his head, probably to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit again. This was one of his worst nightmares. He could hardly think but suddenly he was stuck in a spiral of guilt so strong that it choked him even further. He could taste the bile he had been throwing up all over his mouth and tongue, and could hear his Mom crying from the front seat.

He was so sorry.

Nobody should be seeing him like this. All he wanted was to go home and pretend like none of this was even happening.

“I’m sorry,” Harley said, even though it was hard for him to talk. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his Mom, Joey, or possibly both. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying in between the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.

| | |

When Harley woke up he was in a brightly lit hospital, and was lying in a bed. He had various wires hooked to his arms and he felt like death warmed over. Once he was able to blink through the blinding lights and focus on the room he noticed Abbie and Mom, both sound asleep in their own respective guest chairs. A lump formed in his throat as it settled in his bones what had happened.

| | |

After his Mom woke up they fought for what felt like hours. Eventually, it led to her crying as she said she didn’t know what to do. The pills Harley had taken at the party had been laced with fentanyl, and they had caused him to OD. The doctors had told her that he showed signs of having a long-term opioid addiction and would have to go through detox before he would be released. Harley had denied it vehemently until his Mom had told him to cut the bullshit.

In the time that it had taken him to recover he had missed graduation, and hadn’t been able to walk across the stage like the rest of his classmates. Harley pretended that it didn’t sting.

It was clear that his Mother didn’t know what to do with him, and Harley didn’t know what hurt worse, the fact that she looked at him differently now, or the fact that he had hurt her so deeply. It wasn’t until he went through the detox with gritted teeth and false promises that he would stay clean that he knew nobody really believed, that he was able to go home.

When Harley got to his room, he stopped short in the doorway and stared. All of his stuff had been packed up into bags that were sitting on his bed. He turned to look at his Mom, who was only a few feet behind him, with betrayal and fear. Was she kicking him out?

Instead of answering him right away, her eyes trained on a picture that was hung up in the hallway, just a little ways down from the entryway to Harley’s bedroom. It was a baby picture of him. His blonde hair was platinum then, but still tangled at the top of his head like a bird's nest, and he had a wide smile on his face that was completely toothless and all gums. He could see the tears welling in his Mom’s eyes as she turned back to face him.

“When you first mentioned that you wanted to take a gap year I got in touch with Tony. He gave me his number years ago and said to call if we ever needed him. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the number was still going to work. I thought it might do you good to go and see him.” Her voice trembled then, “Lord knows he has more resources than I do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued. “I know you’re not happy here, baby. You haven’t been happy for a while, and I don’t...I don’t know what to do.”

Harley tried to let her words sink in, but they weren’t making any sense. “Since when does Tony give a shit about me?”

“Oh sweetie,” His Mom said, eyes sad. “He’s always been keeping tabs on you. He wants what’s best for you.” She seemed to gather herself together then, and her voice was less wobbly when she said, “I think a change of scenery will do you good. You have a flight to New York tomorrow morning, so you should probably get some rest.”

Harley balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the bags that had been packed for him. He was a problem who was being shipped off to New York because his Mom no longer knew how to handle him. He wasn’t sure what Tony fucking Stark was going to be able to do for him. The fact that he had been keeping up with Harley and how he was doing hit him as a shock because he genuinely thought that the man had forgotten about him, or at least, didn’t care for him anymore. He didn’t know how to handle the information that not only did Tony in fact care about him, but cared about him enough to open his home to him and want to help him.

“And what if I don’t want to go to New York?” Harley tested, because he always had to push.

His Mom only pursed her lips sadly. “It’s not negotiable.” She closed his door then, he guessed to give him a semblance of privacy. Not like it mattered, he was sure his room had been cleaned of all his stashes, and all his shit was packed up anyway.

Harley punched his pillow repeatedly, and screamed into it a few times before he ended up curled up in his bed and staring unblinkingly at the wall. If he was miserable in Tennessee he doubted New York was going to be much better.

Thanks for reading! This fic means so much to me and I can’t wait to hear the response to it, and post more :)

[s1rcus]

The Road to Love and Truth (Blackhill)

Rating: Teen and up

Words: 2827

Chapter: 2/2

Fandoms: Marvel

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury

Additional tags: -

Summary: Maria struggles after her night with Natasha. She gets some good advice from Steve.

Authors note: Blackhill Bingo square I3 "Steve Rogers"

Story below the cut or in AO3 here

Maria still has a huge headache. She's been debating taking another aspirin to ease it down for the past 10 minutes, but it hasn't been too long since she took the first one and it might just not be working yet. The situation with Romanoff might not be helping either.

Without thinking she's making her way towards Phil's office. She's not sure why, she knows she won't talk about something like this to him. He's a good friend but she just can't talk about her sex life with him, less about feelings. Maybe he'll have some work she can do to distract her from the night before. She can't use her key card on a day off, (Fury has made it very clear she's not supposed to be doing work during any type of leave) so she can't go to her own office to continue work.

Phil isn't in his office. Now that she actually thinks about it, he has been on a mission since yesterday. She still needs something to distract her though. Maybe Fury would let it slide this once if she'd go do work, but she'd rather not see him right now. She decides to just go for a walk. Hopefully that'll clear her head a little.

------

The fresh air does help her headache and clears her head just the tiniest bit as well. She stands outside of the Triskelion for a short time and decides to go for a short walk along the river.

She keeps her eyes mostly on the water as she walks hands in the pockets of her sweats. She probably should've changed if she's honest, but she didn't want to go back to her room. SHIELD agents weren't that rare sight around these parts, but they definitely didn't go out in their gym clothes. She kicks around some pebbles every once in a while that are lying around the sidewalk.

She loses track of time, trying to just focus on nothing but the movement of the water. And she might have let her guard down, because she gets startled, when a hand taps her on the shoulder.

"Maria, what are you doing out here?"

"Jesus, Steve. Warn a girl next time."

"I literally yelled your name when I saw you. You're not usually this distracted. Are you okay?"

There's concern on his face and Maria doesn't like it one bit. She's fine, and even if she wasn't, everyone else needs to think she is.

"Everything's fine," she lies.

Steve gives her a long look, not quite believing her.

"You can always talk to me, you know? Whatever it is that's bothering you, I'll listen."

Damn Steve, and his kind heart.

"I know," she says.

"Okay, well I'm gonna finish my run. Come and find me if you want to talk about whatever this is," he says as he runs past her.

Maria just waves him off. She continues along the river for a while longer until her headache becomes worse again. Deciding it's best to just go back and take another aspirin, she turns around and heads towards the Triskelion again.

------

Eventually Maria realises she needs to talk to someone so she heads towards Steve's quarters and knocks on his door. He opens the door with a smile. They're good friends but it's quite rare she actually ends up on his doorstep.

"Hey, Maria. What's up?"

"I slept with Natasha," she answers as she pushes past him into his room. She sits on his bed, head in her hands. She hears the door click shut as Steve closes it.

"Not what I was expecting. How are you feeling?"

Maria groans at the question, "I don't know. I find out she's queer and few days later I find her in my bed. That's not how that should go. And worst of all I want to do it again, but I don't think I can just keep it at that."

"So you want to ask her out?"

"I think so?" She says and lays down on the bed so she can stare at the ceiling. "But I'm her superior, it's unprofessional, not to mention way too complicated. How am I supposed to be able to send her out there, if I'm worried if she'll make it back? How is Fury supposed to trust in me, if I get compromised because of her? Or what if I make the wrong decision, because I can't--" Steve cuts her off. She feels the bed dip, as he sits next to her on the bed and places a hand on her knee.

"Maria, you're forgetting one important thing, she's the Black Widow, she knows how to handle herself. Do you know how many times she's saved me out there? Because I've lost count by now. And Fury won't see you any differently if you start showing normal people emotions. Also stop worrying about 'what if's. Those are situations you can't know the answers for before it's too late. And for the record, I think you're already compromised. You care more about her than you know. Have for a long time."

"Fuck", Maria breaths the word out.

"Language."

"No, I actually fucked up."

"What did you do?"

"I just left her. She wanted to talk, and I just left her. I wasn't thinking clearly. I told her it was a mistake. Well it technically was because that was definitely not how I wanted that to go, but… I let her believe I don't want her. Shit!" She gets up quickly and starts pacing around. "I gotta go find her. Tell her that I'm sorry for how I treated her. That last night was great. Not that I really remember anything. To hopefully ask her properly out." She freezes on her tracks and turns to face Steve. "What if she says no? How am I supposed to continue working with her then?"

"Maria", Steve warns her.

"Right, won't know the answers before it's too late." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'm gonna go to find her. I wonder where she could be."

"At the gym with Barton."

"How would you know that?"

"Just a hunch."

------

She does find Natasha at the gym. She's beating up Barton at the mats. Maria decides to just stay by the door and watch, she'll notice her eventually. Natasha seems more tense than normal, maybe even a little angry. She doesn't move around as smoothly as she usually does. Her movements are a little more jacked, more forced. Maria realises that she's not fighting with a clear head. She's trying to push her feelings out. Maria was the reason the Widow's usually flawlessly smooth fighting style looked harsh and broken. It makes her heart twinge.

Eventually Natasha pins Barton down and he taps out. She gets up and her gaze shifts to Maria's. Maria physically flinches under her gaze. She quickly straightens her back and neutralises her face, when Barton gets back onto his feet and notices her presence.

"Commander," he coughs, eyes moving from Maria to Natasha and back again. After a couple of beats of silence he starts backing towards the men's locker room. "I'll just go then."

Maria just looks at Natasha, not really sure what she's supposed to say. Before she's able to say anything, Natasha turns on her heels and heads towards the women's locker rooms. That gets Maria on the move as well. She runs after Natasha and grabs her from the upper arm.

"Natasha wait," Maria says and Natasha stops on her tracks. "I'm sorry about earlier. Can we talk?"

Natasha turns around and Maria tries to look as apologetic as she can. Natasha just stares at her for a while.

"Fine. My quarters in 10."

Maria nods and drops her hold of the other woman. She didn't even realise she had still been holding her upper arm. Natasha eyes her quickly once more before she turns around again and heads out of sight to the locker room. Maria just stands still for a while, looking after her, until she spins around as well and heads out of the gym and towards Natasha's quarters.

------

Natasha is punctual as ever, and appears exactly 10 minutes later. Maria follows her silently into her room. Natasha sits down on her bed, one leg under herself while the other hangs off the edge. Maria is reminded of the morning. She stays standing near the door, but is faced towards Natasha. She's trying to figure out her words, even though she's been trying to figure out what to say ever since she walked out of Steve's quarters.

"Well?" Natasha prompts her.

"I fucked up. I'm really sorry for how I treated you. I panicked and I fucked up. I try my best to keep my private life and work separate, and I mostly live at work so… I'm having a hard time, to put it lightly. I also have never done this before."

"What? Been with a woman?" Natasha asks with a serious tone. It takes Maria a beat to realise she's not actually seriously asking that.

"No, Romanoff. You know that's not what I meant. I mean sleeping with a co-worker. Actually kinda never slept with anyone without being on a date first. And especially never had someone in my bed in a SHIELD facility."

"So I was your first one night stand?"

"About that, I wouldn't mind doing it again."

"Was I that good?" Natasha asks with a smirk.

"Natasha! I'm not talking about the sex. I'm talking about all of it. Everything since the mission. Spending time together at that bar and during the mission and also everything that came after."

"Wow. Is Commander Hill getting soft?"

"No,” she says. Taking a breath she continues, “I'd just like to see if this could become something. You're one of the few people around here who I can stand, and I actually had a really nice time yesterday. And I'm not regretting what happened after, so that probably says a lot."

Natasha gives her a small smile.

"What changed?"

"What do you mean?"

"You left the room in such a hurry and now you're here saying you don't regret it."

"Yeah, that. I might've talked to Steve and he had some good advice."

"You went to Steve?" Natasha's voice sounds almost scandalous.

"Who else would I go to? Fury? Do you think I have many friends around here? People who I could talk to?"

"Fair enough."

"So, if I'd ask you out on a date what would you say?"

"I would love to, but do you really want to go on a date? Because I feel like we're not the dating kind of people."

That was actually fair, she did always hate going on dates.

"What do you suggest then?"

"How about this?" Maria is really unsure about how she should feel about the smirk that follows that one simple question.

Natasha gets up and walks towards Maria. She stops when their chests are basically touching. She grabs Maria's hands and wraps them around her waist. Then she wraps her own arms around Maria's neck and rises up on her toes to kiss her. Maria basically melts into it. Eventually she lifts Natasha up and they move on the bed. Natasha seems very impressed that Maria can lift her. Maria might be a bit hurt about that.

------

When they decide to leave for an early lunch (neither remembered to eat breakfast), they're barely 100 feet down the hallway from Natasha's room, when they're stopped by a junior agent.

"Commander, Agent Romanoff. Director Fury wants to speak to both of you."

Maria and Natasha exchange a look.

"Did he say what about?" Maria asks.

"Not really," the Agent answers but there's a look on his face Maria doesn't like. It's like he knows something he shouldn't.

Maria debates for a little bit, if she should push and get some answers from him but decides against it. She dismisses the agent and starts heading towards the Directors office with Natasha.

They get a couple weird looks and smiles on the way there. They walk the whole way in silence. Both clearly trying to figure out what Fury wants from them.

Fury sees them immediately, which tells Maria that it's something important. She's getting nervous. Natasha is here as well, so her mind goes only to a specific direction, but how would Fury know?

"Director Fury, you wanted to see us?" Maria greets him.

"Hill, Romanoff. Has either of you checked the news today or any social media?"

Natasha shakes her head. She's been awfully quiet after they ran into that agent.

"No, sir. I haven't checked my phone at all today. Pretty sure it's dead anyway. I've been a bit distracted," Maria answers truthfully. There's no point in lying.

"Well, you probably should stay out of social media for a little while but that's just a suggestion. Do you have anything else to report to me?" His eye shifts from Maria to Natasha and back.

He knows. Maria takes a deep breath. She feels Natasha's hand touch hers, a sign that it's okay.

"Yes, sir. We, uh... Natasha and I are involved."

"Will it be affecting your work?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'm happy for you," he says with the slightest hint of a smile.

Maria is surprised and she can sense that so is Natasha. She lets her posture get a little more relaxed.

"Now to the real reason I invited you in," Fury says as he pulls some tabloid articles up on the screen behind himself. They're all saying basically the same thing: Black Widow at a gay bar with a mystery woman . Some of them have clearly done a better job with trying to figure out who this "mystery woman" is because a couple of them have actual pictures of Maria along with her name. And there's pictures. Pictures of them kissing, the intense looks they changed during that night and pictures of them leaving together.

"We tried to get them down before they spread too far, but clearly we didn't manage that. Anything about the Avengers' personal life spreads like a fire. I'm sorry about the situation it puts you in."

Both of the women just nod. There wasn't anything to say. Fury takes this as his answer and turns off the screen.

"Well then, you're dismissed. Hill, if you could stay for just a little longer?"

Natasha squeezes her shoulder a little before she steps out of the room.

"Sir?"

"No reason to be that formal anymore. This is just me checking on you. How are you feeling?"

"Well, that's a lot, but I think I'm fine. It's not the way I wanted things to go, but I guess it's good that it's out. If we wish to go out, now we don't need to worry if someone sees us or not."

"Okay, still I wish the situation wasn't this. I strongly suggest that you don't check any social media for the next few days. I know you think you can handle it, but there's gonna be some bad stuff there and I'd prefer the dust settles a bit first. Also if anyone, and I mean anyone, in SHIELD gives either of you a hard time because of this, let me know. I will handle it. It's out there, so everyone knows. I wish you could've handled this on your own terms, but the situation is what it is."

Maria smiles at him.

"Thank you, Director. I know I said it won't affect my work, and I truly believe and hope so, but if it ever seems like I'm putting her before the mission; pull me out of it, if possible. I know I won't be happy about it, but I need to know that I won't be making mistakes because I'm compromised."

"Of course. But I have full belief that you'll do great even then."

Maria nods and heads towards the door but Fury's voice makes her turn around before she gets to open it.

"Also, before you go. I am truly happy for you, Maria."

Maria smiles at him and nods her thanks and joins Natasha on the other side of the door.

Natasha hugs her as she closes the door. Maria circles her arms around her and presses her cheek against Natasha's head.

"That went better than I expected." She hears Natasha mumble against her chest.

"It did," Maria agrees.

"I'm so sorry about the articles though. If I would've just realised--" Maria quiets her with a kiss.

"Natasha, there's nothing you could've done about it. The second we walked in there everyone was paying extra attention to us. Those articles would be there even if we hadn't kissed. I'm just glad we did. I don't think I would've ever dared to take this step otherwise," Maria says. She looks Natasha in the eye and they exchange smiles. "Now, how about that lunch?"

[sunnypogue]

hockey!jj: the origin story (feat. hockey!rafe)

rafe isn’t the only obx boy that plays hockey.

a couple weeks ago, @oopmyheartwent-obx​ & i created hockey!jj - loosely based on rat king/elite shit-talker, travis konecny. 

this is his origin story.

(major, MAJOR shout out to my lady @oopmyheartwent-obx​ for compiling all of our insane notes, creating a google doc & carrying the team on her back for this lil headcanon - we’ll be posting additional hockey!jj/coho!rafe stuff to both blogs, so keep an eye out for a masterlist in the near future!)

warnings: cursing, fighting.

It started when JJ was nine

John B had come sprinting home to the chateau, an hour after he normally got home from school, two hockey sticks tucked under his arm

“Look what I found! Lost and found!”

The boys immediately took to the street, swinging them around like maniacs, trying to hit an old tennis ball as far as they could

JJ had a particularly hard shot - he nailed a car, denting the door

Needless to say, he was hooked.

JJ became a bit notorious for terrorizing the streets of the outer banks, playing street hockey from sunup to sun down, recruiting anyone and everyone to play

Most of the kids on the cut didn’t get hockey, considering it a kook sport & opting to spend their summers surfing instead

Why play a game on ice when they lived on the beach?

So JJ found himself (begrudgingly) playing with kooks, taking solace in the fact that he was significantly better than most of them 

Blatantly ignoring the fact that most of them were more focused on lacrosse anyway

And that’s how Ward Cameron found him

Rafe also played hockey, had been playing for several years in a travel league, and he was pretty good despite constantly carrying the weight of his dad’s expectations

Rafe and JJ rarely crossed paths - Rafe was vocally “above street hockey,” opting to travel to the mainland for his reserved ice time (along with his regular team practices)

JJ was better though - it was like hockey came naturally to him, and Ward saw the opportunity to capitalize on his skill

JJ was wary at first - because what the fuck did Ward Cameron want to do with a 10 year old pogue like himself?

But then Ward promised him an opportunity to play actual ice hockey - and how could JJ say no?

An escape from his shitty home life and the opportunity to finally play with some talent sounded like heaven to young JJ

Ward took JJ under his wing 

Signed him up for the local team, bought him skates, new gear, and made sure he was able to be at every practice

Made sure he had the tutors and the resources necessary to clean up his grades for future college possibilities

JJ was immediately recognized as “raw talent” - he lasted on the peewee squad for exactly one week, before being moved up to the travel bantam team, making him the lone 10 year old on a U14 team 

Which also meant he was teammates with Rafe

Carpool buddies!

Rafe simultaneously loved and hated it. It took some of the pressure off of him as his dad’s attention shifted 

But he also craved his dad’s attention and approval - which he was no longer getting with JJ in the picture

Conversation at the Cameron dinner table often consisted of “JJ’s latest achievement on the ice,” with Ward rattling off stats like a rinkside reporter.

“He’s leading the team in points, despite missing two games - I think the next kid is like, 13 points behind him.”

Rafe would roll his eyes, stabbing at whatever vegetable was left on his plate, “I’m the next kid, dad.”

He wanted to make the point that he was a defender and JJ was a forward, but he knew his dad wouldn’t care. 

He was right.

Ward would wave a dismissive hand, continuing his praise for JJ

“Kid’s so chippy, makes up for his huge size disadvantage”

This one especially hurt Rafe, who was one of the biggest guys on the team

“I’ve never seen anything like his playmaking ability, no one else on the team even comes close to his vision”

Ward essentially became JJ’s foster-hockey dad, convinced this scrawny kid from the cut would Make It Big

JJ never had to pay a dime - travel & league fees completely covered, the latest gear waiting for him in the Cameron’s foyer before practice (after JJ would bike 8 miles from the cut before sunrise to make it on time for carpool)

When recruits started knocking? Ward was advocating for JJ (a sophomore), meeting with coaches from UND, Wisconsin, BU, BC - the big ones.

Ward helped him put together highlight footage - “It’s like a portfolio, son, so they can see what you can really do.”

Fielding calls from NTDP (which JJ was wary about, because...leaving the outer banks? In the middle of high school? - terrifying.)

Meanwhile, Rafe (a senior) was attempting to lock down his SINGULAR offer from Huntsville, and trying (but failing) to swallow any jealousy/animosity he had towards JJ and his dad.

Of course, JJ and Rafe’s teammates were Very Aware of the weird dynamic the OBX boys had - they would occasionally chirp JJ for his “sugar daddy,” chirp Rafe about playing with his “stepbrother”

Rafe & JJ would go along with it, internalizing any frustration, offering up some half assed comebacks in response

They both wanted out of the outer banks, if keeping their heads down and getting along was the way to do it - so be it.

But you know - boys.

One practice - late June, days before Rafe was supposed to head down to Huntsville to report for summer conditioning - one of their teammates made a particularly nasty comment

Spouting something about Rafe leaving, meaning Ward was finally able to put all of his time into his actual prodigal son: JJ.

Rafe saw red - he was on top of the guy in a matter of seconds, shoving him to the ice as he tried to rip his helmet off

All the years of frustration, of feeling second best in his own dad’s eyes, surged forward, and Rafe couldn’t stop it

JJ was the first to the scrap, trying to pull Rafe off of their teammate before any real physical damage could be done, yelling at him to “calm the fuck down!”

Rafe knew getting the reputation of the hothead who’d fight his teammates looked bad to the coaches, but he didn’t want to hear it - especially from JJ, who’d essentially ruined his life

Rafe shook him off - “Don’t fucking touch me, you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me, still playing street hockey with your dirty pogue friends on the cut.”

JJ flew back, face bright red from Rafe’s sharp comment - he fired back before he could think - “Whatever, you fucking loser. Have fun slumming it in Huntsville.”

Rafe glanced up, gritting his teeth as he chucked his glove in JJ’s direction, before skating towards him and shoving him over with his stick. He towered over JJ, sweaty hair dangling onto his forehead as he hissed - “Keep trying to pretend to be someone you’re not - we all know you don’t belong here.” 

Rafe threw his other glove at him, nailing JJ in the chest, before standing up straight, slicking his hair back with one hand -

“Fucking leech.”

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Eight

Link to Masterpost

A prompt-heavy update, to be sure! This one combines three:

“What are you doing?” “Impromptu dance party.” “It’s three in the morning.”

“You’re weird.” “Or maybe you’re just basic.”

and

Person A is cooking breakfast and sets off the smoke alarm waking up Person B who was still asleep

Enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin grinned as she quietly closed the door behind her and stepped into the living room. She had just finished her first shift at work without that awful boot that had been a part of her life for eight long weeks, and she couldn’t be happier. Yes, her ankle was aching slightly after a long night on her feet, but it was better than she had feared it would be.

Better still, she knew that she had replaced her stash of snacks just the day before, and Rowan wouldn’t have had time to relocate or get rid of them yet with how busy his work had been keeping him.

Heading for the kitchen, she thumbed open her phone and scrolled through her playlists, selecting one with a smile and pressing shuffle. Upbeat music filled the kitchen as she dug through the cabinets, foot tapping with the beat.

A few seconds later she grinned triumphantly and emerged from the cabinet, fingers clutched around one of the bars of chocolate she’d slipped into the groceries. She had just opened it and was about to take her first bite of sweet victory when she heard a rough voice behind her.

“What are you doing?” Gods, Rowan looked awful, dark circles under dull eyes and hair a complete disaster. She hadn’t heard him come down the stairs; perhaps he had fallen asleep at his desk now that she’d given his office back to him.

Regardless, her hips didn’t stop swaying along with the music as she turned to him and smiled. “I’m having an impromptu dance party, obviously.”

“At…” Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he checked the time. “Fuck, three in the morning?”

“I am celebrating my newfound freedom,” she replied seriously.

“You’re going to break your ankle again if you keep stressing it like this, and then where will you be?”

Aelin winked and slid closer to him, still moving to the beat. “I guess I’ll have my big, strong roommate helping me again,” she purred.

Rowan rolled his eyes as she rested her hands on his hips. “You are so weird,” he muttered.

“Mmm, maybe,” Aelin allowed. “Or maybe you’re just basic.”

A single eyebrow lifted on Rowan’s face. “Basic?”

“Yeah, you know. Boring. You have to be aware of the concept, unless you’re an even grumpier and older man than I thought.” It was quite possibly a dangerous thing to say to him, but it was late and she was riding the high of having survived a night without that damned boot. Hopefully he’d understand.

“There’s a difference between being boring and not dancing at three in the morning.”

“Says you,” she grinned. “I bet you don’t even dance when it’s not three in the morning.”

“Of course not,” he replied. “I work when it’s not three in the morning.”

“Seems to me like you were working at three in the morning,” she accused. “I know that’s normal for me, but it can’t be for you.”

“It depends on the work. I’m covering for someone else right now, so I’ve got more on my plate than normal.”

“How long have you been awake?” Aelin asked, suddenly curious.

Rowan frowned. “Long enough to hate everything about this.”

“So, what, twenty minutes?”

He snorted. Gods, he must have been exhausted for her to get an actual laugh out of him. “Try ‘since about this time yesterday’,” he admitted.

“What? No, Rowan, that’s way too long for people who aren’t either in college or working weird shifts. Did you fall asleep at your desk? Because you look like you fell asleep at your desk.” Without even thinking about what she was doing, Aelin ran her fingers through the tangle of his hair to start taming it.

His fingers encircled her wrist, and she stopped and looked at him. “I didn’t fall asleep at my desk.”

Just then, the music playing from her phone switched from something that was merely suggestive to something that was outwardly dirty, and she broke away from him and fumbled with the device, hoping to stop it before he noticed exactly what the lyrics were.

She was obviously unsuccessful, though, for he almost doubled over laughing. “I didn’t realize it was that kind of dance party.”

Gods, she hoped he couldn’t see her blushing. “It wasn’t. The playlist was on shuffle.”

“Aelin, that means you had to have picked that playlist. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Fuck, but she hated living with a man who analyzed word choice for a living. “I forgot that was on there. And I’m not having this argument with you right now.”

“So when are we having this argument?” he grinned. “I want to be prepared.”

“When you’ve slept, Rowan, for fuck’s sake.” With that she began physically herding him up the stairs. “Come on, go.”

When they reached the doorway to the room he had taken over from Aedion, she leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded against her chest. He moved toward the dresser and opened a drawer, glancing back at her. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all, as long as you’re getting to sleep,” she replied.

He cleared his throat. “Aelin?”

“Yes?”

“Get out.”

“Oh!” Gods, she had completely misinterpreted what he was saying. “Oh, I’ll, um…”

She shifted away from the door, and before she could figure out what on earth to say to him he had closed the door—surprisingly gently—in her face.

“Um, good night, I guess,” she finally managed.

“Good night, Aelin,” he called through the door.

Well, fuck. With that embarrassment behind her, she turned to her own room to hopefully settle down for the night and not replay that conversation for hours on end.

~*~*~

Aelin woke up earlier than usual the next morning to a silent house.

The silence in itself wasn’t unusual; Rowan was a very quiet housemate even when he was home. A check of her calendar reminded her that it was Saturday, meaning he was likely either on one of his habitual runs through the neighborhood or holed up in his office pretending that working on weekends was a thing that normal people in his position did. Just in case it was the latter, she made sure to keep as quiet as she could while she slipped into a t-shirt dress and crept down the stairs.

The office was silent, the door opening to an empty room, which meant that either he was out running or he was somehow still asleep. A glance at the doorway showed his running shoes tucked exactly where he always left them.

Stunned, Aelin sat on the couch to collect herself. She couldn’t recall a time she’d actually woken up before Rowan; the opposition of their schedules usually meant that he was the early bird and she the night owl. However, this meant she had a chance to enact a plan she’d been idly thinking about for weeks now.

Rowan had done so much for her the past few weeks, picking up the slack in the household chores without once complaining about it and regularly cooking for her as well. She’d wanted to do something in return for so long, and now that her ankle was healed and he wasn’t awake to stop her an idea came to her.

She silently slid into the kitchen, carefully opening cabinet doors until she found a nonstick pan with a quiet noise of triumph. That went on the stovetop, and a small bowl and a whisk were next on her list. Soon those were sitting on the countertop beside the stove, and she was looking up video tutorials on cooking.

She had watched Rowan scramble eggs so many times now. How hard could it possibly be?

The pan went over heat with some oil in it, and then she pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator. He always made two for her, but should he get a third? Would he even want a third?

Aelin realized she was now staring at the carton and didn’t know how long she had been staring at the carton. With a sigh, she shook her head. She’d barely begun and she was already overthinking it. How typical. Two eggs it was.

She cracked them into the bowl, cheering silently when she managed to do it relatively neatly, and soon she had whisked them up into a unified frothy mass of yellow liquid. Perfect. Just like the video, and just like when Rowan did it.

Belatedly, she realized she would need a spatula on hand to stir the eggs, and searched through the drawers until she found one. Then it was time to add the eggs to the pan.

She stifled a yelp as the pan hissed angrily with the addition of the eggs, steam rising hot and fast—or, fuck, was that smoke? She poked at the eggs timidly with the spatula, revealing the already-blackened underside of them in a hissing release of—yes, that was smoke. Fuck. She’d ruined it.

Time seemed to slow almost to a halt as the pan hissed and sizzled before her, pouring out amounts of dark grey smoke that really shouldn’t have been possible for such a small amount of—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound entered her awareness dimly at first, as fixated as she was on the pan in front of her. When it finally registered, though, she yelped and tossed the pan at the sink, hoping that would stop everything from getting even worse. It landed with a clatter, but even that couldn’t outdo the piercing shriek of the smoke detector. Fuck, it would wake Rowan up, she had to figure out how to stop it.

She dragged a chair over from their little dining nook and clambered on top of it, frantically waving underneath it to clear whatever little sensor had gotten overloaded. The air was slowly clearing, and she was just starting to hope that she might actually succeed in this futile venture until she heard the sound of running feet and a shout from the stairway. “Aelin!”

Shit. She was in deep and unending shit, with no way to talk her way out of it.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer @rabodocardan

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Worry

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | The Fear | The Thought | The Question | The Walk | The Ordeal | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Warnings: The next two chapters will deal with pregnancy, societal pressure around pregnancy, and concerns around pregnancy! I’ve CW’d them for that in the tags!! If you need me to add any additional tags, please let me know. I’m not a doctor. Just, you know. Disclaimer.

Also cursing; canon-typical violence Notes: Angsty and fluffy Summary: You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. 

It’s been a question since before you and Borracho even get married: So when are you two having kids?  You just laugh it off when his sisters ask, and his mom, and Gabriel, that one time. When you were dating it was only once in a while - usually when you turned down the offer of a beer because you’d agreed to be the designated driver between the two of you for that night. Nadia or Megan or Isobel would sidle up to you and pat your stomach and waggle their eyebrows, and you’d just laugh and knock their hands away and screech, “I’m driving!” But now that you’re married… Well, it’s almost constant. And it’s not just from his family. You know that the guys have a pool going about whether or not you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. The website that you guys used to register for wedding gifts is popping into your inbox every other week to set up your baby shower registry.

And you and Borracho have talked about the kids thing before, a few times since the weekend that you looked after Lissie. Thing is, you haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know that Borracho’s thinking about it. He hasn’t been smoking - he’s been using nicotine patches and chewing gum like a fiend. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and mutters something about, “having to kick the habit some time”. He’s a little moody about it, sure, but you had been very clear when the two of you spoke that you didn’t want cigarette smoke about your child - “Besides,” You’d murmured when you’d talked about it, “It’s not good for you, Benny. And I want you around for a long time.” That fact that he’s doing that sort of signals a ‘soon?’ to you, but you don’t talk about it. You’re not sure you want to. Talking about it would make it real, and making it real might freak you out, and you really, really want to bask in your honeymoon phase for a little while longer. His family is still pretty pushy about it. When you get handed a kid at any family function, or you help of your own volition, you inevitably hear something somewhere behind you about, “practice,” and “it’ll be different when she has her own”. And you know that it’s because they’re excited for you and Borracho, but it’s starting to wear. There’s one day when you’re cleaning popsicle off of Lissie’s chin, and you hear Nadia coo about you looking like a little mother. And you’re so, so tempted to ask if she’d rather you just let her child make a mess. You’re not being a mother, you’re just trying to help. If Borracho were doing this, would he look like a little father to them? But instead you give her a tight smile and turn back to Lissie, and let the baby’s garbled speech make you smile for real. -- That night, you wait until Borracho has fallen asleep before you get up and do a little research. And a little research brings on a lot of worry. -- You still don’t talk about it. The talking will make it feel real. You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. But the thing is you and Borracho have technically been trying since you got married. You’re not on the pill, you’re both clean, so you haven’t been using condoms. You’ve been tracking your cycle, you know your ovulation window, and while you did think, once after you came back from your honeymoon that you two might be-- Well, your period was just a couple of days late, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t mention it to him. You read an article that tells you that 80% of couples conceive after 6 months of trying; the same article tells you that 90% conceive after a year of trying. You and Borracho have been trying for 8 months and-- nothing. So maybe there’s something wrong? Some irregularity with your ovulation cycle - or maybe he could have a low sperm count, you don’t think he’s ever gotten that checked out. All of this is in your head. It’s not on your mind, it’s just hanging out in the background. Occasionally it drifts to the forefront and you wave it back to its place, along with the worries that if, somehow, you ever managed to have a child, you’d be an awful mother and the kid would hate you. -- Borracho, bless him, waits. He doesn’t ask right away. Whatever it is that’s wrong, he can tell you’re not ready to talk about, and he’s got the feeling that the conversation will make him want a cigarette, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best that he lets you come to him with it. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s actually kind of an ordeal. The guys have been working an art theft case for the last three months and you’ve been so consumed by it that you haven’t even had time to worry about whether or not you can get pregnant because the two of you have been so busy that you’ve hardly had time to have sex. After a particularly hard night, Borracho broke down and bummed a cigarette off of Connors, and you didn’t begrudge him that one. You’d just sat outside of the bar with him and rubbed your hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back on the patches and gum tomorrow,” He’d sworn to you, and you’d just told him that it was alright, and that you loved him, and that you knew that this was hard for him. He’d flicked the cigarette butt away and practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck and murmuring that he wanted to marry you all over again. And then Nick had come out and threatened to arrest the both of you for public indecency. But you and Borracho spend most of your first anniversary getting ready for a sting. Nick’s managed to rope you into field work again (much to Borracho’s chagrin). You’re posing as a buyer, and meeting up with the man that had stolen the painting from the Kohn Gallery. None of the guys can do it - this dealer’s been busted by them before, he’ll recognize them right off. You’re the only one whose face he doesn’t know. When you show at the station, the guys let out little mutters; Connors gets out half of a wolf-whistle before Nick punches him in the shoulder. You arch a brow. You’re not sure what it is - the suit you’ve opted to wear, the pointed-toe heels, or the wig. This one isn’t pink, of course - it’s similar to your hair, but it has a loose, styled wave to it. “Why don’t you ever come to the office like this?” Henderson teases, even as Borracho stares him down. “You all never get dressed up for me, why the fuck would I get dressed up for you?” You retort. “She’s got a point. We’re rollin’ out in ten,” Nick adds. Borracho stands from his desk and walks over to yours, watching you reach under the wig to put in your earpiece. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asks. “It’ll be fine,” You glance at him. He purses his lips, and you reach out, cupping his chin, then teasing your nails through the goatee there. “Come on, this isn’t my first field op.” “We won’t be in there with you,” Borracho reminds you, though he sounds like he’s much more hung up on that fact than you are. “I know, but you’ll be nearby,” You say, “And the second I confirm the painting is the one you guys have been looking for, you’ll grab the guy and we’ll be set.” Borracho doesn’t look so convinced, but you lean up and peck his lips and murmur, “Relax, Benny.” And you expect hoots and hollers to go up from the guys, but you hear nothing. They’re giving you two this moment. They know what today is; they know how worried Borracho is. And the guys can be dicks sometimes, but you love them. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s kind of an ordeal. You wind up sitting on the back of an ambulance because a bullet grazed your right arm - not deep enough to do real damage or hit anything serious, but bad enough to need stitches. Borracho is leaning against the ambulance, jaw clenched as he stares down at your pointed-toe heels. You’ve tried to engage him, and you’ve tried to get him to look at you, but he just won’t. When you’re leaving, you expect him to bum a cigarette off of Connors, but he doesn’t. Instead you drive home in silence, his hand territorial on your thigh, like the art dealer is in the backseat, like the bullet is hovering near your shoulder, but neither will be able to touch you as long as he is. He waits until you two are in your apartment to draw you into his arms and hold you tight against his chest. You go willingly, and you cuddle against him and hide your wince in his neck as your arm twinges when you take hold of him in turn. Some part of you is tempted to joke, to murmur, “Happy anniversary?”, but you consider how mad you’d be if he did that to you just now, and instead you murmur, “It’s just a scratch.” And maybe that’s not the best thing to have said, either, because his grip tightens on you, and he mumbles, “Scratches don’t need stitches, sweetness.” -- That night, he’s gentle with you, the way you were with him the first time the two of you were together after he’d been shot. He takes his time undressing with you, pushes your hands away from your clothes when you reach to remove them yourself. When you tease and ask him if he wants you to keep the wig on, he shakes his head and covers your body with his, and he nuzzles against your jaw and murmurs, “You,” sweet and desperate, “I just want you.” -- It’s a hiccup. A bump in the road. A reminder that what you two do is dangerous, that anything can happen. Time passes. The wound heals. The worry comes back. -- You wake up with cramps one morning. You go into the bathroom - you confirm it is what you think it is. You tiptoe around your bedroom, pull on sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make coffee. It’s been a year and a half now, and you are worried. Borracho never did say that kids are a deal breaker, but what if they are? What if he’s changed his mind? What if you change your mind? Your vision is blurring with tears as you pour water into the coffeemaker. You can hear Borracho shuffling around in your bedroom, and you let yourself sniffle before you scrub at your eyes. You set your hands on the counter, taking a few steadying breaths as you hear Borracho come out of the bedroom. You hear him pause before he cuddles up behind you, his big, rough, warm hands settling comfortingly on your hips. He presses a kiss to the back of your head, then to the side, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s going on, sweetness?” He murmurs. You should’ve known better; the man knows you better than anyone, you can’t hide from him, not well. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to go this long without saying anything to him. You lean back against his chest and mumble, “I got my period.” It takes him a few moments, but he nods a little, turning and pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay.” “What if-- Benny what if I can’t-- And we can’t--...” Your eyes are welling up with tears again; your voice is wavering, and your throat feels tight with worry. He slides his arms around your waist, soothingly rocking the two of you side to side. “We’ll figure it out, sweetness,” He soothes, “We can talk to a doctor, we can look into adoption-- Anything you want.” “What’ll your family say?” “Hey,” Borracho turns you to face him. He lifts one hand to your chin and tips your head up to look at him. “This isn’t their marriage, this isn’t their decision. It’s ours. We make this choice, you and me.” He reaches up and smooths away a tear when it escapes you. “And if that choice is no kids, then that’s our choice, sweetness.” You can’t stop the tears now; you surge up and bury your face in Borracho’s shoulder and curl into him and mumble that you wanna marry him all over again. -- Your second anniversary is sting-operation and bullet-graze free. The traditional second anniversary gift is cotton. The box you give Borracho contains a cotton shirt that says ‘I’m Going to Be a Daddy!’, and your (cleaned) positive pregnancy test. (You’ve got a matching shirt that says ‘You Can Stop Asking When We’re Having a Baby Now’.)

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 15

////TW Deceptions of canon typical violence and a home invasion near the end////

“Yea so the pizza is not only aesthetically pleasing but pretty fuckin' good too.”you finish your rant on why the two of you should drive out to Point Pleasant some time.

“Not gonna lie it seems more like you want to,” he pops his knuckles, “drag me miles away to sacrifice me to some old god.” the popping gets worse.

Shit, Toby's getting nervous. You probably look pretty sketchy right now considering the fact that you've been suggesting the two of you go out to Point Pleasant for the past thirty-ish minutes. Toby had pulled off to the shoulder lane once Connor's barking started up. Alerting the two of you to his incoming tics. It seemed to be a long episode so you offered to drive off the interstate and on to the side of the road instead. Hoping that maybe the absence of the additional outside stimulants coming from cars driving past you two would calm Toby's tics.

Unfortunately you'd gotten caught up talking about your late night escapades having been taken by the fact that Toby didn't seem to mind. He'd actually understood that restlessness you went on about. And when he asked what was the furthest town you've driven to in one night. You kind of let loose and spilled your guts about the Mothman capital.

For half an hour, on an offshoot of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, he was trapped with no where to run. Of course the poor guy was probably scared of you at this point. He was just indulging you out of fear not out of any genuine interest.

Why couldn't you just read signals properly?

“No!” from his jump you've probably said that way too loudly, “I mean sorry I get carried away – Mothman's cool – the town is a nice tourist trap and I thought you'd think it was cool – but then I just probably just seemed weird to you and now I just....ughr none of that made sense did it?”

“Weeell” he drags out as thought he's thinking on it “nope none.”

Looking at his face you can see his red stained scarred lips pull into a sort of smirk and there's a glint in his eyes. He's being sarcastic, he's making fun of you. He isn't weirded out by you just being yourself and ranting about nothing in particular or running around in circles with a train of thought only  to get confused or baffled by the workings of your own brain.

The smug dick. Letting you spiral while he watched on in amusement. This reeks of Brian, has his fuck boy energy written all over it. You'll just have to spend more time with Toby to make sure the sweet man next to you doesn't turn into a menace to society. Or at least not a menace to you.

“Meanie.” you blow a raspberry in his direction, he returns the gesture albeit a lot messier than he intended. Spit seeps from the gash in his cheek and dribbles down the scarred edge of his lips.

Toby lets out a grunt and looks down at his spit in disgust. Whether that's in himself or just his spit you can't tell. Leaning over the console you pop open the glove box to hand him some emergency napkins you had in there.

“Fuckin' Mary Poppins.” you hear him mutter over you.

Choosing to ignore his teasing and take the high road in this you hand him the napkins and relax back into your seat. Watching him run the napkin up and down his arms trying to get any spit that may have backfired onto him, which was definitely most of it.

“You good?” you ask.

“Uh yea 's just spit no big deal.” it's such a simple statement but you can't help the smile that it brings to your face.

You meant if he'd be good to drive yet since you two had been out here for the better part of an hour now. It was nearly two in the afternoon. Neither of you anticipated the quick slushy run turning into an all day event. And while you wouldn't mind driving around for two more hours or so – you're quickly coming to the end of your battery.

“Meant to drive, dork.”

“Hmm...Yea should be now,” Toby says wadding up the napkins before spinning in the passenger seat towards you and gently flinging the wad of napkins in your face, “and 'm not a dork. You are.”

Returning his spit used napkin to him, tossing it just a tad harsher than he originally had, “You're right you're a brat!”

You exit the car before he can throw it at you again. Though it really doesn't matter when he just pelts you with it from over the hood when you switch seats anyway. Picking the napkin up off the ground you hold on to it and place it in one of the empty slushy containers sitting in your console.

The mature course of action. However, you do poke your tongue out at Toby as you do it. He only rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh at you.

Toby hovers over the gear shift waiting for either an alert or one of his tics to rear its head. When neither happens he put the car in drive and you two begin your hour and half drive back to Kepler.

Or would've, had it not been for the traffic you seemed to get stuck in not even five minutes after getting back on the interstate.

“You're fucking kidding me.” Toby says incredulously.

After ten minutes of going nowhere, all the while his leg bouncing was shaking the car, Toby abruptly get out of the car and marches to the passenger door flinging it open.

“You're driving.” is all he says.

You don't think there's any talking him out of it. You're good to drive so that isn't the issue, his abruptness about the situation is what stuns you. Wordlessly you get out of the car and take the wheel. Getting buckled in you see from the corner of your eye Toby grabbing you phone and typing away.

He seems to find what he's looking for as static flows through your stereo. The sponsored ads for the white noise “podcast” start playing before fading back into the never ending static. Your phone is placed back under the radio and Toby reclines his seat all the way.

It's tense for a moment as you wait for something else to happen. Whether it's an outburst or an explanation you aren't sure, the anticipation for anything to happen hangs thick in the car. You keep your focus on the road and traffic in front of you figuring Toby will let you know what's up in his own time.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind you as Connor scoots over to his handler to be of assistance. Only for him to be gently waved off. And he goes back to his spot laying down and honing in on you. Since you are currently driving...even though scooting the car up a few inches in the past twenty minutes shouldn't really qualify as driving. Nevertheless the pup remains vigilant in his work.

It's probably an hour or so before Toby finally speaks, breaking the semi silence he put the car in.

“Traffic jams make me anxious.” he doesn't move from his reclined position, just stares up at the ceiling of your car.

A noncommittal hum comes from the back of your throat. You'd assumed it was something to that nature but didn't want to pry. It must be bad if it was something that made him willingly pass the torch of driving, something that also made him wildly uncomfortable.

“Wanna talk – or do you just need silence.”

The answer came in the form of the silence that followed. It was another long hour and a half before the traffic finally cleared. You weren't even aware so many people could be on the interstate going through West Virginia on a Monday afternoon. Since you were at the tail end of the traffic by the time you got to where you assume it started, by the left over debris in the road and fresh skid marks heading into the median, you really couldn't put together what had gone on.

Your eyes didn't focus in on the leftovers of the accident nor did you slow down like many other vehicles. It's not like you enjoy seeing the wreckage of cars or people being lifted into ambulances but you understand most people give in to that base human curiosity. You just hoped everyone involved was safe and okay.

From your peripheral you catch Toby turning his head to face you every few minutes or so. Disregarding it as a tic you continue on driving. While this accident had cleared you don't doubt the power of stupidity to not influence another reckless driver, who might now be late from traffic, to start weaving in between lanes.

“Are we past it?” comes the quietest voice you've ever heard from Toby.

So stunned by the volume it takes you a minute to register what he'd asked.

“Uh...oh yea. We passed it like fourteen minutes ago?” assuming 'it' had been the crash site, though you hadn't been keeping track of time honestly.

No point when the two of you would be getting back to Kepler after dark anyway. You'd ask Toby if he'd want to grab food before you drop him off at the lodge but his continued silence as he fixes his seat up right clues you in that he might not be up for anything other than turning in for the night. Honestly you're at the point yourself, so you don't really mind the silence driving back.

Just like you thought the two of you got into Kepler a little after eight o'clock. Having been stopped by another accident, this one not lasting nearly as long to get situated, had really taken a toll on Toby's mood though. You could practically feel something eating at him as anxiety radiated off his form.

He didn't offer any clarification for his reactions and you didn't pry. Most times when you get a similar way you find it's easier to just let it run it's course than to try and calm yourself. So you're a little surprised when you reach the lodge and  Toby practically volts out of your car, when he gently taps on your window after he's retrieved Connor from behind you.

“Get home safe.”

Those words hit your ears with a bit more weight than they normally do. Maybe because the day's been full of accidents on the road. Or maybe because of the lack of interaction the two of you have had for the past four hours. Whatever the reason it doesn't change how Toby lingers at your side even after your reply. He finally steps away, once again falling silent, and you're able to drive home after a final farewell to him.

The way Toby reacted today never leaves your mind. While theories and ideas toss around in your head you can feel the bubbling weight in your stomach build as cold sweats break out all over your body. Combating the weight in your stomach is its emptiness. Having only eaten the bowl of cereal today and nothing else has left you on empty since you'd gotten into traffic. However, being so preoccupied with Toby's change in behavior you'd forgone food in favor of getting your friend home as soon as possible.

Pausing when you come to the fork in the road making you choose between going straight home and fighting with cooking a meal or running to the mini mart and grabbing something quick and unhealthy. You normally take a bit to decide, but today it seems your gut is telling you to forgo the food and get home. You can't quite place a finger on what you're feeling – not quite fear or anxiety or even paranoia. All of which would be valid considering how weird your afternoon had been. Instead it feels like a little voice is ever so quietly telling you that you should get home immediately.

The voice pipes up again as soon as you gently shut your car door. It seems to warn you that there is danger near by.

'Fuck' is all you can think about as memories of the evidence of your stalker come into play.

It had been so busy lately that you'd honestly forgotten all about the stalker. Hell your bat was still in your room, so you were fucked if your intuition was right about this. You were at least going to be smart about this and pull up the Cowell's home phone contact on your cell before even getting near the front door. If anything happened you'd call and either leave a message or have a concerned Big Jo over instantly.

The house is silent as you open and shut the front door. Not anything new to you but with the tension in the air you're more than certain someone is here with you. Making your way through the house you peer into the kitchen and living room. The coast is clear on those fronts which leaves the hall closet, your bedroom, and the bathroom right across from your room.

Quickly ruling out the closet because of the limited space for a grown adult to hide in. The only options are your bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom that has the door open at all times and would make a great place to hide and ambush you while you went into you room. Or a good place to lock yourself in to call Jo in case they were in your room, you'd just have to be ready to sprint out faster than they could register seeing you. Then there's your room, multiple hiding spots and the baseball bat you'd left in there. Even if they came empty handed they were the one with the weapon right now, you had to be careful.

As you make your way slowly and soundlessly down the hall way you hear a small beep come from your bedroom just as you stand in the doorway of the bathroom. You don't own anything that beeps. This thought causes you to freeze in place all but your thumb which hits the dial button.

Just in time too, because in your stupor a large figure in a black ski mask opens the door to your bedroom. You barely have time to react to the sudden appearance before they come barreling into you. A sharp pain bursts in the back of your head as it collides with the wall that you are tackled into. Phone forgotten, instinctively you bring both hands to your attacker's face.

They may be wearing a ski mask but it will do little to protect their eyes against your nails. Thankfully they have a stupid red frowny face decorating the mask, giving you the perfect target for their eyes. Not expecting your quick reflexes the attacker pulls away slightly trying to get out of your reach, and get your hands off of their mask. They must be worried you'll find out their identity, and while that would be nice you'd enjoy surviving this encounter a lot more. So you continue your assault on your would be assaulter.

A large hand comes down and swoops both of yours in a crushing grip. Harshly yanking them away from their face. Unfortunately for them they'd gotten one of your knees pressed against your chest when they tackled you. With the new distance between your bodies you're able to lift your leg up higher and kick at them.

“Get OFF of me..you piece of SHIT.” more force exerted on certain words while you kicked them solidly in the chest.

Their grip actually gets tighter on your hands as you knock the air out of their lungs. Aside from that and their pained grunts they weren't giving much of a reaction. You'd be certain you weren't kicking hard enough if it wasn't for a cough that ripped through them on a particularly powerful kick to the stomach.

There's a distant warble that you can't make out, it's high pitched and annoying. Good, that irritating sound will only succeed in pissing you off more and enabling you to unleash your rage on the fucker holding you down right now.

Before you can give another blow pain erupts through your chest as it constricts. You can't breathe and you see black dots forming in your vision as you're slammed into the tile floor of your bathroom. There's a foggy feeling in your head, and that distant warble gets more frantic and higher in pitch. But you can't focus on that you can't focus on anything that isn't the merciless thudding in your chest, the pounding of your head, and the god awful static that is starting to burn your ears like a white hot fire.

With the first heavy and heaving breath you're able to take as your assailant presses you into the ground, you feel the rush of adrenaline surge through you. Without any leverage you can do little more  than squirm and thrash under the heavier figure. A brief feeling of vindication showers you as one of your arms is tugged free in your flailing. Your attacker isn't quick enough to restrain you this time and you reach your hand up to their face, this time intent on clawing it up from under the mask. That way some one would know based on the nail marks who did this, and maybe the DNA left under your skin would be enough identify them and save a future would be victim.

God you didn't want to be a victim.

Just before you can hook your fingers into their flesh they are thrown off of you. All adrenaline you had before turns into ice as you stare at their companion. The white mask with painted black features. It hadn't been a hallucination.

They hadn't been a hallucination.

They'd been in your home before. While you were there and blissfully unaware. They'd been so still, so quiet that you'd never even thought they were anything more than a messed up part of your psyche. There isn't enough time to dwell on this feeling of pure terror that spikes through you. But you still freeze in the face of the mask, only to be rewarded with an iron grip locked into your hair pulling you up by the scalp. Then you're bashed against the floor twice.

You honestly hadn't meant to play dead. In your shock it was the only thing you could do to just go limp. That once high pitched warble is now a drawn out moan almost, the static is playing at the edges of your mind as you barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps.

You want to roll onto your back but as nausea hits you at just the thought you stay on your side. Eyes fluttering against your will, this time not a tic but in an attempt to heal your body on it's limited energy reserves. You doubt you'd be able to turn over again if you needed to vomit. Hell you'd be lucky to stay conscious till someone came looking for you.

Would that be in the morning when you don't show up for work? Would it be days from now? Wait did you manage to call the Cowells?

The pounding in your head gets worse with each passing second. You officially can't keep your eyes open anymore. There's no reaction from you when you hear your front door burst open and yelling echo through the empty house. You don't stir from your sleep as someone taps you, not shaking you but just gentle taps careful to not exacerbate your injuries.

When Big Jo got to your home he slammed open your door and had his gun at the ready for your attackers. The house didn't look messed with and nothing was out of place, at least to him he'd only ever been out this far to drop little Jo off once or twice. It was quiet in your home except for a murmuring coming down the hall. So he made his way down slowly, vigilant for any sudden movement if there was anyone other than you here. He'd called your name several times since entering and hadn't received a reply.

As he got closer to the bathroom the murmuring became louder, peering in his heart stopped for a beat. The weathered man has seen a lot of shit in his time but he always hated to see a kid in your condition. Beaten with bruises littering your face and wrists all while being unresponsive as he tried to wake you. The source of the noise became clear when he saw your phone a few feet away slid into the corner away from you.

Dia was still on the line and sobbing now. If that didn't twist the knife that was already speared into his heart. Picking up your phone he spoke with his wife trying to reassure her as he felt for a pulse. You had one, one that was faster than normal. Your body was probably still reeling from what you just went through. But he wasn't a doctor and wouldn't count you out of the woods until one assessed you themself.

Jo wasn't waiting long before he heard the sirens, he went out front to meet the sheriff. After you'd been packed into an ambulance and taken to St. Francis Hospital Jo told Dia so she could meet you there. He'd stuck around while the sheriff and his deputy surveyed the area and came back to him for his statement.

“Looks like we've got most of what we needed Jo...But the kid, they got hallucinations you said?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Why're you asking Zeke?” now wasn't the time to anger the large man as he was barely holding his normal civility.

“Now I don' mean nothin' by it – 's jus' tha' well we didn' find any evidence of a break in.”

“You think the kid coulda done that to themself? The marks on their wrists are bigger than their hands!”

“Jo, in some cases people sufferin' from delusions can do all sorts a things ta themselves... 'm just trin' ta find out if we ought ta have 'em kept in the ward for a bit.”

“They're fine. They've told me themself that they only get visual hallucinations and they can differentiate between the two.” a small lie on his part, he knows occasionally a hallucination will grab your attention for longer than it should if that were the case but he'll keep you out of the damn ward for now because this wasn't a hallucination. He had heard the struggle going on between you and someone else.

Right now his top concern was getting to the hospital and meeting up with Dia to make sure your condition was stable. If he had to lie to the sheriff to do it, so be it. Not like he wouldn't enlist his own detail to figure out what went down here. He'd let you stay with them while he contacted Lydia about updating security on her property.

Sheriff Owens didn't put up a fight on this, and said he'd swing by the hospital Wednesday to get your statement on the encounter. With that the sheriff and deputy piled into their car and left. Jo had found your keys still in the door and locked your home, a lot of good it did you but at least this way a bear wouldn't get in before they set up the new system.

Jo got to St. Francis and was greeted by his teary eyed daughter and sobbing wife. Dia really wasn't cut out for any type of violence. He's have to make sure she called her therapist this week for an extra appointment or two just to help her through this. Looking at his daughter he sees the worry in her eyes as she runs to him.

A doctor comes up to the family to inform them of your condition.

“Ah Mr. Cowell good to see you. Mx. LN is responsive right now, and in enough of their right mind to complain that we are keeping them awake.” The doctor pauses with a slight chuckle, “We have them set up with an IV drip that's giving them fluids, their pain meds, and for tonight they'll also have a caloric infusion. They mentioned that they hadn't eaten much today. So to ensure their body has the energy to heal we thought it'd be the best course of action. We're keeping them up for another hour or so before they can sleep and then we'll be keeping them for observation for at least two days.”

“Can we see YN?” little Jo interrupts.

“Unfortunately we believe they wouldn't enjoy that right now. Their injuries aren't extensive but they are quite cranky due to residual pain and hunger.” the doctor says with a smile to little Jo. “Now speaking of their injuries the worst of which is their slight concussion again we're monitoring that and they seem to be very receptive to us right now. And then there's the dislocation of their left shoulder that we've already mended and the various bruising and mental trauma they're likely to retain from the incident your wife has briefly informed us about. We'll give a card for a good therapist to you and one to Mx. LN on their departure. When can we expect the Sheriff coming?”

“Owens said Wednesday.”

“Perfect, then that should be all. If anything changes or we want to keep them longer we'll let you know right away. And Miss Cowell if you come back in the morning we're sure Mx. LN will be much more agreeable company.”

The doctor waits for a moment letting the Cowells have time to process and ask a question or two. But when nothing comes up the doctor turns away to continue their work elsewhere.

And with that the very emotionally exhausted Cowell family go home. With plans to come visit you sometime tomorrow. Big Jo does however makes a few phone calls before going to bed that night. It isn't lost on him that he's already had one employee mysteriously vanish, he doesn't like the thought that she was targeted and your next on some hit list.

[caslikescoffeeandfreckles]

The Heart Will Lead You Home

A very late spn finale fix-it fic based on an addition to this Tumblr post! Word Count: 1.9k Read on Ao3

There was no stopping the way Dean’s heartbeat stuttered when he saw Ohio on the map, the wound still too fresh. Every press of his foot to the gas pedal felt like stepping on his own neck as they cruised along the highway, cornfields turning to soybeans turning to green galaxies of fireflies at night. He thinks he likes these stars better; the blue ones just hurt.

When they cross from Indiana to Ohio the stuttering becomes an ache, like the valves have shut down and the arteries are cut off. He keeps his breaths short and measured, careful, while his hands white knuckle the steering wheel and he presses a little heavier on the gas. It costs him a breath, that foot still on his neck. But he keeps driving. 

The case is a weird one and Dean hasn’t been paying enough attention to explain how he ends up driving out in the middle of nowhere by himself. He can’t even tell you what town they’ve been in the past few days, just knows that there was a lead Sam needed to follow, leaving Dean to cruise down dark country roads that shouldn’t feel so achingly familiar and his chest shouldn’t feel so painfully full and empty all at once. 

But Dean’s not an idiot. He does know these roads and he knows what waits up ahead. He keeps telling himself it doesn’t mean anything. This isn’t some kind of sign, his heart choking and coughing and lurching like a car on its last wheel with every stretch of mile. 

At the sight of the barn he almost turns around. The aching in his chest is seeping into his bones, it feels like they’re breaking from the inside out, like there’s something swelling inside his chest cavity and pushing bone through tissue and skin. 

The barn looks almost exactly the same as last time, the old wood boards grayed and weathered and hanging from the frame with just a few nails and the grace of God - or Jack now, he supposes.

It takes Dean a good thirty minutes to make himself get out of the car. And it hurts. Every movement hurts down to the flex of his knuckles, each foot fall against the hard dirt path. 

Dean stands outside the door, his hand raised to pull it open but unable to follow through. 

Cas isn’t going to be there, he tells himself. Stop being an idiot. Because he has to make sure any lingering tendrils of hope are gone. For whatever is left of his sanity, he just has to. 

He doesn't realize until he’s already opened the door that he hasn’t drawn a weapon. There’s a dark growling voice in the back of head calling him a damn idiot, but it’s not as loud as it used to be. It’s been fading over the years but ever since - ever since… well, it’s been pretty radio silent in the last few weeks.

 It turns out there’s no need for a weapon anyway. The barn is empty save for some abandoned farm equipment and hell’s entire population of spiders. The ground crunches beneath him and Dean looks down to find broken glass everywhere. There are scorch marks on the walls. The air is stale, untouched for years. The last time Dean had been in here it had smelled like lightning. 

With that thought the pain becomes unbearable and Dean shatters like the glass beneath his feet. His hands reach out without thinking, seeking something to grab, to hold onto, but he can’t find anything. He can’t see, can’t hear, all of his senses drowned under the wave of agony ravaging his chest. 

He’s dying. Dean just knows it somehow. But he doesn’t want to fight it this time. The desire isn’t even there. He doesn’t know when that had left him, maybe the night the Empty claimed Cas with a confession of love still wet on his lips, maybe in that void of loneliness once Cas was gone and Dean had sat decimated on the cold floor for hours trying to understand what the fuck had just happened and why he hadn’t been able to say something back, maybe just before Dean had walked through the barn door. Whenever it had gone, it had clearly gone with the angel and Dean didn’t miss it. Didn’t have a reason to anymore.

He’s not going to be there either, Dean hears the last bit of his self-loathing whisper, like one last punishment because even in death, Dean Winchester can’t let himself have peace. 

I know, Dean thinks. He knows Cas is gone, somewhere no one can ever reach him. He’s done the research. But how can you document the existence of something that represents Nothing? That is Nothing but the absence of everything in all of time and space? But he wishes Cas could be on the other side. Even with all hope gone, he still wishes it was possible if only to give Cas the one thing both of them thought they could never have. Because Cas deserved that much. Cas deserved more than the world had ever been able to offer. 

Castiel… Cas… I-

“Hello Dean.”

Dean’s heart stops and his eyes fly open.

He’s here, just feet away, in the same oversized suit and dirty trenchcoat. He’s here.

“H-how,” Dean starts, his mouth too dry. “I don’t- C-Cas how…” 

Cas doesn’t move except to blink. “I think we have Jack to thank for this.” His voice is a deep and gravelly as the day they met and it’s like a soothing balm over Dean’s aching body, chasing all the hurt away like his grace has all these years. 

“He found you,” Dean says because he needs to hear it again. “H-he found you.” Jack did what Dean couldn’t. The pain that has been raging inside Dean is gone, replaced with a weight of gratitude for the kid. 

Cas nods like it’s that simple. “It took a while, but yes. Jack is very… determined. I think he gets it from his father.” The corners of Cas’s mouth soften into a small smile.

Dean doesn’t know how he finds the energy to blush but he feels the heat seep into his cheeks all the same. He has a million questions and another million things he wants to do with his hands right now but they’re safer in his pockets. There are too many words rushing around his brain and none of them feel right, none of them feel like enough. “Did you- what you said,” he tries, desperate to know but not sure exactly what he wants to know first, “when you- did you… mean it?”

A shadow crosses Cas’s face and Dean immediately regrets asking. “You still doubt me?”

“No, no,” Dean hurries to say. Cas hasn’t moved but he feels further away and that alone makes Dean’s chest hurt again. “I know- I know you meant it, Cas. I mean, I-I watched you…” get ripped away again. Cas had said he loved Dean and been swallowed into nothing. It left little to be misunderstood. It was just that… “You’re an angel, Cas,” Dean says, his voice sounding weak even to himself. “You’re like a million years old and - and I’m - you’ve never… is it the same kind of…?”

“You think I do not understand love the same way that you do,” Cas says, voice clipped and dry. It cuts like a blow and Dean can’t help but flinch. But he nods. Cas watches him carefully before nodding himself. “You are right. I am an angel, I was not designed to experience emotions aside from love and loyalty to my creator.”

Dean is deflating before Cas finishes his sentence. 

“And yet… since the moment I first touched you in hell, there has been no being or entity I have trusted more without question,” Cas continues and Dean meets his eyes, confused and dangerously hopeful. “There has been no one I desired to follow to the ends of the Earth as I have desired to follow you. I do not love you the way humans love. Because I fell in love with your soul before any other part of you.” Cas’s arms rise to cross over his chest and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. “I have seen inside of you, Dean, I have seen the core of who you are and carried the roots of you in my arms. I held your soul against my chest and felt the greatest warmth I have known in my entire existence. I felt the true depth of your compassion and love, deeper than any ocean God could ever craft. And I knew before I rebuilt your body that a part of me would always belong to you, and no other thought has ever brought me such peace.” 

When Cas’s eyes refocus they snap to Dean and his next words sink past every barrier of defense Dean has left. “I don’t love you in the same way as a human. I love you more than you could ever truly fathom, Dean. But I know that it is love because you taught me how to recognize the signs. You defined love for me. And even though you don’t feel the same, I am-”

“But I do.” The words jump from Dean’s throat before he can think them through but there’s no way in hell he’s going to miss another opportunity. He’s lost Cas too many damn times to waste a single minute. “I do, Cas. I- I can’t see your soul or whatever but I - you’re the only - Cas, I don’t want to breathe when you aren’t here.” He feels feral as he speaks, ready to jump out of his own skin, and honestly isn’t sure if he’s saying actual words. But the movements of his tongue and lips feel right so he keeps going. “Everytime you leave or get taken away it just gets harder and harder and I don’t- I can’t do it again.”

Cas is watching him with careful eyes, but Dean can see the hope blazing just under the surface. “So what do you want, Dean?”

“You,” Dean says and takes a step forward. “Us. I want us.” 

The hope bleeds through into the blue and Cas’s eyes shine like the stars Dean’s been avoiding. “Is that all?”

Dean shakes his head. There’s a new life unraveling in his head as he takes another step closer to Cas. A life far away from hunting, with a cozy little home with enough yard space for a vegetable garden, a garage to shield Baby when they aren’t filling her trunk with suitcases instead of weapons and driving to the ocean just because. A life with kids and familiar faces at the supermarket and big family dinners with friends on Friday evenings. And Cas. Every minute of every day there is Cas. The only constant, the only necessity. “I have a list,” he admits and takes another step. “But you come first.”

Cas is close enough to touch now and so Dean does. His hands fall on Cas’s waist and slide around his back to pull the angel forward and Cas comes with no resistance. He falls into Dean’s chest like a missing puzzle piece, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders and clutching tight.

“You have me, Cas,” Dean whispers into his angel’s ears. It’s a moot point by now but he thinks they both deserve the reassurance. “You’ve always had me.”

“I want to go home,” Cas says, his voice soft but still sending a rumble through Dean’s body.

Dean clings even tighter. “Then let’s go make one.”

[delos-mio]

Death of a Bachelor - EPILOGUE

“Fuck, we’re so late!” you sighed as Charles pressed the elevator button for the 15th floor of the downtown high-rise. This photoshoot and interview had been on the books pretty much as soon as you and Logan got back from your honeymoon, so really, there was no good reason to be running this far behind. But, you’d been held up at the hotel putting out small fires that didn’t stop just because you were away from the office.

“Sorry! I know, I know. I don’t know why Cole can’t figure out how to convert anything to a fucking PDF.” Charles had been promoted to office manager and had been doing a spectacular job. You always knew he would be, but when it was finally time to add on those additional responsibilities, he took them on effortlessly. He did still enjoy moonlighting as your personal assistant, even though technically you had hired someone new to do that job. Now when he helped you out, it was as a devoted friend as opposed to paid employee.

“Just…just talk to him tomorrow, please?” you asked, the elevator pinging and doors opening.

“Don’t worry- you can consider it done.”

Your heels clicked on the tile floor as you made your way to the receptionist’s desk. The Forbes HQ was sleek and screamed “wealth”, which you were used to at this point. As you got closer, the curly haired woman stood up from her seat with a bright smile and rounded the desk to greet you.

“Mrs. Delos! We’re so excited to have you here!” She took your hand and gave it a shake.

“Thank you, happy to be here,” you replied, dropping her hand. “But, I actually kept my own last name,” you corrected gently. It was an honest mistake and one that happened often. You’d perfected the polite correction over the last couple months.

“I am SO sorry,” she said with genuine embarrassment. “Truly, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s really ok, dear. It happens all the time.” You waved her off quickly and reassured her it was just fine. “Besides, there are a lot worse things to be called than a Delos, right?” The smile finally returned to her face.

“You’re right about that,” she laughed and visibly let out a breath. “Here, follow me. The rest of your group is just through here.”

You followed her down a hall with double doors at the end. Just as she was about to usher you in, you heard your favorite laugh in the whole wide world. There Logan was, laughing at something Elliot had said, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. You loved it when he let go like that and just enjoyed himself and his company. He was handsome all the time, but he was absolutely breathtaking when he was happy. Logan must have heard the door shut behind you as he opened his eyes and turned to you, a grin plastered on his face. He held out his hand to you, which you were all too happy to take.

“Hey,” you whispered just to him.

“Hi,” Logan breathed back before placing his palm on the small of your back and kissing you with a smile still on his lips. “Glad you made it.”

“I was always going to make it,” you huffed, shoving his shoulder gently. “Sorry for being late.”

“I’m a patient man,” he shrugged.

“No, you’re not,” you laughed and he broke into a grin. “You look extra handsome.”

“Thank you, princess. You look entirely fuckable yourself,” he said in a low voice just for you, his hand wandering down your backside.

“Ugh, ok, enough,” Juliet said with a roll of her eyes. “Can we get this show on the road?”

With that, the photographer came over and started arranging everyone in front of the windows with the New York skyline in the background. Elliot and Emily were directed to stand together back toward the window, Charles placed just next to them. Juliet stood near the middle with John by her side. Finally, the photographer had you stand on Logan’s left side, the two of you front and center. Without prompting, Logan wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in close, kissing your temple.

“Can you…sorry. Forbes is looking for more…professional shots…” The photographer attempted to interrupt, but Logan kept his arm around you, only glancing in his direction.

“So, I’m not allowed to kiss my wife?” Wife. You still loved hearing the word fall from his lips.

“I…” the photographer drawled, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to answer.

“I’m fucking with you. We can behave for an hour, can’t we?” Logan asked you, arching an eyebrow.

“I can. Jury’s still out on you,” you winked. You heard Logan groan that desperate little sound he liked to make in the back of his throat and ignored him, turning to the lens as the camera clicked.

The photo shoot was light and fun. You weren’t really sure what to expect since your experience being professionally photographed was extremely limited. But, Logan was a seasoned pro and never let you out of his grip, quietly encouraging you and fawning as picture after picture was snapped.

“Alright, I think we got what we need. You all did great,” the photographer smiled and set his camera down. “I think Carmen is set up in the other room whenever you’re ready.”

“Have you guys already talked to her?” you asked Emily.

“Yeah, she grabbed all of us before you and Chuck came. I think she’s doing his interview last.”

“Sounds good. How was it? Is she nice?” you asked, nervously thumbing the band on your ring finger, a new habit you’d picked up.

“She was pretty cool, actually,” Elliot shrugged.

“Mostly asked about you two,” John smirked. “Y’know, making sure you’re treating us good and all that.”

“Whatever,” Logan laughed. “You ready, babe?” You nodded and he draped his arm over your shoulder, ushering you into the small side room where a Forbes journalist sat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Delos! Very nice to meet you! I’m Carmen.” She introduced herself and shook your and your husband’s hands.

“Thank you for having us. However, my wife has kept her last name,” Logan said with a charming smile.

“Of course, of course. My apologies. A modern woman- I love it!” Carmen chirped before gesturing you both to take a seat. Logan waited for you to settle in, smooth down the top of your pencil skirt, before taking his seat next to you and placing his arm around you along the back of the couch.

“So, some congratulations are in order! First, congrats on Delos being named one of the Most Innovative Companies. That’s quite an accomplishment for your first year of ownership.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a small nod.

“Second, congrats on your recent nuptials! Tech’s most eligible bachelor is officially off the market,” Carmen laughed. “Tell me a little bit about your wedding before we get into the meat and potatoes.”

“Well,” you started, “We started planning a kind of big wedding, something that we thought weddings usually looked like. But a couple months into making arrangements, we decided that it wasn’t for us and everything we’d been planning just wasn’t what we wanted. So, we rounded up everyone who was in that photoshoot with us and eloped in Fiji.”

“Wow, that’s quite a 180. And Fiji, that must have been beautiful!” Carmen beamed, clearly caught up in the whimsy of just fucking off impulsively to another country and getting married.

“They’re our family and at the end of the day, everyone else we planned on inviting was just decoration. It was nice just to have the people who mattered there with us,” Logan said, looking at you with a soft smile. “I only cared that my wife walked down to meet me at the end of that isle. Whatever else she did or didn’t want on that day was good with me.”

“That’s so sweet,” Carmen cooed. “Well, I’m very happy for you and marriage looks good on you both.” She took a moment to turn on the recording function on her phone and organize her notes. “So, once you got home, walk me through what happened at Delos. There has obviously been a lot of speculation between the change in ownership, the pivot to Virtual Reality, and the acquisition of other businesses.”

“As you know, John and I bought Delos last year from my father. In that last year, we more or less gutted the whole thing and started new. We kept on Juliet, obviously, and my secretary and that was it. Everyone else was let go. We made sure to bring in talent that was new and fresh and rallied around building Delos back up. My father liked people who said yes to him, and that led to a lot of stagnation both in new ideas and growth for the business. John and I didn’t want that. We wanted to make Delos our own.” Logan had that proud, serious look in his eyes that made you clamp your thighs together just a little bit tighter. “Our vision of the future of Delos required a clean house and staff who were excited and innovative.”

“That’s a bold move. What empowered you to take such a big leap?” Carmen asked.

“Is it corny if I say the woman sitting next to me?” Logan chuckled.

“Oh Christ, stop,” you laughed.

“I mean it though!” Logan looked over at you fondly, his gaze soft before turning back to Carmen. “She has pushed me since the first day we met. And she’s supported me unconditionally all this time. I don’t think I’d have the courage to do half of what we’ve accomplished if I didn’t know I had her behind me.”

“The thing about Logan is that he’s incredibly driven. If he wants to accomplish something, he puts his mind to it and he does it. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” You squeezed above his knee, feeling an incredible swell of pride in your chest. He really had some so far and worked so, so hard in the years you’d been together. It was hard not to feel proud and keep the tears from your eyes. Logan must have sensed what was going through your head because he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your temple, just something light to ground you, remind you he had your back too.

“Once John and I had cleared everyone out, that left us with four employees. Which wasn’t going to work, clearly. But lucky for me, my beautiful wife is also an entrepreneur,” Logan smiled.

“Yes. I’d owned my own marketing firm and really, it just made sense at that point kind of merge the two companies.” You nodded.

“We brought marketing in house and took on her staff and bought her business in exchange for ownership shares. Now, Delos is a three owner operation,” Logan grinned. It was important to both of you that you not work for Logan, but rather with him. “Her old assistant became our office manager and is now in charge of day-to-day operations. My sister and brother in law, Emily and Elliot, moved out to LA from Milwaukee and headed up talent management and recruiting. They helped us fill in the other vacancies left.”

“So, it really is a family affair, huh?” Carmen asked, looking between the two of you.

“I think we’ve both learned how important it is to keep a tight circle of people you can trust. These are people we’ve known our entire lives, that are the very best at what they do, and are unwaveringly loyal.” You looked at Logan, who nodded in agreement. “Saying ‘yes’ to everything and being loyal aren’t the same thing. And I think that’s something that previous ownership never understood.”

“Damn right,” Logan affirmed with a crooked smile, his eyes still trained on you.

“I think ‘power couple’ doesn’t even come close to describing you two! It’s been amazing as someone who watches the market and businesses to see Delos rise from the ashes into this juggernaut that it is today.” Carmen seemed genuinely impressed and a bit enamored by you and Logan.

“It was a lot of long nights and hard work. But we like to think it’s been worth it, right?” You asked Logan.

“It’s all been worth it. Everything.”

---

About a month later, you were curled up on the couch, totally zoning out as an episode of Real Housewives of Potomac played. Sleep was weighing heavy on your eyelids when the front door opened and shut again. Finally, Logan was home which meant you now had your favorite pillow to fall asleep on. You listened to him set down his keys, hang up his jacket in the closet, and grab himself a San Pellegrino before wandering into the living room.

“Happy you’re home,” you said with a sleepy smile, reaching out your arms to beckon him over.  

“Happy to be home,” Logan laughed and took his normal spot in the corner, legs sprawled out on the chaise, and quickly scooped you into his arms. You settled in his lap and gave him a kiss hello, an I missed you kiss, an I’m so happy to see you kiss. “Got a surprise for you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Yeah?” you asked, running your fingers through his dark hair. From over the side of the couch, he pulled out a copy of the newest Forbes magazine with a proud flourish. “Oh lord.”

“Page 71,” he directed, handing it over to you. And sure enough, there you two were, front and center, with every important member of your team, and family, behind you. There was something uncomfortable about seeing your own face on a glossy page, but the picture really was nice of the whole group. Logan radiated confidence and power, his arm securely around you in a way that said I wish you would try to fuck with us.

“It sure is…published,” you laughed.

“You look so fucking beautiful. I can’t wait to get this blown up and hang it in the lobby,” he mused, looking over your shoulder at the write up.

“For real?”

“I think it’s a great picture! It should be the first thing anyone sees when they come in the office, don’t you think?” Logan placed a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“I suppose.” You still weren’t entirely convinced, but it was also impossible for you to say no to Logan. You handed the open magazine back to him and let your head rest against his shoulder. “Read it to me?”

“Of course, princess,” he chuckled and raised the article into his line of sight, starting in on the story you knew and lived. Your eyes slipped shut as you let the sound of Logan’s voice and his heartbeat comfort you and lull you into a peaceful sleep.

TAGGED: @marvelcapsicle​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @something-tofightfor​ @songtoyou​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @abroadcastofthemind​ @gollyderek​ @dylanobrusso​ @marauderskeeper​

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch42: Maybe Baby Part 1- I Made That

Intro: Katie and Emmy both meet a new friend, and Tony and Pepper welcome their baby girl to the world. As the family enjoy the happiness the new addition brings, it leads Steve and Katie to a big decision of their own…

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 41 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

May 2019

“Come on, Emmy, throw me a bone here!” Katie sighed as she sat in the chair of the coffee shop. “I can’t do anything about it if I don’t know what’s wrong.” She paused and rolled her eyes. “Jesus I sound like Steve.”

Emmy sighed and looked out of the window. “Why do I have to go back?”

“Because.” Katie said, rubbing at her temple “Look, you’ve already been out of school for like nearly a year, and it’s only for a couple of months and then it’s gonna be summer.” “So what’s the point of going then?” Emmy persisted. “Can’t I just wait and go back in September?”

Katie let out a groan, dropped her head into her hands before she heard a soft chuckle. She looked up to see the woman who was behind the counter had come across to clear away the empty mugs on the table. “She sounds just like my daughter.” The red haired lady smiled. “Nothing but back chat.” “I thought a hot chocolate and a muffin would help.” Katie side eyed her foster daughter. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Emmy scowled at her in response.

“The Decimation screwed a lot of things up” The woman sighed. “Tell me about it.” Katie breathed out. At that point the woman was joined by a girl who was the spitting image of her, Katie assuming it to be her daughter.

“Oh.Em.Gee!” The girl spluttered, looking at Katie “You’re Katie Stark, I mean Rogers!”

Katie grimaced and glanced around the shop. There were only three other people in and as they looked over she let out a relieved noise as they simply nodded to her and turned back to their drinks. “Brooke!” The woman chastised before giving Katie an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, you’re clearly here for a quiet drink and-” “It’s fine.” Katie hastily said, glancing at Emmy who was looking at the girl, frowning.

The woman looked at her daughter before she glanced at Katie, then to Emmy. “Brooke here goes to MS in Brooklyn.” she offered suddenly.

“What’s MS?” Emmy looked at Brooke.

“The Maths and Science Exploratory School.” Brooke nodded. “It’s really cool. Before the err…well, before they used to do all sortsa stuff…” “Brooke, why don’t you take Emmy into the back and show her some of your work and the website?” the woman offered “If that’s ok with you.” She looked to Katie. “Fine by me, what do you think Em?” Katie asked.

Emmy gave a nonchalant shrug. “Whatever.” “Manners!” Katie looked at her sternly. Emmy had the good grace to look a bit abashed when she stood up and turned to Brooke.

“Sorry, yeah I’d like to see.”

Katie watched her go before she looked at the woman “Thank you.” The lady smiled and nodded to Katie’s mug “Refil?” “Please.”

“Coming right up.”

Katie leaned back on the comfy sofa and pulled out her phone. She had a message from Steve, asking her how it was going. She responded with three words ‘Fucking hard work’ before she slid her phone away as the woman came back with two mugs.

“Mind if I join you? Might as well take a break whilst we’re quiet.”

“No, of course not.” Katie gestured with her hands and the woman took a seat on the chair at the other side of the table.

“I’m Jennifer by the way.” She held out her hand “I own this place.” “Nice to meet you.” Katie smiled “I would introduce myself but…”

“My loud mouth daughter did it for you.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t sure she would recognise you and I didn’t want to draw attention to you by warning her not to say anything…”

“Don’t worry about it” Katie shook her head “I mean it’s not like my identity is a secret. It’s just not everyone is particularly pleased to see us now-a-days. They seem to flip from either thanking us all for our efforts or screaming at us that it’s all our fault.”

“People are idiots.” Jennifer said simply “Anyone who blames you guys for any of this needs to get a check of themselves.” Katie smiled, sipping at her coffee “You know this is a really good roast. I’ll have to tip Steve off about it, he’s a coffee fiend.”

Jennifer smiled and then she looked over to the counter before glancing back “So, sorry for being nosey but I know you didn’t have a kid before, well, you know.” “Oh, she’s fostered.” Katie smiled. “I’ve known her since she was eighteen months old and she lost her last foster carers in the snap. We took her in for a night and she never left.”

“That’s good of you.” Jennifer smiled

“Least we could do.” Katie glanced at her coffee “When I look round and see what others lost, it brings it home to me how lucky I was, you know. I mean don’t get me wrong we lost people we cared about, a great deal. But my brother, my family, my husband, all still alive.”

Katie trailed off and thought to their baby. It had struck her on the first anniversary of the snap a few weeks earlier that their baby would have been with them now. Either a boy or a girl, blue or green eyes, blonde or dark, they’d never know.

“You can’t think like that.” Jennifer shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who you didn’t lose, you still lost. Hell, everyone lost, and everyone hurts, regardless of whether it was 1 person or 10. It doesn’t feel any less shit.” “You lost someone?” Katie looked at her.

“My dad.” Jennifer looked at her hands “My mom died a few years back and my husband was killed in Afghanistan not long after Brooke was born. So now it’s just us” ���Sorry.” Katie bowed her head as the woman wiped at her eyes “I didn’t mean to…” Jennifer waved away her apology and smiled “Don’t be. It is what it is.” At that point the two girls came back into the main part of the shop, and Emmy was clutching a pile of paper.

“We printed some info off, mom.” Brooke said, “So Emmy can read it later. And we exchanged numbers, so she can text me later if she has questions and stuff.” “Good thinking!” Jennifer smiled.

“Right, you ready to go?” Katie looked at Emmy. “Steve’s cooking so we should go make sure he hasn’t burnt the compound down.”

“You live in the Avengers Compound?” Brooke looked at Emmy, wide eyed “Man that’s awesome.” Emmy smiled before she looked at Katie “What’s Steve-o making?”

“I think he said he was doing carbonara.” “Oh, that was good last time he cooked it.” Katie smiled, pulling on her jacket. “Yeah, it was actually.” She stood up and smiled at Jennifer. “It was really nice to meet you.” She reached into her bag for a twenty to pay but Jennifer waved it away “On the house.” “Oh, no.” Katie protested, dropping the twenty to the table, but the woman picked it up and handed it back. Pursing her lips, Katie spotted the tip jar on the counter and quickly strode over to it, depositing the note through the slot before giving the woman a smug look. Jennifer laughed and shrugged before she reached over the counter and handed Katie a business card.

“My mobile number is on there.” She smiled, “If you ever fancy a chat or a drink some time, anything at all.” “Thanks” Katie beamed. “That’s really kind of you.”

“Bye!” Emmy waved as they exited the shop. She turned to Katie as they walked to the car. “They’re nice.” “Yeah, yeah they are.” Kate smiled “Come on, let’s get home before we’re late and we get the eyebrow of disappointment.”

****** The last week in May brought some unusually cold and wet weather for the time of year, which wasn’t surprising as the climate was still all over the place. It was normally the time of year they celebrated Tony’s birthday on the 29th with a BBQ or something, but there was none of that this time. Not least because of the weather, but more over that his birthday was overshadowed spectacularly by the arrival of his daughter, Morgan Hope Stark some four days earlier on the 25th.

“Guys.” Katie gulped, tears welling in her eyes as her baby niece gently stirred in her arms, her eyes not opening as she moved her hands gently, “She’s…” “Amazing, I know.” Pepper gushed beaming up at Katie from where she was sat, propped up in the hospital bed.

“I made that.” Tony bragged, his chest puffed out. Katie knew how genuinely proud he was simply by the affectionate gleam in his eyes. Pepper rolled her eyes playfully, sharing a look with her sister-in-law.  

Steve’s arm curled round Katie’s waist as he gazed down at the baby in her arms, smiling gently as he smoothed the blanket down to get a closer look. She had a light dusting of dark hair, Tony’s cheekbones and Pepper’s nose.

“Wanna hold Uncle Steve?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“Erm, yeah, sure, that ok?” Steve looked at Pepper and Tony.

“Just don’t drop her.” Tony narrowed his eyes “Or throw her, she’s not a shield.” “Tony, you’re such a dick.” Katie sighed, passing the precious bundle to Steve who gently took her, supporting her head with his large hand.

As Steve cradled the tiny baby in his large arms, filled with wonder at the miniature human he was holding, he suddenly felt a lump in his throat. 

This would have been them.

As Morgan curled her hand around his large index finger the lump grew larger and he fought to keep the tears that had sprung into his eyes from dropping down his cheeks. 

Across the room, Tony curled his arm round his sister’s shoulder and dropped a kiss to her head as she wiped away the single tear that she herself had shed hastily before Steve saw.

Steve collected Emmy later that evening from Brooke’s. Emmy had decided to go to MS after all, and as such the two girls had fast become inseparable during the week and often at weekends too.

“She’s been ever so well behaved and polite.” Jennifer smiled, handing Steve Emmy’s rucksack. Steve nodded and gently placed a large hand on the back of Emmy’s head

“Good.”

“Gerroff.” she shrugged him away “I’m not six.” Steve rolled his eyes as he looked at Jennifer and raised an eyebrow “Clearly just us she gives back chat to.”

Jennifer chuckled “And they say it’s gonna get worse as they get older” “I can’t wait!” Steve replied, sarcastically. The woman laughed, Steve thanked her again and they headed to the car.

“So what’s Morgan like?” Emmy asked as Steve set off back up the main road to head out of Manhattan and towards the Compound. “Does she look like Tony?”

“A little, more like Pepper really.” Steve smiled

“Phew.” Emmy grinned and Steve gave a snort.

“Katie got some photos so she’ll show you when we get home.” Emmy glanced out of the window at the passing trees before she turned back to Steve “Do you think you and Katie will ever have a baby?” Steve’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he took a deep breath, and he instantly regretted it when he felt Emmy recoil in the seat next to him.

“I’m sorry.” she began, and Steve cursed himself for being so damned easy to read. He hated it when she got scared and fearful that she’d done something wrong. Every time they tried to discipline her for misbehaviour she would end up trembling out of deep rooted fear she was going to get a beating.

“Sweetie, I’m not mad, and you have nothing to be sorry for.” Steve sighed, “It’s just, well,” he bit his lip “,in the Snap, Katie and I lost a baby. Katie, was pregnant and we didn’t know.” “Oh.” Emmy frowned, looking back at her hands “That’s sad.” “Yeah.” Steve said with a small smile. The simple words she had used were spot on, there was no other way to describe it. “Yeah it is. But, we got you to look after and you can throw some spectacular tantrums so it’s kinda like having a baby in a way.”

“Rude.” Emmy glared at him, and he couldn’t hide the smile on his face at her indignation.

The two of them arrived home to Katie declaring from her spot on the sofa that she didn’t want to cook so had ordered take-out Pizza much to Emmy’s delight, but one look at his wife told Steve she’d been crying. As soon as their foster daughter was out of earshot and had gone to her room he sat down next to her and turned to face her.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” She shrugged, and Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“You forget Mrs Rogers, I can read you like a book.” He snaked his fingers in between hers and she took a deep breath “Talk to me, honey.”

“Just seeing you there with Morgan before, I couldn’t help but feel that…” she stumbled over her words as her tears began to form again “That could have, should have been us, you know?” Steve sighed and gently reached out to her, pulling her to his chest.

“I know.” He whispered softly, dropping kiss to her head “I know.”

“They would have been coming up for six months old now, give or take.” Katie sighed gently and his arms tightened around her. Taking a deep breath he decided to voice what was on his mind and dropped his head slightly, nudging her face up with his nose.

“You know, we could always…” He trailed off, and she licked her lips as she looked at him, understanding immediately what he was suggesting.

“I dunno.” She sighed, “I mean I like the idea, but…” “But?”

“I’m scared, Steve.” “What of?” “Well, that something will go wrong.”

“Why would it go wrong?” he frowned.

“It did last time.”

He sighed. “Katie, nothing you could have done would have made a difference. Once he snapped…”

“Do you really want kids?” She cut him off, looking at him.

“Yeah, I do.” He answered honestly “I wasn’t that bothered about it before but now, well with Emmy being here and Morgan, the thought of our own child, running around, one that’s half me half you…I can’t even begin to explain how amazing that feels.” Katie looked down at her hands and Steve took a deep breath. “But if it’s not what you want then it doesn’t matter” He gently titled her face up to look at him.

She looked at him, her eyes locked onto his and her words were almost a whisper. “I do want. I want a baby with you.” His eyes flashed and he gave a grin. “Well that’s good, I’d be worried if you wanted one with someone else.” “Jerk.” She scoffed, hitting his chest as he laughed before she took a deep breath “Maybe we could like try but not try.” “I’m not following.” Steve frowned.

Katie sighed. “I don’t wanna get hung up on it.” She shrugged “No pressure. So maybe not try as such, just don’t try to stop anything.”

Steve smiled, if he was honest, a baby to him should be borne out of love and not some kind of weird planned parenting mission. 

“Is that ok with you?” she looked at him. “Oh, Kitten.” Steve’s face split into a huge grin and he took her face in both his hands “It is very, very ok.”

******

August 2019

“Thor came here?” Katie asked as she looked at Tony, the two of them sat on his porch. Katie was bouncing Morgan on her knee whilst Emmy was busy helping Pepper feed Gerald, Tony’s newest addition, an Alpaca.

“Yup.” Tony nodded “He came to see Morgan. He’s errr, changed.” “Changed?”

“Yeah, erm, he’s a little bit portly.”

“Portly?” Katie stopped what she was doing until Morgan let out a screech, encouraging her to continue. “As in…” “Fat.” Tony nodded.

Katie snorted “Bullshit…” “Straight up Kiddo. Apparently he’s got his brewers working on a new beer. Clearly been sampling it a little too much.”

“Other than that how did he seem?” Katie asked. Despite herself she couldn’t help but wonder how the man she had once been good friends with was holding up. Tony took a deep breath “Ok, I think. I mean it was a surprise him showing up. I haven’t seen him since, well, that day at the compound.” “He took what happened really hard” Katie sighed. “But the rest of us had to move on, he needs to do the same. I tried to talk sense into him…” “You punched him in the face.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “He deserved it.” “I know.” Tony paused “And for what it’s worth, he hates himself for it. He told me.” “Well maybe he should apologise.” Katie shrugged, and that was the end of the conversation. They stayed for a few hours before heading back to the compound and, given that it was a nice night Katie and Natasha retired to the large garden area and the hot tub for a girl’s night in.

“You talk to Steve today?” Nat asked, pouring Katie a glass of wine from the ice bucket at the side.

“Not yet.” Katie shook her head, turning from where she had been watching Emmy playing fetch with Lucky to look at her “I’ll speak to him later. He’s ready for home though. Keeps moaning about how the chef doesn’t make Mac and Cheese as well as me.”

“He loves it really.” Nat grinned.

“Yeah, he does.” Katie smiled “It’s nice to see him so focussed, you know with something to do.”

“When’s he back? Feels like he’s been gone for ages”

“He has, it’s been almost three weeks this time” Katie smiled, “But he’s home in a couple of days and on that I got a favour to ask. Could you maybe have Emmy for us? Thought we might go out or…” “Or stay in?” Nat raised her eyebrows, smirking.

“Something like that.” Katie snorted.

“Yeah, no probs. We can have a girl’s night in my apartment.” She nodded over to the pre-teen who was running across the lawns. “She’s never any trouble.” “Thanks Nat.” Katie smiled, sipping her wine and pulling a face at the sour taste.

“How’s she been recently?” Nat nodded to Emmy.

“Good.” Katie nodded. “The nightmares have pretty much stopped. She still gets a bit reserved now and then but I think getting her back to school has helped a lot. She’s a bright kid, good at art as well as the technology and science. Should see her and Steve when they get going.”

“Yeah they seem pretty close.” Nat smiled.

“She’s like his shadow when he’s here.” Katie snorted. “I don’t get a look in.” She took another sip of her drink and shook her head. “Does that taste right to you?”

“It tastes fine, but then so did that Tuna you said was off.” “It was off.” Kate grimaced, nodding to the dog that was currently splashing in the shallows of the river, after his ball “Even Lucky wouldn’t eat it.”

“Well I ate it and I’m fine” Nat shrugged.

Katie took another sip shook her face before tipping her wine into Nat’s glass “I can’t drink that. It’s nasty.” “Errr, that is a fifteen year old vintage, stolen from Tony’s old stash in the cellar!” Natasha grinned.

“Don’t give a fuck what it is, it’s gross.” Katie shrugged, standing up and stepping out of the tub. “I’ll stick to the beer.”

She pulled a Bud out of the fridge, twisted the top off and threw it into the garbage. She took a swig as she walked back outside and, as she sank back down into the water, Nat took a deep breath and leaned forward.

“I got an email from Rhodey. More bodies have turned up, this time in Johannesburg, some drugs baron and his cronies.” “Clint?” Katie asked, pausing her beer half way to her mouth as she nodded.

“It’s his MO.”

Over the past six months more and more bodies had been turning up, along with numerous witnesses, which led them to the conclusion that Clint was acting as some kind of vigilante, hunting down Crime Lord Syndicates and taking them down one by one. Natasha at first had point blank refused that it was him, until one of Rhodey’s contacts had sent an extremely clear shot from some CCTV footage. There was no denying, it was Clint. Natasha had been heartbroken, locking herself away and refusing to speak to anyone, emerging only when Steve threatened to kick her door in. She’d opened it, red eyed but with a glimmer of a smirk on her face and called him a “bossy, interfering bastard.”

“Any leads on where he could be?” Katie asked

Nat shook her head “he doesn’t want to be found. But then, when have I ever listened?”

They drank and talked until late in the evening, probably more than they should have done which is why the next morning Katie woke up with a killer hangover and barely made it to the toilet. She threw the contents of her stomach into the bowl before standing up, splashing cold water onto her face and heading to make sure Emmy was up and getting ready. Sometimes, being a responsible adult sucked.

Once she had managed to get Emmy packed off to the summer day-camp her School was running, she grabbed a slice of toast and an orange juice and felt ready to face walking and talking at the same time. She called Steve quickly, who wasted no time in telling her that they’d drunk called him the night before. Katie groaned as he laughed down the handset, before the conversation grew slightly more serious and he said that Rhodey had filled him in on the murders in Johannesburg. They discussed it for a while when he declared he had to go and after promising to speak to him later that evening, sober, Katie cut the call.

She headed down to the common room to find Nat was already in there.

“Hangover too?” Natasha looked at Katie pulling a face. “I feel like shit. How much did we drink?”

“Enough.” Katie sighed “You sank two bottles of that wine, I went through a full crate of bud.” “And that was before the vodka.” Nat groaned, dropping her face into her hands. Katie grimaced, picking up a bottle of water and taking a long drink before they got down to business, looking over some plans for an old School they were intending to acquire to make into a half way hours for the older teenagers that had been left without homes or families in the snap. Too old to be in an orphanage or children’s home, Natasha had pointed out they probably needed somewhere they could live independently, but safely. It was a great idea and one Katie was fully behind.

“I’ll get it typed up into a formal proposal this evening,” Katie nodded to Nat “then we can start the ball rolling. All goes according to plan we can get the Real Estator on the phone tomorrow and push ahead with the purchase”

Nat nodded. “Yeah, about that.” Katie groaned “You’re going to Johannesburg aint you?” “I have to.” 

“Nat…”

“He’d do the same for me.”

“When?” Katie sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to talk her out of it. “This evening. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Just be careful,” Katie said, “and prepared. Chances are you won’t like what you find.”

“I know.” She said, her eyes tearing over. “But I have to try.” Katie nodded, dropping a hand to her shoulder as she picked up the files and laptop before leaving her to her thoughts.

She was sat in the office working on the proposal that evening when she heard the jet taking off. Glancing out of the window Katie watched as it shot into the grey sky and vanished behind a cloud. Emmy paused to look up from where she was outside on the lawn with Lucky before she tuned to look at Katie, mouthed the universal sign for “I’m hungry” and Katie grinned, deciding to call it quits for the night.

**** Chapter 42 Part 2

[bastardtetsu]

critical thinking | ch③

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, being a theatre major

※ mlist | ① ② ● ④

there is no greater hell than finals week as a college theatre major.

and this year, on top of juries to prep for, studio scenes & dance combos to rehearse, essays to write, exams to study for, and rehearsals to attend for the show you’re in, your chemistry teacher decided to assign a final project in addition to the final exam. rejoice.

it was enough trying to study for the written final while staying on top of all your other assignments and obligations - you’d busted your ass so hard leading up to the exam that you hardly had time to think about the project until a week before its due date. and even when you do start thinking about it, you barely understand what you’re supposed to be doing, much less have the time or energy to try and figure it out.

you end up texting kuroo in desperation and make him agree to meet up with you for an extra tutoring session, however, due to your extra-chaotic schedule this week, the only time you’re both able to meet up is after your all-day rehearsal the sunday night before the project is due.

it’s better than nothing, you suppose.

still, you don’t fully realize the consequences of your choices until you’re exhausted on your way back from your second consecutive day of 12-hour tech rehearsals - a pretty standard tech week schedule in the professional theatre world, but not very convenient for a college student during finals.

needless to say, you’re dead tired. the last thing you want is to fry your brain even further with chemistry & kuroo’s smart mouth, but at this point you have no choice.

as you approach him in the library, you notice he’s dressed way more casually than usual. this shouldn’t come as a shock, seeing that it’s 11pm on a sunday, but the way his t-shirt and sweatpants accentuate his figure is actually insulting. somehow the way the fabric stretches around his pecs makes his chest look even broader, and christ you were not expecting his arms to be THAT toned.

NOPE. now is not the time, you remind yourself. you have a project due in ten hours. you can feel a headache coming on as your stress levels rise again.

“evening,” he greets you with a smile.

“hey,” you respond shortly as you set your stuff down, “thanks for meeting with me this late.”

“of course,” he replies, “anything for my favorite student.”

“…are you being sarcastic?”

“no.”

“i’m your favorite?” you question skeptically. “jesus, who else are you tutoring…”

“well I didn’t say you were my best student—“

“cool, i’m gonna stop you there.”

he just giggles. asshole.

you let out a fatigued sigh as you plop down in your chair. this feels like your first moment of rest all day, but in reality it’s just the start of the most difficult battle of them all. you attempt to gather up the remnants of your brainpower, silently praying that kuroo will decide to behave himself.

“you don’t seem like you’re in the mood for chemistry tonight.”

some prayers must go unanswered.

“yeah, i’ve had a long day,” you reply unenthusiastically, “so i’d really like to get this done as quickly as possible.”

“really? that’s gonna be difficult in your condition,” he jeers.

“well i don’t have much choice, do i?” you snap back a bit too aggressively.

“guess not,” he shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair with his hands resting behind his head. what is with this attitude? is he really just being a dick right now? and WHY do his arms look so god damn tasty??

you can already feel your sanity slipping away as you try to will yourself to focus on anything that’s not kuroo’s juicy biceps flexing through the fabric of his t-shirt. or his chest. or the little strip of exposed skin that’s appeared just below the hem of his shirt - fuck.

focus, you instruct yourself. your brain, however, is already giving out, the stress of not just the day, but the whole week finally catching up to you. the possibility of having something passable to turn in by tomorrow morning seems further and further away.

“look,” you sigh, leveling with him, “we both know i’m awful at chem—“

“really??”

“shut up,” you cut him off quickly, “and i’ve had a long ass week dealing with all this other shit on my plate and i’m really fucking tired and i just want to get a good grade on this so i can graduate, so can you please, PLEASE just—“

“if you’re gonna ask me to do the assignment for you, I already did it.”

a pause.

“wait. what do you mean-“

“i did the assignment for you. project’s done.”

“um,” you stutter, dumbfounded. “excuse me?”

“what, you thought i was gonna let you do it yourself? after you procrastinated it til the literal night before?” he says with an especially wide grin, “it would be irresponsible for me as a tutor if I let my student do so poorly! granted, she’s really bad at this—“

“ok shut up,” you cut him off. your mind is swirling with a mixture of shock, gratitude, and rage as you process his words. “when did you—“

“this week. after you texted me.”

“what?” you cry, “why are we even meeting up then?”

“i dunno,” he responds with a coy smirk, “it would’ve been rude to cancel.”

the swell of gratitude in your chest is overtaken by the growing wave of rage.

“so you decided to waste *more* of my time,” you state pointedly, “when you literally have enough to do an entire final project just for funsies. cool.”

“hey, show a little more gratitude,” he whines, quirking an eyebrow in annoyance, “you’re the one who left it til the last minute.”

“i’m the one?” you shoot back, “you still think i’m just procrastinating because i’m lazy??”

“look, i know finals are demanding—“

“no, I don’t think you do know,” you cut him off, now fuming. “you want a rundown of my week? i can give it to you.” you list off all the assignments you had to turn in, all the finals you had to prep for - both written and performance, all the meetings with scene partners and voice teachers and rehearsal pianists you had to arrange, all the hours you had to spend in rehearsal, including the 12-hour tech day you just came from. kuroo just sits there, taking in your words. when you finish, you let out an exhausted sigh, “so if you’d like to tell me when the fuck i was supposed to work on this stupid project, be my guest. i’d love to hear it.”

this might be the first time you’ve seen kuroo look shocked. for once he doesn’t seem to know what to say. is that a trace of guilt in his eyes too?

“i—“ just as he’s about to speak, he is cut off by an unholy sound coming from your stomach. you both sit there frozen for a second.

“um… when was the last time you ate?” he asks, cautiously breaking the silence.

“uhh,” you think back, “like 3pm.”

“okay, well it’s past 11 now,” he says, “and you need to eat. get your stuff, let’s go.”

“huh? go where?”

“to get food,” he states simply, “i’m driving, come on.”

“kuroo,” you protest, “i’m not gonna make you drive me—“

“you’re not making me,” he interrupts, “i’m making you. let’s go.”

you let out a sigh of defeat and grab your bag. with the rage beginning to melt away, that swell of gratitude begins to stir in your chest again. it’s still weird when he’s kind to you, but you’re starting to mind less.

—

you hadn’t realized how hungry you truly were until the smell of oil and salt hits you.

after grabbing your food from the drive thru, kuroo pulls around and finds a spot in the near-empty parking lot. you waste no time scarfing down your food, which he even insisted on paying for. whatever, it’s just mcdonald’s, you think. but still, the gesture is nice.

“you didn’t have to do this you know.”

“i think i did,” he says, jokingly referring to how hard you were just stuffing your face.

“funny,” you respond sarcastically, “but seriously.”

“it’s no big deal,” he says, looking away slightly. is he blushing? you can’t tell in the dark. “anyway, i figured i owed you one for making you stress about the project.”

you can’t believe your ears - is he actually apologizing?

“yeah, you really let me suffer all week, asshole,” you respond teasingly.

“i didn’t know it was that bad, alright,” he says, slightly defensive. a brief pause, and then, “sorry.”

you can hear the remorse in his voice - he means it. the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

“thank you,” you say gently, “that means a lot.”

his gaze darts back over to you. you’ve never seen his eyes look nervous before, yet somehow his stare still feels piercing.

“you’re gonna have to buy me a lot more nuggets before i fully forgive you though,” you joke, breaking out your own devilish smirk. he chuckles too, relieved.

“how many are we talking?”

“as many as i want.”

“fine,” he relents, “guess you’ll have to hang out with me more then, if i’m gonna be buying you all these nuggets.”

“whatever, i’m immune to your bullshit by now.”

“oya~? you’re starting to like me, y/n??”

“is that what the fuck i said?”

“no, but it’s what you meant,” he responds with a smirk.

“and how would you know?”

“‘cause i’m a genius,” he says, reaching over to swipe a fry from your lap. you halfheartedly swat at him.

“sure, keep telling yourself that.”

your banter feels natural now, strangely comfortable. for some reason it actually feels good talking to him. he did do something really nice for you tonight after all, despite your continued bickering. no matter how much you insult him he always has something to say back. but as much as it pisses you off, you’re not sure what you’d do if he ever stopped.

—

as kuroo drives you back to your place for the night, your mind begins turning over the events of this evening. in the time since you’d met up with him (which somehow feels longer than the literal 12 hours of rehearsal you were in earlier), you’d not only found out that the final project you’d been so stressed about had been taken care of, but you also hung out with him for the first time outside of tutoring. and he was nice to you. it’s a lot to process.

it’s not like you aren’t used to spending time alone with kuroo - like you told him, you’re immune to his bullshit by now - but this feels different somehow. it’s more peaceful, maybe even comforting. you figure it’s probably because of the rollercoaster of a day you just had, not to mention how unusual it is for him to treat you like this.

“why are you being so nice to me?” you finally ask him, turning to steal a glance at his side profile in the dim glow of the streetlamps.

“huh?? i needed to make sure my student got their nutrients!” he replies, as if it was obvious.

“what nutrients? you took me to mcdonald’s.”

“okay fair,” he says, “but nothing else was open!”

“sure, but you didn’t need to take me anywhere,” you protest, “much less spend money on me.”

“maybe i’ll just cook for you next time then,” he smiles.

“next time!?” you squawk, “what, are you trying to get into my pants??” the words leave your mouth before you fully have time to process them, but either way, you aren’t expecting the sudden silence that falls over him.

a flash of anxiety darts through your mind, but it only lasts for a second before he laughs quitely, almost to himself.

“not if you don’t want me to,” he mutters.

your breath catches. is he joking?? your heart feels like it’s in your throat. he’s definitely joking.

“what are you cooking?” is the only thought you can manage to put to words.

another pause.

“um. probably fish.”

“EW, WHAT THE FUCK?”

“what???” he gripes, “you could use more docosahexaenoic acid!!!”

“you are such a freak.” you’re relieved that the subject has changed, even though his earlier response is still circling your mind.

“okay but can you tell me the chemical formula for docosahex—“

“no, you are not bringing chemistry into this car, absolutely not. i already took my final.”

“what about the molar mass—“

“NO.”

—

you arrive back at your place not long after. kuroo’s comment is still eating away at the back your mind, but you don’t say anything as you gather your belongings. it was a cop-out response, and he was probably joking anyway.

“thanks for everything,” you say gingerly, “the project, and the food, and the ride, and the help with the semester, all that.”

“anytime, princess,” he replies with his signature smirk. usually that kind of response would trigger a jolt of annoyance in you, but this time it feels different. maybe because now you’re actually grateful to him.

in fact, you’re very grateful, and you feel like you should be expressing it more, but you’re not sure how. plus you’re too embarrassed, and have way too much pride. so instead you wish him goodnight and head towards your front door.

he waits to drive off until you’re all the way inside.

you think about him a little differently after that.

a/n: why is he so obsessed with docosahexdhfafdjh acid.... making me have to google how to spell that shit smh. anyways thank you for all the love on this fic so far!! if u actually enjoy this self-indulgent fantasy of mine know that i love & appreciate u to the ends of the earth ;-;

[senorarelojes]

Fic: Heaven (1/1)

Thanks to @pinksyndication‘s recent take on a femslash version of Dilder, this idea came up. It’s a sort of sequel to the very first femslash Dalan fic I wrote last year. However, this is just a shameless excuse for smut though. Heed the tags below!

Additional tags: Femslash, pregnancy, kidfic, lactation kink, porn without plot

When the doorbell rang, Dav heaved a sigh of relief. She took the stuffed animals she’d been picking up off the floor and tossed them into Paris’s already overflowing toy chest, dusting her hands off before heading towards the door and swinging it open. As expected, it was a grinning Martina and Andie, carrying gift bags of yet more toys. “Where’s my goddaughter?” Andie demanded in lieu of a proper greeting, making her way into the flat as Martina trailed behind her.

“Hello to you too,” Dav muttered, although she was too exhausted to care about social niceties. Ever since she and Lana had welcomed Paris into their lives six months ago, uninterrupted sleep had become a luxury. Naturally, when a sympathetic Martina and Andie had offered to babysit Paris for a day so Dav and Lana could get some much-needed rest, they’d jumped at the offer.

“Oh, there she is!” Andie’s tone melted into sheer gooey delight when Lana emerged from the bedroom with Paris in her arms. Lana was the picture of exhaustion, with deep circles under her eyes and her hair in a carelessly tied ponytail. But Dav thought Lana had never looked more beautiful than she did now, even in an old t-shirt and yoga pants.

Back when they’d gotten married and decided to have a baby, they’d discussed it at length and consulted a fertility doctor. When the results showed Lana had the higher odds of carrying a pregnancy to full term with a sperm donor, it was something they both agreed on after much thought and discussion. Dav had done everything possible to help Lana during the pregnancy, but she understood that it had taken a physical toll on Lana regardless. They’d opted for a C-section, and Lana had also wanted to breastfeed Paris as much as possible.

Admittedly, since they’d become parents, it was harder and harder to muster the effort for romance. Paris slept in a crib in their room, and most nights Dav was too exhausted after work to do anything other than make sure both Lana and Paris had everything they needed. Dav couldn’t remember the last time she and Lana had made love, so she was hoping that they could take advantage of Martina’s and Fletch’s generous offer.

After Martina and Andie had finished cooing over Paris, Lana shuffled back to the bedroom while Dav handed over all the things her friends would need, such as Paris’s diaper bag, some bottles of breast milk that Lana had pumped earlier and a few changes of clothes, just in case.

“Call us if there is anything, all right?” Dav said to Martina and Andie, pressing farewell kisses all over Paris’s chubby pink cheeks. It pained her to actually let go of her daughter and watch her go off with someone else, but Dav knew Lana needed the break more than her. At least Dav got to leave the house for work, while poor Lana was stuck at home 24 hours a day.

“Have a good time, you two,” Martina called out, while Andie took Paris’s tiny hand and made her wave goodbye to Dav.

Closing the door with a sigh, Dav wondered where Lana was. Heading to the bedroom, she couldn’t help smiling when she saw Lana had already passed out on the bed, snoring softly. Tucking a blanket over her wife, Dav pressed a kiss to her forehead before going out to the living room to scroll through her phone and see if she could order them something nice for dinner.

***

Dav awoke with a start when her phone rang. She blinked sleepily, realising she must have been so tired that she had nodded off on the sofa, her phone still in her hand. It was Martina, who was calling to update her on a very happy Paris getting spoiled rotten at Auntie Andie’s house. “We’ll be happy to keep her as late as you want,” Martina offered. “Go have dinner, a nice bath-- something non-baby related.”

“Thanks mate,” Dav said, before yawning. It was only now that she realised Lana’s blanket was now draped over her instead. As she hung up, she saw on her phone clock that it was already past seven. Fucking hell, had she slept that long?

Getting up and stretching, Dav went to the bedroom to check on Lana, but the bed was already empty and neatly made. However, there was light under the bathroom door, as well as soft music playing. Dave knocked on the door, opening it when Lana softly called out, “Come in!”

When Dave laid eyes on a fully naked Lana soaking in the bath, her brain short-circuited.

Lana had her glossy brown hair piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, a few loose tendrils sticking to her damp cheeks. She was resting one foot on the edge of the bath, and Dav’s gaze roamed up the smooth pink length of her leg, right till where it disappeared into the water. Dav could also see the rounded tops of her breasts, peeking just above the water level. Lana’s breasts had expanded by about two cup sizes or so during pregnancy, which made Dav’s back ache in sympathy because Lana was already a C-cup before she got pregnant.

“Hey, love.” Lana flashed her a lazy smile, her eyes especially blue in the fluorescent light of their bathroom. “I saw you passed out on the sofa and didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Mmmm.” Dav licked her lips, taking in her fill of Lana’s breathtakingly beautiful body - or rather, the teasing glimpses of it not hidden under the bathwater. “Mart called, she said they’ll keep Paris as late as we want tonight.”

The corner of Lana’s mouth quirked up in a secretive little smile. “Whatever will we do with those few extra hours?”

Dav went over to kneel beside the tub, her hand cupping Lana’s peachy cheek as she bent down, their faces closer. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

They slowly kissed for a good few moments, luxuriating in the short freedom of being allowed to do whatever they wanted without having to listen for Paris crying. Dav slipped her tongue into Lana’s soft, wet mouth, her nipples tightening at the sound of Lana sighing into their kiss.

When they broke apart, Dav deliberately kept their faces close, their lips brushing against each other’s whenever they said something. “Waiting for me in the bath like that,” she whispered. “Such a tease, aren’t you?”

Lana arched an eyebrow at her. “Me? A tease?” Her smile was widening. “I’m only a tease if I don’t follow through, Gahan.”

“Oh, you know exactly what you do to me.” Dave’s hand slipped under the water, a finger circling Lana’s left nipple and making her gasp. “Teasing me with your soft, wet, round tits like that--”

“Like them?” Lana’s grip circled around Dav’s wrists. “Been thinking about you touching them all day.”

Dav laughed against her mouth. “So you’ve not been wearing a bra on purpose then?”

Lana’s eyes widened with false innocence. “But I’m a good girl,” she said demurely, even as she spread her legs, pulling Dave’s hand down between them.

Dav couldn’t help moaning when she slipped her fingers into Lana's slickness. Lana’s beautiful blue eyes rolled up in pleasure as Dav slowly fucked her with careful impatience, Lana gasping when Dav’s thumb started circling her clit as well. They started kissing again, Lana playing with her own nipples while Dav ached to drag Lana out of the tub and into their bed.

As Lana’s hips started to thrust up against Dav’s hand, the water sloshed out of the tub and all over the floor, getting Dav’s clothes wet as well. Not that Dav cared, since both of them were just wearing whatever was comfortable and clean whenever they were home, but Lana stopped moving, her hands tugging on Dav’s hair in concern. “Your knees,” she muttered, even as Dav blinked at her. “They must be killing you.”

As reluctant as Dav was to stop touching Lana, she had to agree that her wife had a point. “Bed, then?”

“Agreed,” Lana said, before there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “If we stay here, I can’t eat you out the way I want anyway.”

“Fuck the bathtub then.” Dav was up so fast and tearing off her wet clothes that Lana couldn’t stop laughing.

***

After the quickest of showers, they both moved to the bed, trading deep and slow kisses which were making Dav crazed with desire. Lana was insanely wet too, judging from how slick Dav’s fingers were when she slid them inside her folds again. Dav laughed as Lana pouted when Dav withdrew her fingers, just to playfully tease her, but it backfired when Lana started playing with herself, her hand delving between her thighs. The devious Lana proved she was more than Dav’s match as she brought her wet fingers up to her nipples, teasing them to hardness and leaving them moist.

“Fuck, Lana.” Dav couldn’t resist leaning down and sucking on those pink nubs, humming in approval when she could taste Lana’s slick all over them. Lana’s moans were getting louder and more and more broken as Dav lavished attention on those magnificent tits, gently squeezing them and massaging them, her mouth forming a seal over Lana’s right nipple as she began sucking in earnest.

At this Lana lost her mind and her usual cool composure, cursing and swearing as her fingers dug into Dav’s hair. Lana’s breasts were also leaking, and Dav moaned at the sweet, silky taste of her milk, her tongue running in figure-eights around her stiff nipple. No one could blame Dav for being obsessed with Lana’s tits, which were already magnificent to begin with. Motherhood had made them even fuller and rounder, and sometimes Dav daydreamed about feeling Lana up in public whenever they were at the shops or at a restaurant.

Well, nothing was going to stop her from taking her fill of Lana’s beautiful breasts now.

Dav’s mouth moved from left to right, nipple to nipple, making Lana sigh and moan and writhe under her like the world’s best temptress. Unfortunately Dav had to sacrifice a hand, letting go of Lana’s right breast so she could reach between Lana’s open legs and give her the first of many orgasms. Dav fucked Lana with her fingers while lapping up the pearly-white droplets of her milk, raising her head to watch when Lana shuddered through her first orgasm, wrecked and beautiful and ruined, her hair a messy halo around her head.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” Dav whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. She thought Lana was still tapped out, so she was stunned when Lana cupped Dav’s tits, rolling her nipples between those talented long fingers. Dav loved the way Lana ogled her tits whenever she put on a sports bra or even a bralette, or would sometimes rest her head on Dav’s chest after a particularly tiring day.

“You’re so sexy.” Lana smiled up at her as she played with Dav’s breasts, her cheeks flushed with her earlier orgasm. “I want to just watch you ride me. Can we do that?”

Whimpering, Dav nodded eagerly as she clambered onto her knees, Lana reaching over into their bedside table for one of the dildos they kept there. Since Dav was already so wet, they didn’t even bother with the lube; Lana easily slid it into Dav’s body, watching with an open mouth as Dav rocked back and forth over Lana.

“Look at you, so eager to get fucked,” Lana said admiringly, her eyes roaming up and down Dave’s body. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck me,” Dav begged, reaching down to play with her own clit while her other hand played with her nipples. “Please, Lana--”

“After I watch you come on this, I’m going to take this out of you.” Lana gave a particularly hard thrust with the dildo, which made Dav sob with pleasure. “And lick all your juices off it. Then I’ll eat you out until you can’t walk--”

Bending down, Dav’s mouth sloppily crashed on top of Lana’s, the two of them frantically kissing as Lana sped up her movements, Dav’s body swallowing the entirety of the dildo except for its flared base. Dav was teetering on the edge, so close to orgasm until Lana slid out the dildo and replaced it with her fingers instead, her intent blue eyes watching as Dav moaned her release in Lana’s arms.

***

It was almost eleven when the doorbell rang again. Dav’s eyes flickered open when she heard Lana making her way to the door, then muffled voices as she thanked Martina and Andie for watching over Paris. After a while, there was silence again - which meant their friends had left. Dav sleepily made a mental note to text them a thank-you when she was more awake later - and less wrecked - and perhaps add a gift voucher to Martina and Andie’s favourite spa.

Lana padded back into the bedroom, gently carrying a sleeping Paris in her arms. Laying their daughter back down into the crib, Lana started packing away the bags Dav had passed to Martina and Andie. When Lana spotted Dav’s half-open eyes, she smiled. “Go back to sleep, love.”

One last important thing on Dav’s mind. “Baby?”

“She looks well. We should blackmail Mart and Andie to get them to do this again.”

Snuffling a laugh against the pillow, Dav patted the bed. “C’mon to bed, love.”

Dav had almost nodded off to sleep again when she felt the warm press of Lana’s lips against her forehead. “I’ll be right there.”