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iamjacksragingboner · 5 months

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy Pt. 2

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: None

A/N: Chapter two is finally here! Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday, whatever you celebrate, and hope NYE is just as good! I’m not home from holiday yet but apparently that didn’t stop me from writing a little whenever I could on holiday. Hope you enjoy this chapter as they get a little more familiar with each other :3 Reblogs appreciated!! <3

Horrific first impressions aside, you were ready to embrace this Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish character as one of your own. Sure, you had been mere moments from cracking him over the head with a bottle and feeding him by hand to the vultures, but if Simon could put up with him then you could too. Perhaps you had just caught him on a bad day.

You shook his hand amicably, choosing to ignore the way he winked at you and held onto your hand just a little too long for your liking, having to practically wrench your hand out from his grip. You stood with an albeit strained smile on your face as Simon, in one of his rare moods for excited talking, regaled tales of him and Soap out on horses in towns further from here than you could ever imagine. You even politely offered to bring Soap’s dinner up to his room later for him, after he complained that his ass was aching from sitting on a horse for too long.

“Ah, maybe I can teach ye some of my trade secret massage techniques to use on me, aye lass?” He copped a swift smack on the head from Simon for that comment, and you took a smoke break.

With the sun setting before you, smoke from your cigarette tiredly billowing in front of you, the chatter from the bar dying out, you sighed. Sliding down with your back on the wall to sit in the dirt, you ran your hand through your hair.

You enjoyed keeping yourself busy; kept you from thinking too much. But in those quiet moments where you snuck off to smoke, you sometimes found comfort in the way your brain still seemed to careen with life, even in silence. At the moment, it seemed to be fixated on your parents, and the tavern they left to you and your brother in their passing.

You were so young then.

Don’t think about it.

The faint sound of a glass smashing was what dragged you back to earth, back into the bar, broom in hand and smoke still whispering its way from your lips. You swept mindlessly, still not all present. You had failed to recall the other times, where the silence was hostile, would bite and claw its way into your sides and sink its teeth in like a parasite.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you felt someone walk just a little too close behind you, and you weren’t at all surprised to look up and see that it was Soap that had invaded your space. You slid uncomfortably back into reality.

“Here, lemme help ye with that one, lass.” Before you could even begin to say you didn’t need help with sweeping, Soap was already on his knees in front of you. Continuing the theme of doing things before you could tell him not to, he was scooping the glass into his bare hands, and then immediately hissing as blood began to weep from a cut on his finger.

You rolled your eyes and propped the broom up on the wall beside you, before kneeling down with Soap. “Stupid,” you muttered, before gently ridding his hands of the glass and clutching his injured one in your own. “What were you expecting, picking up broken glass with your bare hands like that.”

Soap shrugged, his eyes glued on your face instead of his bleeding hand, a detail which you avidly ignored. “Dunno,” he said simply, and you thought he was finished—any other cowboy would end the conversation there, stick with the fact that they don’t know jack and be on their merry way. Unfortunately, Soap wasn’t any other cowboy. “Could ye kiss it better for me, bonnie?”

You dropped his hand with a curt “you’re fine,” and averted your attention to the glass on the floor, sweeping it into a dish rag to take outside, Soap’s cackles accompanying you out the door.

Just as you finish dumping the glass where no one would step on it, you were greeted once a with Soap as you turned around.

“Was only jokin’, lass,” he says with a smirk that told you he probably wasn’t. “Don’t get yer panties in a knot, ‘sides, already got the whole talk from yer brother.” He placed a hand over his heart and spoke solemnly, “I’m not ta touch a hair on yer wee bonnie head, else Ghost’ll never ride with me again.” He began to saunter up to you, hands in his pockets and his head at an annoying tilt that feigned innocence.

Like a dog.

“I know ye were mighty excited at the prospect of gettin’ that massage from me, maybe even gettin’ a little somethin’ else.” He circled you, like he was sizing you up, seeing if you were fit to eat. “But alas, we’re out of luck.” A large, rough hand placed on your shoulder, not yet a threat, but enough of a presence that it could quickly become one if he wanted it to—they were hands that he knew how to use. “Although…”

More like a wolf, or a coyote. Big teeth.

You brushed off his hand with a little more haste than you intended. “Sorry,” you said, a bitter glare burning from your eyes but not quite seeming to register in his, “but I’m not interested. Your room is upstairs, two doors down, on the right.” You patted him on the shoulder in a not quite friendly, but not quite aggressive kind of way, and headed into the bar to start closing up.

Simon caught you just as you were bidding goodbye to the last few stragglers to leave, a plate of food in his hands. “Oh, I’ve already eaten, Si, but thank you,” you said, warmly.

“Oh, this ain’t for you,” Simon chuckled, and flicked his head to the ceiling. “‘s for Johnny—you said you’d bring it up to him. I would, but I’ve got my hands full with matters outside.”

Cowboy matters, you were sure. Riveting stuff. The speed at which the smile dropped from your face was surely record breaking. You took the plate from his hands and bid your brother goodnight, feeling at the very least glad that he was in a good mood. Regardless of whether that mood had anything to do with the cowboy upstairs, Simon being happy was a good thing.

Biting back any reservations you had towards interacting with that fiend again, you climbed trepidatiously up the stairs to Soap’s room. You stood in front of the door, searching inside yourself for any ounce of kindness. He had been nothing but unpleasant to be around any time you spoke, but surely, surely he had to be at least semi decent for Simon to think so highly of him.

You knocked and you waited.

And waited.

For a moment you thought, with a little glee, that perhaps he had gone and died, but much to your chagrin, he opened the door.

“Sorry ta keep ye waitin’, lass. Was just putting’ my clothes back on—didn’t wanna startle ye.” Soap was stood in the doorway, looming over you like some sort of predator, with a smirk on his face that said he’d like to do much more than startle you. He was sweating too, the gross hound.

“Dinner,” you said, simply, offering up the plate to him with the most polite expression you could muster, under the current circumstances. Your eyelid twitched.

Soap’s attention seemed to flick immediately to the food before him, and he lit up, rubbing his hands in glee. “Och yer an angel, ‘m bloody starvin’, come in, come in.” He ushered you into the room as if he were some sort of welcoming host and you were his eager guest.

Each guest room in the tavern was laid out much the same. A double bed, a table with two chairs and a bucket with some water and a rag, in case whoever was in there wanted to wash. You pressed yourself flat against the closed door as Soap set the plate down on the table nearby, breath hitching in pain as he did so. Your brows furrowed in concern.

“Everything alright there?” You asked, trying to be civil. You wished you hadn’t.

Soap clutched his finger and let out a wailing mockery of pain, catching you completely off guard. “Woe is me! My poor finger, lass! Still it weeps in pain and anguish!”

“Will you keep it down!” you hissed, eyes wide and alert as you rushed to him. “There are people trying to sleep here! Besides, it’s just a tiny cut, you’re fine.”

“Ohh but it’s not fine! I need a little kiss on my wound from a lovely bonnie lass to heal my ails and raise my spirits! Please oh please will ye kiss it better?”

You startled, coming to the abrupt realisation that perhaps this was the reason Simon liked the guy—he was kinda funny (if you squinted real hard and stood at a distance). You chuckled, finding a smile on your lips for the first time since you began interacting with him, and shushed him like a child. “Okay, okay, but only if you promise to keep it down.”

The grin on Soap’s face could have melted glaciers. It wasn’t a bad look, and you were struck with the thought that if he never opened his mouth to speak again, maybe he could be attractive. He was practically glowing as he thrust his finger towards you, wrapping it in your hands. His hand was warm. “Of course, lass, I promise, cowboy’s honour and all that—just give it a wee smooch for me.”

You scoffed but obliged anyway. ‘What’s the harm in entertaining him anyway,’ you thought, raising his finger to your lips.

It was much more intimate of an act than you anticipated—the way he seemed to fall completely silent, not even breathing, in fact you weren’t even sure if you yourself were breathing. The way his finger felt, cushioned against your pouting lips, the way he could have stuck his finger in your mouth so easily if he had chosen to. The way he seemed to shudder, as you kissed his finger, as if this alone was pleasure enough for him.

You let go of his hand the minute if felt too intimate for you, laughing dismissively. “Stupid,” you murmured, averting your gaze.

Soap, on the other hand, was thrilled. He held his hand close to his heart, muttered “I’ll never wash my finger again,” and pressed it to his own lips, making sure to look directly at you.

“That was foul,” you said simply.

“Cannae believe we just had our first kiss!”

“That was not a kiss, that was me kissing your finger and then you kissing your finger after.”

“We’re practically married now, bonnie!”

“You’re insane.”

“D’ye think ol’ Ghost’ll officiate our wedding?”

“You’re delusional. Eat. Your food’s getting cold.”

Soap moved to the table and gestured to the chair opposite his. “Sit! We can have our first meal together as husband and wife,” he exclaimed, propping his chin on his hands like an eager child.

You shook your head, a faint smile still lingering on your lips despite your still remaining reservations about the man before you. “No, Soap, I’m okay. I really should be getting to bed now.”

Soap’s brow furrowed, and for once you saw an emotion on his face other than a smug, confident grin. It startled you, if only a little. “Come on, lass, just stay for a little, I’ll even feed ye some if ye want?”

“Goodnight, Soap.” You turned to leave, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. You did not turn to face him. You would not.

“Please, lass. Stay. I just…”

“Goodnight. Soap.” You brushed his hand off, leaving before he could think of a way to finish his sentence, before you could see the way his lips downturned. Your bed was cold that night, and you dreamt of Soap finishing his cold meal on his own, and lying down in his own cold bed. In another world, maybe you could have found it in yourself to regret it.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #Slow burn #slow burn romance #save a horse ride a cowboy #soap mactavish #cowboy soap x reader #cowboy soap mactavish

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eliecasa · 6 months

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𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑵 “𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻𝒀” 𝑹𝑰𝑳𝑬𝒀

:whoopee cushion - using ghosty as a body pillow.

:whoopee cushion 2

:let me, please? - you have the urge to kiss that stoic man

:orange u glad? - sharing a mandarin with ghosty

:nye, specially - sharing nye kiss with ghosty

:do it again - reader see’s a man spank a box on tiktok & it awakens a monster

holiday head-cannons

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵𝑵𝒀 𝑴𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑨𝑽

:right back - after brutally losing an entire team on a mission, reader can’t help but to wallow in self pity. a worried soap checks on his first love.

:no manners - simon has had it up to ⬆️ here with y/n and johnny’s PDA. the two can’t just ever kiss and leave it innocent.

𝑪𝑷𝑻. 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑬

:bambi - callsign Bambi was sent on a mission to gain intel on a very bad man and after three years, youre finally able to kiss your husband, John Price.

:scars and willows - before you got married, John had asked why you didn’t know your birthday. at the time, you couldn’t give him an answer but after a few years of pondering, you figured out what day you wanted it to be.

:wildflowers - sulking over a c-section scar and being reassured.

𝑲Ö𝑵𝑰𝑮

:aromatherapy - facial massage 4 könig(⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

:2 ice, best ice! - reader & könig share an ice bath :3 while you mentally list the things you like about him.

:so, this simp walks into kortac - könig didn’t like the new recruit because they were a sniper, and askel tells him it’s wrong. however, he didn’t know that his words would ultimately turn him into a simp.

𝑮𝑨𝒁 𝑮𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑲

:a favor - reader has a secret that gaz definitely already knew but… nevertheless, he’s happy with it

:grab & pull - reader finally admits to their infatuation with gaz’s voice and he’s definitely delighted, even taking it further to describe his feelings physically.

:walk to, panda tree - gaz asked a lot of questions, but someone else wants to know something.

#cod masterlist #call of duty imagines #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty

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buzzyb33 · 3 months

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another one for josh could you do one on spending nye together and getting drunk and he has to take care of you etc tyy ilyyy

Prompt: having a group outing causes you to get drunk- a lot more drunk than your boyfriend which lets him be your anchor for the night.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing

“Josh, I’m serious-! I’m not going to get too drunk tonight- maybe tipsy but, not, like, that bad.” I say in a honest tone as I finish my makeup

“Right, you said that last time and it’s fine anyway.” He smiles, dismissing my comment.

“I’ll be able to walk straight, I promise.”

He shakes his head, grinning.

I stand up, wiping my strapless dress down and adjusting my hair slightly.

“I’m ready.”

I go to turn to him but stopped by his arms around my waist.

I smile as he nuzzled softly into my neck, he inhaled and smiles.

“The Ubers on its way.”

He kisses my neck with soft butterfly kisses, his hands firmly on either side of my waist.

I lean into him, letting his hands roam.

As we get to the club I take my respected seat between josh and Talia.

I smile at her as we whisper, giggling and updating us on things like we don’t speak everyday.

For this night out was, Josh, Tobi, Simon, Ethan, faith, calfreezy, Talia and me. I’m holding Josh’s hand as me and Talia give our little updates, mine and Josh’s hand intertwined in his lap.

He talks to the others as we get faith and Ethan involved with our conversation.

The buzz of alcohol makes me giggle and grin under every single word spoken to me, as the night goes on, the burn of vodka in my tummy making me feel warm, Ethan and faith head home, calfreezy soon following.

Tobi, Simon and josh indulge in their own conversations as Talia nudges me for a dance, I grin and nod.

“Talia- I feel fuzzy.”

I giggle and she rolls her eyes.

“Y/n you must be fucked-“ she cuts herself off with her own laugh.

“Fuzzy?” She questions as he hand grips mine, pulling me through the crowd of people to as close to the centre as we can get.

“Mhm.. fuzzy.”

We laugh in twirls and twists- you know, we’re ‘dancing’.

I put my head in my hands, attempting to not smudge my makeup.

“I broke my promise to Josh.” I say losing my eyes as me and Talia stand in the bathroom, her re applying some lipstick and me trying to keep eye contact with myself in the mirror.

“What was your promise?” She quips, closing her lips so the lipstick applies evenly.

“I told him I would be able to walk straight..” I smile slightly and she laughs.

“You’re fucking wasted, n/n.”

I nod.

We get back to the table and the gentle hum of conversation between the three boys is settling.

I take Josh’s hand underneath the table and from the eye contact I think he can tell I’ve brown my promise.

“You win..” I murmur and he kisses my temple, keeping his lips there.

“Want me to order an Uber?” He questions, his hand going to my exposed knee.

I nod, letting my eyes fall shut.

“I’m going to be so fucked in the morning..” I say, keeping my eyes shut.

I lean over to Talia and tell her me and josh are going, she kisses my cheek and I say bye to Simon and tobi.

He leads me to the front and leans his back against the wall, pulling me to his chest, he threads his fingers through my hair standing in silence with me.

“… sorry.” I utter out and I feel his chest rumble in a quiet chuckle.

“I want you to have a good time, you just wanted to make me feel better for something I don’t care about it’s alright, n/n.” He assures and I nod.

The Uber arrives and we both climb in the back, he was tipsy so that means he was more smiley, I was drunk so more touchy, it was a nice dynamic.

I let my fingers trail the patterns of his shirt, my head on his shoulder and his arm around mine.

I close my eyes briefly as the Uber drives us back to our shared house.

“What you doing tomorrow?” I ask in a gentle slur.

“Nothing.. why?” He replies, his thumb beginning to caress my bare shoulder.

“Can we have an us day?” I mumble, feeling the buzz of alcohol slowly but surely leaving my system.

“Course we can.”

We get back and he holds my bag and waist as we giggle, walking inside.

“Go change, n/n I’ll get us some water, Kay?” He pulls his hat off and runs his hand through his hair too which I smile goofily and nod, pulling my heels off and before I can go, he pulls me into him, kisses my forehead and grins sending me upstairs.

I smile to myself as I change into a sidemen shirt and some sleep shorts.

I take my makeup off with a wipe, mess up my hair and go to brush my teeth.

I see how drowsy I look in the mirror and just as I climb into bed josh come sun, hands me some water and takes his shirt off, climbing next to me.

I sip my water, rub my eyes and sink into the covers, Josh’s arms going around me.

“You feeling okay, darling? He mumbles into the crown of my head.

“Mmh.. I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow.” I reply into his chest.

“I got you some asprin and paracetamol for tomorrow..” he mumbles, his voice getting smoother indicating he’s close to sleep.

“Love you..” I murmur.

“Love you too..” he replies.

A/N: IM BACK IM SORRY!!! REQUESTS R STILL OPEN

Masterlist

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sprout-fics · 1 year

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Nye drabbles?? Say less 😩😩 how about a nye themed one??? Imagine being dressed up all nice and sitting at a bar waiting for ghost to come back from the bathroom when you get hit on… and he comes back to see it

Scary guard dog privileges only count when your boyfriend isn't in the bathroom~

“Happy New Years.”

You turn, perched on your barstool, raising a singular eyebrow in the direction of the sultry voice that’s directed itself at you. Hand under your chin, lipstick stain on the drink in your hand, you look at the man who’s decided to approach you, leaning casually against the top of the bar. The dim glow of the lights dance against this corner of the bar, with your shoulder nearly up against the wall. Claustrophobia murmurs low in the back of your mind, a gentle warning you don’t heed.

“Happy New Year.” You tell him back skeptically, this handsome stranger with the too-bright grin as his fingers tap against the wood of the bartop. The music is low overhead. The clack of pool-balls rings in the distance, a strange symphony muted by the sound of his voice. He angles himself towards you, one brawny arm balanced towards you, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You eye him cautiously, sly smile never wavering. He’s confident, oozing swagger, mistaking the suspicion in your eyes for coyness.

“What’re you drinking?” He asks without preamble, nodding to the glass in your other hand. Your eyes flick to it, then back to him, over his shoulder for just a moment where he can’t see.

“Bourbon.” You tell him, turning your head and taking a pointed sip, refusing eye contact.

“Mind another?”

“I do, actually.” You reply flatly, turning to him once more. Your smile isn’t coy now, it hides venom under the surface. A warning.

He pouts at you then, this stranger, tilting his head in a gesture of something that feels oddly derisive.

“C’mon now, don’t be like that.” He coos, and scoots his hand a little closer, pleading. “No need for a pretty girl like you to be alone on New Year’s Eve, yeah?”

“I’m not alone.” You snap, drawing your hand out of his reach with a quick, jerking motion. It should be enough. Your amusement at this man’s gall to approach you has faded now, replaced by a simmering annoyance at his persistence. Again, your eyes flick to just over his shoulder, to the empty space there.

“Oh? Got a friend with you?” He asks, and there’s a new smile on his face now. Lecherous, slimy.

You smile at him as the bathroom door at last opens, heavy footsteps thudding just behind him. The man doesn't notice, not when he notices your smile and takes it as an entreaty, pressing closer, knee bumping yours.

“Funny, that is. I’ve got a mate who could use a friend like yours, I’ll bet.” He tells you, and his voice is fogged with guinness, a dark, almost sour tint of his tone that has you pressing further backwards to avoid him.

Even so, you can’t avoid letting your smile broaden as those footsteps draw near, as a massive, dark-clad figure at last comes to stop behind the stranger.

“Not sure your friend would like my friend very much.” You reply at last, and nod to the hulking, coiled figure posed towering over his shoulder.

Finally, to your boyfriend- “Hi babe.”

The man startles, turns, then practically falls into you when his nose comes up against Simon’s chest. How he didn’t notice the gigantic soldier behind him, oozing disdain is beyond you. Yet the surprise in his eyes, the way the blood drains from this man’s face is enough to make your toes curl in your shoes, hide your girlish giggle behind your palm.

Simon looks down at the man from behind his mask, eyes narrowed in silence. There’s a glint there you’ve seen before, the spark of a combat knife catching the rays of dying sun. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to, lets his posture convey the only message this man needs- one of threat.

“S-sir.” Your handsome stranger manages, voice choked in his throat before slinking from between you both and back to the booth where he came from. His mates are turned, but you see the tell-tale shiver of their shoulders in laughter at their friend’s terrible mistake.

Simon watches him go, hands tight against his sides. It isn’t until you scoot towards him, fingers grazing the zipper of his jacket that he again focuses on you.

“You alright?” He murmurs, closing the distance between you and letting one broad palm splay across the dip of your waist- a brand, a rune to ward off those who dare venture too close.

“With you?” You ask, tilting your face up to him, a cheeky smile still plastered across your face. There’s mischief dancing in your gaze, a bright burning thing that he can’t help but be entranced by, the same one that drew him like a moth to flame. “Always.”

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #mw2 #drabbles #requests #new year's eve special

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of-monsters-and-werewolves · 2 years

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It's criminal Simon Nye hasn't written another Doctor Who episode.

#doctor who #amy's choice #dw s5 rewatch #dw s5 #simon nye

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zee-has-commitment-issues · 1 year

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Happy 2023! I am not coherent enough to make a good post, but we needed to start this year off with an unhinged bang, so here is how drunk I think all of the Young Royals characters are on NYE.

Wilhelm: drunk off his ass. Trying to find Simon and then clinging like a koala.

Simon: has had one singular sip of beer. Is holding Wilhelm like a toddler.

Sara: so drunk that her sanity is back and she's finally starting to see why hooking up with August is a bad idea.

Felice: drunk enough to know she's drunk, but could be drunker.

August: medically incapacitated.

Nils: tipsy enough to be flirting with Vincent.

Vincent: drunk enough to be flirting back.

Madison: giggling even though she knows she's going to have a hangover in the morning drunk.

Fredrika: making out with Stella drunk.

Stella: confessing her love for Fredrika drunk.

Rosh: hammered. sleeping.

Ayub: entirely sober and no one knows how or why.

Henry: is not going to remember any of this in the morning.

Walter: on the verge of alcohol poisoning.

Alexander: designated driver.

Erik: literally dead.

Happy 2023. May we all be unhinged.

#young royals #new years #unhinged zee hours

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camcorderrevival · 4 months

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amy's choice, simon nye || antigone, jean anouilh

#the tardis as amy's bridal bed and tomb 👍👍👍#amy pond

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rozaceous · 8 months

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ands: the new year's debacle

Wayne Enterprises & Subsidiaries NYE Event, where Director Yang is in attendance with a tall, gorgeous, and mysterious Plus One. They are both seen cheerfully making conversation with Chief Fox, much to the bafflement of the combined office betting pools.

(aka: post bruce and co resolving the UST over the holidays, it's Wayne E's holiday party and he finds out that vivienne and rosalyn know each other, and know each other well. ft: kevin the mortified and unsuspecting office worker.)

“I’m not—” Kevin feels his heels slipping as both Patricia and Claire pretend to double-over with laughter, arms hooked around his as a pretense to frogmarch him towards the trio at the large window of the event space.

“The General likes you best,” Henry says in that obnoxious way where he thinks he’s contributing to the discussion, but it’s just hot air.

“Marvin the Martian’s her favorite,” he refutes.

Simon gives a hard stare over at their wayward co-worker and they all follow his gaze. Marvin “the Martian” is either trying to describe how superconductors work or the mechanics of the wobbling gelatin dessert in his hands to his plus one. Poor woman looks completely lost, as if she’s been beamed to another planet.

“She thinks his nickname is funny, but she thinks you’re actually funny,” Johanna explains with a tone of talking down to a toddler.

Another voice joins their conversation. “Maybe you can go? Female-female solidarity?” He was thinking it, and Michael is the one to say it out loud. He comes up behind Simon, nodding greetings and holding hors d'oeuvres.

Johanna gives him a scornful once-over. She doesn’t move any closer despite the haughty attitude—she’s just as terrified of their boss as the rest of them are.

Kevin continues to struggle to no avail. He hisses, “Ladies, please!”

They’re slowly but steadily inching closer towards doom. Kevin’s never been a proponent of more than a light jog every two days, but the way Henry looks pityingly at him makes him reconsider stopping by the top-of-the-line gym facilities that all WayneTech employees get access to. Unfortunately, it means he’d have to account for running into trouble outside of business hours, as well.

Speaking of trouble—

“Director Yang!” Patricia gives off a bubbly laugh—the only natural blonde on their floor and she leans hard into it. Kevin would buy in, too, if he hasn’t seen how she gave that Enterprise Division asshole Asher Mulland the run-around. He was none the wiser, either; too busy dealing with Director Yang reaming him for wasting everyone’s time when his side pushed for ‘tighter integration’ in the first place.

“Patricia, off-hours,” Director Yang says with a small raise of her champagne flute. “I see you and Claire are…” The way she trails off that sentence while looking askance at him makes Kevin want his every molecules to drop down to absolute zero, no motion whatsoever.

If he doesn’t move, she can’t see him, right?

“Kevin’s more fun than the rest of the boys’ club you’re running, Vivienne.” Claire is both purposefully casual and careful with how she says Director Yang’s name. The little curl of the draconian woman’s lips—blood red lacquer and a hint of teeth—at that mockery seems to be a good sign (if an unnerving sight all the same), as the rest of the women in their circle start to laugh.

“We came over because we had to know who you’re wearing?” Patricia ends her statement with a questioning lilt.

“Hervé Léger,” she answers easily, and the striking brunette next to her leans close to clink their flutes together with a laugh. “Nothing wrong with a bit of excitement to greet the new year,” Director Yang says with a warm expression that actually reaches her eyes, curving them into crescents.

“As if you need an excuse to buy more clothes or shoes,” the brunette teases with a winsome smile, and all that prompts is a small flicker of an eye roll before Director Yang leans into her side.

“Where would she be without her shoes?” Chief Fox adds on dryly. “They’ve been making a statement since her undergraduate showcase. The terror of her division, too, if the scuttlebutt’s to be believed.”

“The terror of her calves, more like,” Statuesque Brunette jumps back in.

“But you have to admit they look amazing.” Director Yang’s tone takes on an unrecognizable quality.

Kevin has to admit nothing. He’s not looking at how his boss is in a dress that shows off her arms and shoulders and back and legs, and even if he were, his brain would do him the courtesy of applying a pixelated modesty filter over things no human was meant to perceive.

She looks over at them as if on cue and his mind goes blank with momentary terror. Maybe she can read minds. Maybe Claire says something agreeable or whatever, and Patricia nods along, but he can’t process the words.

It’s bizarre and hair-raising. She’s never gone out of her way to make it known, but within the first two years of working at WayneTech it was factual that Vivienne Yang was a hardass at best and a tyrant at worst. The fact that she’s rarely wrong and backed up all but officially by the CTO of WayneTech and acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises Lucius Fox means that she has leeway to be as despotic as she pleases. It’s true that one would have to monumentally cause something to go FUBAR for her to turn her attention on them, but those with survival instincts cringe at the sound of ‘click-clack-click-clack’ heels marching directly towards their desk.

The horsemen of the apocalypse in his dreams wore fitted suit jackets and pussy-bow blouses, and were all the more terrifying for it.

Hires that didn’t know better and got cocky—they were usually the type to run their mouths, fuck up anyways, and got made examples out of. It’d be better if she yelled, but she would coldly and without pause tear into every bit of their professional and technical integrity until there was nothing left. If it were Kevin, he wouldn’t even dare apply to a different job elsewhere, non-compete clauses notwithstanding.

When he gains awareness of the conversation again, it’s at the mention of his name.

“—must be Kevin.” Statuesque Brunette smiles over at him, with the most perfectly manicured and shaped hand reaching out for a greeting. She’s taller than him, too. “Vi’s told me a lot about you. I’m Rosalyn.”

“I—ah—” And thank god he automatically reaches over to shake her hand, even as he stutters. To his horror, Patricia and Claire are nowhere to be seen. He’s on his own. “All good things, I hope? We’re, well…’the nail that sticks out gets the hammer,’ as they say around here.” He tries for a joke to break the tension.

“You stick out in a good way,” Rosalyn says warmly, reassuringly, except it makes him that much more afraid. “Notable work, great attitude.”

Director Yang doesn’t point out anything unless it’s an egregious error. It’s either ‘good, proceed,’ ‘alright, I see,’ or the dreaded ‘hm.’ And then it all goes downhill from there.

“You’re the division’s foremost expert on frogs, right?” Rosalyn brings up, her straight, ivory teeth flashing in a show of mirth. She tucks shiny, flawlessly wavy hair behind an ear.

“Toads, actually,” comes out of his mouth before he can process the fact that Director Yang has 1) seen his work desktop background, and 2) told her plus one about it.

“Toads, Ros,” Director Yang concurs and takes a sip of champagne. “There’s a difference.”

He must be in a lucid nightmare right now, because Chief Fox nods thoughtfully and Rosalyn hums before asking, “So, what is the difference?”

His parents were right; he should have gone to church more and played less in the swamp, because a toad-shaped demon takes possession of him to rattle on about the differences and he can’t stop himself. The fact that Director Yang and Chief Fox hold a little side conversation but still have the wherewithal to nod along, even adding in little factoids of their own to Rosalyn’s follow-up questions, traps him in this never-ending psychotic break.

“—and Michael’s finally here to complete the duo act,” Director Yang drawls when Kevin has a pause. “I was wondering how long you two could bear to be separated.”

“These two submitted the winning proposal for the small-sat bid, yes?” Chief Fox turns an appraising look towards them. “Good work.”

“And lively all-hands meetings, from what I hear,” Rosalyn comments wryly.

Cold sweat drips down his back, and Michael’s not doing any better now that he’s also in their sights. His smile freezes in a way that starts to look like a grimace.

“So, how were the holidays?” Director Yang brings everything back to polite, standard conversation. “I assume everyone’s hard-fought-for and well-deserved PTO was spent wisely?”

“That does include you, too, Vi,” Chief Fox says.

Rosalyn chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry about that—she was forced to take it easy because—”

Kevin thinks he might prefer the regular work week interactions—at least he has those rules of engagement memorized. Here, he feels like a bug on display in front of the two most terrifying individuals at the company and a cheerfully intimidating plus one; the mood is awkward and Michael’s expression shows he clearly regrets coming over to bail him out.

---

Half an hour later, Kevin and Michael have made a partial escape and are lingering to the side of the room’s large window and attempting to look like they’re making conversation instead of standing awkwardly close to the curtains and eavesdropping as Rosalyn is now regaling Chief Fox with the details of a recent house tour she and Director Yang had taken. She has him honest-to-god chuckling. It’s just not right.

Kevin and Michael are still sharing bulging eye contact at the revelation of Director Yang getting a house with anybody, much less her apparent girlfriend(?) —Chief Fox seems to handle this information with more grace, but then he actually seems to like Director Yang—when Rosalyn is interrupted by the man of the perpetual hour.

“—wiring done by someone who’s idea of electricity hasn’t gained any sophistication past flying a kite in a storm based on the way the bathroom light sparked when I turned it on—”

“Of course I’d find you with the smartest, most beautiful women in the room, Lucius,” says Bruce Wayne, a half-emptied glass of champagne in hand as he smoothly sidles his way into their conversation. He and Chief Fox exchange a brief handshake and inquiry-answer about Chief Fox’s wife, who had other obligations.

And then—

“Hi, Bruce.” Rosalyn leans in to hug Mr Wayne and kiss his cheek. Kevin makes a choking noise and Michael elbows him to make him be quiet, transfixed by the way the very fabric of the universe is unraveling in front of them. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you this evening.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve been here that much sooner, Rosalyn,” Mr Wayne returns. He pecks her cheek back and releases her, hand trailing her midback as he pulls away. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I’m Vivienne’s plus one.”

“Bruce,” greets Director Yang with a smile that for once has settled on something that doesn’t look like she’s considering evisceration. Her handshake appears similarly nonviolent; she even goes so far as to add a second hand on top. Kevin and Michael glance quickly at one another, neither sure if it’s a play for dominance or an uncharacteristic but genuine expression of warmth. “Happy New Year’s.”

Mr Wayne reclaims his hand, head tilted just slightly, but still looking happy as a clam, if a little confused. “Happy New Year’s, Vivienne. I didn’t realize the two of you had gotten on so well! Glad it was a worthwhile referral, then.”

“Very worthwhile,” Rosalyn agrees. “I’m sure I must’ve thanked you for the introduction back then, but I’m happy to reiterate it.”

“Of course, of course.” And Mr Wayne’s eyes are flicking between Rosalyn and Director Yang, apparently taking in the lack of distance required for him to do so. Director Yang’s smile, meanwhile, evolves into more of a smirk. Kevin shivers as he weathers a flashback to when Director Yang had given Director Schroeder enough rope to hang himself with and watched him do so while in an inter-department meeting.

Kevin clamps a hand onto his companion-in-misery’s elbow, and Michael doesn’t even flinch when his fingers dig in through the fabric of the suit jacket, too busy staring.

“Mr Wayne introduced them?” Kevin asks in a frantic whisper. Why would Mr Wayne even know Rosalyn? Why did he know Rosalyn first?

And Michael frantically whispers back with the horrible speculation of, “I think Director Yang stole Mr Wayne’s girl out from under him.”

Kevin struggles to find evidence to argue against that fearsome proposition. The closest that he can come up with is that Rosalyn isn’t the wafer-thin type that Mr Wayne’s been seen with in the past. Regardless, she (and Director Yang, in fact) both have the polish of Mr Wayne’s supermodel pursuits, somehow—every woman in attendance is dolled up and dressed to impress, but there was an ineffable and insurmountable difference between them and the two women in front of him.

He thinks it’s dark magic, personally. Blood of the innocents, perhaps.

“Rosalyn was just telling me about an ill-fated house tour their real estate agent gave last week,” Chief Fox segues. Whereas Director Yang is terrifying like a guided missile strike aimed at your desk, Chief Fox is worse in the way of finding assassins invading your home in the dead of night; Kevin can never get a read on him. Is this social grace? Or adding fuel to the fire?

“The house was Murphy’s Law in residential form.” Rosalyn takes her cue masterfully. “It was almost comical, though poor Sharon was nearly in tears when a door literally swung off its hinges at the end.”

Mr Wayne blinks and gives a little laugh. “You didn’t mention you were house-hunting, Ros! I’d be happy to set you up with my agent.”

“We found a place in Fashion last week,” demurs Director Yang, eyes sharp though the rest of her expression is pleasant.

Kevin’s pretty sure the way Mr Wayne is showing his teeth now is more about holding in a scream than smiling. He can completely commiserate with the feeling.

“Finally, it’s been months,” agrees Rosalyn, apparently impervious to the tension Kevin is currently absorbing into his nervous system. He’s attempting to expel it, and Michael is taking the brunt. His elbow is probably going to have bruises. “Needs some work, but it’s gorgeous and has—what was it Sharon said?”

Director Yang answers, “Good bones.”

Rosalyn nods, satisfied. “Weirdest turn of phrase. It has a sturdy foundation, anyway. And doesn’t seem like it’s been shot up by the mob recently, at least, which is more than one of the houses we looked at can say.”

“Some poorly plastered-over bullet holes in the foyer,” Director Yang says with an amused raise of an eyebrow. “Semi-automatic, gives it character.”

Rosalyn’s cheer contrasts with her next words: “Though no visible bloodstains in that one! That was the house we looked at on Irving and Park—”

“Terrible HVAC, too—”

“It’s been quite the adventure, in any case,” Rosalyn concludes. “But I suppose that’s house hunting in Gotham for you. We’re only waiting on the home inspection now that the holidays are wrapping up, but that should go fine, and then it’s just closing. We’re hoping to move in in February.”

“Fingers crossed.” Director Yang takes a drink from her glass, glancing fondly up at Rosalyn from the side of her eyes.

Fondly. Kevin is going to combust, especially when Rosalyn nudges into Director Yang’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s—I’m glad you’ve found a place,” says Mr Wayne, sounding a little faint, and looking like the champagne has hit him with a two-by-four instead of BAC.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Rosalyn beams, her cheeks gone a little pink.

“How long have you and Vi known each other, Rosalyn?” Chief Fox asks. “She’s so tight-lipped about her personal life, I’m afraid it’s a mystery.”

“Oh! That’s—” she flashes a quick look at Director Yang “—a little under a year?”

“Eight months,” says Director Yang.

Rosalyn clears her throat, pinking a little more, but Chief Fox just makes a noise of sudden comprehension.

“Ah, so it’s you we have to thank for the office’s standing desk trend, then.” He raises his glass at Rosalyn, eyes crinkled.

“Trend?”

“It caught on after Director Yang got hers and everyone started making a fuss about her timers for changing desk positions.”

“I—well—yes, I suppose that was me, then. I didn’t realize it’d made a fuss, though. Vi, you didn’t say!”

Kevin and Michael share yet another aghast look, and Kevin is rapidly revising his ranking on who present is scariest, Rosalyn now taking the top slot. Anyone who can get Director Yang to do their bidding and make Chief Fox laugh and who somehow knows Bruce Wayne well enough to be on a first-name basis deserves the gold medal.

Rosalyn takes a sip of champagne, seemingly a little flustered, and her bright lipstick doesn’t even leave a mark on the glass. Just in case Kevin needed more evidence of her uncanny, eldritch powers.

---

Nothing as gauche as a shouting match, dramatic declarations, or running off into the night happens as the New Year’s ball drops.

Instead, the attendees are all witnesses to various anomalies: the domesticity of Rosalyn and Director Yang fetching drinks and hors d’oeuvres for each other, giggle fits from the women and a round of full-bellied laughter from Chief Fox, and glassy-eyed looks cast over the edges of a speedily replenished series of champagne flutes by Mr Wayne as he makes his social rounds. Whether the expression was caused by sentiment, alcohol, or pure bewilderment was the point of contention fueling a new betting pool.

The cherry on top is when Rosalyn, herself some glasses in, starts loudly care-taking Director Yang.

“—I can see the goosebumps, Vi!” she chastises, starting to shrug off the jacket of her fuchsia pantsuit. Kevin is gratified that Henry also chokes at the arm muscle and cleavage displayed by the now-visible camisole, the same shiny fuchsia fabric as the suit.

“My coat’s in the car, I’ll be fine,” Director Yang—pouts?!

“Yes, it’s doing you so much good in the car.” Rosalyn manhandles Director Yang into putting on the jacket over her silvery-gray dress while Director Yang sulkily submits, but Rosalyn ends with an affectionate kiss on the cheek that has Claire gasping and clutching onto Patricia, making a high-pitched coo.

“Mr Fox, I think we should take this as our cue to exit for the evening,” says Rosalyn, arm lingering around Director Yang’s shoulders.

Director Yang gives a sharp, two-fingered jab to Rosalyn’s ribs, making the woman let out an “Eep!”

“Lucius, please, Rosalyn,” Chief Fox protests, and Michael’s jaw drops at his words. Chief Fox’s eyes are sparkling at the scene in front of him, though Johanna has been keeping the tally on everyone, and he’s had five glasses by now according to her. “And of course. I’ll be in touch with Vi about Tanya and I having the two of you over for dinner once things settle down on the housing front.”

Rosalyn seems to inflate with the force of her happiness at the prospect. “Absolutely, I’d love to meet her! Luke and Tam, too, now that I’ve heard so much!”

“Little Luke’s a riot,” Director Yang says dryly. “You should grill him on how he thinks shoulders work.”

“Those sound like fighting words.” Rosalyn nods, completely serious, though not losing the sense of good humor she’s kept throughout the night. She and Chief Fox shake hands and exchange genial goodbyes, while Director Yang detaches herself from her date long enough to give the man a two-armed hug. Rosalyn then returns her arm to Director Yang’s shoulders, steering her towards the valet service at the exit.

With the intimate proximity and rhythmic complexity of tango dancers, ‘clickety-clack-click-clackety’ and away the devil saunters with her consort.

The office pool pivots back to watching Chief Fox when, in the aftermath, he approaches Mr Wayne—who had watched the two women leave with his brow furrowed ever-so-slightly—and they share a few words before Chief Fox gives him a clap on the back that looks suspiciously conciliatory.

Johanna assesses her nearly empty flute of champagne. “I need something harder.”

Kevin just wants Mr Wayne’s two-by-four from earlier in the evening, hoping that traumatic brain injury will still be less traumatic than everything he’s been forced to witness tonight.

#verm's and my take: knowing modern makeup is going to give you an edge over typical 90s fashion #and if you're dressing to the nines it's that little bit extra #and otherwise neither of them fits the era's beauty standards #a number of different selves #folie a deux #forgot to add explicitly that we cowrote this over the week 😅#my brain doesn't like functioning sorry

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