#I have! SO MUCH I wanna draw. but good lords there sure are only twenty fours of those hours in a day

[b4kuch1n]

Seeing your comics with the swsh characters is so funny bc I always forget they’re not your OCs

lmao very sad to remind folks once in a while that I didn't make up these characters. all blorbos from my show shit on here baku's page. however I ALSO have plormos from MY brain but put in MY show

[thiswasinevitableid]

i don’t know if you take meet ugly requests outside of the list, but if you do, I’m always a sucker for stern finding out barclay is bigfoot in a different way (wink wink nudge nudge they are having sex and the bracelet comes off)? no problem if not though :)

Sure thing! Here you go. I believe the joke about "bigfoot hunting" came from @bellafarallones originally. I set this in the 70s, just for fun.

The irony of his worst-case scenario being everyone else’s euphemism for a good time is not lost on Barclay.

He’s not even sure when “bigfoot hunting” became code for “get down in the woods” in Kepler’s little gay community. He just knows that, until someone cleared it up for him, he was panicking from all the guys saying they and their friend ought to go looking for him.

Now he’s in the wildest situation imaginable: considering asking someone to go bigfoot hunting with him.

It’s not his fault the stone fox that is Joseph Stern decided to stay at Amnesty Lodge. Ned and Aubrey even tried to talk him out of it (for the very good reason that the fewer out of towners hanging around a space crawling with cryptids, the better) but the guy wasn’t interested in the other digs in town. In his more confident moments, Barclay likes to think seeing him behind the lunch counter is what swayed his decision.

It’s not a totally bogus conclusion; Joseph sends more than just meal times in Barclay’s restaurant and, increasingly, his kitchen. He does crossword puzzles over coffee, asking Barclay for help and criticizing the clues (Barclay has to agree with him, whoever is writing the crossword in the Kepler Gazette is really reaching lately). He stops by and reads at his table or the counter during lunch. And in the evenings he sticks around after closing, keeping Barclay company as he wipes down tables and sets up the chairs. Lately, he even helps him close up.

The encroaching summer is making it worse. Joseph, stylish as he is, favors this year’s trend of shorts that are shorter than most of Barclay’s boxers. Combine that with his always slicked-back black hair and sharp, blue eyes and Barclay is getting really, really good at keeping something in front of his crotch at all times.

For the first two months, he thought his crush on Joseph was as hopeless as cooking a souffle in a hurricane. Then the songs started.

They’d been talking about music, Joseph paying close attention whenever Barclay mentioned a band or song he dug. Barclay didn’t think much of the concentration in his eyes until that night, when the jukebox near the counter started wailing out Gladys Knight. No one ever picks that, he just put it in there so he can listen to it before they open.

When he’d poked his head out of the pass-through, Joseph winked at him from his usual seat.

Since then, he and Joseph trade songs back and forth, Barclay slipping his coins in when he goes out to drop an order on the counter. The longer they do it, the more the titles seem to convey messages, meaning Joseph’s favoring of “Let’s Get it On” this past week is driving Barclay to distraction.

This afternoon, he’s sweeping up the floor when the other man walks in, sweat running down his forehead and hiking boots on his feet.

“I saw you’re closed the next two days.” He tips his head at the sign Barclay posted on the door.

“Yeah, getting new cooktop and doing some repairs on the ceiling. Not great for business this weekend, but I’m looking forward to having a stove that doesn’t have cold spots in random places.”

“Are you, um, doing anything on your days off?”

“Nothing big. You, uh, you wanna hit the town?” He grins to hide his hopes.

“We could. But I was thinking, you know the forest pretty well and I could use a second set of eyes and, well...do you want to go bigfoot hunting tomorrow?”

Barclay directs just enough focus from keeping his hands from snapping the metal handle to his mouth to say, “sure thing.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“According to the map Ranger Newton gave me, this spot is still within bounds for camping with the permit I have.” Joseph studies the treetops, the brush, their proximity to the river and his second map, the one with all his notes. Yes, this is the optimal spot for a stakeout.

“Sweet.” Barclay opens the trunk, “I’ll get the tent set up.”

They have plenty of daylight left, but it won’t hurt to have camp all ready to go before they set off; if all goes well, they may not be back until after dark, and he’s pitched enough tents in the pitch black for one lifetime.

He secures their food and builds a rudimentary fire pit, then grabs his sleeping bag to toss into the erected tent. Barclay is still inside, straightening out his sleeping bag and adjusting the pillow. Joseph kicks off his shoes and zips the mesh door to keep out the bugs; cicadas are harmless but that doesn’t mean he has to like the idea of one crawling on him in his sleep.

“How’s it look?” Barclay watches him intently as he unrolls the sleeping bag.

“Perfect. Nice and cozy.”

A happy growl from beside him, then a big hand closing around his wrist and pulling him atop the cook.

“Good” Barclay looks up at him, licking his lips, “didn’t wanna waste any time.”

Lord, his chest is broad from this angle. Joseph’s professionalism is all that stands between him and spending the rest of the day leaving hickeys on it.

“Barclay, I’m not opposed to this, but we should do what we came here first.”

“...Is this not why you wanted to come here?”

“I thought I was pretty clear about coming to look for bigfoot. Why do you think I brought the binoculars? And the headlamps?”

Beautiful, brown eyes blink up at him. Then, Barclay chuckles, “Think I see what’s up. Around here you, uh, you ask someone on a ‘bigfoot hunt’ if you’re looking to score. No idea why, but it’s so common it didn’t even occur to me that you’d mean something else.”

He snickers, “Almost sounds like something I’d come up with on my own. But no, we’re spending today walking that creekbed.” Curious, he wiggles his hips as he leans down to whisper, “then we can spend tonight like this.”

Barclay whines, settling his hands politely on Joseph’s ass.

“You’ve wanted this awhile, haven’t you big guy?”

“Uh huh, Joseph, baby, the things you do to me, woulda let you fuck me over a hot stove if it meant you’d touch me-” His eyes are huge, pupils blown out in black pools of promise.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal; I’ll let you ask for one thing now. Everything else has to wait until we’re done with work for the day.”

“Yes, yes, deal, I, I wanna” Barclay closes his eyes, inhaling long and deep through his nose, “fuuuuck, I wanna suck your dick. Can I? Please?”

Joseph hesitates; no one ever asks for that, and by the time his pants are off they’re too horny to complain at his dick and just go for whatever hole they were planning on fucking in the first place.

“I, um, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re picturing.” He sits up, heart pounding at his chest to tell him he’s blown it.

Barclay shakes his head, “I promise I know what I’m getting, been thinking about it all day, fuck, been driving me crazy.” His shorts hit his knees, Barclay thumbing the crease of his thighs with a moan, “yeah, fuck, c’mere.”

He makes a noise that would, in any other context, embarrass him as Barclay manhandles him far enough forward to sit on his face. But this is Barclay, sweet and gentle and so hot he’s amazed he’s not getting second degree burns. The burn he is getting just makes him laugh, Barclay’s short, auburn beard scratching the inside of his thighs.

“Shit, Barclay, shit, try, try a little lower? Ohhhhhfuck.” A crinkle of fabric as he grips the tent floor, Barclay is making sounds unlike any partner he’s ever had, grunting and moaning as forces more of him against his mouth. It’s all hot breath and grazing teeth and need, something Joseph is seldom the target of. He closes his eyes, let’s himself relax into a slow, steady roll of his hips against Barclay’s mouth.

There’s a rhythmic, frantic whss of fabric behind him, moaning from beneath. He flicks sweat from his eyes as he glances over his shoulder; Barclay isn’t even bothering to get his shorts off, is jerking his impressive cock as his lips close around Joseph’s own.

“Did, did you get that hard just from this?”

“Mmmhmm” Barclay looks up with wild, delighted eyes.

“Christ” he giggles, runs a hand through his hair as his orgasm circles closer, “didn’t think my dick being wet would be all it took.”

“Mmmph!” There’s a jolt of movement that signals Barclay cumming, a groaning growl buzzing up his dick just long enough to set his nerves dancing and draw his orgasm over the brink.

His words are gone, stay that way as Barclay eases him backwards and scoots so he can sit up. All he wants to do is hunker down in this tent and go at it until they pass out.

“Joseph? Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m incredible.”

“I’ll say” Barclay pulls him into his arms, “guess we oughta get clean and get a move on, huh.”

“As much as I hate to say it, yes. I really can’t waste this chance.”

Barclay pecks his lips, “Okay. Uh, can I borrow some shorts? I only brought one other pair.”

Twenty minutes later, Joseph is learning just how distracting another human being can be when your clothes are stretched around their thick thighs and they’ve taken their shirt off to combat the heat. Lord, if he were not on a mission he’d fuck Barclay’s imprint into the shore.

Speaking of his mission, while they don’t find bigfoot, Joseph does find some promising footprints and some fur he can’t identify. By the time they trek back to camp, their dinner is well-deserved and very appreciated. When Barclay asks if he wants dessert, Joseph simply grins.

“Not out here I don’t.”

They take only the needed time to get food out of bear range before clambering into the tent, Joseph opting to switch on the battery powered lantern as Barclay tosses his clothes away. He let’s the cook guide his shirt off, revels in the way his eyes roam over him like he’s seeing the Sistine Chapel. He lowers his head, zig-zagging kisses down his neck and chest.

“Should I avoid these?” Barclay’s mouth hovers over the scar on his left side. They’re only a year old, look newer, and something eager and hopeful peers out from Joseph’s heart at Barclay’s consideration of them.

“No, they don’t hurt. They don’t really feel like much.”

Barclay places a kiss on each, continues his descent until he’s at Joseph’s hips, nosing just above his pubic hair with happy sighs.

“I really, really wanna fuck you.”

“Condoms are in my bag, the side pouch.”

“Okay if it’s here?” He lightly teases a thumb below Joseph’s dick.

“Shit, yes” he bucks his hips, “I repeat: Condoms are in my bag and if you don’t get them now I’ll just fuck myself instead.”

“Heh, someone gets demanding when he’s raring to go.” He kisses his hip before rolling and crawling to grab the condom. When he rolls it down, Joseph sees his dick is an unremarkable length but thick enough that he spreads his legs a little wider as Barclay crawls between them.

“Fuck” Barclay groans as he pushes in, Joseph hooking his legs around him as he slowly thrusts, “fuck, baby, that good?”

“Better than, jesus Barclay you should sell rides on this thing, you’d make a million.”

“Don’t want a million, just want you.”

Joseph blushes, moans when he finds opening his legs doesn’t diminish how stuffed he feels.

“You like being full, blue eyes?”

“Yes, AHhhhn, that’s it big guy, show me how you like it.” He pulls Barclay down for a kiss as his hips speed up, arches his back as strong arms wrap around him. It’s bliss, heaven in the summer heat, and he closes his eyes to better enjoy it, smiling as Barclay comes in for another kiss, growling until Joseph parts his lips and let’s his tongue slip between them.

Something scratches his back, probably just an odd angle of the sleeping bag. Then whatever it is catches between him and the ground and his whole world changes. The cock inside him thickens and lengthens, the skin pressed to his sprouts fur, and teeth his tongue brushes against are sharp.

“Shit!” He yelps at the same time Barclay freezes with a quiet, “fuck.”

“Explain. Now” Joseph orders as Barclay sits up slightly.

“I’m, uh, I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, one of them. But, uh, maybe that was obvious?”

“Not until this moment, no.” He suspects the same surprise that keeps him from pulling back is keeping Barclay from pulling out, a fact that is rapidly becoming an issue thanks to his body's enjoyment of the thought of being a monster's plaything.

“I’m, I’m so sorry Joseph, I never wanted you to find out this way, fuck, I shoulda known that bracelet was wearing out. I, uh, I guess this trip is a success? Now if anyone asks you can say you found bigfoot? But, uh, please don’t tell anyone it was me?”

He whacks his hands onto his face, “Barclay, I can’t do that. I’m not just looking for you for fun. I’m an undercover agent.”

“A what?” Barclay’s voice climbs an octave.

“An FBI agent!” He whips his hands away, “I’m supposed to find out what happened in a string of disappearances that tack to recent bigfoot sightings, and now I have to go and, and-” he freezes as Barclay starts growling, looming back over him, “and I should have waited until I was safe to tell you thaAAAAAAtAH, fuck, shit, ohlord, ohmygod.” He tears at the tent as Barclay lifts his hips off the ground and hammers into him, “fuck, oh fuck, OhohOHchris!” His feet kick out uselessly as what he thought was the base of Barclay’s cock pushes into him. The stretch is tremendous, the pleasure more so, and the confusion dwarfs them both.

“There” Barclay grits his teeth, “now you can’t go anywhere.”

“What the hell did you do?!” Joseph tries to scramble back only to find he’s stuck.

“Knotted you. Not my best plan but you said you were gonna tell someone!”

“Not right this second!” Joseph notices the grimace on Barclay’s face deepen, “does it hurt you?”

“Negative, just, just trying not to cum because that seems inappropriate right now.”

“How long are we stuck like this?” His curiosity is getting the better of him, just like always.

“Until I...cum enough for it to go down. Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I panicked okay?”

Joseph crosses his arms, “well, since we’re stuck like this, I think you have time to answer some questions.”

Barclay sighs, defeated, “I can’t tell you everything, not tonight. But what I can tell you is that the reason for that pattern is, uh, if a sighting goes to public, or is too easily tracked to a human disguise, the cryptid who got spotted has to change their appearance. Which makes it look like someone disappeared.”

He meets the cooks eyes, studies his face; he doesn’t seem to be lying. In fact, he almost seems relieved.

“It’s so easy to explain in some ways and it opens up so, so many hard things at the same time.”

“Thank you for telling me. Even if it’s the worst possible time and place. I, well, I still have questions but” Joseph sets a hand on the back of Barclay’s neck, “I also want to finish being with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” It comes out as a yip.

“I’m not leaving Kepler any time soon. And I’m just crazy about you Barclay, bigfoot or no.”

Cautiously, Barclay leans down to kiss him. Joseph runs his fingers along his back, finds the hair softer than anticipated.

“Guess now I can say I smelled how turned on you were when we got here, and how turned on you’ve been all night. Blowing you earlier was fucking incredible because you were just flooding my brain with all these signs that you wanted me. That’s, uh, that’s why the knot happened at all. My body’s found someone it thinks wants me to stay.”

“I do.” Joseph kisses him again, gasps when the cock inside him thrusts gently, “shit, that feels so strange. So perfect.”

Barclay seems to blush under his fur, “Can I go faster? Promise I’ll stop if it hurts too much, just, just wanna make you feel good.”

Claws daintily pet his sides as he nods. Then there’s a deeper growl and he can’t help but scream, rough and sharp, as Barclay fucks into him with shallow jerks of his hips, the swell of the knot managing to press on his dick while the rest of his cock hits spots inside him no partner ever bothered to try and find.

“That’s it baby, lemme hear you, wanna know just how much you like it, fuck, oh fuck, you like being full, blue eyes, then, fuck, lemme fill you. Fuck, Joseph”

“Ohgod” cum pulses into him and he whimpers, desperate for release of his own. Barclay notices, rolls them so Joseph is on top, all his FBI physical training going into maintaining the half-splits needed to straddle him.

“Got at least one more before I can pull out, and I wanna feel you cum.” The pad on one finger finds Joseph’s dick and rubs, “fuuuuuck, fucking-A I almost came again just from you tightening.”

“Barclay, please” he tangles his fingers into the fur of his chest, “please I’m so close.”

“Here, I’ve got an idea” He pulls Joseph so he’s hunched forward, kissing him messily as his claws dig into his hips to bounce him on his cock. Joseph moans, gives up on supporting himself and smiles when Barclay takes his weight without hesitation. He nestles his head under the cryptids chin, burying pleas in his fur as he speeds up. The angle and the force of Barclays movements mean his dick catches on thick fur and the warm belly beneath it, and as his grinds desperately he realizes he’s cumming. Then his cry of pleasure is drowned out by a howlgrowlpurr as Barclay empties into him, the pressure so intense he whimpers, unsure how much more his body will hold. Then the cock inside him slips free, cum spilling down his legs in it’s wake.

“Hrmph” Barclay rumbles, holding him close, “shoulda brought something to keep it in; make you spend all night with my cum in you so no one else gets any ideas.”

Joseph, sleep clinging to most of his brain, looks up, “wait, does that mean there are other bigfoots in the area who might?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh”

Joseph laughs to himself, shaking his head; tonight raises so many questions, dozens of things to investigate, and yet only one query matters to him right now.

“You really want to be my guy?”

A furry hand pets his face and Barclay murmurs, with a sweetness Joseph’s never before heard, “of course, baby.”

[whatanoof]

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.” Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

[devinescribe]

Slow Dancing In The Dark

Ok, so... this idea has been in my head for a while. So... yeah. Basically what song you two would dance to in the privacy of your rooms. Most likely in the dark.

Niragi

- Very sweet

- He likes the song, but won't say it

- He really loves the lyrics because he relates them to your guy's situation

- Not like anyone can hear the two of you over their parties.

- It's not even intricate dancing

- Just slowly swaying while his hands hold onto your waist

- Randomly spins you

- honestly, makes you forget everything that's happening

- He loves having you so close to him

- He doesn't want to turn the lights on because he doesn't want you to see his absolutely lovesick face. (Hahaha, it's soft Niragi hours here, leave me alone)

- But just says it's for fun

- You convince him to keep the curtains open at least

"You ever wonder if anyone has seen us doing this?" You whisper, laying your head on his chest. "I doubt it. And if they have, the obviously know better than to say something," he responded, one of his hands holding the back of your head. You sighed happily because in this moment there was no games. There was no fearing for your life. There was no worrying about where the other was. There was only a comfortable silence where unsaid words of love and adoration were heard. Even if they weren't verbally spoken. Words couldn't describe your relief every time he came back. Words couldn't express how he felt, or more so he didn't know how to express how he felt. But it was those unsaid words that were heard the loudest.

Chishiya

- He was very confused with the song at first

- There was a lot going on at the chorus, and it scared him a bit the first time. He'd never admit that though

- I feel like he knows how to do like... waltzes and ballroom dances

- Slowly teaches you if you don't know how to

- Will be nice sometimes and not complain that you stepped on him

- Sometimes is petty and steps on you back

- You always have to guess

- Lights off so that way no one passing by would see that you're up, and won't interrupt

- The only light coming in is the lights from outside

- I mean, he's just glad it isn't a cheesy song

- Or so he thinks

- The only time he acts soft though

- The best talks happen while you two do this

"And now you step that way... good," he instructed, praying you when you did it. You laughed, placing your hand on his shoulder. "You haven't been mean to me all day, what's up with you?" You joked, quickly kissing his cheek. He sighed, taking your arm over your head, and spinning you around. "Would you like me to be mean? Because that can be arranged," he smirked, pulling your body closer to his. You pouted playfully, shaking your head.  "It's just... you're never so... nice? Well, to me you're nice... but usually you tease. Is there something wrong?" You questioned, explaining a bit more in depth. He chuckled, shaking his head. "No... well, actually, yes. You. You decided to try and save me in the game earlier. You could've gotten hurt. Or worse, died. Don't be so stupid, you're a very clever girl," he explained, looking away. You frowned, softly placing a hand on his cheek, caressing his face. "I will do what I deem fit for myself. You deserve to live as much as I," you whispered, leaning your forehead on his. He let out a small laugh, swaying with you. The earlier thoughts of his interrupted by your calming presence.

"I'll have you know you've stepped on me at least six time though, my darling."

"Well, that's not really a me problem, is it my love?"

Arisu

-fun jumpy dancing!

-spins you around a lot

- you're both very dizzy

- you've both fallen down to many times for you to not have broken bones

- lights are on, you two already get hurt as it is

- but you convince him to just one lamp

- which works

- loves the song

- he relates it to your relationship

- loves it

- loves you.

- at the end when it's all the 'oh oh oh oh oh' he does the... cross arm spin thing? You know what I talking about right? Oh well, that, a bunch of times

- all around the room you don't stay stationary

- too much energy for that

"This is fun! Do it again do it again!" You laugh, holding onto his hand. He laughs, spinning you once more. "You're so cute," he said, holding onto you. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, holding your face. You smiled, grabbing the hand on your face and kissing his palm. "I love you," you sighed, looking into his eyes. He hoped you could tell there was only pure adoration and love for you. The way you would giggle or laugh everytime brought him to paradise. You really did make everything better. After hard games, or just a day at the Beach, you always made him forget about how the world was. How he wished you two could stay in this moment for eternity, forever in a state of bliss. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he couldn't help it.  In his mind, forever was any time spent with you.

Karube

-he thinks it's very aesthetic pleasing

- the song is a vibe honestly

- you two actually dance around the whole room

- song is on full blast, everyone could probably hear it

- sings the 'I will make you queen of everything you see.' Part to you, and after says it's a promise

- his hands hold onto yours, fingers interlocking,

- whispers sweet things into your ear when you're close to him

- giggly, laughing, and fun.

- The lights are off cause he doesn't give a fuck

- he can see perfectly fine. There's light coming in through the windows, he says.

"And we.. spin!" He laughed, spinning you, while holding onto your hand. You giggled, getting pulled back into him.  "Karu, careful!" You scolded, holding onto him. "What?" "I almost stubbed my toe!" Others would be trying to have a romantic moment, but you two were more about having fun in the moment, being romantic later. Through laughter and sweet words, you somehow managed to not fall. Every word that wanted to be said was falling out, even if it wasn't meant to be said out loud. It's just the effect you two had on each other. Feeling free in the moment, and making memories to last a lifetime.

Chota

- He adores the song

- It's soft, it's sweet

- Loves it

- Soft but energetic swaying

- he doesn't know where to put his hands, so won't put them anywhere he doesn't know you're comfortable with

- Likes it when you lean your head on his chest, because he feels like he's protecting you from the negative vibes

- Best boy

- You somehow convince him to keep all the lights off

- how?

- no one will ever know

- but you did, so bravo!

"Watch out for the chair baby," you warned softly, snuggling your face further into his chest. You heard him hum in acknowledgement, and smiled. You could tell he was tired, but anytime you had suggested to go to bed, he would tell you you were worth staying up for. He really was too sweet. You swayed softly to music as he held you close to him. Even after the song ends you stay that way, holding each other as if the word would end if you let go. As much as you protected him, he loved feeling like he was protecting you. He loved that you felt safe with him.

Last Boss

- Did he chose it?

- No.

- He thinks it's kind of sad in a way

- But the more he listens to the lyrics, the more he loves it

- While you two are dancing he analyzes the lyrics

- And talks to you about them

- He likes that you're actually listening and partaking in the conversation

- Slow swaying, his hands hug around your waist, and his head is in the crook of your neck

- Whisper talking as you sway in place

- lights are off

- He's attentive and makes sure you don't get hurt

- He likes being wrapped up in your arms

- And will admit it

- Fuck hiding your feelings from your partner

"I like the part where she says 'and we'll never go home again', because... what if we don't go home Samu?" You whispered, gripping onto his back. "We will... eventually," he whispered back, drawing soft circles into your back. It was quiet for a bit more before you spoke again, "...What if I don't want to go home again? What if I wanna... what if I want to stay here? With you?" You didn't hear an answer, and sighed softly. He didn't know what to say. "I think... I think I'd like that more... than going back," he said. You smiled, continuing on. It was never boring to be with him as he always seemed to know what to say. His thoughts were interesting, and you always thought you were so lucky to be able to hear them. Even as you swayed softly in the dark room, the quiet whispers of random thoughts spilled out. The music from the parties going on seemed to be drowned out by everything happening in your shared bedroom. And even the moments of silence were filled with loud actions of adoration.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter Six

Title: Subway trolls and pancakes

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @alievans007 , @tragiclyhip​

They stop at the closest bodega for a cup of take out coffee and a carton of chocolate milk, then hand in hand navigate the snowy sidewalks on their brief jaunt to the subway. Tanner is excited about their morning out. Words rapidly leaving his lips as all his pent up thoughts come spilling out; sentences running together and often making little to no sense as several different topics messily mix together. But Tyler lets him get it out. Tanner often very quiet and shy and finding himself lost in the chaos of their home; unable to get a word in edgewise at times and then finding himself growing more and more frustrated. It always leads to a meltdown; tears and screaming hyperventilating and sometimes even the odd destructive episode. The latter hasn’t happened in a long time; both his parents and Tanner himself recognizing the triggers and the warning signs and able to calm him down before things escalate that far. It’s been a journey to say the least; learning how to both handle and help a kid like Tanner. Specialists and fellow parents of children with Autism and autistic adults themselves have been extremely helpful; they’ve found the strategies that aid him the best and in turn, help him thrive. Music therapy and appointments disguised as play, sensory items that provide him with the ‘break’ that he needs when overwhelmed, deep pressure applied with hugs and weighted blankets and vests. It’s a whole new world that has been both overwhelming and rewarding. Tanner isn’t the only one that’s being helped. It’s an adjustment for the entire family and everyone has had to make changes and sacrifices. But it’s also been a positive thing. What could have broken a marriage has actually made it stronger; working as a team and discovering just how strong and determined the other is and witnessing what lengths they’ll go to help their family thrive under even the most difficult of circumstances.

Tanner is a gift. An extra special one. In a way that his siblings aren’t. He’s opened their eyes to an entirely different existence, bringing out the depths of their patience and compassion. He’s beautiful and intelligent; the depths of his knowledge and information stored away inside that little brain simply profound. And talented; cooking and baking, drawing, playing the guitar and singing. But he DOES struggle. Anything social is a challenge for him; extreme difficulty in making friends, becoming extremely shy and withdrawn and even scared if a stranger approaches him for even the smallest of chit chat. And his fears and triggers are numerous; thunderstorms, needles, too much noise and conversation going on around him at once, the sudden and sharp clattering of dishes, the seams inside clothes. Things that most people would never even notice, are extremely heightened for him. And while most are easily recognized and identifiable and the entire family goes out of their way to accommodate him when possible, new issues seem to arise every day.

But the subway is one of his favourite places. The dark tunnels don’t faze him, nor does the crowd of people during the more busy times. And when the noises become too much he knows to simply put on a pair of sounds cancelling headphones and then concentrate on something else; whether it be a book he’s brought along of a sketch pad or even games and videos on one of his parents’ phones.

This morning he’s in his glory; kneeling on the seat beside Tyler, nose pressed against the window as he stares out into the darkness. The subway is quiet; people choosing to stay in after the snowstorm or already flooding earlier trains in hopes of beating the masses that will flock to malls and boutiques to complete their Christmas shopping. While extremely advanced intellectually speaking, he’s a lot younger in other ways; social skills and emotional maturity putting him around the level of a five or six year old. The difference is most apparent when he’s with his twin; TJ becoming older and wiser with each passing day while Tanner struggles to get to the level at Declan -or even Brooklyn and Takota- functions at. And he’s much smaller than his older brother as well; gifted with his mother’s height and slender body and some of her petite features. But there’s never any problem recognizing the Rake in him. The facial expressions and mannerisms and that Australian accent that he’s developed; much thicker and stronger than any of his siblings.

“Dad?” Tanner pipes up from beside him, one hand tightly gripping the top of the seat while the other keeps a firm hold on his chocolate milk; stomach pressed against the back of the seat, his father’s arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the subway trolls are real? Do you think they exist?”

“Subway trolls??”

“Remember the subway trolls? TJ talked about them during the summer. When we came here to visit Ovi. About how there’s trolls living down here. Do you think it’s true? Do you think there’s really trolls down here?”

“Something tells me that’s something your brother made up: to freak Takota out. He had nightmares for three weeks after that.”

“Everytime we come on the subway, I try looking for trolls. But it’s dark and the train is fast and I can’t really see ANYTHING. But it could be true, yeah? There really could be trolls. They could exist.”

“Trolls aren’t real. It’s just something that people made up. A long time ago. They just exist in movies and books. Like in The Lord of The Rings.”

A look of visible disgust appears on Tanner’s face. “Those are Orcs. NOT trolls.”

“Same thing.”

“No, dad. They’re not. You need to read the books again. Orcs and trolls are NOT the same. I mean, they’ve evil, but orcs aren’t much stronger than humans. Trolls have superhuman strength. Plus, they’re HUGE. Orcs are just the size of normal people. Even mummy knows this stuff.”

“That’s because mummy is a nerd.”

“She’s not a nerd! She’s very smart. In a lot of different things. She even speaks three languages. You only speak one.”

“I speak two. English and profanity.”

“Swearing is NOT a language.”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s an art form.”

“You do have A LOT of swears in your vocabulary. It’s pretty impressive; that you know that many bad words. You know twenty different ways to say the F word. That’s cool. You’re smart in your way and mumma is smart in hers. Is that why you fell in love with her? ‘Cause of how smart she is?”

“It was one of the reasons.”

“I wanna meet a girl one day. Like mum. Mum is super cute and tiny and really funny. She makes me laugh a lot. And she’s got a really nice, kind smile and pretty eyes.”

“Yeah, she does. She’s pretty special, huh?”

“She is,” Tanner smiles.. “You’re a lucky guy, daddy. She loves you a whole bunch. I see it in her eyes, you know. They get all sparkly and shiny when she sees you. Like yesterday when you got home. As soon as you got out of the cab, her entire face changed. Her cheeks got rosy and she had a huge smile and her eyes were shiny. Like she was going to cry but not crying eyes at the same time. I want to meet a girl like mummy. Then I’d be lucky too.”

“You would,” Tyler agrees. “You’d be the luckiest guy on the face of the earth.”

“I’ll ask mummy about the trolls. When we get home. She might know. She lived here before. Maybe she’s seen one. That would be so freaking awesome.”

“Something tells me that mummy hasn’t seen a subway troll. Something also tells me they don’t exist.”

“Why you say that?”

“Have you ever seen one? I’ve never seen one.”

“Just because we don’t see things, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I haven’t seen a lot of things, but I know they’re real.”

“That’s a very good point, actually.”

A sudden pout appears on Tanner’s face; entire body stiffening. “I don’t like this part of the ride. It gets really noisy and extra dark here. Can I sit on your lap now? You make me feel safe.”

Nodding, he places the backpack sitting on his lap between his feet. It contains everything the ten year old could need during the time out; headphones, weighted lap pad, various fidget items, an extra sweater that’s a size too small but Tanner enjoys wearing because it’s ‘tight and feels like a hug’. Scooping his son off the seat next to him and settles him on his thighs; Tanner wrapping both arms around his neck and sliding his body forward in order to have that comfort of body against body. And he slips his hand up the back of the little one’s jacket, hoodie, and t-shirt; giving him that press of a warm, soothing palm against his bare skin.

“I don’t like this part, daddy,” Tanner whimpers, and tightens the hold on his dad’s neck. “It’s scary.”

“It’s okay, mate. I got you. You’re fine. Close your eyes; I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

“Alright,” he squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can. “I trust you.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”

“I know you won’t. But it’s still scary.”

“Nothing to be scared of,” Tyler assures him, and presses his lips to his temple; the end of his nose resting against the side of Tanner’s head as he speaks to him in a low, quiet voice. “Nothing can hurt you. Ever.”

“Not when you’re here. You won’t let anything hurt me.”

“Anything or anyone. You’re alright, mate. Just breathe. It’s almost over. Just a couple more minutes. Why don’t you tell me about some of your dreams? The ones you were writing about? Tell me some of them and I’ll read the rest. I want to hear about them.”

“Okay,” Tanner takes a deep, shaky breath, but keeps his eyes screwed shut as he launches into a recap of one of his many dreams.

Tyler’s not sure how many of these dreams are actually real; they’re vivid and often far beyond Tanner’s level of maturity. And he often wonders if it’s just tales the ten year old has conjured up in his own mind; a very detailed and colourful imagination that is often underused AND under appreciated. But he never questions their validity or ‘tunes out’ when his son is sharing his stories; letting him indulge in that little fantasy world of his where things probably seem a lot easier to handle and cope with. And it gives Tanner a sense of confidence and pride in himself; knowing how well he can both tell a tale and how well received it is by the one person he’s always so eager to please and make proud of him.

Today the dreams are about dragons and sea life. Two very distinct ‘dreams’; the first consisting of Tanner being the brave and noble knight that saves the princess and an entire kingdom from an untimely demise. The second he’s an underwater explorer; making friends with all the marine creatures and building a completely self-sustaining and livable underwater habitat for both humans and sea life. And he sees the way people around them react to both Tanner’s story telling and the gentle and calm way Tyler deals with him; the smiles and the comments about how ‘cute it is’ and even the praises of ‘it’s nice to see a daddy out with the little ones’.

“Is it done yet?” Tanner inquires, as the last of his final tale leaves his lips. “Are we past the scary part?”

“Yup. All done.”

“Good,” he heaves a sigh of relief. “But can I still stay here? Can I still stay on your lap?”

“You can stay there as long as you want, Nug.”

“I love you daddy. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate. I love you too.” He removes the hand from underneath Tanner’s clothing and briefly lays it on the back of his head; placing a kiss to his cheek before wrapping his arm around his waist. Even THAT’s been a learning process; expressing emotion and talking about feelings and showing affection. He’d grown up not being allowed to do any of those things; his father only beating him more savagely if he cried or begged for him to stop or if he cried over the loss of his mother. Meeting and marrying someone that craves both giving and receiving affection had been a real eye opener; showing him just how badly the old man had screwed him up both physically and mentally.

“Nug?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something.”

“About what?”

“Mummy.”

“I don’t know what she wants for Christmas. She says ‘nothing’ EVERY year.”

“I already got that all figured out. This is about something else.”

“Okay. What is the something else?”

“When I was gone, did mummy seem sad?”

“Mummy is always sad when you go away. She misses you.”

“But did she seem extra sad, maybe? Did it seem like she was having a hard time with me being gone? A harder time than usual?”

“Maybe a little. I mean, she was really sad. She did cry a few times. And locked herself in the pantry once. But that’s ‘cause Millie was being mean and driving her nuts. I pushed tissues under the door; so mummy could wipe her face and blow her nose. We all get snotty when we cry.”

“I’m glad you help mommy out. Especially when she’s sad. You’ve always been good at that; helping take care of her. What about at night? Anything go on at night? Maybe you were supposed to be sleeping and you heard some things? Maybe mummy really upset and crying hard extra hard or…?”

“I snuggled with her a couple nights. On the couch. Because she said she said she couldn’t sleep and that she was feeling lonely. I went down to get a snack. I know I shouldn’t have; that I’m not allowed downstairs by myself in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, daddy. I was hungry though and mummy wasn’t in your room and I went looking for her. She was eating ice cream out of the container and watching Sex and the City. Are you mad? That I went downstairs by myself?”

“No, mate. I’m not. You went looking for mum, right?”

“Yeah, because I was hungry and I knew she would make me a snack. She always makes me an English muffin. Toasted. With a piece of cheese and two slices of tomato on it. With pepper sprinkled on top. And when I couldn’t find her upstairs, I got worried. So I went looking for her. We had snacks and she let me have some ice cream and then we snuggled on the couch watching Sponge Bob. I stayed up until she fell asleep, and then I went and got the big blanket of your bed and your pillow and took them downstairs and tucked mommy in. Then I went back to bed. Once I knew she was really fast asleep and comfortable. I gave her a goodnight kiss. Three, actually. Two on the lips, one of the forehead. Like you do. You always kiss her on the forehead.”

“You are a good son, Nug. A great son. That loves his mumma very much.”

“She’s the best mummy in the whole world. If I could pick mummies, I’d pick her above everyone else. Because she loves me no matter what. She doesn’t care that I’m different. That my brain doesn’t work like everyone else’s. She just loves me. No questions asked. Just like I love her no matter what. Even when she gets mad and yells. But I don’t like when she cries. It makes my heart hurt.”

“Was she crying a lot? While I was gone? More than she’s ever cried before?”

“I guess. TJ and I could hear her the first couple of nights. Crying in the bedroom. We were going to see if she was okay, but we didn’t want to get in trouble. Takota and Brookie went in though and slept with her. She seemed okay in the morning. She likes when we come in to cuddle. She doesn’t like the big bed all to herself.”

“Did she say anything to you? About me being gone?”

“Not to me. But I heard her talking to Desi. He came over every night to check on her and make sure she didn’t need anything. I heard her saying how worried she was about you. That she was scared something would happen and she’d never see you again. That she’d already almost lost you twice before and that she couldn’t take it a third time. Desi tried to talk her down; told her everything would be okay and that you’d be home before she knew it.”

“That was it? The whole thing you heard?”

“Most of it. She also said that she’s never loved anyone the way that she loves you. That you couldn’t ever possibly understand how much she does. That you saved her. In every way someone can be saved.”

“She said that?”

Tanner nods, then reaches inside Tyler’s jacket and pulls out the wool beanie he’d put in one of the pockets for safe keeping. “Will you help me when my glasses fog up?” he asks, and he yanks the hat down onto his head. “They always fog up when we go out in the cold.”

“I will help you.”

“And over the really high snowbanks?”

“I’m going to toss you in those. Have to call someone to dig you out.”

“Daddy…” he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him pointedly. “...that’s not very nice.”

“I would never do that to you. TJ, yeah. You? Never.”

“You know…” Tanner scrambles off his lap as the train begins its final approach to their station, then curls all of his fingers around three of his father’s “...if I got to pick daddies, I’d pick you.”

Tyler smiles down at his son. “You would, would you?”

Tanner nods. “In a heartbeat.”

*****

Breakfast is a success. A small diner in Battery Park that Tanner had found online three years ago; spending hours online searching for the best pancake spots in New York City and reading all of the reviews and browsing all the menus. He’s very detail oriented. Choosing places to eat and shop on not just popularity and the items being offered, but on the way the food appears in pictures; a keen eye for attractive colour palettes and neat and tidy -and appealing- presentation. He’d put so much research and time into it that Tyler hadn’t had the heart to tell him that maybe somewhere closer to home would be a better fit; no ‘scary’ trips on the subway meant less crowds and noise and almost assured no sensory meltdowns which in turn, would mean an extremely hard day for Tanner. Once something is ‘set off’, he remains on edge and anxious for hours; the mere stress of his brain going into overload causing him to be destructive and aggressive. The latter is always directed at himself; yanking his hair out, banging his head off walls, scratching himself until he bleeds. And while it’s always a worry that something will spark the behaviour, they’ve become better at recognizing the warning signs; identifying triggers and able to remove him from a situation before it becomes too much for him to bear.

The morning had gone well. Tanner had been talkative and cheerful; uncharacteristically engaging with the waitress and carrying on conversations -albeit brief, as too much chatter and eye contact make him extremely uncomfortable- with fellow diners. He’d only had difficulties twice. Needing his weighted lap pad and some fidget toys when the wait for food was longer than expected, and a flight to his father’s lap when a larger group of diners came in and their voices were needlessly loud and obnoxious. A tight as possible embrace and encouraging and comforting words whispered had quickly soothed him, but he’d still insisted on staying perched on his dad’s thighs while he finished the remains of his breakfast.

After a quick trip to the Cartier store -a little something for mummy as a form of both apology and an excuse to spoil her- and to pick up some novels to read at Tanner’s favourite used book store, they returned home and onto the final ‘event’ of the morning; time spent at the private park. It’s cold and the wind brutal, but Tanner is in his element; loving the way he can ‘crash’ into the snowbank at the bottom of the slide, tend to building his own snowman without interference from his well meaning but way too hyper younger siblings, and time on the swings. And while he has two of his own hanging from the ceiling in his bedroom, he prefers being outside; leaning as far back as he can and staring up at the sky. It’s gray and dreary today, but he’s in his glory; catching snowflakes on his tongue and giggling the entire time.

That laugh -one he’d inherited from his mother- is more than enough to tolerate the frigid temperatures; a hot cup of coffee and the hat and gloves Esme had both nagged him about taking along -and had resorted to shoving into the pockets of his coat before he stepped out the door- enough to stave off the chill. And he’s leaning back against the wrought iron fence and sipping the strong brew -two shots of espresso helping to fight off the lingering exhaustion from jet lag- when the gate to the park swings open. It’s a highly controlled and private area. Only those who live in Gramercy Park have access; given keys when they take up residence. And while he isn’t necessarily worried about the stranger joining them, that old inkling of hyper-vigilance never fails to make an appearance when he spots an unfamiliar face. It’s the years spent on the job; burning bridges and stepping on toes and making a lot of enemies along the way. Revenge is par for the course; dirtbags sticking up for other dirtbags and seeking vengeance for fellow drug lords, rapists, murders, child predators. The list is vast and seemingly endless; he’s gone up against the lowest of the low and somehow lived to tell about.

The worry is always there; that someone will come looking for him and then use his greatest weaknesses to destroy him. It’s why he’s extra careful now; willing to do anything in his power to keep his family safe. Five years ago had been bad enough; if word got back to the wrong people that it was his business employing the mercenaries sent to clean up messes, the result wouldn’t be pretty. Far more devastating and widespread than what happened at the hands of Mahajan and Asif’s remaining people. And while he highly doubts that the woman and child stepping through the gate pose a threat, his brain immediately tends to think of the worst. Especially when one of his children -arguably the most vulnerable of them all- is with him. But he manages a polite smile in the woman’s direction, then shuffles his weight from foot to foot when she approaches; an attempt to keep warm and his discomfort at the idea of having to be social. It was one of the things that sold on him buying the brownstone; no one bothered with him and likewise didn’t seem to give a shit that he mostly stuck to himself.

“It’s amazing how they can stand being out like this,” she comments, as she sidles up next to him.

It’s way too close his own comfort; the sleeve of her fur lined coat brushing against him. He sidesteps; putting just enough space between them to let her know she’s invading his space, yet enough to come across a complete asshole. She’s new to the area; a face he hadn’t seen last Christmas or during the month they’d spent in the Big Apple over the past summer. Tall and slender; shoulder length blond hair sticking the bottom of the black and gray knit beanie and too much make up on her face.

“My daughter LOVES the snow,” she continues, nodding in the direction of the little girl attempting to make conversation with Tanner. It can go either of three ways; Tanner acknowledging her presence and actually speaking in return, completely ignoring her and acting as if she doesn’t even exist, or he’ll be so anxious that he’ll flee to his father’s side for comfort. “It’s why she took moving here so well; used to the weather in Utah I guess. I’m Natalie,” she offered a slender hand encased in a lambskin glove.

“Tyler. You just moved here?”

“Couple weeks ago. Took a job with Goldman Sachs. I’ve always wanted to live here, mind you. A dream going back to my childhood; Central Park, Broadway shoes, shopping at Bergdorfs. A lot of stuff on my to do list. Your accent; you’re a long way from home.”

“Our second place is here. Kids love coming to stay. Especially during the winter. They love having a white Christmas.”

“Must be a change. Going from somewhere hot and sunny to this. Why go from the ocean and the sand to snow and slush? And most of all, why New York City?”

“My wife spent some time here. Fell in love with it. Always wanted to get back. And our oldest lives here. In Queens. He’s in his first year of med school.”

“You have a kid old enough to have done four years of undergrad and is now in med school?”

Tyler nods. There’s no need for specifics. No reason to tell a complete stranger about Ovi and his background and how he’d wound up going from Mumbai to Colorado and then onto Australia. That part of their lives is firmly rooted in the past; Dhaka, Asif, Mahajan Senior. And it’s not something either of them enjoy revisiting. The years have gone by excruciatingly slow; leaving mountains of mental and physical issues behind. “I’ve got grandkids too.”

“Seriously?”

“Two of them. Boy and a girl. Three and eight months.”

“You’re a grandpa?”

“As much as I hate being called that, yeah. I am.”

“Makes you feel old? Being called that?”

“Just thinking about it makes me feel old.” He takes a swig of coffee; watching as Tanner abandons his snowman and his new playmate in favour of returning to the swings. The ten year old is doing better than expected; not growing agitated or anxious when the little girl immediately follows him and once more attempts to make conversation.

“How old is he?”

“Ten. Eleven next month.”

“He’s shy. Or he’s already playing hard to get when it comes to girls.”

“He has Autism. Aspergers. It’s one of the things he struggles with; making friends.”

“I’m sorry, it must be hard. It must be…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I mean, look at him. He’s healthy. He’s happy for the most part. He’s beautiful. He’s a good kid. A REALLY good kid. We’re lucky to have him.”

“And are those your only two? The med student and him? Quite the age gap.”

“Actually, I have six more at home.”

Natalie’s eyes widen. “You have eight kids?”

“I do. Well, technically the oldest one isn’t mine. Not by blood. We took him in when he was fifteen. But I do have six more at home.”

“All biological?”

Tyler nods.

“All with the same mother?”

“Every last one of them.”

“I don’t know whether you’re crazy or brave. Or a mix of both.”

“Guess that’s up for debate. It’s a pretty full house.”

“God help the woman who got pregnant SEVEN times.”

“It was actually only five times. We have two sets of twins. Ten and five.”

“Wow,” Natalie laughs. “That’s quite the brood. You don’t see that very often these days; big families like that.”

“Once we started, we couldn’t stop I guess. We were supposed to be done at four, but…”

“Things happened.”

“That’s one way of putting it. You said you just moved here?”

“Number thirty-three. You?”

“Eleven.”

“The one right on the corner? With the two dogs? A shepherd and a…”

“Australian shepherd. Mac and Saju. Two major pains in the ass.”

“They love to stand on the couch. Look out the front window. My daughter always waves to them. She keeps hoping one day they’ll be outside. So she can meet them.”

“They’re standing on the couch because they like to spy on the neighbours. And growl and bark at the squirrels. They’re used to koalas and kangaroos. Not squirrels. They’re not the brightest, but they’re loyal.”

“I walked by the other day and when I saw all the kids out front, I thought it might be a daycare. That was a nanny with them? Cute little thing with dark hair. Didn’t look old enough to be their mom.”

“That IS their mom,” he confirms. “My wife is very tiny and cute. And I agree; she does NOT look old enough to have that many kids.”

“It would be nice to meet some of the other families around here. There aren't many with young kids, so it was a relief to see people at the park. My daughter’s always looking for new friends.”

“Well, she’s got a lot to choose from at our house, that’s for sure. I don’t think the wife would mind if you popped by. She’s the social butterfly. Complete opposite of me.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be holding your own in this conversation. A little gruff at times and straight to the point, but…”

“This is me on my best behaviour. It doesn’t get any better.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think it’s perfectly fine how it is.”

Smirking, he downs the remains of his coffee and tosses it in the nearby trash. It’s a line that’s been crossed. Not appreciating little smiles and flirtatious comments and the insistent way she keeps stepping even closer to him; not realizing that he grows more agitated and uncomfortable each time he moves away. It’s annoying; unwanted attention even AFTER you’ve told someone that you’re married. Most women -and some men- seem to take it as a challenge; an extra thrilling chase to land someone that’s declared themselves unavailable. And maybe it’s worked for them before; landing a guy that claims to be happily married and getting him to abandon all his morals and betray the one person he’s supposed to love more than life itself. But that sure as hell ISN’T him. He doesn’t need or want anyone else. Perfectly content to spend the rest of his existence with just one person; happy to wake up to the same face every day, kiss the same lips and make love to the same body , and hear the same voice and laugh.

“Daddy!” Tanner calls as he bounds through the snow; wrapping both arms around one of Tyler’s thighs. “Can we go now? I’m getting cold. And I miss mum.”

“Yeah, we can go. I bet she misses you too.”

“Hey there, cutie.” Natalie smiles, and crouches down to the little boy’s level.

“No,” Tanner shakes his head and slides behind Tyler, hiding himself behind his father’s legs. “Please don’t.”

“He doesn’t like eye contact. Not with people he doesn’t know. Scares him. It’s okay, Nug.” Reaching behind his body, he lays a hand on the back of Tanner’s head and gently pushes; encouraging him to come out of hiding. “Don’t be nervous. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen. Just people trying to meet you. Wanting to be friends.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Just someone being nice. Can you come on out? At least say hi? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Come on…” he lifts one leg, allowing Tanner to slip between them. “...can you just say hi? I won’t ask for more than that.”

Tanner nods, both arms once more wrapping around his father’s thigh; body leaning into him, needing that comfort and support. “Hi.”

"I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Natalie says. “Just trying to make friends. What’s your name?”

Tanner glances up at his dad. Looking for reassurance. And permission.

“It’s okay. You can tell her.”

He looks back at the woman in front of him. “Tanner.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten. Almost eleven.”

“I hear you have a lot of brothers and sisters.”

He nods. “I have a twin. He’s older than I am. His name’s Tyler. Like daddy.”

“And is he as handsome? As you and daddy?”

“I don’t know. I guess. He’s really tall. And strong. Like daddy. He’s almost taller than mummy already!”

“Well your mum’s pretty tiny,” Tyler reasons, and straightens out Tanner’s scarf and hat; pulling the beanie down over the tops of his ears. “Speaking of mum, want to go see her?”

“Yeah,” Tanner nods enthusiastically. “I wanna see her. I miss her. I want to give her a hug. And her goodies. We got mum her favourites,” he addresses Natalie. “Mummy loves croissants. From a certain place. So daddy and I took the subway to get them. And he got her something really nice. From a really expensive jewellery store. There was lots of sparkly stuff in there. Mummy likes sparkly stuff but never lets daddy buy her any. She says he spoils her too much.”

Natalie smiles. I’m sure your mom deserves to be spoiled.”

“Oh, she definitely does. She’s the best mummy. And the prettiest. She puts up with a lot. Especially from Millie. That’s my oldest sister. She’s a bitch.”

Tyler frowns. “Tanner….”

“I’m just sayin’. Millie is really mean. She’s almost a teenager. That’s why. They get mean at that age. Girls. That’s what daddy says.”

“And on that note,” Tyler chuckles. “I think we should go home. You’re gonna wanna pee soon, aren’t ya.”

“Yeah. And you can’t drop your pants and go in the bushes here. Wayyyy too cold. I got snow in my boot. My sock is wet. I can’t walk in wet socks.”

“You could if you wanted to. It’s like a hundred feet away.”

“Naw. I don’t like it. The feeling. My foot is cold. And wet. My sock is too squishy.”

“You’re demanding.” Scooping Tanner up with one hand, he settles him on his hip, then reaches for the bags he’d hung earlier on the rungs of the fence. “Ready to go? Go and see and mummy?”

“Ready, Freddy. I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“You’re ALWAYS hungry. Giants eat a lot. Bye” ! Tanner waves a mitten in farewell in Natalie’s direction. “I like your hat, by the way. I like the panda bear pin on it. It’s sparkly. And I like panda bears.”

“Well, I like your glasses. You’re awful cute, you know that.”

“Cute like daddy, smart like mummy,” Tanner declares, as he curls an arm around his dad’s neck. “Bye new friend!”

“Bye, kiddo. You be good. Although something tells me you always are.”

Tanner giggles. “You’ll change your mind once you get to know me. I can be really annoying.”

“Something tells me you’re more cute than annoying.”

“Just you wait,” he singsongs, and then gives one final wave before being carried out the gate.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Save A Spot For Me

Fandom: Marvel (College AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

As requested by anonymous: Bucky Barnes x reader where he always saves a spot for her in their one uni class and everyone noticed and ships them

You: sooooo...here’s the thing..

Bucky: late again.

You: yup. save a seat for me?

Bucky: of course

You: 😁 thanks!

Bucky shakes his head with a fond look on his face. He pulls open the door to his next class, one that you share with him. When he entered the lecture hall, there were already a few students in their preferred seats. 

Bucky made his way to one of the middle rows, choosing a seat for him and then proceeding to place his things in the seat beside him, a place for you. As he dug out his supplies for the class, his buddy, Sam, waltzed into the room, heading straight for the seat next to Bucky, the one he was saving for you. 

As soon as Sam grabbed for Bucky’s bag, he was stopped, “Hey, hey! Woah! That’s Y/N’s seat!”

Sam snorted, “And where’s Y/N right now?”

Bucky shrugged, “Said she was gonna be late.”

Sam shook his head, “Snooze, you lose!” he proceeds to move Bucky’s bag to the floor and sits in the seat that was preserved for you.

The brunette frowned, “You couldn’t have just sat in the other chair beside me?” with a shake of his head, Bucky moved his things to the other chair next to him. He then pulled out his notes and began to read the content from last lecture. 

Soon enough, more and more students began to file into the hall. Whenever one would come up to Bucky, they’d ask, “Y/N’s seat?” to which he’d give them a sorry look accompanied with a nod. However, many didn’t seem too upset. Oddly enough, people would smirk at him or give him a knowing look. 

“Why are people looking at me weird whenever I say that I’m saving a seat for Y/N?”

Sam chuckled, “Probably because we can all see how much you like her?”

Bucky scoffed, “What? No! I-I don’t like her! We’re just friends!”

“Mhmmmmm, keep tellin’ yourself that, man,” Sam gave a looking showing that he was unconvinced by Bucky’s words. 

Bucky frowned. He opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted when Professor Coulson entered the room. His mouth shut immediately and he picked up his pen, ready to take notes. 

____________

You absolutely hated living off campus. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. Living off campus meant you didn’t have to deal with the RAs, campus police, annoying floor mates, sharing bathrooms with 50+ people, etc. You had more privacy, a bathroom you had to shared with 3 people, and amazing roommates. The downside was not having the convenience of being closer to your classes. Instead, you had to take the bus to campus and the bus was never reliable. Like today. The bus driver decided to take a different route to the college than the usual and it’s going to make you late. Again! This will be your fourth tardy to class and you’re really hoping Coulson doesn’t rip you a new one in front of everybody. 

At least Bucky said he’ll save you a seat. He’s a nice person like that. A nice person with gorgeous blue eyes, a beautiful smile, soft chocolate brown hair-UGH! Get it together, Y/N! You can’t crush on your friend like that. Was he a friend? You don’t really hang out outside of class. And you two usually only text about school. Maybe he’s not a friend then. But you’d like to be his friend...maybe more. 

The bus finally arrives to campus and you mutter, “Finally!” under your breath as you practically hop off the vehicle and run towards the lecture hall. You’re twenty minutes late. 

You head towards the back door of the lecture hall, slipping in as quietly as you can. You look down to see Bucky and you tip toe over to his row, whispering apologies to the students you pass. Bucky spots you and shoots a smile, removing his bag from your spot. You’re grateful that Coulson’s back is to you as he’s drawing a graph onto the board. 

Just as you’re about to sit down, Coulson calls out your name, “Y/N, you know the rules.”

Everyone’s eyes turn to you, staring expectedly. You sigh, straightening your form as you stand, “I’m Y/N L/N and I’m late because my bus driver thought it was a good idea to take a different route to campus, which made me twenty-five minutes late to class.”

Coulson nodded when you sat down, “Alright. Now as I was saying-”

You drown out Coulson’s voice as you hurriedly open your notebook to write down all of the notes he’d put on the board. When he begins to erase them, you open your mouth to tell him to wait, but Bucky’s hand lands on your arm. He scribbles down something at the corner of his page. You lean in and read it:

Don’t worry. You can copy my notes later. ;)

Your shoulders deflate with relief and you mouth, “Thank you,” to him. 

He shrugs and mouths back, “You’re welcome,” then goes back to writing out his notes. 

After class, Coulson calls you up to his desk and you feel yourself tense as you approach, “Yes, sir?”

“So, I hate to do this, because you’re actually a really great student and you’re doing so well in my class, but I do have to give you a warning that if you’re late again, that’s an automatic absence.”

You nod understandingly, “I know, sir. I don’t mean to be late, you know. It’s just the bus-”

“I understand, but why doesn’t your boyfriend give you a ride?”

You look at him confusedly, “Boyfriend?”

“Barnes,” he says with a smirk, “The guy who always saves you a seat and secretly gives you heart eyes whenever you speak up in class?”

You honestly didn’t know what to say to that, “O-Oh, uh, Bucky and I-”

“Babe, you ready to go?” you look to the door and see Bucky’s head popping in. 

“Uh, yeah?” you say unsurely. 

He nods, “Let’s go then! Sam and Steve are waiting for us so we can head to lunch!”

“O-Okay!” you say and shoot a nervous smile to Coulson, who’s practically beaming at you. You wave at your professor and exit the lecture hall. 

You then frown at Bucky, “Why’d you do that? Now he thinks we’re dating!”

He chuckles, “You make it sound like a bad thing.” you follow him as he continues to walk towards the cafe, “Besides, you don’t wanna embarrass the guy, do ya?”

You snort, “Why not? He embarrasses me all the time!”

“Which is you fault, by the way,” Bucky says with a pointed look.

You feign offense and point a finger at him, “It’s not my fault and you know it, Barnes!”

_______________________

The day after that, you get to campus early, as you told Bucky via texting him a selfie of you on campus. He proceeds to send you a selfie back showing you he’s already at the hall with a seat saved for you. 

He waits patiently as you make your way over, doodling in his sketchbook yet another picture of you. So deep into his doodling, he doesn’t notice one of his classmates settling in the seat next to him, until another classmate from behind speaks up. 

“Hey, blondie! You better take a different spot! Barnes doesn’t like anyone else sitting next to him other than his tardy girlfriend!” 

Bucky grunts in dismay when he realizes Brock Rumlow, the campus asshole, is speaking. He looks over his shoulder with a frown, “Shut up, Rumlow, before you dumb down everyone’s IQ!” he then turns to his classmate with a sorry expression, “Sorry about him...Sharon, right?”

She nods, “Yeah, and sorry. I didn’t know this was Y/N’s seat. I usually sit up front, but my neck is starting to hurt since he’s been using the overhead lately. I’ll move down a seat.”

“I really am sorry.”

She shakes his head, “Don’t be. I think it’s cute that you do that for Y/N. You really like her, huh?”

Bucky feels his face start to heat up, “Well, uh, yeah.”

“You guys would make such a cute couple. You should ask her out! In fact, bring her to movie night that my sorority is holding for the school! It’s a thriller movie so if she gets scared, you can hold her and stuff.”

He nervously chuckles, “Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you mean about the movie and not asking her out. Because you should definitely do it,” she sends him a wink and then moves down a seat. 

A few minutes later, you burst into the room, earning a few playful hollers and applause from some students. You take a bow and then continue to climb the steps towards your seat. You carefully place a coffee cup onto Bucky’s desk, “Here.”

He takes it with a scrunch of his nose, “What’s this for?”

You settle in your seat and gave a shrug, “I mean, you save me a spot for every class. You don’t have to, but you do. So thanks for saving me the effort of looking like a dumbass for searching the room for an empty spot.”

“You’re welcome, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Still. I wanna thank you.”

“While I appreciate the coffee, maybe you can thank me another way?” he then slaps himself on the forehead, “Wait! I just realized how that sounds and that’s not what I meant!”

You throw your head back with a cackle, “I didn’t think of it that way at first, but now that you pointed it out, yeah, it sounds wrong.”

Bucky groans, “Sorry. Sorry. Anyway, what I meant was that...maybe you wanna...go on a date sometime?”

“S-Sure!” you say surprisingly. 

“Great!” Bucky says with much relief, “I hear there’s a movie night comin’ up. Wanna go?”

“I heard it’s a scary movie so I’ll definitely be covering my eyes for most of the film, but sure.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand and protect you if need be,” he says with a smirk. 

“HALLELUJAH! PRAISE THE LORD!” a booming voice echoes throughout the lecture hall. All eyes land on Sam, who’s standing on the other side of Bucky. He cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND THOSE IN-BETWEEN, JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES HAS FINALLY ASKED Y/N L/N OUT!” students from all over the room burst into applause and cheers which makes you and Bucky want the ground to open up and eat you both. 

[phobiadeficient]

*slides you $20* Can we get some more demoscout?

aw fuck yea dude twenty bucks i can get like three sandwiches at jimmy john’s

(no warnings)

-

“This joke was a lot funnier in my head,” Scout said from Demo’s bathroom, door very decidedly closed.

“You’re stalling,” Demo called in reply.

“Like, way funnier. Can I—can I like, change my idea? And do somethin’ else? Because this is... it’s not that funny, it’s, it’s just embarrassing and dumb,” Scout insisted.

“I don’t think so,” Demo chuckled. “C’mon, doll, how long do you plan to keep me waiting?”

“I’m just mad because this is dumb because I can’t even get you back on this. Like, you already wear a skirt every day.”

“It’s a kilt, skirts are more lightweight and fewer layers, just get out here already,” Demo corrected easily, and there was a long pause before Scout opened the door.

His face was red, but more red was his outfit.

Straight out of a sorority’s Halloween party was the cheerleader’s uniform, the stockings twenty times longer than the tiny little nothing of a skirt, pleated and hemmed up (as if that was needed), with the top turning down at the collar in a V so deep that he was fairly sure Medic could operate on Scout’s chest through it. And speaking of collars, Scout had on one of those too, bright red like the uniform and with a cute little bell at the front.

Demo whistled appreciatively, and Scout stalked out of the bathroom to stand in front of him, every muscle stiff and making a great show of rolling his eyes and trying to make it not terribly obvious when he glanced at the front of Demo’s boxers, taking note of his physical appreciation making itself known. 

“This doesn’t even fit,” he grumbled, and admittedly it did fit strangely at some parts of the top, and surely was meant to cover slightly more of his thighs, but Demo wasn’t exactly going to go write the costume company over it. “Can I take this off now?”

“Or I can take it off of you, save you the trouble,” Demo suggested with a waggle of eyebrows and a flick to the bell on the collar, and that broke through Scout’s little reluctance act just a bit, made him really have to fight down the grin that tried to pull at his face.

“Wow babe, you’d do that for me?” he asked in a similarly joking tone. “Fuckin’ hero.”

“It is an awful lot of work,” Demo mused, and tugged on the loose front of the shirt to get Scout to move in closer, within reach of his hands to allow him to start exploring further, eye drawing along the details with appreciation. “Think there’s anything you could do to repay me, doll?”

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already,” Scout laughed, and he did, starting with the exposed skin of Scout’s stomach, making Scout continue laughing.

His laughter faded off into a gasp as Demo’s hands slid up his thighs beneath the skirt, tracing his thumbs meaningfully against his skin.

And he saw the twinkle of amusement in Demo’s eye for the second and a half before Demo promptly  tucked the front of the skirt up enough to duck his head beneath, and Scout felt his face go bright red even before he felt the pleasant rasp of beard against the inside of his thigh, the precursor to a sweet little kiss.

“Just wore the jock, aye doll?” Demo asked, sounding amused.

Scout was halfway through his “Uh, yeah I actually—“ before it was cut off with a very embarrassing half-whimper, Demo mouthing at his bulge at an amount of pressure that made his legs jitter for a second.

And then he did it again, and then a third time so much slower than the previous two, and Scout could feel the moist heat of his mouth just on the other side of the fabric and oh fuck—

He bent and gripped at Demo’s shoulders as he felt his legs jitter again and flushed further at the little jingle of the bell on the collar, and Demo secured his hands on the outside of Scout’s thighs to better situate the both of them, pulling Scout in and trapping his legs together between Demo’s knees to keep them more secure. He then guided one of Scout’s hands to instead take hold of the edge of the skirt and promptly tugged Scout’s jock a short way down his legs to free him, wasting no time before starting to kiss and lick at his very-quickly-hardening dick.

Scout worked hard for as long as he could manage to not make noise, but when Demo finally sealed his lips around his cockhead he couldn’t help but release a little groan, surely wrinkling the fabric of the skirt from how hard he was clutching it, trying to hold it out and away enough for Demo to work uninterrupted.

And he half wanted to try and roll his hips forward to match the bobbing he set into, but he realized with the way his legs were trapped he couldn’t really do that, or move much at all, and with the skirt in the way he couldn’t get any kind of hold on Demo’s head. He just had to take the attention Demo gave to him and hope for more.

...Okay. So that combined with the skirt and collar thing actually being kind of nice meant maybe Scout was learning some things about himself. He’d... revisit that.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Demo giving a gentle squeeze to his balls as he sank forward that much further, and fuck, okay, he needed to move this along or he wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

“Demo—oh!” he gasped, breath hitching at the flick of Demo’s tongue just under the head on the next pass. “Don’t you w—fuck—wait, don’t you—hah—wanna fuck me?”

Demo pulled back and gave a parting kiss to the head before resurfacing, giving Scout a cheeky grin. “Love to, doll,” he said, one hand migrating up his thigh to pinch at one cheek teasingly, making Scout squeak and flush all the more. “Care to have a ride?”

“Y-yeah,” he agreed quickly, and the moment Demo freed him he motioned for Demo to move back just a bit, which he did without protest, quickly and efficiently shedding his boxers and tank. Scout in turn moved to tug the jock the rest of the way off and straddle him, shifting into the position they tended to take when the night went in this particular direction, and Demo stopped him with hands on his hips.

“Leaving the skirt on?” he asked.

Scout gave him a look. “Figured you’d complain if I didn’t. You sayin’ you want it off?”

“Said no such thing,” Demo replied, grinning a little again.

“Then quit complainin’,” Scout mumbled, and tried to sink down again, but again Demo held him off.

“Doll, don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I... prepped in the bathroom,” Scout mumbled, flushing at the admission.

“Well, can never be too careful,” Demo said with a peck to Scout’s cheek, and leaned to snag the spare bottle of lube from the dresser, slicking himself up and wiping his hand off on his discarded tank. “Alright, ready when you are.”

He was sweet enough to do the work of angling himself and adjusting the skirt so Scout could sink down more easily, and as always had the courtesy to keep still until Scout was seated and adjusted, and he even made these lovely little groans a few times along the way, kicking Scout’s own pleasure up a level. And he had to take a few moments to just breathe, and glanced down and started to flush again when he saw the tent at the front of the skirt that he was making, but he couldn’t dwell on it long before Demo was tilting his head back up and pulling him into a kiss.

And it was overwhelming and distracting in the good way, in such a good way that he barely noticed when he started shifting his hips down to fuck himself, and it was only brought to his attention by one thing.

A little ringing sound.

He pulled back from the kiss to give a baffled look to Demo, who seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh as the ringing sound happened again and Scout pieced together that it was coming from the little bell on the collar.

“Oh, fuck no,” Scout said immediately.

“Aww, doll,” Demo started, but Scout cut him off.

“No, fuck off, I already put on the sock and the fuckin’—the stupid cheerleader outfit, I’m—fuck you.”

“Harsh,” Demo chided.

“Well, I’m not gonna wear the stupid collar if it’s gonna make that stupid noise the whole time!” Scout protested.

And he had to work hard not to immediately relax when Demo cupped his cheek in one warm hand. “Doll, please? Won’t ask this of you ever again if you’d like, but just once?” he asked, and damn it. Demo could ask him just about anything and it would sound tempting.

“Might change my mind later,” Scout warned.

“Aye, fair,” Demo said, and Scout didn’t give any warning before he rolled into motion just to see the way Demo’s mouth fell open around a silent gasp.

And he rode like a champion, he knew that. But he was thrown slightly off his rhythm by the light jingle of the bell on the collar and the way Demo was looking at him, eye wide and expression very much pleased as he drew his gaze over everything Scout had to offer. And for a second he felt uncharacteristically embarrassed, and realized belatedly that he couldn’t even hide like this, couldn’t look away, and maybe some amount of his sudden insecurity showed on his face and in his faltering motions, because Demo started in with the compliments in an instant.

“Lovely,” he said, voice low and rough, “so lovely, doll, really you are. Can’t believe you’d dress up like this, too damn gorgeous.”

Scout bit his lip to keep quiet, knowing that if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t be able to control what he said next, or any of his noises, which were already rising up into his throat despite his best efforts.

“Dinnae think you’d ever go along with it, but lord, I’m glad you did, doll. Ought to lay you out and give you a proper thanks, but maybe later,” he continued, that glitter in his eye again even alongside the growing heat, and Scout’s breath caught on the exhale and was trailed by a short whine, and Demo laughed breathlessly. “There he is. Go on, doll, I wanna hear ye.”

And he did, Scout bending forward just a bit and relaxing at the shoulders just a touch as little moans started to escape his mouth, and the tiny little ache of shame in his chest that the bell and the skirt and the stockings brought him for some reason drove him all the faster towards release. And he shoved the skirt up out of the way to tug at himself, impatient, and Demo’s thumb tickled just at the soft part of the inside of his thigh, drawing his nail down the place where his inseam usually laid, and that was it, he was spilling into his hand with a few hard swears, and he could feel Demo’s stomach tighten beneath his hand as a warning before it was over for him too, done in by a combination of things.

And he was panting, resting, trying to get ahold of himself, and with his clean hand he did reach up to tug the collar off, feeling suddenly restricted, and Demo didn’t complain.

“What if you wore this to work?” Demo asked weakly.

Scout smacked him on the stomach, and he laughed, and Scout fought hard not to laugh too. It was a losing battle.

[goldandbluesmiles]

A Surprise Engagement

Summary: Jacie is expecting to have to break up with her boyfriend to go through with an arranged marriage. She is pleasantly surprised by her father's slyness.

Ao3

XXX

"You believe they want to talk to you about marriage?"

Lady Jacie turned away from the mirror to look at her lover, still splayed out on her bed.

"Yes," she told him, "You know how it is. I and my siblings are not the blood children of Lord Wayne. However, due to the legal inclusion of us in the family and state, we are good for making alliances. This much wealth comes at a price Kyle. Those born into this family, like Bruce and Helena, die in service to Gotham, giving their blood life to the people. Those like me, adopted in, find other ways. For Richard, it meant marriage to Kori. For Timothy, it meant allegiance to the Kryptonians of Metropolis. For me, it means whoever they pick out,"

"You don't even know who they might want you to take?" he asked

Jacie sighed and went to sit by him.

"No," she said, running a hand through his soft hair, "They might give me a few to choose from but I don't know who,"

"Are you okay with this?" he asked, "What about us?"

"I told you about this when we got involved," she said softly, "I told you we couldn't get attached,"

"That's it?" he demanded, sitting up

"I don't know what you want me to say, Kyle,"

Kyle sighed, "I guess I thought it could be different. Sorry for snapping,"

Jacie smiled tightly. Kyle was not a royal but the Lanterns were a governed entity. They made their dealings similar to those of royal families. He understood even if it hurt.

"I should probably go before your maid comes in," said Kyle

"Yes," murmured Jacie

Kyle put his clothes on quickly, taking her hands in his when he was done.

"May I?" he inquired

Jacie nodded.

Kyle leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.

"I'll see you sometimes my lady," he said

Jacie nodded but did not say anything.

As soon as he was out the door, she flopped back into the bed, wondering once again if getting involved with Kyle had been a good idea. It wasn't as if she hadn't had lovers before. She had actually had quite a few. All of them had. Bruce had never been a stickler for staying pure before marriage and let them do as they wanted as long as they were all staying safe.

However, as soon as she had met Kule, she had known something was different. The first time they had met, they had both just entered their twenties. She had been getting used to being alive again while he had just joined the Green Lanterns. A part of being a Lantern had been visiting the important families of his sector, which included Gotham.

Kyle had stumbled on her reading in the library and from there they had gotten to talk. Kyle was not passionate about reading however, he was passionate about drawing the characters from literary books. They had gotten into a strong debate on what certain characters from literature would look like. From there. their friendship had blossomed which had them lead to more. On her birthday, he had given her a sketchbook full of Jane Austen's characters, making her gasp in awe and wonder. She had known then, that they were becoming too close but she had not put a stop to it. She had understood from a young age that her marriage would be arranged and she not only accepted it but seen it as part of her life. She knew Bruce would never force her into anything she didn't want and had been at peace with the whole thing.

Until Kyle.

Sighing again, she sat up. She had made a commitment to the idea. She couldn't just leave it now that she hag gotten involved with an amazing guy.

"Oh, Fuck,"

xxx

After, putting on a dress of her signature red, a black leather jacket and having the maid pull her hair into a bun, Jacie made her way tp the Meeting room. Inside there was Bruce, Selina, Cassandra, the Kanes, the Crownes, the Dumas's and the Glavans. All sitting in their perspective seats and waiting for her to join them. Once she entered, everyone but her parents stood up to greet her.

When they were all seated, Bruce started to start the meeting with some gentle words and explanations but Jacie just shook her head.

"Come now, Old man," she told him "Cut it. I know why I'm here,"

Some of the others, especially the older ones, frowned but her dad had an amused twinkle in his eyes, which was the only thing she cared about.

"Well then," said Bruce, "Uncle Phillip, please,"

"Well, child," said Phillip, gentle smile in place. He had always been her favourite.

"We have four options that you can choose from,"

"Okay,"

"First, Roy Harper,"

She listened to them go on about his family and qualifications but already knew that it would never happen. He was her friend and his daughter caller her Jayjay for fun. It would be too awkward to be married to the older man.

"Next, Jericho Wilson," said Phillipe, going on to explain his background

Jacie bit back her surprise and cast a glance at her dad and was instantly relieved. He didn't seem to like that option either.

"Wally West,"

Oh hell no.

"And last but not least," said Phillipe, "Kyle Rayner of the Green Lantern Corps,"

Jaycie's blood froze in her veins.

"Rayner?" she choked out

"Yes," said Phillipe, "I realize he's not a royal but it was your father's idea and the rest of us agree. He's quite formidable and it is always a good thing to have a further connection with the Lanterns,"

Bruce's idea. She looked at her father and found that his face was carefully blank.

He knew.

Jacie cleared her throat.

"I would like some time to think about it," she said

"Of course," said Phillipe, "We're in no hurry. Here are the files, child. Meeting adjourned,"

Jacie took the files and quickly made her way out of there before any of her family could follow her. She basically ran the rest of the way to her room and shut the door behind her.

She put the files on her table and flopped down on the bed, trying to calm her racing heart.

So Bruce new about her and Kyle. Not the biggest surprise. But he approved. Or was he just trying to make her happy? And what about Kyle! Did he know? No, he would have been so dejected today if he had. Did that mean that the Lanterns just wanted a deal and wanted them to choose-

There was a knock on her door.

So much for being left alone.

She got up to open the door and was shocked to find Kyle standing at her door.

"Can I come in?" he asked, sounding out of breath

"Yeah," she murmured, moving aside to let him in.

"So-" he said as soon as he stepped inside, "I had the most surprising call with the Corps. Apparently I'm a candidate for being your husband. There are two options here. You didn't know at all or you knew and don't wanna marry me so you lie-"

"I didn't, Kyle," she said, taking a step and holding his hand, "I didn't know,"

"Oh," he said, letting out a long breath, "That makes me feel better,"

"Come on," she murmured, "Come sit down,"

They both sat down in the, his hand still in hers.

"So," he said, "Do you want to marry me?"

"I- Kyle this is a surprise," she said, "What about you?"

"We get along. I care about you, I really really do and I mean we don't have to yet, right? It would be great. We could read books together you could critique my drawings and-"

"Kyle, baby," she said, letting out a chuckle, "You're rambling,"

Kyle stopped, let out a long breathe and smiled

She couldn't help but smile back and think to all the time they know each other. The meals they had had together, the walks they had taken through different cites around the country the many flights he has taken her on.

Jacie had never classified the relationship as more than an attachment, thinking it was best. But sitting here now, thinking of continuing their care for each other - it filled her with warmth.

"Kyle?" she murmured

"Yes," he said

"I-," she took a deep breather, "I think I might love you,"

He let out a breathless chuckle, joy dancing in his eyes, "I think I might love you too,"

Jacie laughed and threw herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses. Kyle pulled away to say something when there was another knock on the door.

"Jacie, it's me," called out Bruce

Oh no.

"Hide," she whispered to Kyle

Kyle instantly vaulted across her bed and laid down on the other side, half under the bed.

Jacie fixed her hair and dress

"Come in," she called out

Bruce came in and closed the door behind him. For a few seconds, he awkwardly stood at the threshold before sighing.

"I didn't mean to spring this on you," he said, "They had been talking about it on and off for some time but they didn't say anything explicit so I didn't bring it up. However, this morning they more or less forced me to call the meeting. I think they were afraid I was avoiding it on purpose,"

"And Kyle?" she whispered

"The Lanterns brought up an alliance through marriage and told us to take their pick of their non-married members. I wasn't going to, there is no guarantee that they wouldn't be forced but then Kyle came along. I added his name to the roster this morning,"

"Oh," she murmured, trying to hide her actual excitement

"Now I don't know how much Kyle knows," said Bruce, stepping a little closer, "But I'm sure if you talk to-"

Bruce's eyes then slid around the room and he frowned. After a few moments, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"He's in here isn't he?"

Jacie couldn't help but smirk.

Bruce sighed, "Hello Kyle,"

"Lord Wayne," Kyle called out, still staying in his place

"Well, I suppose that takes care of that," said Bruce, "I'm going to go now. I will see you at dinner. Both of you,"

Jacie nodded. Bruce gave her forehead a kiss and left the room.

Kyle slowly came out of his hiding spot and they both collapsed on the bed laughing.

"Can't believe that just happened," he said

Jacie just laughed some more.

"So," said Kyle, "The engagement?"

"We don't have to get married instantly. We can have a long engagement. Get used to the idea,"

"Yeah," said Kyle, "Yeah,"

Kyle smiled at her, a soft look in his eyes.

"What," she asked

"I wanted this," he murmured, "But I never dared to think about it. I knew you had a commitment to Gotham. I just buried it. But now..."

"I know," she said softly, "I know,"

Kyle smiled wide, taking her hands in his, "We're gonna get married,"

"Yeah," said Jacie, placing a kiss on his hand, "Yeah. We're gonna get married,"

And it was going to be beautiful.

[deerlyloved]

one for all, baby!

under cut: unused starter for my ocs in my universe called one for all!

A loud explosion echoed through the streets of the city, chunks of stone and metal flying outwards and hitting windows on the opposite side of the street with enough force to shatter the glass and keep going for several feet before they finally came to a rolling stop. Several people on the sidewalk were miraculously shielded and untouched from the blast, and they all turned towards the now collapsed wall in awe as a woman stepped out from the destruction, a large scythe in her hand as she waved dust away from her face.

Two short yet sharp horns extended upwards from her forehead, tinted yellow with noticeable cracks, and it was a quick give away to those walking by that this scene did not involve them-- It was demon business. Most moved on with their days, trying to rush away without drawing too much attention to themselves, though a handful lingered, watching as the woman coughed into her hand, motioning behind her for someone to follow as she hobbled down from the piles of brick on the sidewalk.

A short man in a baggy sweater, with two furry ears and a large set of curled horns, clambered after her, arms out as he walked out much more unsteadily than the demon he followed-- But then, behind him, more followed, easily a dozen people standing in the street now, each with a set of horns, some with tails and some with wings. The woman with the scythe coughed again, being careful not to smudge her lipstick as she coughed into her elbow, nose crinkled.

Her black attire was much dustier now, and a quick look at the platform boots she wore gave the question as to how she so gracefully climbed down from the mountain of rubble when the man in sneakers that stood next to her had so much trouble. She turned, looking to the group behind her, a black leathery tail flicking back and forth meticulously as she watched them and did a quick headcount.

“Eighteen, nineteen and… Twenty.” She murmured quickly, nodding to herself before she spoke louder, to the group themselves now, “Alright, I’m going to pop out now, make sure to tell the cops everything, you know the drill.” She gave a thumbs-up, her nails sharp and painted a glittery black.

“How...How can we thank you?” A demon from the crowd asked, stumbling forward.

Ebony Halls gave a very quick shrug, “Dunno, I guess do minimal dying, it’ll make my job easier.” She turned without another word, slinging an arm over the short mans’ shoulder and beginning to walk away. A few more people called after her, but she didn’t respond, just moving to the sidewalk to fall in line with the bystanders scurrying away as her hand went out, the scythe she clutched disappearing.

A minute passed in relative silence before the man spoke, “I uh… Thanks, Death. I appreciate it.”

Ebony nodded, “Yeah, ‘course Ro’. Just… Be more careful, you know how bad the demon trade’s gotten these days, ever since those assholes over in Atheism started paying well for us.” She warned.

The world they were born into was unique, to say the least. The God(s) of most major religions were all real, and so were their creation stories-- They all argued about who was the “most right”, though, and so did their followers, but most people just accepted that they followed their own God(s) and other people followed theirs, and that was that.

With the Gods, however, came those below them. Ebony and Rover were born in the Catholic mythos, two demons (well, sort of) from the good ol’ fire and brimstone Hell, and most of their friends were as well. Ebony had been to the Underworld, and she thought it was a fantastic change of pace from the whole ‘torture for eternity’ schtick, but her formal request to change it up and redo a section of the Pit was discarded.

While Rover was a lower class demon, easily overpowered and thrown into things like the demon trade, Ebony was an upper-class demon, which meant you’d be hard-pressed to beat her in a fight and more likely to die than anything.

Oh, also, Ebony was technically an upper-class angel as well. You know, one of the four potential anti-Christs and all that, both realms had to very begrudgingly accept her despite them both hating it.

Right, you might want an explanation…

See, it all started with an angel named Pahaliah. Skip through the story a few dozen millennia, and good ol’ Paha meets Barron, the soon to be father of four terrible hellspawn that made up Ebony and all her siblings. They fall in love, have a kid, then another, then twins, they break up, the kids get kidnapped by angels when Pahaliah goes to angel jail, blah blah blah, Ebony is named the latest reincarnation of the force of Death, then they break out, etcetera…

That’s a few thousand years summed up in a quick paragraph!

Look, when you lived in the nightmare of stress, political debates, and constant migraines from having death requests flooding through your head like an overpopulated instant messenger app, you would be quick to summarize things quickly too. She didn’t want to think about the decade or so she spent in Heaven, kidnapped by angels with countless eyes and forced to learn about her new gift as the literal force of Death itself, it just… added to her headache.

Speaking of, Death paused, checking the watch on her wrist as she dug in the hip bag she had, pulling out a small bottle of ibuprofen. She took two without thinking, and she heard Rover sigh in disapproval.

“You shouldn’t take them dry, they could really hurt your throat in the long run.” He told her.

“Live fast, die hard, etcetera.” Ebony replied as she put the bottle back where it was, “In my case, I think I can’t die until I hit the ripe old age of a hundred if the angels gave me any real information.” Her hand absentmindedly traces the jagged scar across her throat. Ebony had fought for so long, even though she was just now planning her twenty-fifth birthday, but Death couldn’t really die, it just had to wait until it’s approved dying time.

Everything in this world was really keen on making sure everything was approved before it happened, keeping all the I’s dotted and t’s crossed, nothing left out of reports sent to the Virtues in Heaven or the Lords in Hell. Great world to be born into, really, so long as you didn’t mind the meaningless stream of dramatics the daily life would bring. 

“Anyway,” She said, interrupting her own thoughts as she twirled a strand of coiled black hair around her light brown finger, “I’m gonna pop over to the skating rink later, you wanna come?” Ebony turned her bright yellow eyes down to Rover with a sharp-toothed grin. To a human, it might be unnerving to see the black-sclalera eyes that peered down at them, and the fangs that unfurled from her lips, but Rover had seen demons plenty scarier than her-- that certainly included Ebony’s true form as well.

“Nah, but Rex’ll probably show up.” Rover replied, “I gotta get Fido to shave my head again.”

“Haha, nerd.” Ebony teased, pausing to pull the backpack she wore, shaped like a black cat with bright gold eyes, around to her chest. She rummaged through them as she shuffled along with Rover, pulling out a pair of black shoes. Her Heelys. Ebony grasped at Rover, waiting for the hellhound to stand next to her with an annoyed, yet playful look on his face, and leaned on his shoulder as she unlaced her platform boots, pulling them off and sliding her Heelys on in their place. She tucked her boots into her bag, then rocked back onto her heel. 

“Guess I’ll take off, then.” She said, patting Rover on the back roughly with a grin. Just before she went to kick off and skate away, she heard someone shout from behind her, and the woman turned quickly with a confused look only to see someone walking right for her and Rover.

[autisticbee]

What, no ring?

Master Frown twirls spaghetti around his fork, the only joy (ha.) being watching the strands break. He's known to be a complainer but this is without exaggeration the worst spaghetti he's ever had, it doesn't even slightly compare to what he and Brock can make at home.

"Dude, are you not gonna eat that?" Brock eyes his plate like it's not too much of an abomination to even call food.

Frown's brow creases even more. "Nope." Without any further words he shoves the detested plate to Brock's side of the table.

Brock shrugs. "It's not that bad, not that good either but not that bad." He shoves a fork full of the discarded meal into his mouth and Frown isn't sure what to make of the fact he keeps thinking about how that fork was in his own mouth a few minutes ago.

Stop being weird, brain. He thinks to himself.

"I dunno why we even had to come here, their food is shi-" Frown cuts himself off realising there are kids at a table nearby and then internally scolds himself for being soft and to stop letting Unikitty, or Brock for that matter, rub off on him. "-Garbage."

Brock stifles a laugh. "C'mon, eating out once in a while is cool, I don't wanna cook alllll the time."

"Well, maybe I do." Frown crosses his arms in petulance. "We don't even have the money for desert, which is the only good part about eating in a stuffy place full of too many happy-dappy people." He glares indiscriminately around the room.

Brock rolls his eyes. "Whatever man, just, stick it out for a little while longer, Okay?" He asks, pleadingly.

Frown keeps his glare for 3 seconds, before heaving a heavy sigh. "Fine. But we are getting dessert."

"What? You just said we don't have the money-"

Frown waves an arm wildly. "Gimme a second, I'll think of something." He has like 2 cents so yeah, he's broke. Could order something then not pay but then they'd get banned and maybe he'd do that on his own but Brock would be pretty peeved off because for some reason he actually likes this place sooooo-

He leaps up from the table, a slightly maniacal smile on his face. "Ha! I got it."

"Got...what?"

"The perfect plan to score free dessert."

"Oooh, fake a birthday?"

"What? No! no one falls for that anymore." Yeah he had kinda used that one to death.

"Then....? Can you kinda hurry up I need to pee."

"Wait, you're part of the plan you can't go yet." Frown reaches across the table and grabs Brock's hands in a vice grip. "Fake. Proposal." He whispers.

"Um, I don't know...how about we just go home now and I can make cookies, my treat!"

"Dude, we could get like the most expensive dessert on the menu! People love all that sappy stuff, especially people who work at restaurants." He leans back into his seat and sticks out his tongue in (faux, not that he'd admit) disgust.

Brock glances at the menu nervously. "It does sound really good. Aren't you worried something like that could get back to the doom lords though, pretty sure that'd damage your image."

"Pffft. It won't, even it did I'd just tell them the truth and we could have a good laugh about it. Look I've been really good with minimal complaining today, can't I do a little something to tip the balance to the other side?"

"Okay, but I'm not taking the blame if they figure us out, this is the only good place we're still allowed into."

"Yeah, sure." Frown loudly screeches his chair back, drawing the attention of various patrons. "Play along." He whispers to Brock before standing up on the chair. "Brock, baby," He pitches his voice a bit louder. "Will you marry me?"

Brock feels unexpected heat in his cheeks and wills it to go away. "What, no ring?"

"Uhhhhhh." Frown rubs the back of his head. "It's...taking longer than expected to get it engraved...?"

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before proposing? Kind of a let down."

"The ring isn't important!" 

"Oh wow, if that's how you feel about it I'm not sure I should say yes." 

Frown face-palms, willing Brock to remember the plan. "Can we not argue before we've even had dessert." He says pointedly.

"Oh. Oooh, yeah you know what you're right it doesn't matter, so yes, I guess."

"You guess?" This was not working out well, why the heck did Brock have to get so into it?

"I think I'm just still kinda hungry, also I still need to pee and it's making me cranky, heh that rhymed." Brock smiles to himself. "Uh-Anyway, 'course I'll marry you, who else is gonna be by my side." 

Frown tries to ignore how that almost sounded genuine, and plasters on a fake smile. "That's great, go to the bathroom and I'll order us something special."

He notices a waiter approaching as Brock gets up and practically runs to the closest toilet. "Hey can we have Ultimate Desse-....oh nooooo, I seem to be out of cash." Frown says in a dramatic tone.

The waiter rolls their eyes. "It's on the house, for the sake of your poor fiance."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!" Frown sulks back into his chair.

By the time the order arrives, which makes Frown cringe at how it must have been prepared for quite a while to come so quick, Brock has come back to the table.

In theory every dessert on the menu mixed together sounds great but in actuality it's a monstrous mix of ice cream and chocolate and cheesecake and bananas and...gingerbread? And jelly and sprinkles and it just...

"Wait, you don't even like sweet stuff." Brock points out, the 'except for my cookies' is left unsaid.

Realisation hits Frown like a brick. 

Brock just looks uncomfortable. "I don't think I can eat all this, why did we want this again?"

"I don't know." Frown bangs his head against the table top.

______________

"That was pretty impressive I've got to admit." 

"I made myself eat half of it and then I threw up." Brock clutches his stomach as they enter their apartment. "All that mess..."

"Uh yeah! That's why it was so impressive, think of how much longer the person who has to clean that up will have stay after work." Frown tries his attempt at evil laughter, which in the past has earned mocking from his fellow doom lords.

Brock collapses on the sofa. "I can't think about it anymore, I just wanna sleep for like ten thousand years."

Frown fits himself in the gap at the free end of the sofa. "Does that mean I can have the TV to myself?"

"Go for it man, just not too loud." 

But Brock starts shifting about on the sofa, which Irritates Frown too much to let him watch tv. "What's wrong with you?"

"I can't get comfy, and my tummy hurts." Brock whines. 

Frown rolls his eyes. "Come here, dork."

Brock does as told and Frown motions for him to rest his head on his lap. "Hey that's no way to talk to your fiance." He giggles then regrets it as his stomach jolts.

Frown starts rubbing his stomach, it's not really something entirely out of the usual for them both but for some reason things this have started seeming more and more intense. "...You're never gonna let that go, are you."

"Nah." Brock grins lazily, the motion making him want to sleep even more. Frown's rarely soft with anyone but him and he'd be lying if he said he didn't sorta revel in it. Brock wonders for a moment what would change between them if earlier hadn't been a ploy for free food, what it'd be like if they actually got married. They basically bicker like a old married couple already and they even kiss every night.

Just not, you know, in a romantic way.

They just kiss on the lips every night in a totally platonic bro way. Yep. 

Brock leaps up, startled by a sudden revelation. 

"Hey what the heck, you need to puke again or something?" 

"No! Just decided I'mma head to bed, haha." 

"Oookay." Frown stares at him strangely. "Want me to tuck you in and-"

"Nope! I'm good!"

"Thought you couldn't sleep without your nighty-"

"I'm good! Goodnight!" Brock rushes off to his room and slams the door.

"That was weird." Frown stares at the closed door for a minute, feeling oddly disappointed, then he shrugs and turns up the TV. 

________________

"Whoa, look at that." Brock points to poster on a nearby building. "Free vacation."

Frown raises an eyebrow, and reads it closely. "Yeah, for couples. And it's a competition in the unikingdom, ew."

"Well...what if we...pretended again?"

"What?" Frown baulks. He did consider the idea himself but wouldn't have imagined Brock being the one to bring it up. "Why?"

"We could never afford something like that, plus you could always like, tell Unikitty it was fake after the holiday and that would make her pretty sad maybe?"

"...I'm listening." Frown pauses in thought. "We'd have to play it up more."

"By play it up more do you mean holding hands orrr french kissing?" 

"I don't know! just whatever it takes." The blush on Frown's cheeks could in fact ruin his reputation and he needed it stop like right now, There's no reason to blush about the idea of kissing your best friend on a more...intimate...level like a teenager with a crush. 

Because obviously he doesn't have one. "When does this thing happen anyway?"

"In about, twenty minutes." Brock squints at the poster. "How long has this been here?"

______________

"Where the heck is everyone?" Frown glances around the empty gymnasium that was supposed to be the setting for the vacation competition.

"I hear crying behind that curtain on the podium." Said crying abruptly stops.

Frown rubs a hand down his face. "Oh boy."

There's a quiet like the lull before a storm before a pink and glittery blur flies out from behind the curtain. "OHMYGOSH THERE'S ANOTHER COUPLE HERE PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE NOT FAKE-" Unikitty cuts herself off and glances down at Frown and Brock. "Oh it's you two...Master Frown if you're here to ruin this you're too late! Everyone was a bunch of fakers." Unikitty bursts into tears.

Frown groans. "No, we're here to enter your stupid competition, buuuut since no once is here I guess we win by default." 

Unikitty's tears stop again. "Whaaa? You guys are TOGETHER? LIKE REALLY TOGETHER?! SO THAT PROPOSAL RUMOUR WAS TRUE!"

Frown scowls. "How do you know about that." Great, now they really needed to put on a ruse.

"I have my sources." Unikitty says mysteriously. "I am sO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS OH MY GOSH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME HELP YOU WITH THE WEDDING OH! WE COULD THROW IT IN THE UNIKINGDOM MY PEOPLE LOVE A WEDDING-"

"Uh, Unikitty, the competition?" Brock prompts kindly.

"Sorry, sorry! I can't help it I just looooOve weddings, ahem, I can't just let you guys win, Hawkodile needs to make sure you're the real deal because everyone who else who came earlier were just pretending to be a couple, can you believe it! It's so sad." Unikitty pauses to suck in a deep breath. "But I'm sure you're not lying, I always knew there was a thing between you two." She winks.

"Since when-Ow!" Frown glares at Brock after getting jabbed in the ribs.

"Dude, you'll blow our cover." Brock tries to subtly whisper, despite being a bit taken back too. Sure they're close but did they really give off that vibe? Or was that just because of Unikitty's rose coloured glasses?

"Princess, do I really need to test them? They're obviously faking! I mean, it's Master Frown." Hawkodile gestures exaggeratedly at Frown.

Frown creases his brow. "When did you get here." 

"Yeah but it's also Brock! We can trust him." Unikitty looks pleadingly at Hawkodile.

Brock winces.

"Ugh, fine. But they're gonna have to pass the quiz of true love to convince me." Hawkodile crosses his arms.

"That's a ridiculous quiz name." Frown tries to ignore the fact he's started sweating.

"You're ridiculous!" Hawkodile turns his gaze to Brock and points a finger at him. "You!"

"Yeah...?" Brock tries to keep a neutral face.

"What's Master Frown's favourite colour?" 

Frown bursts out laughing. "Oh come on that's an easy one-"

"Black?" Brock speaks tentatively.

"WHAT THE HECK DUDE YOU KNOW IT'S BLUE." Frown shouts. 

"Wait it is? I just thought black would be your thing because darkness and all that sort of stuff."

"Blue is the colour of sadness and tears!" Frown pouts, aghast that that they had failed on the very first question.

"Hmmm." Hawkodile strokes his chin. "Okay, Frown you're up."

"Huh?" 

"What's Brock's favourite video game?"

"Uhhhhh, the dead one 7?" 

"Are you serious?! Don't you remember me saying how I had to wait out in the rain to get a hold of dawn-breaker 3 and that it was all worth it because it was the greatest game ever?" 

We are not getting that trip. Frown thought, as Brock looked ready to cry.

"Guess I was wrong about you two." Hawkodile speaks.

"You were? I mean, uh yeah you were." Frown fakes confidence.

"Yeah, anyone actually faking would have memorised each other's favourite things too well, like they had only just found out that day, and tried to look like the perfect couple but clearly you guys have some issues." 

"No kidding." Brock turns away from Frown with a 'Hmph.'

Unikitty, who had been unusually quiet for the last few minutes, flies around and groups up Frown and Brock into a hug. "Yaaaay, I'm so happy you guys didn't let me down, HEY! If you get married at the beginning of next year you could use this holiday as your honeymoon!!! WOULDN'T THAT BE AMAZING."

"Get off." Frown struggles out of her grip, leading to a short fall to the ground. "Ugh."

"Wait, why did you say next year?" Brock asks in befuddlement. 

"Didn't you read the poster? The vacation is for next year! This competition was kindaaaa a last minute idea what with valentine's day coming up and all and it turns out that everything was already booked up for this year...sooo..." Unikitty sets Brock on the ground gently.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Frown screams, face down on the floor. 

"It's still better than never, right?" Brock laughs nervously. "Sorry bro, I must have missed that part..."

"She did write it in really small print." Hawkodile points out.

"Shhhhhh, thanks for your help Hawkodile! But I need to discuss something with Master Frown and Brock in private please." 

Hawkodile squints, turning to leave. "Uh, okay. I'm watching you, Frown."

Frown gets up, dusting himself off. "Can we leave now." 

"Hang on." Unikitty pulls out a piece of folded up paper. "While you two were busy with Hawkodile I decided to write down some wedding planning ideas!" The folded piece of paper unfolds into a very, very long list.

"Well, I would really like to hear your ideas, Unikitty." Brock smirks at Frown.

"I should have just stayed on the floor." 

_______________

"Did you seriously have to listen to every single one of her hare-brained ideas in excruciating detail?" Frown gestures wildly, standing in front of the TV.

Brock moves his head to the side, trying to see and continue playing his game. "You really hurt my feelings, you know how important gaming is to me." Brock exits the game in frustration as Frown moves to block him even more. "I thought we had gotten better at this communication stuff since...you know..."

"And you know how important misery is to me! You couldn't even remember my favourite colour." Frown glances down at the ground. He knows he's being childish...but he's naturally defensive.

"That's not the same thing, this is a huge part of my life! One day I could be one of those gamers that wins those like huge tournaments and bringing in the big money! And then we could live in a huge awesome house and wouldn't have to worry about landlords, or the rat infestation we can't afford to deal with or-"

"Hang on, you still see us living together even if you became a big shot gamer?" 

"Duh! Look we've been faking a lot of stuff but I meant it when I said 'Who else is gonna be by my side', you're always gonna be a part of my future no matter what happens. I just wish you'd support me more..."

The guilt Frown had been pushing down for this entire conversation pushes it's way out at the sight of Brock's sad eyes. "Look...I'm sorry, okay? You're right, I just expect you to go along with my schemes and then I don't support you enough with what you wanna do, I'll...work on that." Frown rubs his arm.

"I mean, you did support with that holiday thing, and there was cheerleading thing..."

"...Maybe, you should do the cheerleading thing again sometime, you were pretty good at it and it could be a back up plan in case the gaming falls through."

A small smile appears on Brock's face. "You really thought I was good at it?"

Frown rolls his eyes. "Uh, yeah. You were awesome. Uniform suited you too-I mean, yeah, pretty good." 

Brock contemplates on if he should risk saying something, to test the waters for a whole other kind of thing I wants to ask. "I thought you looked pretty cute in the uniform too." 

Frown splutters. "I-I'm not cute! What are you even-Cool and handsome maybe, but cute? Seriously?!" 

Despite his protests, Brock notes how Frown's face is turning incredibly red. "Nah, you're definitely really cute."

"Yeah?! Well, you're really handsome, so there." Frown's head screams a chorus of WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING. 

Brock stifles a laugh. "Was that supposed to be a comeback? You think I'm handsome? Oh no I'm so hurt." This time he can't stop the laughter and doesn't even mind the pink on his own face. 

Frown scrunches his face up. "Whatever! You realise Unikitty is never gonna leave us alone now, it's my worst nightmare." He walks over to the couch and sits down next to Brock, quietly fuming.

Brock coughs to clear his throat. "I mean...there is a way we could stop that happening in the long term."

"Like what?"

"She just wants to help us plan our 'wedding' right? As soon as that's over it'll be back to the usual."

"Which is never going to happen since a wedding is not actually going to happen, how does that help." 

"What if it did?" 

"What if...what did?" 

Brock taps his hands together, focusing on them. "What if we got married, like, for real."

"...You've lost me."

"Think about it, we kiss every night-"

"That's just to get you to sleep."

"-We have baths together-"

"It saves time!"

"-We've even shared a bed before-"

"Look sometimes I just get really cold, and it saves on heating in the winter."

"What I'm saying is, it's already like we're married, and if we were actually married we could get the benefits that come with that too. It makes sense, right?"

"Like one of those platonic marriages? Between bros?" 

Brock sighs. "Is that how you feel? I just thought-Never mind."

It dawns on Frown that all the confusing thoughts and feelings he's had for a while now, proved that was in fact not how he felt at all. He'd been trying to deny it the whole time but truth is... "No. I kinda...enjoyed pretending we were together, we didn't do much but just knowing people thought that-" Thrilled him, didn't seem like the right words. "I might be...in love with you or something." He refuses to look at Brock.

"Phew, that's a relief. Pretty sure I'm in love with you too, dude."

"Oh." Still stubbornly not looking. 

"C'mon, look at me." Brock reaches out and cups Frown's face, turning him to face him. "I love you."

"Oh." Frown repeats, in a much softer tone. He's not really good with words, more so with actions, he leans in without thinking. 

They've kissed many times before, but they were always brief pecks and without overt romantic intentions. Because of that, it's still a fairly light kiss but with more passion, more feeling given into it. 

"Mmm." Frown finds himself moaning as Brock pulls away. "That was embarrassing." He mumbles.

"Nuh uh, that was great. I like kissing you."

"Stop, this is already too mushy. Hey, is that why you ask for one every night?" 

"Huh? You don't remember?" Brock asks, clearly perplexed.

"Remember what?"

"When were kids, and I had my first sleepover at your house but I couldn't sleep because Mama used to kiss me on the cheek every night, so you offered to do it-"

"Ugh, yeah. You never specified where so I kissed you on the mouth and you said I did it wrong." 

"And youuuu said you weren't my mom so 'Of course I'll kiss you different, silly'." Brock mimics the high pitch child's voice he can still hear in his mind. 

Frown groans. "Don't remind me, I was a weird kid."

Brock snorts. "Weird adult too. Also really sweet, I mean you're still willing to give me a nighty-night kiss so you're not as bad as you like to make out."

Frown gasps. "You take that back! I'm a menace!" 

"Oh yeah, sure. A real menace who gives his best friend tummy rubs when he's sick, kisses him before bed, and who just said he's in love with me."

"Yeah...but you're different, yanno? There's no one I like as much as you, I wouldn't do that stuff for just anyone." Frown recoils at his own words. "Gross, I'm being sappy again." 

"Aw, I don't know dude, I like it." 

"Can we just go back to the kissing?" Frown pouts.

"Not until you answer my question."

"What questi--Ohhhh." It's Frown's turn to look nervous. "I'm not opposed to it, as long as we have a loooong engagement period, there's no way we're actually gonna have our honeymoon early next year."

"Wait, so that's a yes? You're really okay to jump straight from a blooming relationship to engaged?"

"I'm saying, yes, I will probably marry you at some not yet set date in the future. Thought you'd be thrilled."

"I am! I totally am! Just, if you don't want to you don't have to...I know it's kinda rushing things."

"I know I don't have to, I want to. Is it that hard to believe that I wanna marry your dorky butt and grow old together or whatever." 

"We gotta do this right then, and go ring shopping."

"...I don't think you're supposed to do that together."

"I thought you were a bad boy." 

"You better believe I am, baby! In fact, maybe we should go steal rings."

"Okay, not that far. What was that you said about going back to the kissing?"

Frown grins as he draws closer. "Now that's a better idea."

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au #2

Second chapter time! If you wanna read it on ao3, here u go: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866

Chapter under the cut!

Apparently, being too much of a stubborn bastard is enough for an orphanage to throw you out even though you still own them a lot of money. 'Yuliy', they've dubbed him, 'son of Jupiter', because his character is volatile like the thunderstorms that leave the grey walls of the orphanage shaking.

He's twenty-three and luckily enough, not the sickly little boy he used to be. Finding a job would've been difficult otherwise, but right now Yuliy feels pretty confident about his future. The past has nothing for him, so he has no other choice but to look forward.

Ignoring the yammering of the old caretaker about how he should feel lucky that they let him go even though he cost them so much as a child, he sets a step outside the gate.

The distance he's crossed is close to nothing, he still feels elated. Turning around, he yells "So long, sucker!" at the old lady and waves at the tiny children behind her. The brats can't help their situation. "You can be happy all you want right now, but just you wait until the evening! Until the cold settles in your bones and your stomach turns itself inside out of hunger. You're nothing boy, keep that in mind!"

Scoffing, he walks away, turning his back on all he's ever known. Everything is going to be fine.

Everything's not fine and Yuliy already regrets leaving the orphanage. Sure, it was a shitty place, but at least there was a fireplace to lay beside. Although the food had been sparse and not very good, it had been there. He never imagined that he'd miss the place.

Unfortunately, he's also not been able to find a job. The restaurants tell him to ask the grocery stores, the grocery stores point him towards the butchers and the butchers refer him to the nearest school, before saying that, actually, he doesn't look like an educated person and should probably stay away from there. If he survives the night, he'll try the docks. They probably could use him as some sort of human mule, if his motion sickness allows him to set foot on a boat.

For now, he wanders the streets in search of abandoned buildings, hoping that he can squat in one of them for the night. After a lot of unsuccesful trying, he decides to go find a large public building, in the hope that he can find himself a nook there where no one will look. With that in mind, he enters the first large building he finds.

It's dusty, spacey and completely empty. Exactly what he'd been looking for and still he can't help but be a little bit disgruntled. He'd just given up on finding an empty space and now he has more abandoned space than he nows what to do with. Although he'd like to explore the building, he has more pressing matters to tend to.

Navigating through the building is... surprisingly easy. It's not like him to know his way around places (it really, really isn't his forte), but he manages to find a lounge without too many troubles. Shoving some junk to the side, he finds a fireplace and he thanks his lucky stars. Looking around, he concludes that there's no firewood.

That's not really a problem though, he thinks as he grabs a nearby chair. When the now demolished chair has been chucked into the fireplace, he remembers that he has no way of lighting the damn pile of wood up. After turning the room upside down, he comes to the conclusion that there aren't any matchsticks there. Groaning in frustration, he leaves the room.

Trudging through the halls, he passes various doors and has to suppress the urge to go inside each and every one of them. Now and then, he does indulge in his desire and peeks inside, finding nothing but dust and the remnants of former glory.

When he stumbles upon a set of doors that are so grandiose and tall that he nearly doubts his own eyesight, he knows that he has to look what lays behind them. Filled with curiousity he works them open, only to be stunned into silence when the room behind them is revealed.

It's a ballroom, stately and majestic and he holds his breath for a minute, intimidated by the feeling of veneration and wistfulness that seems to hit him out of nowhere. Getting lightheaded, he sits down on a bench and closes his eyes, slowly breathing in and out. He can feel a headache coming up as shivers run up and down his spine. When he opens his eyes again, he suspects that he's also getting a fever, since what else can the scene before him be except for a fever dream?

Faintly he can hear the band playing a song and the more he tries to convince himself his ears are deceiving him, the more boisterous the music becomes. Right before his eyes, the formerly empty ballroom explodes into a a colourful affair, ladies and gentlemen dressed to the nines. In the light of the candles on the chandelier dangling high above them, he can see their jewelry and the rhinestones on their dresses shimmer and shine.

Besides the music, he can hear their small talk and it's that what haunts him most. The little words about their everyday lives that seem to happen in a reality far outside his own. The glitter, the glamour, the nauseating feeling of approaching danger, it's all too much. He leans his head back against the cold tiles and closes his eyes, but their ghostly whispers remain present.

In the distance, he can hear another group of people arriving and he decides to focus on their conversation, because the disdain in one of the voices sounds genuine, almost like the owner of said voice is actually entering the ballroom.

"They were all godawful! I can't believe we wasted a full day on those monstrosities!" Someone snorts. "You can't talk about those fine and ambitious young men like that baby, they can't help it that they're like that." Yuliy can hear the eyeroll before he sees it and he still thinks he's imagining things, until the young man speaks to him, ice lacing his voice. The otherwordly images shatter and instead he's met by a greenhaired young man.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

At first he intends to be polite. Then he remembers that this place belongs to no one and there's absolutely no need for a stranger to be so hostile to him. "They call me Yuliy and I'm gonna take a nap. You got any matches?"

Ignoring his question, the shorter of the two men draws closer, his lips curving into the hint of a smile lacking any sort of genuine warmth. "They call you that? Is that name not truly yours then?" Instead of answering, Yuliy purses his lips and looks away. Truthfully, he doesn't even know to answer that. Not even once he's felt like 'Yuliy', but he doesn't know what the other options are. Who else is he supposed to be? Can he even be anything else?

The short man smiles again, wider this time and there's still not a trace of genuine happiness to see there. His companion, thank the lord, has finally noticed his creepy tick and slaps the man a little too jovially on the back. "Freed, stop whatever your face is doing, it's unsightly. You look like a maniac and let's be honest, the only one of us who looks good with that kind of look is yours truly. Show the man around, why don't ya? I'm gonna pick Ever up. You know how prissy she gets when she hasn't had a hot meal in a few days." With a sloppy kiss on Freed's cheek and a "bye baby!" the eccentric man leaves.

A silence that's less than comfortable follows. "So are you two...involved?" He winces at his clumsy wording and Freed pulls a face. "Bickslow is my overly affectionate older brother."

"Oh."

How does he recover from that blunder? Luckily enough for him, he doesn't have to struggle out of this pit himself. "Well then he-who-they-call-Yuliy, follow me. I'll show you something interesting." Unable to keep the curiousity out of his voice, he asks: "What then?" For the first time since meeting him, there's a sparkle of a genuine feeling in the man's eyes, misschief setting the blues ablaze. "A chance."

The first part of the tour consists of polite smalltalk and Freed showing him some superficial treasures hidden in plain view in the abandoned castle. Although he hates the whole process of talking without saying anything, he feels that there's a reason Freed is doing this. Building up the tension. Yuliy hopes he isn't endlessly disappointed by the eventual result and in the hope to see something spectacular, he nods along and 'ahs' and 'oohs' wherever he thinks it's necessary.

"You know", Freed starts and something about his tone tips Yuliy off that it's probably in his best interest to listen carefully now. "I wasn't born as Freed Justine either. Unlike you, I have chosen this name for myself and have found my identity." He pauses then, looking him over with a reserved gaze, head tilted. "Would you like to find yours?"

The question arrives like a punch to the gut, but there's no way he'll let the man in front of him know how affected he is by it. Freed seems like the type of man to unravel his deepest wishes and dangle them before his nose before whisking them away for eternity. No way that he'll let the stranger in on one of the things his heart longs to know. "I don't need some guy I just met telling me who I am. I think I can do that on my own, thank you very much."

"Really now?" Freed sounds amused, but there's a cruel hint to it that he really dislikes. "My dear Yulik (he scoffs at the godawful nickname), right at this moment I am able to recall your entire family tree up to seven generations back. But since you already know exactly who you are, I guess there's no reason to showcase my academic capabilities. It would be quite obnoxious I think, wouldn't you agree?"

No way. He must be lying and Yuliy doesn't hesitate to tell him so. "You're a liar, a scoundrel and an opportunist. You're making shit up and I'm not here for it. I'll go back to the other room and take that nap, you're not of any use to me."

"Do as you please", the man replies, voice light and airy. Right as he's about to leave the room, he hears the other man humming. The melody is saccharinely sweet and the gentle lilts in the tune leave his heart aching. "Where'd you learn that song?" he asks, unable and unwilling to stop himself. Freed halts his humming and shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The true question is, where did you learn it? As far as I know there's only five people, excluding myself, who know it. The first being the long dead Tsarina Tatiana, the second one being the current tsar Makarov. The third and fourth are Bickslow and Evergreen, two members of the court that were very intimately related to the final person, the central piece that connects all these dots."

Grinning he takes Yuliy by the arm and drags him towards a grand family portrait and points out a blond kid. "Prince Laxus Dreyar, who has been missing for 10 years. I know where each of the forementioned people currently are, except for the much beloved prince." From underneath his long eyelashes he gives Yuliy a look that he's sure is meant to be meaningful. He utterly rejects it.

"A lullaby? That's what you're basing your grand conclusion on? Some great detective you are", he scoffs and considers giving the man a whack. It certainly couldn't make his mental state any worse than it currently was, considering Freed seriously thought that Yuliy, clumsy, oafish Yuliy, was the missing crown prince.

"I never told you it was a lullaby."

"It was a logical assumption, you piece of shit." Sensing that Yuliy is believing none of it, he shakes his head and sighs. "When did you become an orphan?" Defensively, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe I didn't and you're just grasping at straws."

"It was a logical assumption, dear Yulik. Also, you let a lot more slip during our smalltalk than you probably realised." The man raises a brow and starts counting on his fingers. " One. You lost your memory ten years ago, around the time of Ivan's failed coup. Trauma can make you suppress memories as can a strategically placed whack against the head."

Yuliy rolls his eyes, but Freed continues impertubable. "Secondly, the whole lullaby debacle. Thirdly..." Freed looks him directly in the eyes and there's something so striking about the full force of his gaze, that Yuliy barely dares to breathe. "You know, don't you? In your heart you realise that there's a chance I'm not wrong. Even though your mind denies it out of some learned humility, your body takes to it without you even noticing."

Before he can ask what the man means, Freed drapes a heavy cape he's found somewhere over Yuliy's shoulders and presses a scepter into his hand. "Look", he whispers and turns him towards a mirror. "Look at your posture, do you truly believe you're merely a peasant?"

"Future tsar", he continues and the title sends shivers down his spine. "You came here, dirt poor and yet you have not put a single treasure into these pockets of yours." To accentuate his words, the man lets his hands glide over each and every pocket on Yuliy's clothes, an action that makes his blood run hot. "The riches here mean nothing you. You're meant for things better than this, aren't you prince Laxus? Cast away the skin of a peasant you've decided to wear and reunite with your grieving grandfather."

The blue of his eyes is absolutely mesmerising and he can't for the love of him look away. "Laxus", he says and he jolts, truly feeling addressed by the name. "Let's get you home." He doesn't know how or why, but he's got the feeling that Freed could tell him anything and he'd believe it.

[taliesinlestrange]

                     or   glimpses  of  before  and  after  christmas  of  1947 .

AFTER :   taliesin  lestrange  is  home,  if  not  for  good,  then  for  a  while,  and  he  plans  to  take  action,  to  make  his  family  proud.

BEFORE :   there  is  a  boy  who  sits,  for  the  most  part  alone,  hurting,  in  a  room  somewhere  in  the  swiss  alps.  sometimes  he’s  allowed  to  come  home  for  parties.

BIG ,  WANNA  BE .        i  wanna  be  big,  bigger  than  life,  i’m  gonna  be  huge  or  i  just  won’t  feel  right.      there’s  snow  on  the  ground  outside,  but  it’s  the  first  time  in  a  decade  when  christmas  doesn’t  feel  like  a  taunting  reprieve.  you  used  to  know  that  the  weights  they  lifted  off  your  shoulders  for  the  holidays  were  still  hanging  above  you,  ready  to  be  replaced  come  the  new  year.  this  time  is  different  though,  you’ve  found  the  plans  to  secure  them,  to  better  distribute  the  weight.  this  time  it  will  work,  this  time  the  pain  won’t  be  yours,  this  time  your  father  will  smile  when  he  sees  your  work  and  accept  you  as  his  son.  you  just  have  to  act  boldly.      you  can’t  ask  me  to  stop,  i  push  it  on  my  own,  i’ve  been  through  way  too  much  shit  to  ever  let  this  go.

SICK  JOKE .      sometimes  i  wonder  if  life  is  some  sick  joke,  will  i  wake  up  and  it’s  over  ?      every  day  hurt  when  you  were  there.  the  easier  days  were  exhausting,  the  worse  days  painful  or  frightening.  sometimes  you  wished  for  it  all  to  go  away,  sometimes  you  wished  for  home,  sometimes  you  wished  you  could  just  sleep  a  little  bit  longer.  mostly,  you  wished  someone  would  tell  you  that  things  were  going  to  be  okay.      would  you  tell  me  that  i’m  okay  ?  that  i’m  still  here  and  i’m  not  dead.

DISLOYAL  ORDER  OF  WATER  BUFFALOES .      i’m  coming  apart  at  the  seams,  pitching  myself  for  leads  in  other  people’s  dreams.       new  starts  aren’t  clean,  cut  and  dry  things,  like  they  were  in  the  stories  you  loved  as  a  child.  you  gave  up  on  the  idea  that  magic  would  spring  from  your  unsteady  hands  if  you  just  found  the  right  circumstance  years  ago   (   the  phrase   the  right  circumstance   was  a  weapon  in  their  hands,  wasn’t  it  ?   ),  but  you  kept  it  to  yourself  after  the  one  time  you  didn’t.  that  was  a  mistake.  the  thought  seems  clearer,  more  focused,  now  that  you  have  a  bit  more  time  before  you  have  to  get  on  that  train  again.  when  they  tell  your  family’s  story  though,  this  will  be  the  moment  they  say  you  made  the  choice  to  forge  your  own  way,  even  if  its  been  beneath  the  surface  for  far  longer.      and  i’d  promise  you  anything  for  another  shot  at  life,  imperfect  boys  with  their  perfect  ploys,  nobody  wants  to  hear  you  sing  about  tragedy.

PLEA  FROM  A  CAT  NAMED  VIRTUE .      and  listen,  about  those  bitter  songs  you  sing  ?  they’re  not  helping  anything.      when  some  of  your  wishes  finally  came  true,  you  arrived  home  with  exhausted  limbs  and  psyche.  still,  you  straightened  your  spine  and  attended  the  parties  your  parents  directed  you  to.  yet,  when  you  didn’t  have  to  paint  on  a  smile,  you  buried  yourself  in  comfort  and  sound.  large  sweaters  at  the  piano  at  first,  then  under  blankets  with  the  phonograph  on  once  the  bench  no  longer  offered  the  feeling  of  consolement,  but  rather  only  reminded  you  of  where  you  had  gone  wrong.      we’ll  pass  around  the  easy  lie  of  absolutely  no  regrets.

MORE  ABOUT  ALCOHOLISM .      but  i  don’t  want  to  burn  out,  so  won’t  you  please  set  me  on  fire  again?  i  woke  up  afraid  of  losing  everything,  thank  god  that  i  already  have.      besides  your  image,  you  have  nothing  to  lose.  outcast  already,  or  perhaps  more  accurately,   held  at  a  distance  just  comfortable  enough  for  your  parents   ;  careful,  this  toy  is  marked  for  display  only,  the  image  of  you  is  his  creation.  combine  that  with  the  acceptance  you’ve  reached,  and  it  creates  something  dangerous.  there’s  a  dark  fire  inside  of  you,  and  all  it  wants  is  acceptance,  but  here  you  are,  pushing  people  away  and  looking  for  what  you  need  in  all  the  wrong  places.     but  since  the  day  i  was  born,  it’s  been  too  late  for  me  to  be  anything  but  what  i  am  tonight.

LIAR  [  IT  TAKES  ONE  TO  KNOW  ONE  ] .      we’ve  got  twenty  six  days  to  work  with,  we’ll  see  what  all  gets  done.     the  short  sprints  they  brought  you  home  for  only  offered  so  much  rest,  certainly  not  enough  to  make  up  for  a  whole   semester  at  beauxbatons.   still,  you  did  your  best,  not  wanting  to  disappoint.  lies  became  the  seventh  language  in  your  repertoire,  the  first  six  having  failed  to  impress  your  father  the  way  you  hoped  they  would.      it’s  still  a  question  of  “  how  long  will  this  hold  ?  ”

THE  WOLF .      you’ll  keep  telling  me  i’m  bad  for  me  and  worse  for  the  world,  you  keep  telling  me  i’m  bad.      now  that  you’re  home,  home  for  longer  than  you’ve  been  in  quite  some  time,  your  father  takes  it  upon  himself  to  remind  you  more  frequently  how  you  could  ruin  everything.  you  exist  in  a  paradoxical  state  of  being  the  cherished  son  and  the  worst  thing  that  ever  happened  to  him.  it  drives  you  to  keep  pushing,  find  your  own  ways  to  claw  to  success.  this  was  never  about  becoming  a  monster,  something  cruel,  but  here  you  are.      my  teeth  are  sharpest  when  i  tear  out  the  truth,  am  i  the  boy  who  cried  or  am  i  the  wolf  ?

PANIC  ATTACK .      i  wanna  be  normal,  i  wanna  be  sane,  i  wanna  look  at  you  and  feel  something  other  than  pain.     this  isn’t  working,  this  isn’t  working.   you  want  to  scream,  but  the  last  time  you  had  even  raised  your  concerns  you  could  barely  speak  above  a  whisper.  the  last  time  it  didn’t  end  well.  one  day  you’ll  grow  out  of  this,  you  make  that  the  second  promise  you’ll  one  day  live  up  to.  for  now,  you’ll  just  try  to  remember  how  to  breathe.      i  wanna  sleep  till  i  can’t  feel  anything,  i  want  a  fix,  i  want  a  friend,  i  wanna  cut  these  nerves  from  under  my  skin.

BAD  GUY .       i  guess  if  i  gotta  play  the  villain,  i’ma  sign  a  deal  and  make  a  killing.      what  would  you  do  to  make  this  happen   ?   what  would  you  do  to  make  this  work  out   ?   anything,  anything.  you  would  do  whatever  you  had  to.  you  don’t  think  about  what  the  group  you  joined  is  really  doing,  not  because  if  you  did  you  would  come  to  some  deeper  revelation   (   they  are  just  expanding  on  the  beliefs  you’ve  been  taught  since  you  were  young,  the  same  ideas  you  used  to  make  yourself  feel  better  about  what  you  were  when  things  seemed  the  darkest   ),   but  because  you  don’t  care.  if  this  is  the  way  the  world  is  going,  you  need  to  be  there.  the  ends  will  justify  the  means.      gotta  make  ends  and  make  amends,  pay  cash  when  i’m  paying  for  my  sins. .

POINT  /  COUNTERPOINT .      i’ve  got  a  gun  in  my  hand  but  the  gun  won’t  cock,  my  finger’s  on  the  trigger  but  that  trigger  seems  locked.     the  magic  is  supposed  to  be  inside  of  you,  and  they’ve  tried  nearly  everything  to  draw  it  out.  it  isn’t  working.  the  days  begin  to  blend  together  and  you  make  very  little  progress.  their  methods  get  more  extreme,  which  makes  the  days  feel  longer  and  harder  to  tell  apart.      and  the  days,  and  the  days  they  seem  like  forever,  but  forever  isn’t  ever  enough.

WTF  IS  SLEEP .      finding  comfort  in  feeling�� like  hell  and  it’s  only  the  things  you  do  and  say  that  you  regret.      that  feeling  doesn’t  go  away.  the  one  you  promised  yourself  was  because  of  where  you  were,  the  one  you  told  yourself  you  would  out  grow.  it  follows  you,  and  you  start  to  wonder  if  it’s  something  more  inherent ;  another  piece  of  difference  or  maybe  some  curse  that’s  slipped  in  and  replaced  the  gifts  you  were  supposed  to  posses.      set  no  alarm  cause  i  am  totally  guaranteed  to  wake  to  my  chest  beating  for  miles  ahead  of  me.

PERFECT .      and  now  i  try  hard  to  make  it,  i  just  want  to  make  your  proud.     you  tried  so  hard,  didn’t  you  ?  you  tried  so  hard,  i  know.  you  wonder  if  they’ve  given  up  hope  too,  if  that’s  why  they  agreed  to  this  extended  break.  you  back  your  bags,  not  for  the  last  time,  but  at  least  for  the  last  time  in  a  while.  this  place,  for  all  its  pain,  reminded  you  that  they  cared.  as  the  days  till  your  return  slip  away,  you  become  less  and  less  sure  about  what’s  happening,  about  going  home  for  longer  than  a  summer  break.  this  is  all  you’ve  ever  known,  but  you  also  know  there’s  nothing  else  they  can  do  for  you.      you  can’t  pretend  that  i’m  alright,  and  you  can’t  change  me.

I  JUST  WANT  TO  SELL  OUT  MY  FUNERAL .      i  just  want to  be  enough  for  everyone,  i  just  want  to  sell  out  my  funeral,  know  that  i  fought  until  the  lights  were  gone.      while  things  are  different  now,  your  motivations  are  much  the  same.  the  frightened  eleven  year  old  boy  who  stepped  off  the  train  station  with  hope  that  he  could  unlock  was  inside  of  him  is  only  inches  different  from  the  adult  who  collects  information  like  it  is  currency  and  with  little  care  for  who  he  harms  when  he  makes  purchases.  there  was  a  promise  made  of  who  you  would  be  when  you  were  born,  and  by  the  time  you  die  you  want  to  fulfill  it.  you  still  think  it’s  your  fault  that  you  haven’t  yet,  and  no  one  has  told  you  anything  different.     i'll  stay  thankful  for  mild  winters,  for  every  shot  i  got  at  anything,  i’ll  blame  the  flaws  that  i  was  born  with  or  the  mistakes  that  i’ve  made.

FORTUNATE  SON .      some  folks  are  born  silver  spoon  in  hand,  lord,  don’t  they  help  themselves.     sometimes  you  wonder  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  like  morys.  you  know,  sitting  on  the  train  back  to  wales,  that’s  who  your  parents  wish  you  were.  or  someone  like  him.  they  threw  exorbitant  amounts  of  money  at  your   particular  issue   but  they  couldn’t  make  you  anything  like  him.  that’s  not  who  you  are  ...   you’ll  have  to  find  your  own  way.  that  doesn’t  mean  you  don’t  feel  a  little  guilty.      it  ain’t  me,  it  ain’t  me,  i  ain’t  no  fortunate  one.

[artificialqueens]

drawing new lines, chapter seven (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: So…normally I’m a bit more on the ball with submitting to aq. Oops? This is chapter seven, but here’s the link to all the chapters in between. Most of you have been reading this story on ao3, too, so thank you so, so much for all the love and support for this fic. I appreciate every single message and they make me so happy. So, thank you. As usual, Writ continues to be the best beta and friend one could ask for.

(read on ao3) | word count: 3730 | tumblr: plastiquetiaras

“Here.” A’keria slams the burrito bowl down in front of Vanessa, and she can’t help but let out a delighted squeak.

“God, I could get used to not having to pack my lunch. This month is gonna be lit.”

“Don’t get too used to it.” A’keria snorts as she mixes up her own bowl. “It’s only for a month, as the bet specified.”

“Hey, I don’t care.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled as she tries to talk with a spoonful of the sweet, sweet rice, salsa, beans, chicken and vegetables in her mouth, but it’s hard. “Imma enjoy it.”

“Good, cause you earned it. Top ten things in my life that I didn’t need to see - you and Brooke practically fucking on the dance floor. Nasty hoes.” A’keria makes a face, and Vanessa grins right back at her while Silky snickers.

“You just jealous you ain’t got a blonde skyscraper on your arm.” Part of Vanessa still can’t believe it, really. That Brooke’s willing to do this with her. Not that she’s complaining in the least.

A’keria flips her hair over her shoulder. “I got my man, that’s all I need.”

“He’d rock a blond look though, I ain’t gonna lie.” Silky’s statement makes Vanessa pause, try to picture it.

“You’re right Silk, he totally would.”

“Enough about my non blond man.” A’keria takes another bite of her own burrito bowl before handing it to Silky to share. “What do you want for tomorrow’s lunch?”

Vanessa has to stop herself from practically rubbing her hands together with glee. “Lord almighty, I did not realize how great having my food brought to me would be. Pizza? Poutine? Gimme that unhealthy shit.”

Silky lets out a whistle. “Damn Vanj, you ain’t gonna try and look good for your girl?”

“It’s called happy relationship weight. Imma get it, cause I’m happy. And in a relationship, and she thinks I look good anyway.” As if Vanessa actually is in one. But hey, why not? She’s allowed to enjoy poutine.

“Brooke looks like she can lift you up with one hand, anyway.” A’keria’s tone is almost envious. Which is understandably, really, because her boyfriend is on the scrawny side.

“Damn, I should get her to try that. Do you think she would?” Vanessa remembers when she’d been dating Kameron, who’d brought her to the gym often. Kameron had picked her up once  and done squats at the same time, and Vanessa would be lying if she said it hadn’t been fucking hot.

“You know her better than we do, Vanj. If she’d let you be a human barbell, go for it.” Silky shrugs. “I ain’t getting anyone to lift me anytime soon.”

“Imma go find her. Share some of this burrito bowl, ‘cause it’s technically her victory, too. Not that she knows about the bet.” Vanessa stands up, packing the burrito bowl up once more. It’s a bold faced lie, because Brooke does know, though Silky and A’keria don’t need to know that.

Brooke’s on the phone in her office when Vanessa pops by, the fingers of one of her hands pressing against her temple. She looks up, gives a small smile before turning back to the papers on her desk and ripping the person on the other end of the line a new one.

“No, we can’t use the support beams from the other manufacturer. I don’t care if it’s going to lower costs - it’s not going to matter if the structures collapse in five years because of faulty material and we’re the ones who get sued. So, save it.”

Vanessa plops down in the seat across from Brooke’s desk as quietly as she can, her eyes transfixed on Brooke. It’s kinda hot - Brooke yelling at someone on the other end of the line while completely maintaining composure. Not that Vanessa would ever admit it to her.

“You need to liaise with the first company again, because they’re the ones that have been working well this whole time. I need the estimate from them by tomorrow.” With that, Brooke slams the phone down, letting out a sigh. She shoots a small smile towards Vanessa. “Hey.”

Vanessa holds up the bowl. “Brought you some lunch, ‘cause I know your overworked ass ain’t eating.”

“I had a protein bar-”

“Rabbit food doesn’t count.” Vanessa pulls out the extra set of cutlery, lays it out for Brooke. She’s already had enough of the bowl, and Brooke looks tired enough that she needs as much as she can get.

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t rabbit food supposed to be what people call vegetables?”

“You telling me any sane human is gonna eat a protein bar for sustenance?” Vanessa can’t even picture having them on the regular, so tasteless and quite unlike the chewy bars of her childhood.

“Are you calling me nuts?” Brooke’s finally smiling, and it makes Vanessa’s heart grow when she sees it. She hates seeing how tired Brooke’s job makes her.

“Remember, you took us to a spin class for a date.” Of course, Vanessa had enjoyed the shit out of it, but she’s not gonna mention that to Brooke.

“I distinctly remember you having a great time.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you eat half of this already?” Brooke holds back a laugh when she takes her first spoonful, looking down at the already picked-over bowl.

“Hey, I was hungry.” Vanessa shrugs. “Plus, this is the start of the free food A’keria is giving me for the bet. Figured I’d share it with my partner in crime.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you.” Brooke’s voice is muffled by her bite, and the contrast is adorable from her blazer and the smell of her expensive perfume.

Brooke’s an enigma, a person with so many facets that Vanessa is relishing in the chance to discover. The fact that Brooke’s willing to open up to her more and more is Vanessa’s favourite part of the bet, mostly because she’s an open book herself. Because what people see with her is what they get.

“Gotta make sure you don’t waste away on me while yelling at your minions.” Vanessa snickers when Brooke makes a face at her.

“They’re not minions. Just people who should know how to do their jobs.” Brooke sighs, gathering the papers on her desk and pushing them to the side. “Don’t go into management. The title isn’t worth it.”

“Can you imagine me trying to get people to do shit? It would be a whole lotta yelling.” Vanessa tries to picture herself at a desk like Brooke’s, having to spearhead projects and be responsible for them. At least she’d get to wear a power suit.

“You’d be good at it, though. You have charisma, the kind that most people don’t and the kind that can’t be bought.” Brooke takes another bite of the bowl. “Dang, this is good.”

Vanessa raises a skeptical brow. “What do you mean, charisma?” She’s just her natural dumbass self, which pays off sometimes.

“I mean, you convinced me to fake date you thirty or so seconds after introducing yourself. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”

Vanessa snickers as she leans back in her seat, resisting the urge to lift her feet up onto the chair. “True.”

It’s funny to think back to that day months ago, when Vanessa had barged into Brooke’s office, convinced she’d be able to get her to agree with no evidence to back her up aside from sheer dumb confidence. Though it had worked by some miracle, something that still surprises Vanessa every now and then - and she’s sure that it’s the same for Brooke, too.

Brooke lets out a contented sigh when she finishes the bowl, pushing it away from her on the desk. “So, are you going to share all of your lunches with me from now on?”

Vanessa doesn’t miss a beat. “Why, Miss Hytes, are you asking me to lunch for the next twenty nine days?”

Brooke rolls her eyes, but grins nonetheless. “Only if the food is good.”

“You can bet on that.”

Brooke really, really doesn’t want to go out.

It’s a Friday, she’s had a long week. Really, all she wants to do is curl up on the couch with her cats.

But Nina’s birthday only comes once a year, and she’s a good friend, and so she has to choose a dress from her closet even though pyjamas sound like an infinitely comfier option right now.

The buzzing from her phone on her bed distracts her from her closet dilemma, and so she hangs the dresses in her arms back up in favour of checking her texts.

VVM: Kahanna is singing along to the radio

VVM: AND RILEY IS DUETING WITH HER

VVM: we bout to get complaints from the neighbours at any moment but this shit is hilarious

BLH: Omg. Send me a video

The resulting video from Vanessa makes Brooke crack up, because Riley’s spinning around and howling in the same key as Kahanna is singing. The best part of the video though, is the shaky quality of it, because Vanessa seems to be giggling too hard while filming to hold the camera straight.

BLH: These two need Grammys

VVM: RIGHT! IM SAYIN

VVM: I wanna join in but I’m afraid of ruining it

VVM: anyways how’s your evening going, blondie?

BLH: Trying to choose an outfit. Nina’s birthday and she wants to go clubbing, as if we’re not too old.

VVM: speak for yourself, grandma, some of us are still young

VVM: that being said, you’re not too old for clubbing at all

VVM: show me some of those outfits

BLH: Like, take pictures of them?

VVM: yeah

VVM: better yet, facetime me

It seems like as good of an option as any. Maybe Vanessa can help her decide.

Vanessa picks up the call on the first ring, Riley’s singing reverberating loud and clear in the background. “Hold up, lemme go to my room and close the door. These opera singers be too fucking loud.”

Brooke watches as Vanessa falls back onto her bed, her hair fanning out all around her. “There. Much more comfy. Now, show me some outfit options.”

“Let me prop my phone up on my dresser, hold on.” Brooke leans it carefully so that she can get a clear, hands free shot of herself, and gives a little wave to the camera.

Vanessa giggles on the other end of the line. “Hi to you too, you dork.”

“Okay, help me decide, I’m stuck. Mostly ‘cause I don’t wanna go.” Brooke pulls out a couple dresses and lays them on her bed. “I guess I’ll just hold them up one at a time, or something?”

“Nuh uh. You gotta try them on, give me the full fantasy.”  Vanessa snuggles further into her pillows on screen, and it makes Brooke raise an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Fine.” Maybe it’ll be fun, help Brooke decide a little better.

She pulls out a blazer dress, steps out of the frame to try it on. When she comes back, Vanessa is nodding appreciatively.

“Okay, I could get into this. Suits you.”

“Yeah?” Brooke faces the screen, turns a little so she can see her back. “I dunno if I wanna wear long sleeves tonight, though.”

“Clubs do get warm.” Vanessa shrugs. “What other options you got?”

“How about this?” Brooke steps back in front of the screen after shimmying into her knee length, floral form fitting dress, one which she doesn’t pull out often because of how long it takes to take off when she has to pee. But it feels like a good option.

“Woah.” Brooke’s almost not sure if she hears the words or not, but Vanessa’s eyes are wide as she shuffles closer to the screen, and Brooke has to bite back a smirk.

“Yeah?” Brooke puts her hands on her waist, turns slightly so that Vanessa can see what it looks like from the back. She knows what she’s doing.

It works, from the way Vanessa gulps.

Brooke knows that the two of them have chemistry. She hasn’t forgotten the holiday party, hasn’t forgotten the way it felt to have Vanessa gasping into her mouth. The way Vanessa had pulled her closer, the way Brooke hadn’t stopped wanting to kiss her, either.

Well. They’re not actually together. But it’s nice to know she has chemistry with her fake girlfriend, at least. Sells the fantasy.

Because that’s what this is about - being believable.

That’s it.

Right?

The club is a lot more boring to Brooke when she doesn’t feel like dancing with anyone.

It’s too sweaty, that’s why. The club feels like it’s a million degrees, and adding dancing to the mix will only make it worse. Heck, Brooke’s sitting at the bar in front of a fan that is directly blowing cool air at her, and she’s still sweating like crazy.

That’s why she doesn’t want to dance.

All of Brooke’s friends are on the dance floor with their respective partners - save for Courtney, who’s found a girl for herself to make out with in the corner of the club. Brooke can’t help but feel…bored. Why dance anyway, when it’s too warm and sweaty and crowded? Why talk up a girl when-

When she has Vanessa?

Technically, Brooke doesn’t have Vanessa. They’re not dating. She has to remember that.

But they did sign a contract together, saying that they won’t mess around with others while doing this. Yes, that’s why Brooke is staying away from chatting up nearby girls. Because she has a commitment to keep. Not that she really wants to talk to other girls in the first place. But her gin and tonic is nearly done and she needs another if she’s going to be at this bar for any longer, so she signals to the bartender and opens up her phone while she waits.

BLH: Help, the club is boring

BLH: I’m wasting away at the bar

VVM: omg

VVM: go dance, you’re at a club

BLH: I don’t wanna

BLH: Stinky guys

VVM: stinky, huh?

BLH: You need to spray your perfume on them. You smell so much better

VVM: weird compliment, but I’ll take it

VVM: we should go out dancing. I’d give you such a better time

BLH: Would you, now?

VVM: you know it, blondie

VVM: let’s do that for another date

Brooke is reminded of the holiday party, of how they’d danced pressed up against one another and how it was fucking hot. The chance to do something like that again with Vanessa? She’ll take it.

BLH: You wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me

VVM: you say that as if you’d be able to keep yours off of me

VVM: I know how much you love grabbing my ass

VVM: not that I’m complaining about it

Brooke smirks at her phone screen. She remembers how Vanessa had keened into her touch, spurred her on to keep going with little gasps into the crook of her neck. Dating or not dating, Brooke loves how easy Vanessa has been to take apart. She wants to do it again.

BLH: Interesting. Noted.

It’s funny. When she and Vanessa had signed their list, they had agreed on light PDA only. But there’s a part of Brooke that wants more more more, that wants Vanessa on her arm and wants everyone to know it. That Vanessa’s hers, that she’s the one who gets to take Vanessa home every night.

Brooke almost wishes that those things were actually true.

“C’mon, Nina. There you go, come on out of the Uber. Small steps, don’t slip on the ice.” Brooke wraps one of her arms around Nina’s waist, holds her up as they head to Nina’s apartment.

“Ugh. It’s too cold.” Nina leans her head on Brooke’s shoulder, and Brooke reaches out to pat her hair.

“Almost inside. You got your keys?”

Nina fiddles in her pockets for a good thirty seconds before pulling them out, holding them towards Brooke. “Please?”

“I got you.”

Brooke is usually the supportive friend in situations like these for Detox, helping her get home in one piece after she’s had too much to drink. Nina’s not usually the one to need it, but Brooke had found her in the club bathroom leaning against the mirror and sniffling about her fiancé. Considering the fact that they’d gone out for Nina’s birthday in the first place? Brooke had felt her duty calling.

“I don’t feel so well. That car ride was fast.” Nina rubs at her eyes as Brooke tries to get her coat off, pushing it off her shoulders and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Bathroom first, then.”

Nina sighs, resting her head against the lid of the toilet after sitting down on the ground. The scene feels reminiscent of Brooke’s undergraduate days, when she’d partied too much and absolutely did some damage to her poor liver. She pulls Nina’s hair back, has to keep her nose from wrinkling when Nina lets out a retch.

“Thanks, B.” Nina sighs when she lifts her head up, only to turn back towards the toilet to throw up again.

Brooke’s definitely been there before.

“No worries. It’ll feel better when it’s out of your system, anyway.” Brooke rubs her back, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible because she knows Nina’s probably got a pounding headache, too. “Now, tell me. What made you drink so much today and end up crying by yourself on your birthday?”

Brooke’s surprised by it, really. Nina’s usually the one who takes care of everyone else like its second nature, because she has a high tolerance herself. Which means that to reach this current point tonight, she’s probably had a lot to drink. Which also means that something has to have really rattled her to get her here, bent over the toilet and looking slightly green.

“It doesn’t matter.” Nina mumbles the words, looking down, and Brooke puts a hand on her shoulder, gives her a little squeeze.

“Course it does. You can talk to me.”

Nina finally, finally looks at her, and Brooke can see the dimmed sparkle in her eyes, the sadness along her features. No, not sadness - more defeat.

“Am I making a mistake, Brooke? Marrying Ben?”

Booke pulls back in surprise. “What? What do you mean?”

Brooke has multiple friends that are in long term relationships and Nina’s, by far, always has looked the steadiest. The most wholesome. Nina never shuts up about her fiancé, telling Brooke all the time about the picnics he takes her on or the gifts he gets her or how they’re absolutely soulmates. Nina’s always looked happy, truly happy with her man, something that Brooke has loved to see, because Nina’s the kind of person who believes in true love. In a happily ever after. And, up until this moment, Brooke has believed that Nina’s been living exactly how she’s always dreamed of.

But what if she hasn’t?

“It’s just-it’s good. But it’s also just good, y’know? He brings me flowers and always opens doors for me and snuggles me at night but…” Nina lifts her head, looks at Brooke, and her face is more lost than Brooke has ever seen it. “I don’t feel anything else with him. Like, it’s happy, it’s good, he’s good, but-”

Nina cuts herself off, takes a deep breath as she lifts her left hand up, holds it out in front of them. The sparkling bling on her ring finger reflects sparkles along the bathroom tiles and walls, ones that make Nina wince when they shine on her face.

“I just don’t know. I’m not feeling what I’m supposed to feel, y’know?” Nina sits back, scooches away from the toilet to lean against the wall.

Brooke joins her because really, does she have anywhere else to be? She doesn’t know what to do though, not when Nina’s looking so forlorn and lost and all Brooke wants is be there for her, somehow, even though she’s never felt the way Nina is feeling right now.

So Brooke leans her head on Nina’s shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of Nina leaning her head against hers, too. “I dunno, babe. I wish I could tell you I had the answer, or how to make things magical, but I have none of those answers. All I know is that you deserve to be happy. You deserve the ending that you’ve always wanted. I think you need to first figure out exactly what that is.”

Nina sighs, twisting her ring on her finger. “I have no idea what that is.”

“No need to decide on your birthday with a tipsy brain. It can wait.” Brooke unfolds herself from the ground, gets herself up before holding her hands out to Nina so that she can help her up, too.

“C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

The conversation replays in her mind, though, as she Ubers home from Nina’s. It makes no sense - how has Nina lost that spark with her fiancé, when they’ve always looked so stable? Did Nina ever really have it in the first place? Or did she just think she did? Was the way Nina had felt in the bathroom just cold feet, or was it something bigger?

And then there’s that spark Nina had talked about in the first place. Brooke tries to picture what it would feel like, what the concept of sparks flying actually even means. Fireworks and butterflies and falling head over heels? Hell, Brooke feels fireworks when she kisses Vanessa, but it’s only because she’s kissing a pretty girl after ages and ages and fully enjoying it. The concept of sparks flying feels elusive, something that could be searched for forever and ever without ever truly being found. It feels similar to the way that Vanessa’s looking for her true love and Princess Charming, and how she’s absolutely convinced that she’ll know when she finds her.

It feels like everyone has a radar for knowing these kinds of things except for Brooke. Not that Brooke minds, not really. Being in search of something that’ll never be in reach seems fruitless. Unnecessary. Especially when she has other things she’d rather be spending her time on.

Quite frankly? Brooke’s good with just her cats and friendship - especially Vanessa’s.

[keeroo92]

True North Part 2

Part two of the commission sent by @clevermentalitybeliever, 

Part 1

Word count - 3,219

Apologies for any issues, my editing tool crashed so back to old techniques. And I really hope you like Lord of the Rings XD

_______________

---V---

The work wasn’t easy. The customers often browsed for over an hour and left without buying anything. At first, he tried to help them, but quickly learned his previous retail experience of assistance and urgency barely applied. If someone needed help, they asked. Otherwise, his offers of help met incredulous looks and confusion.

After the first week, you started training him in appraisals with the help of several reference books. As much as he loved old fashioned furniture and classic décor, determining its value was challenging. You spent as much time as you could spare teaching him, but you had several demands on your time.

And it doesn’t help that we spend half the time laughing.

He smirked, leaning closer to the ornate vase on the counter. Early 1950’s, judging by the decay of the enamel and the geometric pattern. It was in good condition, no major cracks despite its age. He scrawled a messy thirty on the sticker, setting the item in the growing pile of glassware with one hand while his other reached for the next piece.

“You’re getting faster. Might be time I popped your cherry,” you said over his shoulder.

He choked on his tongue, coughing loudly enough to echo in the massive storage area.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Acquisitions. Why, did you have something else in mind?”

Well, if I didn’t before…

“Ha! Made you blush.”

“Yes, that’s a point to you. Twenty-three to seventeen, correct?”

You nodded as he stood and stretched, stealing a moment to recover. He tried not to picture a whole new way to win the ongoing contest; you were his boss and quickly becoming a friend. To imagine you naked and wrapped around him, flushed and sighing as he lifted your small form and held it against a wall was unquestionably inappropriate.

Not to mention I owe her three grand.

“In my favor, don’t forget that part!”

He grinned and did his best to adjust his suddenly too tight pants without drawing your attention. “I wouldn’t dare. What do acquisitions entail?”

You chuckled and grabbed your purse, digging through it until you found car keys. V always got a kick out of your quirky keychains and focused on the myriad of shapes to push away the last of his lingering arousal. None of them made sense to him, other than the lucky rabbit’s foot.

“Sometimes folks want an appraisal before they decide to donate or sell us their stuff. Got a call this morning, a death in the family and they aren’t sure what to do with what’s left behind. Might be some sad people there, but the house is on a beach at least.”

A beach. He hadn’t been in years, but the thought of salty air and rolling waves brought a smile to his lips. There might even be time to look for seashells.

“What are we waiting for?”

---Reader---

A fifteen minute drive later and you were knocking at the sandy front door of a single story beach house with paint that matched the sky. It was the perfect day for being on the sea, not a cloud to be seen and a gentle breeze relieving the worst of the heat from the hot sun. You scraped your feet on the entrance mat, losing the bulkof the sand stuck in your shoes as a middle aged man opened the door. His face was strained in grief and you met his mournful eyes with sympathy.

“Hi, you must be Mr. Sutherland. I’m Y/N, from Another Man’s Treasure, this is my associate V. I’m so sorry for your loss,” you said, reaching out to shake the poor man’s hand.

“Right. Thank you, please come in.”

With one last run over the rug, you followed him with V a step behind. Inside, the home was bright and cheery. Yellow pastel walls and light wooden furniture set a welcoming tone in the living area. Only the outlines of where photos once decorated the room reminded you of the reason for your visit.

“Mom kept her collection in the back, it’s this way,” Mr. Sutherland remarked.

He shuffled down a dim hallway to show you a back room stuffed with treasures. A beautifully preserved secretary’s desk, an intricate standing mirror and a stunning collection of porcelain plates caught your attention right off the bat, but that was only the beginning.  

The morose man led you through a narrow gap in the items to show the rest. The pristine bassinet from the 1800’s was a joy to behold, the vintage lamps a close second. This was going to be fun. You turned to the client and hid your excitement behind a tight seal of professionalism.

“We’ll treat each item with the utmost care, you have my word.”

He managed a small smile and left you to it.

The hours passed in a haze of assessment and discovery. Since the client was still in the home, you kept the laughter and joking to a minimum, and V was perceptive enough to follow your example. He worked diligently, and by early afternoon you had a final offer ready. You carefully returned the last of the plates to its stand and went to find Mr. Sutherland in the living room, typing away on a laptop.

“Mr. Sutherland? We’re finished,” you said. He closed the computer and waved you and V over to sit on the grey couch.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I can offer you $7,863.47 for the lot, and here’s a breakdown of each item. Do you have any questions?”

He accepted the folder and opened it, glancing at the figures within.

“I’ll have to run it by my sister, she might want one or two things. Can I email you next week?”

You stood and smiled, extending a hand for another shake. “Of course, take all the time you need.”

He gave you a sad smile and escorted the pair of you to the door. V paused by the car, taking a deep sniff of the sea air before climbing in. It was easy to see how much he liked the beach, and you smiled as your stomach rumbled and an idea popped into your head.

“Wanna grab lunch on the pier? Maybe a quick walk on the sand after?”

His wide smile was all the answer you needed, and you guided the sedan back to the main road with several options to choose from. In the end, you wound up grabbing street tacos from a food truck and sitting at a picnic table. It was heating up and as you chewed, you wished you had a skirt to change into before taking that stroll.

You swallowed. “Mind if we hit the surf shop before that walk? I don’t know about you, but I need something less hot to wear.”

V nodded mid-chew, a sprig of cilantro stuck to his lips. You chuckled and handed him a napkin, pointing at your own mouth to guide him. His hand paused and he smirked, staring you right in the eye as he slowly, teasingly licked his lips and hummed. Blood rushed to your face.

“Ha, now it’s twenty-five to nineteen!” he crowed in triumph.

Huh? What?

It took a few heartbeats for you to come to your senses. The glimpse of his tongue had you thrumming and you shifted your weight to ease the tension. It was impossible not to notice how attractive he was, but this was all in good fun. Right? He was only trying to even the score, using every tool at his disposal.

It didn’t matter. You were his boss. Self-control didn’t come easily to you, but this time it mattered.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t beat him at his own game, though.

You sighed and nodded, admitting his point as you reached for your milkshake. This was going to be so good. Your tongue wrapped around the straw and you closed your lips, sucking deeply so your cheeks hollowed. The faint remains of your blush still colored your face as you closed your eyes and hummed at the flavor.

V's breath audibly hitched. It was too much and you opened your eyes to see his gaze fixated on your lips as you withdrew the straw, his lids wide and pupils dilated. You cleared your throat with a smirk and his eyes shot to yours, his blush a stark contrast to his normally pale skin.

Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I’m torturing us both…

His lips parted. “Make that twenty-six to nineteen.”

Victory was sweet.

 _____________________

You backed off for the rest of the meal, too aware of your own attraction to dare pushing the envelope any further. V followed your lead, though he tried a few raucous jokes he probably got from Peter. Nothing new and you kept your cool with ease. You headed to the surf shop with the same score.

It didn’t have much outside swimwear, a few wraps and the like but nothing that wouldn’t be above the knee. You took a small bit of comfort in the fact that V had even fewer choices, only a speedo, swim trunks or board shorts.  You ducked into the only changing room and arranged the sarong with care. It was the only one they had that wasn’t transparent, and it barely brushed your kneecaps.

Well, here goes.

Why were you so nervous? It was just skin, and not even that much. Nothing to worry about, he’d seen worse from some of the vintage comics at work.What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe you’d score another point.

You pulled back the curtain, stepping aside so V could take his turn but he didn’t move. His brow was furrowed, more confused than anything else.

“What?” you asked.

He pursed his lips and shifted his weight. “Is that skirt supposed to be so short?”

“Shorter, actually.”

You pushed past him with a smirk and took a seat on the bench to wait as he changed. It didn’t take long, he probably didn’t have to adjust anything like you had. Men had it so easy with clothes. As the curtain parted, you couldn’t help the twitch of your lips and the cough of laughter that slipped through.

I can’t… I can’t handle this. I have to say it!

He was staring at you, the first hint of a blush appearing as he waited for some indication of the reason behind your strange reaction.

It’s so rude, though! But it’s too perfect!

He raised an eyebrow and the dam burst.

“The beacons are lit! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

A second eyebrow joined his first. He didn’t speak and as the seconds dragged on in silence, you realized why. Your jaw dropped and you looked at him with new eyes.

“Wait… have you never seen Lord of the Rings?”

“No. What is it?”

Oh my god… he must be joking.

“Frodo and the One Ring? One of the greatest fantasy stories ever told? The cornerstone of fantasy tropes for decades?”

He shook his head. He seriously had no idea what you were talking about.

Unacceptable.

You marched forward and grabbed his hand, tugging him to the register to pay. There was no time to waste. Did V live in a cave? How could he not even know what Lord of the Rings was, let alone have never watched the films?

“Come on, beach is cancelled. I hope you like sword fights.”

This is going to be so good! If he doesn’t even know the story it’ll just be that much better!

“Wait, what? Where are we going?”

You smirked. “My place. I have popcorn and all three extended editions. You didn’t have plans for tonight, did you?”

---V---

It was truly as you said – one of the greatest stories ever told. He was hooked in ten minutes, laughing along at Bilbo’s party shenanigans and furrowing his brow as Gandalf confronted him. The world of Middle Earth entranced him with its complexity and detail. It felt as real as the world he actually lived in, as real as the Qlipoth. And the music! Superb.

His soul shattered as Frodo screamed for Gandalf. The raw grief reminded him of his own losses and he found tears spilling from his eyes as Aragorn dragged the hobbit away. The sheer heroism of Borimir’s last stand left him speechless, a stunning display of redemption. He hoped he could redeem himself so thoroughly. As the credits rolled on Fellowship, you turned to him with a huge grin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes.

“Well? What did you think?”

He struggled to find words for a moment, finally settling on a question. “You did say there’s three of these, right?”

The leather couch squeaked as you bounced happily, clapping your hands. It was easy to see how much you loved the story, and his heart warmed at how quick you’d been to demand he experience it. Inviting him into your home, making popcorn and dimming the lights. He didn’t even mind that he’d missed the beach, this gave him far more enjoyment. Especially when he glanced at you and saw you biting your lip, watching his reactions throughout the film.

Her joy is contagious.

“Yes! I knew you’d like it! Who’s your favorite character? Actually, no you should watch the rest first! Do you want more popcorn? I have some chicken too if you want something more substantial.”

He smirked, pitching his voice as close to Gandalf’s as he could. “Just popcorn, thank you.”

“You did not just do that! I’m so proud of you!”

And then your arms were around him. Hugging him. Squeezing his shoulders. He could smell your hair, feel the warmth of your body. Who was the last person to hug him? How long had it been?

It didn’t matter. He lifted his arms and returned your embrace, trying to toe the line between friendship and something more intimate. The moment he felt you pull back, he mirrored you and schooled his features into a smile.

“Bathroom’s on the left there, if you need it. I’ll get the popcorn!”

That seems wise.

He forced his legs to move at a normal pace to the bathroom. He didn’t need to use it, but a moment to clear his head was too valuable to refuse. The lines were clear, the boundary should be easy to respect. But somehow, it was becoming more difficult. V splashed some cool water on his face and sighed, staring into his green eyes in the mirror.

This was supposed to be simple. Make amends. Nothing more.

As long as he was careful, there was no reason anything had to change. It was just a hug, it didn’t even last that long. He’d tone down his jokes, but he was too selfish to push you away outright. Fool that he was.

He sighed again. Maybe he should just leave? Make some excuse and go home? No, too obvious. You’d see right through it. Plus, he really wanted to finish the movies.

He was starting to understand what Bilbo meant by feeling like butter, scraped over too much bread.

“Hey, you want something to drink? I’ve got some light beer, or water,” you asked from the hall.

Alcohol would be extremely unwise. I’m already barely holding on.

“Water sounds lovely,” he called back. He waited a moment longer and flushed the toilet, hiding his absurdity. A quick wash of his hands and he rejoined you on the couch, picking the same exact spot he sat in before so nothing seemed amiss. A glass of water was waiting for him and he took a few sips as the second film opened.

The hours flew by in a whirlwind of rocky plains and horses, black orc flesh and white wizard robes. If the first film left him speechless, the second left him gob smacked. Never would he forget the image of the Rohirrim, riding over the cliffs to save their king with the sun streaming over their armored shoulders. He’d been a little worried that the battle was lost and cheered at the victory. As the credits rolled, he stood to stretch with a smile.

“Ready for more?” you asked. He glanced down at you and nodded, his earlier discomfort forgotten in his eagerness.

By the end of the conclusion, he was crying again. What a beautiful ending. Even the credits were gorgeous and he couldn’t look away from the perfect artwork of the characters.

“So, now that you’ve seen them all! Who’s your favorite?”

Before he could answer, the front door creaked open, a thick figure stepping through. Your face went slack, the blood draining away in panic. V was instantly on alert, muscles coiled and ready to react if something went wrong. You hadn’t mentioned a roommate, but the dull resignation in your eyes didn’t speak to this person being unexpected.

It was a man, bearded and stocky. V thought he looked a bit like a dwarf, but knew better than to say so aloud. He stomped into the living room with an intense glare, taking in the scene.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded, staring right at V.

You stood and approached the man, hand raised in a placating gesture. “This is V. He works with me and had never seen Lord of the Rings. We just finished watching. V, this is Caleb. My brother.”

Caleb snorted, derision in every feature. “Stupid name. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you back to the store,” you began, reaching for the keys. Caleb wrapped a meaty fist over your wrist before you got far.

V’s eyes narrowed in anger at the flash of pain on your face, quickly wiped away to pretend everything was fine. He missed his three familiars with every fiber of his being, wishing he could bring out Shadow to maul this asshole or at least get him off you. The fragments of their bond twitched at his thoughts, but the lines led nowhere. They were gone.

He was alone.

“Nah, he can walk,” Caleb said.

V knew there was no way he could fight the man; he was massive, a single hit would break his ribs. And who knew what would happen to you if he tried anything risky? It wasn’t worth it.

“That’s fine. Good night, Y/N.”

To say anything further risked angering the giant still gripping your forearm. He didn’t dare. Instead, he stood and gathered his things, shooting a worried glance at you as he left. He waited outside the door, listening for any hint of distress.

Nothing. All was silent.

This is wrong, this is so wrong.

But what else could he do? With only five minutes of interaction, how could he assume anything about your brother? Maybe this was unusual, maybe he was normally a kind man.

But your face when he walked in the door…

V growled in frustration. He still couldn’t hear anything from inside. There was no proof, no reason for him to intervene. And what if Caleb came out and found him still here? That could be disastrous. He had no choice but to leave. If you didn’t come to work tomorrow, he’d come back. For now, he needed to retreat.

His heart ached with every step.

_______

If you aren’t familiar, google the beacons are lit beach meme. One of my favorites!

Part 3

[arthurmorgan-s-heart]

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader: After Years and Years (Part 2)

Warning: Smut, Spoilers

You’re not sure exactly what makes you decide to bring Arthur back to your home, but you’re already well on your way there by the time you start questioning your decision - much too late to change your mind, though you’re not certain that you want to. The night is dark and crisp, and critters scatter as you ride by, back to the shadows between the trees that border the road.

Anyone would call your cabin modest, nestled as it is in a clearing at the edge of a forest near town, but it is more than enough for you - Lord knows you had had much less for most of your life. The small house was almost a palace compared to the tents and dilapidated buildings you had spent years living - surviving - in.

You leave Arthur outside to lead the horses into the small barn at the back of your cabin - at his insistence - while you make your way inside. The cabin is cold and dark, but the fire you get going in the hearth quickly makes the place more welcoming, both with its heat and its warm glow.

Arthur opens the door just as you’re pouring out two glasses of whiskey, taking off his hat and gloves before doing the same with his jacket, placing them down on a chair next to the door. He turns to you, and you motion him closer, waiting for him to take a seat at the table before lowering yourself in your own chair. You had barely spoken since leaving town, him seemingly gathering his thoughts and you simply too nervous to say much of anything. He reaches for his glass, tipping it toward you in thanks before taking a sip. The silence stretches on, only broken by the crackling of the fire.

Finally, he sighs, looking at you from the other side of the table. He seems so tired now, so utterly exhausted, that you wonder how long it’s been since he’s had a good night’s sleep - for all you know, it might have been years.

“You really wanna know what happened, uh?” he asks quietly, and you nod, even though you know he already knows the answer. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, letting another few seconds of silence crawl by before he turns his gaze to the fire. “Bad, all of it.”

“Please,” you whisper, and you’re loathe to bring back those painful weeks to mind, but you need to know. You hear him take a deep breath, steeling himself.

“Went back to camp after you left with Abigail and Sadie. I think that was the moment Dutch finally lost it for good,” he starts, almost in a whisper. “I knew he was gone already, I knew it - but I still tried. Had to. Thought I might be able to get through to him.” He swallows thickly, the words catching in his throat. “In the end, he… Dutch and Bill and Javier… Micah got ‘em all. Got ‘em all to believe him. Twenty years I gave him, and he just - ”

His hand clenches into a fist as he cuts himself off with a swig of whiskey. There is rage still lurking in his voice, even after all those years - and grief, a grief so great that you don’t know if it’ll ever truly leave him.

“Camp was attacked. Pinkertons,” he continues. “Me and John fought ‘em off - “

“John’s alive?” you blurt out. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him, but you needed to be sure you had heard him right. All this time, you had thought that John had died on that cursed train.

Arthur nods, pressing his lips into a thin, hard line.

“Dutch’d left him for dead, but yeah, he’s alive - dragged himself back to camp. Somewhere up North now, I think, with his family.”

That brings you some comfort - it was good to know that, despite everything, the Marston family hadn’t been torn apart, after all.

“Fought the Pinkertons with John while the rest of ‘em ran away,” he starts again. His eyes are still on the fireplace, the flames sending stark shadows dancing along the harsh lines of his face. “We got away too, eventually.”

He brings his glass up to his lips again, draining the last of his whiskey. You refill it without him asking.

“Got John to leave. Woulda been dead for good if he hadn’t,” he says. “Wanted to draw the Pinkertons off him. I was ready to die on that mountain - I really was.” He’s silent again for a long while, lost in his memories, and you can’t help but wonder how everything could have gone so wrong. “Then Micah… he came outta nowhere, started beatin’ on me. Shoulda shot me right then, but I guess he wanted to prove a point, had some things to say that needed sayin’. Always did like to hear himself talk.” There is a sour smile on his lips, bitter and angry. “Worst part is, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Dutch - came and kept Micah off me long enough to keep him from beatin’ me to death. Pretty sure he thought Micah’d already killed me - sure must have looked like it. But I think he saw, in the end. Dutch - he saw. Everything. Much too late, though.”

Another long swig of whiskey. Another sigh.

“They left me there, and I thought that was it - Pinkertons was gonna arrest me and hang me, no doubt about it. But I… I don’t know. Hid from the Pinkertons - don’t even remember how. Don’t know how long I spent on that damn mountain, either. Days, probably. It was Charles found me; said he thought I was dead and he’d come to bury me.” He chuckles dryly. “Nice thought, I guess. Brought me back with him to Wapiti. Took weeks to recover. Looked for the others when I finally left - but it’d been too long. They were all gone.”

Finally, he looks at you, anger and loss still plain in his gaze, though there is something there that you think akin to longing, as well.

“Looked for you,” he adds in a whisper. “Gone.”

It’s only when he finally falls silent that you realise that your cheeks are wet with tears. Before you can wipe them away, he reaches across the table, brushing your cheeks dry with calloused hands. Your breath catches in your throat, his touch bringing back flashes of what you had denied yourself all those years ago - and how you had found yourself mourning something that never had been, once everything was over. You let your eyes flutter shut and allow yourself to lean into his touch. You reach up to grasp his hand when you feel him start to pull away, opening your eyes to meet his.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, though he makes no effort to free himself from your grip.

“What for?” you whisper, clasping his hand in both of yours and lowering it back to the table, holding tight. He doesn’t answer, looking down at his hand cradled in yours. You’re both silent for a long while, the cabin suddenly seeming even smaller as your world narrows down to the man sitting across from you.

“Looked for you, too,” you say eventually, drawing his gaze back to your face. “For a long time.”

“Why?” he asks. There is something raw in his voice, painful, as if torn between hope and despair.

“Guess I had some regrets,” you say simply, and you see in his eyes that he understands - you both remember that warm night on the shore of Flat Iron Lake, all those years ago, the night you should have said yes. He looks at you for a moment, weighing his words, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid.

“Was there ever a time you would have had me?” he asks quietly.

You let go of his hand as you rise from your seat, making your way to his side of the table so that you can stand in front of him. Your courage had failed you then, years ago - if he would still have you, you wouldn’t let it fail you now.

“I would’ve had you,” you breathe as he stands up as well, so close to you that you have but to angle your head up to meet his lips. You had been too afraid back then, too wrapped up in the shadows of your own mind; but you had grown and changed, and so had he. “Wanted to. More than anything.”

“Then why - “

“I don’t know,” you cut him off. “But I regretted it for a long time. And I don’t wanna live on regrets no more.”

His hand is flat on the table, and you see it inch forward toward your hip, though he still doesn’t dare to touch. His eyes drop down to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Think I’d like to kiss you now,” he whispers, and his hand finally leaves the table to brush against the small of your back, his fingers leaving a burning trail of hot coals on your touch-starved skin even through the fabric of your clothes.

“Think I’d like that,” you answer, and he slowly leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours lightly, almost hesitantly. You lay a hand flat on his chest as you return his kiss, just as softly, feeling his heart beating loud and fast beneath your palm, mirroring the rhythm of your own. That seems to embolden him. His hands find your hips, drawing you tight against him; there is something almost desperate to his touch, almost as if tonight is his last night on Earth, or as if he’s just found a missing piece of himself he’d lost years ago.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long time,” he whispers between kisses. You lean away slightly, cradling his cheek.

“I know,” you answer. “Shoulda let you do it long ago.”

He lets out a rumbling laugh - he sounds more like himself now, the quiet but genuine laugh that you remembered from years ago tugging at your heart. You kiss him again as you grab his belt and pull his hips flush against yours, turning his laughter into a low groan - there’s heat gathering at your core, the culmination of years of longing and hoping and dreaming. He rocks against you almost involuntarily, slight movements that are enough to send sparks coursing through your veins - God, it’s been years since you’ve felt this way.

But he steps back suddenly, his hands shifting from your hips to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length. He’s breathing heavily, looking at you with darkened eyes, but there is real concern in his voice when he speaks.

“Don’t have to do that,” he breathes. “If you don’t want to.”

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything half as much as you want this - and you have but to look at him to know that he does, too. So you step forward back into his embrace, trailing kisses from his lips to his ear, his breath hot against your neck as you whisper:

“I know what I want, Arthur.”

The last word has barely left your mouth that his lips are on yours again, hungry and eager. His hands return to your hips before slipping lower, drawing a surprised gasp from you when he squeezes slightly, chuckling low against your lips at your reaction. You laugh in return when you wrench a quiet moan from him as you grind your hips into his, his grip tightening as he tries to bring you impossibly closer.

“Come on,” you breathe as you part from him, taking his hand in yours as you lead him further into the house. Your bedroom isn’t far, but it still takes the both of you much longer than it should to get there, barely able to keep your hands off each other. He allows you to open the door and lead him inside your small bedroom before his lips are on yours again, pushing you further in until you know you’re right next to your bed. You push away from him then, and he gives you a quizzical look, ready to reach for you again, but your hear him take in a sharp breath when you reach for the buttons of your blouse. He watches you for a moment, frozen, before he starts working on his own clothes, hurriedly pulling off his neckerchief as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers falter and stop when you take off your top, his eyes raking over you as you move on to your skirt. He’s just finally taken his shirt off when you let your skirt fall to the floor, followed closely by your undergarments. You wonder if you should feel vulnerable, standing there before him without so much as a stitch of clothing, but you’ve never felt so safe, so warm, so wanted. You see in his eyes how badly he wants to touch you, though he stays rooted in place, as if afraid his hands on your bare skin would hurt you. You step forward and take his hand, bringing it up to your cheek, holding it there for a moment before letting your hand fall away, and he slowly lets his touch sink to the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, feather-light, almost shy, down, down, until, finally, he reaches your hip, and his other hand comes up to pull you against him, the rough fabric of his pants scratching at your thighs. He bends over you, his lips following the same path his fingers had just moments before, trailing from your mouth to your jaw and down the side of your neck, lingering at the curve of your shoulder before he moves to brush kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Ain’t never seen anything half as beautiful as you,” he whispers against your skin, and somehow you believe him. “Never.”

He kisses the swell of your breasts, quickly replacing his mouth with his hands as he moves lower. There is reverence in every kiss he presses to your skin, as if awed by your mere existence. You feel as if he’s learning you - every curve, every angle, every scar carefully discovered and explored with fingers and lips. He puts one knee to the ground as he kisses a path down your stomach, stopping just below your navel, his hands leaving your breasts to smooth down to your waist before settling at your hips once more as he looks up at you, silently asking for permission. A flame flares to life in your stomach when you realise what he wants; you simply nod, and take a few steps back, sitting on the edge of your bed. He follows closely, waiting for you to lay down on your back before kneeling before you again. You feel his hand grip your thighs, prying your legs wider apart to accommodate his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but shiver in anticipation as you watch him take his place. He kisses the inside of your knee first, lingering there for a moment before moving higher. His beard tickles you slightly, though you’re far more preoccupied with the feeling of his lips on you as he peppers light kisses to your inner thighs - so preoccupied, in fact, that you don’t notice his hands until they hook beneath your thighs, bringing your legs over his shoulders before he rests one hand flat on your stomach while the other finds your hip, fingers gripping tight as his lips ghost over your center, tantalizingly close but not quite touching. You try to pull away reflexively, but his hands keep you anchored against him. The mere feeling of his warm breath fanning over you is enough to draw a quiet, needy moan from you, and you almost feel embarrassed; but as he meets your eyes one last time, making sure you haven’t changed your mind, you nod, and it’s all he needs to begin.

He starts by pressing light kisses against you, gently, almost reverently, sending teasing tremors running from your toes to your stomach, before he parts you with his tongue in one, long stroke. Just that is enough to make you gasp; it had been years since you’d been with anyone, and his touch awakens forgotten parts of you that you had thought gone forever. Your hands fist into the sheets beneath you at the foreign sensation of his mouth on you, his tongue in you - you were not inexperienced, but you cannot recall a single moment where it had felt quite like this, quite so warm and good and right.

He’s relentless, exacting moan after moan from you, faster and faster, louder and louder, until there is nothing left in the world but him and the tight ball of heat gathering low in your stomach, about to burst. He moans against you when you bring your hand to his head, threading your fingers through his hair as you press him closer to you, the low sound resonating against you in just the right way to finally bring you over the edge.

Your free hand shoots to the one he keeps on your hip, gripping tight as he unravels you, seemingly effortlessly, whispering adoring praise against your skin as you shudder and shake, pressing fervent kisses to whatever skin he can reach until, finally, the last of your trembling subsides. You take a moment to steady your breathing before you sit up slowly, drawing him in for a kiss and tasting yourself on his tongue. He parts from you as he stands up, and your hands are at his belt buckle before he can even reach for it, quick and eager.

“I think it’s time you got outta these,” you whisper with a sly smile, and he can only growl his approval as you shove his pants halfway down his thighs before letting him take over as you lay back down on the bed, properly this time. He makes quick work of his remaining clothes, and he stands at your bedside for a moment, looking you over slowly as if he’s trying to etch every single detail of you into his memory. You almost blush under his intense gaze - a foolish thing, considering your current situation.

“Not gonna tell you how many times I’ve thought of this,” he whispers, and you can’t help a quiet laugh as he finally joins you. Your hands find his shoulders as he comes to hold himself over you, one moving up to cradle the back of his head when he bends down to kiss his way from your collarbone to your lips, while the other slides down to press against his chest, feeling the wiry hair and the raised skin of old scars. He’s hard and hot against your thigh, and you move to take him in your hand, ripping a long groan from his throat as you stroke him slowly.

“Been a while,” he rasps, low and strained as his own hand reaches down to still yours. You meet his eyes and see them boiling with want. “Keep doin’ that and it’ll be over before it starts.”

“Waited for you too long to let that happen,” you whisper teasingly, spreading your legs wider in silent invitation as both of your hands return to his shoulders. You feel his palm smooth over your thigh as he kisses you again; his touch feels more familiar than it should, though you can’t tell exactly why - you’re not sure you care. All that matters is that he’s alive, and safe, and he’s with you.

He pushes inside you slowly, carefully - you’re grateful for that; it’s been a while for you, too. He stays still for a moment while you get used to feeling each other in a way that you had both longed to for what seemed to be an eternity, burying his face in the crook of your neck and exhaling shakily. You run a soothing hand through his hair, lightly kissing his temple until the first roll of his hips into yours wrenches a soft groan from your throat, the hand you held in his hair balling into a fist and pulling slightly. He sets a slow rhythm, torturously so, as if reveling in your warmth, the feeling of you against him and around him. Your hands smooth down his back - you feel more scars there, more stories; there’d be time for that later, you hoped - before settling at his hips, wordlessly urging him on.

“Hasn’t been a single day in all those years where I didn’t think of you,” he whispers as he starts to thrust harder - but not faster, still taking his time, dragging long, pleading moans from deep within you. “Wonderin’ where you were. Who you were with. Wonderin’ if you still thought about me.”

He brings one hand up to cradle your cheek as he meets your eye. You don’t think he’s truly asking, don’t think he’s really expecting an answer, yet you still find yourself breathing out half-mumbled words that you’re not even sure he can understand.

“Told myself I shouldn’t.” You arch your back off the bed when his hand snakes down to your core, stoking the fire of your pleasure once more, pressing your chest against his. He groans at that, his hips stuttering against yours for a moment before he starts again, faster this time. You grind down against his fingers, his hips, hands gripping tight, and you shiver apart - not as strongly as before, but your next words still come as half-stifled moans. “But I did - I did.”

He says nothing, simply pressing his lips to yours as you feel his rhythm grow more and more erratic as you whisper quiet encouragements against his ear until he shudders and gasps, pulling himself from you just in time to spill himself on your thighs, your hand reaching down between you to stroke him to the last of his pleasure as you place light kisses against his jaw. Your hands move up his sides as he stills, letting him catch his breath before you draw him in for a kiss and allow him to move off you. He lays down next to you, rough fingertips lingering on your stomach, tracing aimless patterns as he meets your eyes - for the first time this evening, they seem clear, unobscured, as if a veil had been lifted from them - from him. You can’t help a smile at the sight, and you reach out a hand to brush a trail from his brow, along his jaw, and to his mouth; he turns his head slightly to kiss your fingers, warm and soft. You leave him there to go clean yourself up, feeling his eyes on you as you stand up and stretch. When you come back into the room, you find him lying on his back, one arm folded with his hand under his head, and the other at his side. You climb back onto the bed, his free hand touching your upper arm to beckon you closer, and you lay down next to him, nestled against his side, his arm around your shoulders and his hand on your back, warm and comforting. You feel yourself start to doze off.

“Shame,” he whispers after what seems like an eternity, snapping you out of your daze. “All them years we lost.”

You stay silent for a moment, remembering how many time you had wished for things to be different. You could let him go now, of course - but you know that, if you do, you’ll feel incomplete for the rest of your days. So you snake a hand over his chest, curling your fingers at the side of his neck when he turns his head to look at you.

“We still got time to make up for them,” you breathe. “If you want.”

He can’t quite hide his surprise at your words - widening eyes and tightening grip just enough to betray his incredulity - and he looks at you for a long time, as if trying to decide if he’s heard you right, until you draw him down to your lips. Stay.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispers against your mouth. He’s smiling.

“Always,” you reply, and suddenly the years hardly seem to matter - neither of you had truly ever left the other's thoughts, and if time itself couldn’t keep you apart, then nothing would ever be able to.

Imma be honest with y’all: this could probably use more editing, but I’ve been working on it so long that I’m kinda starting to hate it, so if I don’t post it now I might never post it. I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Homeward Bound: Chapter 9

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: Home coming meant finding old friends and remembering old pain...

Word Count: 5,332

Warnings: Swear, Pregnancy mention

Author’s Note: Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Fuck Christopher Columbus! He didn’t discover Canada but, you know, fuck ‘em.

Series Tag: @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @baebee35 @supernatural-pants @thoughstofaredhead @bby-becca @fear-the-reaper115

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks@casaharrington @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @hipsmcgee

She was still in her pyjamas, hair wrapped tightly first in rollers and them in a red silk scarf, pink bunny slippers on her feet. She looked royally pissed, but not intimidating in the slightest.

“Morning, mom.” You said, slipping in the door before she could give the whole neighbourhood a show.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, tapping her foot to an angry rhythm.

“Jenny Stein’s. I slept over.” You replied shortly, pulling off your shoes and dropping your purse by the door.

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked, not really caring about the answer. You were in the wrong and she wanted you to admit to it.

“Because I lost track of time. It’s not a big deal, I’m obviously not dead or missing.” You replied, matching her tone.

“I almost called the police.” She said, as though that information was going to affect you.

“Wouldn’t do you much good, Steve knew where I was the whole time, he would’ve just told you again and hung up.” You chuckled, turning and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m fine, you knew I was fine, and if you were worried, you could’ve driven over to Jenny’s or sent Richard.” You said, turning on your heel and up the stairs before the petty argument could continue. 

Your mother had, despite leaving a powerless marriage, entered into a relationship with a huge power imbalance. It was not Richard’s fault, per say; he was a lovely, you certainly liked him and was more than happy to see them get together. But he was an old fashioned man and your mother loved to please. So, they fell into an old, sort of patriarchal relationship-despite being his secretary when they met, your mother stopped working and returned once again to the isolation of the home, where, without young children to care for, she was at odds with herself. Meanwhile, Richard worked long hours and was often away. This was fine when they weren’t married, because he’d call every night or even bring her along, but now she seemed to always be at home. He wasn’t cheating on her, lord he’d never hear the end of it if he dared to look at another woman, your mother had simply worn out her welcome with his associates. This left your mother constantly at odds and bored. So, she over dramatized little things like her adult daughter coming home later than expected.

You made a bee line for the bathroom, shutting out her incessant yelling up the stairs by turning on the water and letting it run warm as you changed. The second the water hit your skin, you let out a sigh. This was the best feeling you’d had in the last twenty-four hours. You let the water soothe your muscles and dampen your hair, rinsing off the sweat off your skin.

You always knew that the best place to hide from your problems was underwater. It worked well in two fold; one, the senses were almost always overwhelmed under water, making it hard to think, and two, even stillest pool was loud enough under its surface to muffle out the world. And so, when the world got too heavy or life bogged you down, you jumping into whatever water you could find and blocked it out until your mind was at ease enough to tackle a problem head on. It wasn’t exactly the best way to handle your problems, and you knew that, but at the end of the day, when life got hard, you still found yourself drawn to pools or rivers or oceans or simply your shallow bathtub, submerging your head and letting the sounds of life become as waterlogged as you intended to be.

From beyond the rush of the shower and the door, you heard the phone ring. You hoped it wasn’t Billy, not only would he ruin your whole plan, but you really didn’t want to see him again. It was all just too weird-it was like you stepped into a parallel universe in which you were at the centre. Maybe you had, Hawkins was just weird enough for that to be true. Either way, you didn’t like it. You hoped that he’d take the hint and move on, but you knew he wasn’t very good at catching onto things like hints. What he was good at, you weren’t sure anymore.

You knew you couldn’t spend all day hiding, so when your hair was significantly soaked, you turned off the water and rung your hair out, grabbing a towel and rushing to your room.

“Y/N!” you mother called, thoroughly annoyed and bitter, “You have a visitor!”

Your blood ran cold. “Just a second!” you called.

You didn’t want to go down there. He hadn’t, he wouldn’t. He had too much pride to just show up after been shafted. He was still at home, being an absolute weirdo. He didn’t remember where you lived.

Once you were dressed, wet hair pulled off your neck, you took a deep breath and opened the door. You peered over the railing, but no one was waiting downstairs by the door, whoever it was had gone into the sitting room with your mother. That was a good sign-Billy was not on good terms with your mother and she would never invite him into her sitting room, her own space not entered without care. Whoever it was had your mother’s approval. If it was just Steve, you’d probably scream before heading back upstairs to ignore your mother’s antics.

Your mother’s sitting room was different than the living room. The living room was a place of comfort, of relaxation and ease. The sitting room was a tense place where older family members met briefly, where family photos were taken, and the ‘nice’ things were kept. Normal, everyday living did not happen in that room. The furniture was expensive and floral patterned, the walls were lined in blush pink fleur de les wallpaper, the lamps were knockoff Tiffany and the glass panned cabinet was filled with wedding china, passed down from your great-grandmother. The whole place was a time capsule and you weren’t supposed to mess with the past. You walked in, already on eggshells.

Inside, your mother sat very carefully in the crocodile green armchair, passed down from your grandfather, worn and aged and musty-smelling. She was dressed now, purposely overdone, her lips painted hot pink. She looked stiff to you, which was worrisome.

You stepped deeper into the room, your eye catching the guest of the house. Your whole face broke into a smile.

“Nance!” you cried, drawing her attention and earning an equally big smile. She rose to her feet, a surprise second pregnancy already showing, her face glowing.

“Hey, Y/N.” she replied, opening her arms for a gentle hug, which you gladly accepted.

Nancy and you had not been fast friends when you returned to Hawkins back in high school. You two weren’t close in school before you left and then you returned, forced your way back into her circles and then did the unthinkable and shacked up with resident asshole Billy Hargrove, a criminal move in her eyes. She openly resented you, trying everything in her power to push you away. But once you were in, you refused to be pushed out and gotten rid of. You had to find out what was happening in Hawkins.

“How are you? Congratulations, by the way, I can’t believe you’re having another.” You said easily, releasing her.

“I’m alright, it’s still early so I’m still nauseous all the time, but I’m excited! I’m hoping for a boy this time.” She replied breezily, her hand coming instinctively to the bump.

“How is little Sybil?” you asked.

“She’s good! She’s with my mom right now. I swear my mother loves her more than I do sometimes.” She laughed. Karen Wheeler was a lot of things, but you rarely thought she was motherly. After three kids, she lost her identity completely and started chasing after her youth, leading to her affair with Billy Hargrove and, ultimately, her divorce. Both her and Ted still lived in Hawkins, a very awkward arrangement to say the least. Karen got the house and main custody of Mike and Holly and Ted got the car and a twenty-eight year old girlfriend, which boiled Karen’s blood more than anything else.

“Oh Karen must be loving that! Are you staying with her or Joyce? Or are you in the motel?” you asked giddily.

“With her, Joyce and Will aren’t coming in till next week; Will’s still got his graduation this week.” Nancy explained. You nodded, eyes slowly turning to your mother, who was watching you on baited breath for some sort of unexpected answer to be released.

“Nance, let’s go upstairs, alright, I wanna show you the book I’m editing for work.” You said. Nancy nodded, following you out of the room with a wave to your mother, already disappointed.

“She still trying to listen in on you?” Nancy whispered softly as you took the stairs. You nodded; rolling your eyes as you quickly looked behind to see if she was following you. She wasn’t, a surprise for her since she seemed to always butt in where she wasn’t wanted. She always took invitations one steps too far, often getting on the nerves of others. Now, she seemed to be giving you your space.

“So wait are you actually editing a novel up here? Is it yours?” Nancy asked, looking fondly around your old room.

You smiled “I am, but not mine. New mystery novel, it’s pretty okay.” You tried to keep the pride out of your voice. You weren’t really allowing yourself to talk about the book yet, especially with the people who inspired it. You wouldn’t want to hurt them or break ties over the stupid thing. Were you proud to have finished the thing? Of course, but hurting your friends and family wasn’t worth the eight thousand dollars you’d been promised in the deal.

“Oh cool! So the editing thing’s going well then?” Nancy asked, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah, they’ve still got me in the harlequin division, I most edit trashy romance novels and pulp mysteries. I also occasionally ghost write for some authors. They had me writing Sweet Valley High books for awhile.” You explained, subtly trying to adjust your papers to hide the loose novel on your desk and to keep them from catching her eye. Luckily for you, she wasn’t paying much attention to you.

“That’s fun, at least you’re writing. You do still want to write, right?” she asked.

You nodded “Yeah, I do I just…I don’t have the right story to tell right now.” You replied vaguely. “So, how’s the P.I. business? Any new bites?” you asked, changing the subject.

“We found that little girl Beverly in Pomona.” She said, frown lines creasing her forehead “But it didn’t do us much good. Turns out she’s eighteen and legally allowed to go wherever she wants, the aunt was just nuts.”

“Damn, did it hit the papers?” you asked worriedly.

Nancy nodded “Unfortunately, it did. And instead of asking for a statement, they just called us thieves and hacks, that didn’t help us much. We lost the Wanda Singh case because of it.” She explained, sighing softly.

“Is the ‘zine doing well at least, I got my copy last week it was pretty good.” You asked easily.

“Eh, I have no idea-Jonathan won’t let me read it. I’m surprised he’s got you on the mailing list. If you ask me, it’s all a bit pretentious.” She replied with a shallow shrug, shaking her head bitterly.

“Yeah, it’s more than a bit pretentious, but that’s Jonathan-he’s a music snob.” You replied, taking a seat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she chuckled softly.

 “Being an adult’s hard, isn’t it?” you asked glumly. Nancy nodded, resting her head on your shoulder.

“I don’t know…you’re doing okay…” she replied, trying to find a bright spot in all of it.

You chuckled, shaking your head “Oh yeah, it’s alright, as long as I’m not here…here I do stupid shit…” you replied.

Nancy sat up “What did you do?” she asked.

“I slept with Hargrove…” you admitted softly, looking away.

“You didn’t!” she cried. You simply nodded, not wanting to say it again. “Why? Why did you even see him? He’s an asshole!”

“I don’t know! I ran into him, I wanted an excuse to be out of the house for a couple hours and he offered and ugh I don’t know- I didn’t want to sleep with him! I just did!” you replied, stumbling through your answer, trying to find the logic in it all.

“Couldn’t you have just hung out with Dustin instead?” Nancy asked, bewildered.

“Hanging out with Dustin means hanging out with Steve, I can’t even escape him in my own home, mom’s had him over for dinner already and I’ve been home for forty-eight hours.” You replied bitter;y.

“Are you still mad at him?” Nancy asked,

“Yes and no…it depends on the time of day.” You said, rubbing your face.

“What does that mean?” Nancy replied, forcing you to look at her.

“It means that sometimes, when I see him, I hate him and want to disappear, and then other times it’s like I fall back into old behaviours and we talk and it’s not awful. And then I remember what he did and I hate him all over again.” You explained.

“Isn’t time to move on? I mean it’s been years!” Nancy replied rationally.

“Riddle me this, are you still mad that Ryan Carson dumped you at the spring fling ball in seventh grade?” you asked. Nancy blushed slightly as she looked away, nodding slightly. “Yeah, because he was your first real relationship. Well, Steve was my first love and he broke my heart. So I’m still a little mad.” You said easily.

“I mean; not to be that guy, but Steve’s better than Billy.” Nancy said with a laugh. You scoffed, making her laugh harder as she cried “He’s self aware!”

“Oh please, Steve’s ego is as big as his hair.” You replied with an eye roll.

“Yeah well, since you wanna talk like sitcom characters, Billy’s got a class ring but no class, at least Steve can be humbled. You can’t teach class.” Nancy replied.

“And for the record,” she added “Steve’s changed. I never thought I’d stay his friend after everything, but he has been the biggest help with my own journey to recovery, as lame as that sounds.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You replied with a shrug. Nancy sighed, flopping down on the mattress. You followed suit, staring up at the ceiling with tired eyes.

“Is it weird for you? Being back?” you asked quietly, connecting dots on your popcorn ceiling.

Nancy sighed “Yeah…it gets easier though…this is your first time home…” she replied.

“I just…it hurts but it doesn’t…I wish it hurt more…” you said. Nancy nodded, unsure what to say. “I haven’t gone to see Mrs. Macpherson yet.” You admitted.

“Suzie’s graduating this year, right?” Nancy asked, turning to look at you.

“Yeah,” you chuckled “I tried to get Dustin to take her to prom. Didn’t want her to go alone. She didn’t , went with Tommy’s cousin.”

“Tommy H or Tommy R?” she asked.

“Tommy H.” you replied, earning a snort from Nancy. “Apparently he’s nicer than Tommy!” you reasoned with a laugh.

“Ugh, Carol invited me to their wedding…” Nancy groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Did you go?” you asked, wide eyed and hopeful; the story would be so good if she did.

“It hasn’t happened yet. I haven’t said yes or no, but Jonathan won’t go. Says it would be lying to pretend that we were all friends.” She replied.

“I’ll go with you! We’ll trash talk the whole thing.” You offered with a giddy smile. You would kill to see how everything turns out.

“I gotta consider how big I’m gonna be by the wedding dates. After four months I get less and less comfortable and I want to leave the house less and less.” She explained. You nodded, more than a little dejected. Nancy smirked “You know…Steve’s invited too…”

You scoffed “You’re worse than my mother…” you said, rolling your eyes.

Nancy tried her hardest to act innocent “I’m just saying!” she cried, raising her hands in defeat. You nodded, grimacing as you sucked your teeth. Nancy groaned, forcing herself off the mattress with great difficultly. You offered her a hand, lifted herself and you back into a seated upright position.

“Come on, crabby pants, let’s go egg the high school or something.” She said, pushing herself back onto her feet and out the door.

You and Nancy didn’t start out as friends. When your little clan moved to Hawkins, Nancy was already the queen bee of the year below you and you being a year older had no chance of ever befriending her; it would’ve been social suicide, especially if you failed to befriend her. So you found friendship in fellow weirdo Heather Macpherson and suffered at the bottom of the social pyramid, Carol and her cronies torturing you whenever possible. Then, you moved in with your dad in Chicago and while you kept up with Heather, Nancy wasn’t even a second thought.

And then, you returned to town in a cloud of smoke and cynicism and took over the only thing she had to prove herself beyond the pretty girl image.

Though she’d never admit it, Nancy needed this case. She needed it to feel better about herself. After Barb died, she needed to push herself away from the carefully crafted ‘fun’ girl image she’d created for herself. She needed to feel smart and powerful and important again. And she did-she spent two years being respected by small town law enforcement and seeking out government secrets and killing monsters with someone she believed was at her level. And then you came back and forced your way in.

When Heather died that summer, you jumped head first into the underworld of Hawkins, ignoring her every attempt to push you out, to ruin your chances of figuring it out before her. You were at the same level, but unlike her relationship with Jonathan, where she was the dominant mind and planner, you thought on your feet and, unlike her, you didn’t mind failing. So, you fought and fought and pushed away from each other.

You’d just returned from the labs, they’d believed your story; you were in line for the internship. This was how you were going to get the files on the other experiments. Screw Nancy’s plan, it would only get you arrested faster, or worse killed. This was the safer way-you’d have access to the files, you’d have direct access to the people who committed these crimes.

You parked in your mother’s driveway, popping open the door and sliding out. You felt incredibly fake-you had chosen to dress the way your mother insisted made you look mature and serious, aka like Nancy Wheeler, save for the silver Virgin Mary necklace around your neck. That was borrowed from Billy, a way to anchor yourself as you lied through your teeth to people you knew had killed innocents for being in the way. Quickly, you tucked the chain into your shirt, rushing up the stairs and unlocking the door. Your mother was on the phone with someone, talking too loudly and sitting on the counter like a teenager. You took this unforeseen opportunity to rush upstairs, excited for the chance to change out of the clothes that felt unfamiliar on your skin.

You opened the door to your room, finding Billy collapsed on your bed, tapping his foot to the music playing out of your headphones. You smiled at the sight; it was so rare to see him at peace in his environment, relaxed and calm and not thinking of his next three moves. You walked up to the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, smiling as his eyes fluttered open and he matched your grin.

“Hey baby…” you muttered, reaching around the back of your neck and unclasping the silver clasp, releasing the necklace from its secure place around your throat. “You look a little naked, and not in the fun way.” You said, handing him the chain, which he quickly put around his own neck, clasping it before you could even offer your help.

“Thanks…” he said, sitting up to smile at you and give you a proper kiss.

“How was your day? You find ways to hide out from your dad?” you asked, sitting next to him on the bed. For some unknown reason, Billy was very worried that if his father noticed him without the pendant, he’d get in trouble. You knew what trouble meant for him, so you were naturally apprehensive to the idea of asking, but Billy was more than eager to comply if he was rewarded thusly.

“Hid out up here all day. Got out before he left too. I would’ve gone to the library like you suggested, but it’s not my scene.” He replied with a shrug.

“So you just used up the battery in my walkman instead?” you asked cheekily, not really scolding him.

“Consider it half your payment.” He replied with a smirk. You chuckled, shaking your head. He always managed to bring things back around to him.

“So…what’re you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning into you.

“Why? Looking to cash in?” you replied with a smirk.

“Maybe…” he said, fluttering his dark lashes.

You chuckled “Well in that case I’m busy.” You said “But I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Kicking me out already? He asked with a pout. You nodded, pushing him towards the open window.

“Yep, I gotta make some calls. Gloat to Wheeler that I beat her ass, again.” You said. While he didn’t know about the mystery, Billy was more than excited to hear you’d beat someone, even in the lame smart way you had. He leaned down, swinging one leg over the sill and then another, landing easily on the roof.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were into her.” He said with a smirk, fantasies already running through his dirty mind.

“Yeah? I could say the same thing about you and Harrington.” The smirk dropped off his face as you slammed the window shut, waving your fingers at him before shutting the blinds. You had too much to do to worry at him and his stupid fantasy.

You listened for your mother’s shrill goodbye on the phone downstairs before picking up your landline and dialling the Wheeler’s number. Nancy picked up on the first ring.

“Wheeler house.” She said, with a bored tone.

“I’ve pretty much got the internship. They’re just doing a background check and with Hopper on my side, Amelia Kingsley will be interning at the remaining Chicago labs by next week.” You announced, a proud smile brightening your face.

“And how do you intend on explaining to your mother that you have an internship in another girl’s name in Chicago?” Nancy asked forcefully.

“I won’t have to-the Chicago Labs, as they’re calling them, are just a new group a little outside Hawkins. I won’t even have to commute.” You grinned.

Nancy groaned, shaking her head “This is a bigger risk than just breaking in. If they catch you stealing they’ll kill you before they call the police.” She warned.

“They won’t catch me. I’ve already got bugs inside, Heather’s taking the reins on that one.” You replied.

“Fine.” Nancy huffed “I’ll call Steve and tell him the break in’s off. You call Joyce and tell her to get El to give us any other numbers she can remember.”

You felt a small smirk pull at your lips “No, it’s fine, I’ll tell Steve, I was heading to the mall anyway, I need a few more smart cardigans for the office.” You said.

“Y/N, that’s not a good idea.” Nancy said quickly.

“And calling him at work is?” you replied, matching her speed.

Nancy sighed “Steve and Robin are so close to getting together, don’t ruin it by distracting him.” She said, practically begging.

“I’m not trying to distract him.” You replied innocently, already imagining your outfit options, trying to find the most flattering and revealing pairing.

“Yes you are. You have Billy; you’ve made it abundantly clear that you like him. So stay in your lane.” She said.

“I’m gonna tell Steve.” You replied and before she could reply, you dropped the receiver, pulling off your ugly peach pink cardigan and plain white shirt in favour of something made of mesh.

It wasn’t until the trial that you two became friends, mainly out of desperation. You two were alone in this trial-Robin hadn’t wanted to testify and with you and Nancy being the only girls over fourteen around to talk to, you had to talk to one another. Jonathan was an emotional wreck, full of obvious anxiety and shaky nausea that made him impossible to deal with, Billy and you weren’t on good terms, and while you loved Steve, you needed someone else. So you had to rely on Nancy, something you’d never done before, and while it was shaky at first, you grew to understand each other. You sat together, usually in silence, trying to understand how your lives had gotten to this point. Then, you found your common ground: mutual hatred, the thing that bonds us all.

Suddenly, and without warning, you were friends and united in the struggle of dealing with the opposing team whom you loathed so much. You even got her to admit that certain people on your own team were annoying and tiresome. You nearly died when she, after three tiny bottles of rum, admitted that she found Jonathan just as pretentious as everyone else did. Likewise, you dished on Billy with as much fervour as Nancy could handle. And she admitted that she didn’t hate Billy nearly as much as she pretended you, stating that Steve needed to be taken down a peg or so to let him grow up. You agreed, much to her surprise. Suddenly, you weren’t so much an enemy but an ally in the cause of repairing your lives.

You stayed allies long after the trial, much to your surprise. You never assumed people would stick around; time had proven that to not be true to your life. But Nancy stayed, in her own way. You each moved to different parts of the country; her to Denver, you to San Diego, but you wrote back and forth whenever you could. It was a nice relationship-it didn’t depend on equal attention, you wrote when you had time and so did she. Sometimes, you’d write more than her and other times the roles reversed. Either way, not entirely by your choice, you stayed thick as thieves, hell you’d even met her baby and were a part of the madcap Vegas wedding ceremony.

And now, you were lingering outside Hawkins High School, contemplating going inside, an idea that was beyond you.

 “I just wanna see if they put up anything about us.” Nancy reasoned, pulling you towards the door.

“And I just really don’t wanna go in there.” You replied, yanking your arm out of her grip “So you can go in there and I’ll wait out here, tell me if my message is still up on the bulletin board.”

You hadn’t paid much attention to the sound of cars on the street behind you, nor the sound of the horn blaring behind you. But you turned when someone yelled out behind you.

“Hey Henderson!” the voice cried out, setting your nerves on end and turning your sweat cold.

Billy.

He was sitting in the front seat of a beat up tow truck, emblazoned with the logo for Sherman’s shop. He looked…well he looked like a small town hick, everything he didn’t want to be back in the day.

You slowly turned, taking a deep breath and finding a tight smile. “Hey Billy…” you replied, waving awkwardly.

“What the hell are you doing here? Come on I’ll give you a ride!” he called, motioning you over. Nancy grabbed your arm, squeezing your skin tightly, save for one fingering tapping out Morse code; Don’t. Do. It.

“I can’t! I gotta handle a couple clerical things for Dustin! Maybe another time!” you called back, confidence beginning to fill your blood.

“What about tonight then?” he asked eagerly, eyes training over your frame like a tongue. You tried not to shiver with disgust.

“I’ve got plans!” you replied easily, not trying to resist Nancy’s pull towards the front door “See ya around, Hargrove!” you called, waving politely as he groaned and drove off.

The inside of the school was almost as warm as the outside; the school still hadn’t invested in central cooling and instead let their students swelter inside and out. It also hadn’t been updated since long before you started there. The paint was peeling, the locker doors dented and nearly falling off their hinges. The note you’d left on the large bulletin board when you graduated was still there, much to your excitement.

Don’t let them make you forget things for their benefit. Remember pain. Remember embarrassment. Remember Heather Macpherson.

You were so mad when you wrote that, filled with white hot sadness and burning, misplaced anger and passion. The clean cursive on thin white card paper was marked with pain and marked with heavy lines dug into the card, your hand to hard and shaky on the paper.

You smiled at the note, planning to steal it on your way out, collecting one of the missing pieces of your old life and taking it away from the crummy world you’d left it in. Before you’d take it, however, you’d show Dustin, out of pride.

Nancy returned with visitor passes on cheap lanyards, hers already strung around her neck. “Rhonda says hi.” She said, handing you the plastic pass, which you shoved into your back pocket.

“Rhonda’s still here?” you asked, giggling more than you should’ve.

Rhonda White had been assistant head secretary when you were in high school, a marriage obsessed woman with long, sharp red nails that often mimicked talons and brown lipstick that was permanently on her teeth. She was always smoking, always reading magazines instead of working, always cracking bubblegum, and always in a bad mood.

“Apparently, still as annoyed as ever.” Nancy chuckled, shaking her head.

“You see a ring?” you asked, craning to look into the big, supported glass window to catch a peak of her.

“Why? You wanna pop the question?” Nancy giggled, beginning down the hallway. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind her. “Since you’re curious, no I didn’t, at least not a wedding ring.”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head “Poor thing, she just wanted it too much.” You said, a smirk pulling at your lips.

“You wanna get married?” Nancy asked, pausing to let you catch up with her intense strides.

You gasped, a hand coming your chest as you tried to hold back a smile “Nancy! But what would Jonathan say?” you replied, feigning astonishment.

Nancy rolled her eyes “I meant in general and you know it.” She replied.

“I-I don’t know,” you said, trying to regain your composure, stomach clenching it fits of giggles “I mean…if I found the right guy and blah blah blah.” You said.

“I mean, I get it and I don’t wanna sound like your mom, but it’s nice.” Nancy replied.

“I’m sure it is but I’m not even thirty, so like I’m not worried about it. You know, not everyone meets their soul mate at seventeen.” You said, rolling your eyes.

A heavy arm came around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. “I mean I don’t know, I think we could’ve been soul mates.”