#in relation to spoons look out for a requested one shot later this week!

[thetomorrowshow]

poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 10

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ok i know i said last chapter was the penultimate one but i lied this is actually the penultimate one jsdhfj

cw: brief psych ward setting, mentioned past suicide attempts, panic attacks, non-graphic flashbacks

~

“I’m glad you’re here, Major, because he’s not doing well.”

Scott nods, fidgets with his mask. It’s strange, being out as Major in jeans and a t-shirt, but full superhero getup had seemed inappropriate for a psych ward. “I’m just glad he’s agreed to see me.”

The man—Josh, not just someone random, but Solidarity’s therapist—gives him a tired smile. “He’s gotten better, but this just isn’t the right environment for his recovery. We’re doing all we can.”

“I understand.”

He frowns, and Scott can tell that he doesn’t think Scott does understand. And maybe he’s right. Scott hasn’t seen Solidarity in almost a month. He doesn’t know anything about him.

They’ve been given special allowances to meet privately, for anonymity purposes. Without much further discussion, Josh leads him out of his office and into what appears to be a vacant residential room, a card table and two folding chairs set up beside the bunk.

When Scott enters, Solidarity is already in the room. He looks up, and Scott can’t help but swallow back a wave of nausea at his appearance.

There are deep purple bruises ringing his dull eyes, set into a waxy, thin face. His hair is at an awkward length, too short to pull back but too long to let lie without styling, which clearly isn’t an option here. He fidgets with the sleeve of the grey hoodie that almost swallows his emaciated frame. He’s not wearing a mask—again intended to help with anonymity—and he seems self-conscious about that, hand going up to pull at nothing every once in a while.

Scott doesn’t know what he’d expected—someone who looked less like a corpse, he supposes. Someone who was doing poorly, as Josh had said, but better than this.

Scott sits down opposite him at the card table as Josh eases the door shut behind him. It’s just him and Solidarity, and Scott occupies himself with the table for a few moments to stall whatever type of conversation he has to have. There’s very little on the table—what looks like a protein shake in a styrofoam cup, a couple of sheets of looseleaf paper with colored markers. The papers are all blank. Nothing that would usually grab his attention for very long.

There’s no more putting it off. Scott’s not sure what’s going to happen—if Solidarity will be calm and coherent, or if he’ll scream so terribly like he did when Xornoth died, echoing the fight that still haunts Scott’s nightmares.

“Hi,” Scott greets eventually, settling in and brushing his hair behind his ear. Solidarity’s eyes follow the movement. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

Solidarity doesn’t move.

It’s slightly disconcerting to not get a response, but Scott forges on. “Your therapist told me you haven’t been doing well. Do you want to tell me about that?”

Solidarity stares at him blankly. Scott waits. 

He sort of wishes that they’d warned him about how he would behave.

“It’s okay if not. You don’t have to answer any questions you’re uncomfortable with. Are they treating you well? Feeding you enough?”

Solidarity’s eyes are still dead, but his lips twist into a wry imitation of a smile as he gestures to the protein drink. Finally, a response of some sort. Scott picks up the cup, waits for Solidarity’s nod before bringing the beige mixture to his nose to sniff.

“Yuck,” he grimaces. “They expect you to drink this stuff?”

Solidarity clears his throat, mutters something.

“Sorry?”

He says it again, barely louder. “Not exactly fine dining.”

Scott can’t help it—he laughs. He laughs probably harder and longer than necessary, trailing off with a conspiratorial, “When I bust you out of here, we’ll stop at McDonald’s or something. Get a burger and fries.”

Solidarity freezes. Looks up at him. Looks him in the eyes. “Out?”

He hadn’t meant to say that immediately. He was supposed to ease it into the conversation, wait until Solidarity was somewhat comfortable before bringing it up. No hope of that now.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I said, they told me you aren’t doing great here. Your therapist said he thinks you’ll do better outside of this environment. So I offered to be the supervision or whatever you need for a while. If that’s okay with you.”

Solidarity doesn’t answer, but unlike his blank stare from a moment earlier, he’s clearly thinking. After a minute, he absently uncaps a blue colored marker and scribbles a couple of words onto the paper, the position of his arm blocking Scott from being able to see it.

“What would that look like?”

It’s a good question. A smart question, and just him asking that is giving Scott hope for improvement. He takes a moment himself to gather his thoughts—he’s been considering this for about a week now, officially—though his first thoughts of bringing Solidarity into his home (for protection then rather than recuperation) had occurred approximately a year ago.

“You’d live in my house,” Scott tells him, shifting a bit in his seat. Solidarity nods, writes something else. “There wouldn’t be someone constantly watching you, and your bedroom would actually have a lock. You’d be free to go about the house as you liked, but I would have to ask that if you wanted to go someplace outside, you would let me accompany you.”

He has no clue what Solidarity is thinking. He has to take a breath to remind himself that just because he isn’t talking doesn’t mean he isn’t listening. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t know what’s going on in his head.

“You would continue with therapy and whatever medications they’ve prescribed you since being here, of course. We would shift you to a new therapist—probably mine, for secrecy type stuff. Otherwise, we would try to get you back into a normal lifestyle, get you to a place where you feel comfortable and safe living on your own again.”

Solidarity writes on his paper, caps the blue marker, and reaches for a red one instead. He writes a bit more, crosses something out. He looks up suddenly, gaze piercing.

“I don’t—I don’t cause accidents, anymore,” he says, and the hand not holding the red marker seems to unconsciously drift to rub at the back of his neck. “They—I can control it, now. They fixed that.”

Scott highly doubts that anything was fixed by Xornoth ever, but he nods to show Solidarity that he understands. “What does that mean for you?”

Solidarity shifts uncomfortably. “I feel safer, I guess. Being around people. And places.” He writes something down, twiddles the marker between his fingers. “How soon?”

“Until we would hypothetically leave?”

A short nod.

“I think they told me they need about four days to get your discharge stuff worked out,” answers Scott. He leans forward. “They also told me it would be really nice if you could speak up during a group therapy session, but that it’s okay if you don’t feel ready for that yet.”

Solidarity’s eyes narrow. “If I talk during group, can they make it three days?”

Oh. He actually . . . wants to go with Scott. Either Solidarity’s opinion of him is quite a lot higher than Scott had assumed, or he really hates this place.

“I can ask them about it. There’s one more condition to you coming home with me, though.”

Quicker than quick, Solidarity’s expression becomes guarded. He sets down the marker, stares down at his paper.

Scott smiles as gently as he can manage. “I need you to sign a medical release form—meaning that I get to see your records. It won’t tell me anything that you’ve talked about in therapy,” he’s quick to add, “it’ll just give me your diagnoses, medical history, and give your doctors permission to talk to me about concerns. Is that all right?”

Another long pause, but Scott’s beginning to be okay with it. If this is how Solidarity communicates, then he can get used to giving him time to think. Solidarity picks up the marker again, writes one more word, then clicks the cap on.

“That’s fine,” he says, and Scott’s heart leaps. He finally can help him in a way that matters. He can finally start to repay him for all that Xornoth did.

Solidarity stands, quite suddenly, and steps away toward the door. “Remember to ask about the group thing,” he tells Scott quietly, and then he’s gone.

Scott sits for several more seconds, then stands as well. On Solidarity’s paper, in blue and red marker, are random, disconnected words and fragmented sentences, surrounded by absent little squiggles.

Anxious. Person. Leaving? I have autonomy. Outside sources. I have autonomy. Nervous, but okay. No panic attack. Hopeful.

Hopeful. Scott thinks he’s pretty hopeful, too.

-

Scott’s hand shakes when he dials the number scribbled onto Solidarity’s—Jimmy, his name is Jimmy, he’d heard it once a month ago and now he has permission to use it—discharge papers. Jimmy’s in the shower, door locked, and Scott has no plans to interrupt him.

When a vaguely familiar voice answers, it’s barely a moment before Scott starts speaking.

“It’s Major. You said I could call with any questions?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

“His papers.” Scott’s still holding the one that bothers him, the one that nobody had mentioned to him. “It says—it says four suicide attempts. Wh—can I know—why did no one—?”

A long sigh from Josh on the other end. “Look, as his therapist I’m not allowed to say much. But all of those attempts occurred when he was still in the hospital recovering, before we moved him to the inpatient mental health unit. TJ expressed to me that he didn’t know what was happening and that he finds hospitals incredibly distressing. My evaluations found him to not be a danger to himself at the moment.”

The knot in Scott’s chest loosens slightly at the words. “So he’s not on any sort of watch?”

“Nothing like that. You can ask him about it, I’m sure he would be honest.”

Scott ends the conversation after a few more unnecessary questions, then places all of the papers back into a neat pile on the dining room table.

It’s weird having Jimmy living here. It’s only been a few days, but Scott hasn’t had a roommate in a long time.

Not that he and Jimmy interact much. Jimmy stays in his room more often than not, but a ground rule Scott had laid down requires him to eat at least one meal a day with Scott—just to make sure he’s eating. Scott always tries to cook, or else get take-out, to try and get Jimmy into the habit of enjoying food. He makes sure to label in the fridge or cabinets if there’s anything he’s planning a meal for, but otherwise Jimmy knows that food is up for grabs at all times of the day. Scott thinks he eats relatively frequently. It’s hard to tell—again, it’s only been a few days.

He’s still rattled by the words on the highly confidential paper—four attempts—so he shifts his attention to cooking. Vegetarian lasagna, he’s thinking—sweet potatoes and spinach and a white sauce with noodles and cheese. That sounds fine.

The shower shuts off while Scott is layering the ingredients. That’s good; he can ask Jimmy about his diagnoses while the lasagna cooks.

A phone call from yesterday nags at his mind, and Scott knows he needs to talk to Jimmy about that as well.

When Jimmy enters the kitchen ten minutes later, hair toweled dry and clothes slightly sticking to him, Scott smiles the best he can.

“Hi, Jimmy! I’m making lasagna for dinner. Feel up to joining me?”

Jimmy’s eyes dart around Scott’s head, looking anywhere but at him directly. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he says eventually. He carefully, quietly pulls out a chair at the dining table and perches on the edge of it, as if uncertain of his welcome.

Scott knows the moment he notices the papers, because his idle fidgeting ceases. Jimmy goes oddly still, looks down at his knees. Scott shoots him several glances, trying to discern what emotion his face is displaying.

Maybe he’s nervous. “I thought it might be helpful to go over your papers quickly, if that’s all right,” Scott tells him, foiling the top of the lasagna and putting the whole pan in the oven. He sets the timer for twenty minutes and pulls up his own seat at the table, shuffles through the papers for a moment. Jimmy doesn’t move, which Scott takes as an affirmative answer.

“First off, it lists your medications. It looks like you’re on an anti-anxiety and an antidepressant, as well as a couple of vitamin supplements. Have you been taking those as instructed?”

A nod.

“Good. Any bad side effects?”

“Nothing I’ve noticed,” Jimmy says. Scott almost pumps his fist. It’s only been two days, yet those are probably the most words Jimmy’s spoken strung together.

“Great.” Scott sets aside the prescription sheet. “Let me know when you get down to about three days left, yeah? Then we can go pick up the prescription—wait, Paxil?” He looks closer at the medication names, some strange feeling bubbling up within him. “I take Paxil, too, that’s hilarious.”

That catches Jimmy’s attention, and finally his eyes leave his lap. “You—er, you take antidepressants?”

“Have since I was a teenager.” His own dose is lower than Jimmy’s, but it’s funny in some strange way. It’s a bonding moment. “That’s so weird, I love that. We can get our prescriptions at the same time!”

For the first time that Scott thinks he’s ever seen, Jimmy smiles. It’s a small smile, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and it vanishes quickly, but to Scott it’s the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. In a totally normal, platonic way. And in a totally normal, platonic way, he wants to see that smile again.

“Right. So according to this, you’re diagnosed with. . . .” Scott finds the right paper, reads it off: “PTSD, anxiety, depression, selective mutism, and possible BPD. Does that sound about right?”

Jimmy snorts. “Yeah, apparently ‘tortured and forced to be a psychotic maniac’s pet’ isn’t in the DSM-5, so that cocktail is what’s wrong with me.”

Scott blinks. He’s—how is he—?

Almost without his input, his mouth drops into a horrified O shape and his hands shoot up to cover it, eyes wide. “Jimmy—”

“That was a joke!” Jimmy says quickly, hands coming up defensively—but Scott can see that he’s starting to smile again. “Sorry. It’s easier to cope sometimes if I joke. I can stop.”

Scott opens his mouth to reassure him, but what comes out instead is incredulous laughter. He cuts it off quickly, still totally shaken by what Jimmy’s just said. “No, please joke,” Scott says. “It’s—it was a good joke, it was just—I shouldn’t have laughed, it was a really inappropriate thing for me to laugh at.” He takes a moment to compose himself. “But seriously, if you ever need someone to talk to—and I need to get you an appointment with Nora, she’s a great therapist—but other than that, I’m here. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m willing to listen and help any way I can.”

Jimmy shrugs, but Scott thinks it’s a positive shrug. Then, as if bracing himself, he speaks. “I’m quiet sometimes. That’s the mutism thing. Yeah. Um, I have panic attacks a lot, and flashbacks. And both at once. That’s—I think that’s all that’s important for you to know right now.”

That’s entirely fair, and a lot more than Scott had expected to get. Scott turns to the next page, the one that details Jimmy’s stay in the emergency room. . . .

He turns that page as well. He hasn’t noticed any concerning behavior. If it comes up, he’ll ask Jimmy about it. For now, he’ll trust what he’s been told.

“Any allergies?”

Jimmy shrugs again. “Not that I know of. You?”

That takes Scott aback. This isn’t—what is this, speed-dating? He’s supposed to be asking the questions!

If it makes Jimmy feel less like he’s being interrogated, though. . . .

“Almonds,” Scott says, then amends, “it’s not exactly an allergy yet, though. More of a sensitivity. Anything you won’t eat?”

Again, Jimmy shrugs. Scott thinks he’d best get used to this form of communication. “Not a huge fan of peanut butter sandwiches. To be fair, I’ve not really had much for the better part of a year, so I’ll eat anything.”

“Great, because I’ve got a vegetarian lasagna in the oven right now and it would be awkward if you weren’t gonna eat spinach. Is Nutella good in the realm of sandwiches, or would you prefer lunch meat?”

Another almost-smile, but this one Jimmy covers by looking away. “Whatever you prefer. I’m not picky, I swear.”

That about wraps up Scott’s questions, all but one. The one that’s been on his mind since he received the phone call yesterday evening.

“Jimmy,” he starts, pulling all the papers together and pushing them to the side, “I got a call yesterday. From Lizzie.”

He notices the way Jimmy flinches, the guilt that suddenly lines his face. He wants to ask what happened between them, how they got separated in the first place. That’s none of his business, though. “She wants to meet with you, if you feel up to that. She says it’s okay if not, but she reassured me that if you agreed to meet, there would be no murder.”

And he’d asked. Several times.

“She just wants to talk. That’s what she told me. If you agreed, she would come here alone some day next week. The two of you would talk in the nice living room. I would be present if you want me to, but otherwise just somewhere else in the house. Would that be okay?”

Jimmy’s quiet for a long moment. Long enough that Scott starts to wonder if he should check on the lasagna. Agonizingly slowly, he asks,

“Do I have to?”

“Not at all,” Scott responds instantly. “I can tell her you don’t want to, it’s not a problem.”

Jimmy’s shoulders slump, and Scott realizes just how scared he’d been in those few minutes. “I need to,” he explains, voice trembling, “but . . . I will, I promise, it’s just so hard. I owe it to her, but my head is too messed up right now.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I owe Lizzie this,” Jimmy says firmly. “You don’t know what happened, you don’t get to pass judgment on it. But she deserves to hear it right, and I don’t—I don’t think I can yet. Can you tell her that?”

Scott smiles. “Of course.” he doesn’t quite understand, but he knows (of course he knows, how could he not) that Jimmy is going through a lot in his head. He isn’t necessarily privy to any of it. Nora had told him only last week that it’s possible Jimmy is fighting his own brain just to wear clothes, speak, or even move. Jimmy’s right. It’s not up to him to pass judgment. All he can do is have compassion.

The lasagna beeps and Scott hops up. And if he accidentally frosts over the counter in his excitement when Jimmy asks about how he made the lasagna, nobody needs to know.

-

Jimmy stays in his room more often than not. It’s not until one day, close to a month into his stay, that Scott realizes all he does in there is stare at the wall.

If he thinks about that for too long, Scott wants to throw up.

So he makes more of an effort to invite him out of the room. The suggestion that seems to actually entice him is the in-home gym, so Scott shows Jimmy how to use the equipment in there and monitors his work-outs. He’d called Jimmy’s primary physician to clear exercise, and she’d said that as long as he started out with only half an hour, three times a week, he’d be fine to build up naturally as his body recovered.

Jimmy seems frustrated by the restriction, but follows it anyway. And every time the timer goes off, he silently packs up whatever he’d been doing and waits at the door with his head bowed. Scott doesn’t know why, but it makes him uncomfortable. Every time he does that, Scott opens the door and calls him by his name when asking him what he wants to snack on. He’s not sure if it helps.

With the gym bringing Jimmy out of his room more and more frequently, Scott starts to just do things around the house in the hopes he’ll join in. One afternoon he rearranges the entire kitchen, and Jimmy sorts through all of the silverware to see which pieces had come from matching sets. He puts on movies and makes a far-too-large bowl of popcorn every other day (and eventually, Jimmy starts slinking in and curling up on the couch a good two feet away from Scott). He washes dishes and asks Jimmy to dry,  or vice versa. And slowly, Jimmy begins to warm up to him.

He’s not cured. It’s the worst feeling in the world when Scott’s chatting idly with him, dusting the nice living room, and suddenly Jimmy’s on the floor with his head in his arms, crying silently.Scott never knows what to do in those moments. He usually ends up waiting it out, asking every so often if Jimmy knows he’s okay. He makes a mental note to himself to learn how to better help when someone has flashbacks or panic attacks.

His current methods don’t seem to be too bad, though, because even with those road bumps Jimmy seems healthier. His skin isn’t so pale anymore, his eyes a bit brighter, his jokes less cautious and comments less careful.

As he learns more about his personality and who he really is, Scott has to admit it to himself: when Jimmy isn’t trying to kill you (or vice versa), the man is . . . endearing.

(He's more than endearing, he’s downright cute, but Scott can’t let himself think that because Jimmy’s not okay with any of that.)

Scott thinks his favorite moment in the first month is when Jimmy scares himself using the garbage disposal.

“It’s—why would you have one of these in your sink?” he demands, pointing at the drain accusingly. “It tried to take my fingers off, all because I flipped a switch I thought would turn on the light—”

“Your hand wasn’t anywhere near it—”

“It’s dangerous,” Jimmy says stubbornly. “Like I’m ever going to wash dishes again.”

“Did you not have one before this?”

Jimmy throws his hands up. “How am I supposed to know? None of my kitchen appliances ever worked!”

Scott almost asks about what life was like before Jimmy’s powers, but cuts himself off. He doesn’t know anything about the man’s past—anything more than apparently Lizzie is his long-lost sister—and he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries. But he laughs it off, and Jimmy, after a moment, laughs as well.

His laugh is a little scratchy, very quiet. It’s almost as if he’s not sure how to laugh, like he doesn’t remember the last time he did.

With a surge of protectiveness, Scott vows to do nothing ever to hurt Jimmy. He refuses to make Jimmy feel like he can’t do something as human as laugh. He will never make him feel unsafe, even if it costs him everything.

-

Scott breaks that vow the very next day.

It’s a no-words day for Jimmy, which have occurred often enough to set a precedent. Scott doesn’t press him to speak, accepts when Jimmy turns down the offer to accompany him to the grocery store, and goes about the day like nothing is different. That goes as normal.

The problem occurs when that night, as they both finish eating dinner, Scott calls for Elle to get some food that he’d dropped.

“Come over here, darling!” he says, accompanied with a click of his tongue, and before he knows what’s happening Jimmy’s pushed his chair back and has fallen to his knees beside Scott.

For a moment, Scott doesn’t react. He’s not sure how he could.

Then Jimmy rests his head on Scott’s lap, and Scott knows what’s happened—he sees it again in his head, Xornoth waiting at the end of a ballroom with the Canary beside him on the floor just like this—

When Scott moves, he moves in disgust and panic.

He shoves Jimmy away, off of him, scrambles back. He’s not sure what happened—but Jimmy had moved so stiffly, so automatically, and the careful tensing of his jaw in his otherwise perfectly blank face tells Scott that he’s in a flashback.

Jimmy stays where Scott had pushed him, head bowed slightly, hands loosely clasped in front of him. “‘M sorry,” Jimmy whispers, voice quavering.

No. No no no no no. He’s gone about this all wrong, hasn’t he? He’s made it worse, he’s scared Jimmy—he’s hurt Jimmy—

He needs to keep a clear head, but Scott’s hands are shaking and he can’t get his brain to form words right. He’s neglected to do any research on how to help with these since the last one he’d witnessed, about a week prior.

“Jimmy?” he manages eventually. Jimmy doesn’t respond. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re not with them anymore. Do you—do you know where you are?”

His instinct is to sweep Jimmy into a hug, but he can’t do that. Not without permission. Not when he’s already in a flashback.

Scott doesn’t know the details of what happened while under Xornoth’s control. All he knows is that Jimmy was kept against his will and trained to act like a pet. Since living with him, Scott’s picked up on some other things—complete subservience, medical malpractice, and some kind of punishments that Jimmy only whispers of in the deepest throes of panic.

Now, Scott asks the only thing he can think to ask. “What can I do to help you feel safe?”

Jimmy blinks. “Scott?” he asks after a moment, the word small and terrified.

He could cry in relief. “Yeah, it’s me,” he says, sliding to the floor beside Jimmy. The man’s position hasn’t changed, still stiff and holding form. “I think you’re having a flashback.” Jimmy’s had several, probably more than Scott knows, yet each time he’s absolutely blindsided. What is he supposed to do? All he remembers from therapy when he was having a panic attack is how to do breathing exercises, but this is something entirely different.

Maybe it could still work?

“Jimmy, can you follow my breathing? I’m gonna count, okay?”

He runs through the breathing exercise seven times before Jimmy’s face starts to relax. It helps Scott, too, helps him center himself back in the situation.

“What can I do to help?” he asks again, and after a moment, Jimmy whispers a question.

“Sing? Maybe?”

And there’s no way Scott can say no. He stalls for a moment, trying to find something in his repertoire that isn’t Disney or showtunes—curse his gayness—but there’s nothing else in his brain right now so he just hopes that this isn’t a secret camera show and goes with a classic.

“Some day, my prince will come . . .

Some day we’ll meet again—

And away to his castle we’ll go,

To be happy forever I know. . . .

Some day, when spring is here . . .

We’ll—um, Idon’tknowthewords—”

Jimmy laughs, and his shoulders ease as he leans back on his hands and untucks his legs from under him. “Thanks,” he mutters, grimaces.

Scott’s not sure if he has the right to ask what that face means. Instead, he offers a smile. “Anytime. Really, if it helps, I’m happy to sing.”

It’s a habit of Jimmy’s to rub the back of his neck, and when he does his hand lingers on a scar there, one of the only scars Scott’s seen on him (he’s certain there’s more, but Jimmy only wears long sleeves and long pants, thereby hiding any marks from Scott’s view). There’s a strange look on his face, almost contemplative, as he regards Scott.

Jimmy doesn’t speak, so Scott assumes that he’s still a little thrown from the flashback and moves to stand, ready to help Jimmy up from the floor. As he’s supporting him, though, Jimmy opens his mouth.

“They never sang, or anything,” he says, voice terribly vulnerable and shaky. “Only classical music. If—I remember thinking if I had to hear Danse Macabre one more time I’d go insane.”

Scott chuckles at the joke, grunts when Jimmy’s left leg slips out from under him. They both halt for a moment, Jimmy hissing curses under his breath as he tries to steady himself.

“Anyway, heard you singing the other day,” Jimmy continues once they’ve made it to the living room sofa. “I was having a bit of a rough time in my room, and you were singing, and . . . it helped. To remind me that I’m not there.”

There’s a feeling in Scott’s chest, something squeezing at his heart and making it leap into his throat. As he sits next to him on the sofa and Jimmy leans lightly against him, he decides he’s just particularly protective of Jimmy and learning new ways he can help makes him want to do his best.

Exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Scott has to revise that.

He has a crush on Jimmy.

-

He can’t have a crush on Jimmy. It just—he can’t like him. After all, it was an accident caused by Jimmy that killed Aeor.

But that excuse feels flimsier and flimsier as the days pass and Scott becomes more and more enamoured with Jimmy. He’s just—he’s—

Well, for one thing, he’s really funny. He’s the funniest person Scott’s ever met, from remarking drily after burning toast well, it’s not like the toaster’s ever made it this far so I think this is an improvement; to eyeing the TV through slitted eyes like a wary cat after admitting he doesn’t trust it not to explode.

For another, he’s so strong. Maybe not physically, at the moment—although Scott’s been hard-pressed to keep Jimmy from overworking himself in the home gym—but Scott’s never met a more driven individual. Despite everything he’s been through, Jimmy keeps getting up in the morning. He shoulders flashbacks and panic attacks like they’re nothing, eats meals with Scott even when he clearly feels uncomfortable about the food, and fights daily to even remember who and where he is. Scott’s never met anyone stronger, and he doesn’t mean that in a performative way. He genuinely respects and looks up to Jimmy, to the point where he finds himself nervous about impressing him.

And—well. Jimmy’s a bit of a himbo, and—Scott’s never been able to resist a good himbo, okay? Muscles are quickly building, and that combined with his (albeit usually hidden) puppy-dog nature and good looks and everything else make him all Scott’s ever wanted in a romantic partner.

He’s perfect, he’s absolutely perfect, and Scott knows it every time he helps Jimmy recover from a flashback and every time he teaches Jimmy how to prepare a new meal and every time Jimmy smiles and all the times in the between. Normally, Scott would feel confused by just how quickly this crush has formed, what with Jimmy only having lived here for about a month—but to be fair, he has sort of been obsessing over the man for the better part of a year. Maybe it’s to be expected.

He can’t have a crush, though.

Scott will always care so very deeply about Aeor. He will always mourn him. But what happened to Aeor was never Jimmy’s fault, and Scott finds himself thinking that maybe it’s okay to move on in this way. Maybe it’s okay to acknowledge that what happened wasn’t anything that anyone could control or prevent.

That doesn’t mean he has to have anything with Jimmy.

That doesn’t mean he should have anything with Jimmy. Because when it really comes down to it, when Aeor is set aside and Scott asks himself what’s stopping him, there’s a rather glaring roadblock.

Scott is Jimmy’s conservator. He holds a frankly unfair amount of power over the man, deciding when he’s in his right mind to perform even the most basic of independent tasks. The control is terrifying to be the holder of, and he can’t help but think not only is it entirely inappropriate to seek a romantic relationship with the person he holds conservatorship over, but also that it could be very bad for Jimmy mentally to receive advances from someone in a position of power.

Scott agonizes over it for an entire month, even as he helps Jimmy make arrangements to meet up with Lizzie and then helps him gather the courage to actually do it. And in the aftermath, seeing Jimmy and Lizzie awkwardly (but lovingly) embrace before she leaves, he starts to wonder about something.

It’s only then that he thinks to maybe bring up his concerns to his therapist. To her credit, Nora doesn’t seem at all surprised by his confession, guilt, and feelings of dirtiness for wanting Jimmy that way when it could very well be seen as abusive.

She talks him through it, and though she agrees that pursuing anything while conservator would be inappropriate, she begins listing suggestions—namely, the one Scott had first wondered about when he saw the reunification of the siblings.

So two weeks after that, with shaking hands, Scott calls up Lizzie and asks her how far along she is on becoming a registered citizen.

[wandaromanova]

Date Night

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, sexual suggestion, that’s all!

A/N: hello! here is some fluff for y’all! hope you enjoy! happy reading <3

anon requested: Hi honey! I saw that your requests are open :)) I was wondering if I may please request a fluffly Natasha Romanoff x fem reader one shot, where she surprises the reader with a lunch date (reader has had a super stressful week!) and then convinces her to take the rest of the day off. Later on maybe Natasha starts dropping hints at their future together and later on in the week she proposes (maybe somewhere that has meaning to them) after a very romantic dinner. Thank you!! :))

Summary: Natasha convinces her girlfriend to take some time off of work. They end up having a date night unlike any of their previous ones.

Word Count: 3K

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please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha stared up at the tall building with two bags of food in hand. She was about to surprise you with some lunch, considering you haven’t been able to take a single break the entire week.

Seriously, even when you were at home, you’d be working on paperwork or taking call after call from your company partners. You’d then go back to work the next morning and completely neglect your own needs, the only thing you’d focus on was anything work-related.

You were the CEO of a major telecommunications company and things have been super hectic around your office. You barely had time to breathe with everything that had been going on, so, Natasha thought that it would be a good idea to give you a nice surprise.

She made her way into the building and got into one of the fancy elevators, quickly tapping the button to the top floor and stood in silence, lively elevator music filling the small space.

When the doors opened, she walked out and was greeted by your secretary; Megan.

“Hi, Ms. Romanoff. Ms. L/N is just in her office working on some paperwork. She has a meeting in 20 minutes, though.”

Megan sent Natasha a friendly smile. The redhead simply nodded and mumbled out a small ‘thank you’ before opening the door to your office.

She was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk. The light poured into the tall windows in the room, providing sufficient lighting.

You glanced up from your papers at the sound of the door closing softly. Natasha smiled at you and held up the bags of food. Your lips turned upward at the sight of your girlfriend of five years.

“Honey, what are you doing here?” You asked as you got up from your desk, quickly making your way over to greet the Russian. You pulled her in by the waist and into a tight hug.

“I thought you could use some lunch. You haven’t been taking care of yourself and I’m here to change that.” Natasha mumbled into your neck as her arms rested on your shoulder, gripping onto the food she still had in her hands.

“Baby, you didn’t need to come all the way here. I’m fine, just been super busy lately is all.” You pulled back slightly and stared into green eyes.

“Yes, I needed to. I can’t just standby while you’re practically drowning in stress.”

Natasha got out of your embrace and made her way over to your desk, placing the food down and turning around, leaning onto the table with two hands gripping the furniture behind her.

“I’ll manage, it’s kind of my job.” You let out a small giggle, rounding the desk and sitting on your chair. Natasha turned in her spot as you patted your lap.

“Come on, let’s eat the food you brought. I have a meeting soon so we gotta be quick.”

Natasha walked toward you and sat in your lap, your arms circling around her waist. She opened the food and laid out the plates of Thai food.

Natasha fed you and herself. You both sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Occasionally, Nat would mimic an airplane or train noise as she moved the spoon closer to you, laughing as she abruptly shoved the utensil into your mouth.

After fifteen minutes had passed, you looked at your watch and sighed. You had another meeting that would probably be ridiculously long for no reason.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I have to get going. I have a meeting in five.”

You moved to get up, but Natasha refused to move off of your lap. You raised an eyebrow at her, the redhead giving you a stern look.

“Take the day off.” You shook your head in protest. You couldn’t take a day off, not now at least.

“Honey, you know I would if I could, bu-“ Natasha immediately cut you off, pressing her lips against yours before pulling back quickly.

“You can though. You’ve been working more than necessary! Please, it’s not even a full day off, it’s half a day.”

Natasha gave you the best puppy dog eyes and pout that she could, knowing how it affected you. Of course, she ended up winning.

“Fine, fine.” You muttered out, leaning forward and pressing a button on your desk-side phone, paging Megan, who sat just outside your office.

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” Your assistant’s spritely voice rang through the phone.

“Megan, could you please clear the rest of my day? I’m taking the day off.” You heard some shuffling on the other end of the phone before the woman replied.

“Okay, your schedule has been cleared and your meetings have been rescheduled to tomorrow.”

Natasha, who could faintly hear the other end of the conversation, smiled triumphantly and placed a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“Thank you.” And with that, you hung up and returned your attention to the beaming redhead in your lap.

“You never play fair.” You mumbled against her cheek as you placed a gentle kiss against her skin.

“All is fair in love and war, moya lyubov (my love).” You rolled your eyes at the Russian while holding back a smile.

She got out of your hold and stood up, grabbing both of your hands and forcefully pulling you to your feet.

“Let’s go! I know a few things we could do today.” Natasha spoke seductively and sent you a little wink before grabbing the trash on your desk and throwing it away in the small trash can you had under the table.

You watched with a wide smile as she waltzed toward the door, making sure to sway her hips a little more, exaggerating the movement. There was an extra spring in her step that caused her red locks to bounce with each movement.

She turned her head around when her hand was on the doorknob, smirking at you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Are you coming or not?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I have a feeling I will be soon.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

4 hours later

You laid in bed with Natasha by your side, her head resting on your shoulder with an arm around your torso.

After hours of love-making, you guys had finally gotten to relax. You both just stayed there in each other’s arms, appreciating the moment.

“Honey?” Natasha spoke, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head to look down at her, the redhead already staring up at you as you hummed.

“Have you ever thought about what you want your future to look like?”

This wasn’t the first time you guys have discussed the future. You’d both mention small tidbits of your aspirations and goals, but never went too far into the details of it all.

“Well, first starters, you’re definitely there.” Natasha smiled up at you with bright eyes. It absolutely warmed your heart to see her so full of joy.

“Really?” You nodded your head and kissed her forehead, the redhead briefly shutting her eyes as your soft lips met her skin.

“Really.” You pulled back, brushing your nose against hers. The redhead placed a hand on your cheek, as connected your foreheads.

“Well, I see you in mine too. Maybe we would end up leaving this penthouse and buy an actual home together.”

You nodded with a wide smile. The thought of buying a property with the woman you adored had you giddy.

“Yeah, definitely. Then maybe we could have little rascals of our own running around. We could find a surrogate or maybe even adopt if you’d want to.”

Natasha felt like she was going to melt into a puddle of love. The thought of having children to raise with you filled her with more joy than ever.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I’d love that.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The moment was cut off when a loud yawn tore through your body, promoting a little giggle from your girlfriend.

She cuddled closer to you, her arm tightening around your body with a smile on her face.

“Let’s get some rest.” Natasha’s words were slightly slurred, the exhaustion of your previous activities hitting her.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Yeah, so we can have energy for a round two.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Yeah right, more like round ten.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Go big or go home!”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Go to sleep, idiot.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

5 days later

It was a Saturday night and Natasha had practically forced you to not go into work.

Usually, you would go into the office on Saturdays, despite having the day off, to get some extra work out of the way, but your girlfriend was extremely persistent.

So now, here you two were, getting ready to go out for a date night. You had to admit that this was a good idea.

You couldn’t remember the last time you and Nat had gone out on a date; it was a rarity with how busy you both would be majority of the time.

You walked out of the bathroom after brushing out your hair, your heart racing at the sight of your girlfriend clad in a simple black body-con dress that hugged her curves in all the right places paired with a cute, black blazer.

She straightened her hair and did her makeup just the way you liked it.

You stalked over to the woman who stood in front of the full-body length mirror, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and placing a soft kiss onto her cheek.

“You look gorgeous, baby. I’m so lucky.” Your eyes raked over her figure through the reflection of the mirror before meeting her green ones.

“Thank you, but I’m the lucky one. I swear, if we didn’t have reservations, I’d rip your clothes off and take you right here.”

Natasha’s voice came out husky when you kissed the side of her neck. You sucked on her skin lightly and went to leave a mark, but the Russian turned around in your embrace.

“No marks, not until after dinner at least.” You let out a small whine, pulling her front against yours tightly.

“Oh come on! It’s not like we haven’t ditched our reservations for dinner before. I miss you.”

You tried to go for her neck again, but she flicked your forehead. You stared at her with a look that screamed ‘what the fuck was that for?’

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve been looking forward to having a date night for months. We aren’t missing this. Let’s go.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Two hours later

Natasha had taken you to one of the best restaurants in New York. You weren’t one for fancy places, you were more of a ‘let’s order takeout and watch tv’ kind of gal, but Natasha absolutely loved luxurious dining experiences.

When you both arrived, the waited immediately escorted you both to the most private table in the house.

The table was set with candles and rose petals were spread across the tablecloth. You were blown away, seeing as the table overlooked the city.

Natasha pulled your seat back for you, placing a soft kiss on her cheek as you sat down. You watched as she rounded the table and sat in the chair across from you.

Her skin was golden as the candlelight brightened up her face, accentuating her green eyes beautifully. She had a cheeky smile on her face and wiggled her eyebrows at you before looking at the menu.

Of course, the redhead ordered the best wine the restaurant had to offer, immediately asking for a bottle of the alcohol.

You two talked about anything and everything over the course of the dinner. You had to admit, this was probably one of the best dates you guys had ever been on, besides your first one, at least.

As you both finished off your meals and were given the check, you noticed that Natasha couldn’t seem to sit still.

She was tapping her fingers against the table anxiously as she gnawed on her bottom lip. You placed your hand on top of hers, stopping the insistent movement.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked in concern. It was really unlike Natasha to be nervous, especially during date night.

She was usually relaxed and content whenever you both had time to spend out together.

The redhead sent you a reassuring smile and flipped her hand over, intertwining your fingers before bringing your conjoined hands up to her lips, kissing the back of your hand.

“Never better, hon. Come on, there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Natasha placed her credit card into the bill holder and waved down a waiter and shortly after, you both walked out into the cool New York air, hand-in-hand.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Your eyes lit up when you noticed where your next destination was; Central Park.

You had always loved the park. There was something so beautiful about the scenery and the usual liveliness of the area that brought you so much peace and comfort.

Natasha led you towards a pond that was located in the heart of the park and you immediately recognized which one it was.

The redhead stopped in her tracks on top of the tiny bridge that hovered over the pond.

“Do you remember this spot?” She asked you as she turned around to face you, hand still linked with yours.

“How could I forget? You took me here on our very first date to feed the ducks, which completely backfired.” You let out a laugh at the memory, Natasha’s cheeks turning red.

“I wouldn’t say it backfired…” The redhead mumbled shyly which only made you laugh harder.

“Honey, you ended up getting attacked by pigeons because you were holding the bread. You walked me home covered in bird shit and your clothes were absolutely torn apart.”

You were practically crying from your laughter and you felt Natasha’s hand heating up in yours.

“It wasn’t funny! I really liked that outfit.” Natasha pouted as your laughter died down.

You placed a kiss onto her pouty lips, her frown quickly replaced with a bright smile.

“Anyway, I took you here because this is where our first date was which obviously resulted in us dating.”

You nodded your head at her words, deciding to remain silent when you noticed she had more to add.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“And, well… this is where I want our last date, as girlfriends, to be.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You felt your heart sink at her words. Was she breaking up with you right now? It didn’t make any sense! She didn’t ever show any indication that she was unhappy or wanted to leave you.

However, before you could completely break down, Natasha let out a shaky breath, and it was then that you noticed how shaky her hands were.

“Y/N, All my life, I never thought that I’d find love. After all of the things that the Red Room had taught me and forced me to do, I never believed that love was in the cards for me, but then I met you, and everything changed.”

You stared at Natasha curiously. This definitely didn’t sound like a breakup. So what was she going on about?

“I never ever thought that one day, I’d find someone that I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. I never thought that I’d ever want to buy a house and build a family with another person, but god, I’m so fucking happy that I was wrong.”

Your eyes watered when the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. Your thoughts were confirmed as Natasha let go of your hand and slowly bent down on one knee in front of you, reaching her hand into her blazer pocket, revealing the small velvet red box that had been tucked away in the material.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Baby, these last five years have been the best years I’ve ever had, and it was all because of you.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Your hands flew up to your mouth as a gasp escaped your lips. There were tears in your eyes as she revealed a gorgeous engagement ring to you.

“Y/N, I want you, every day, for the rest of my life. Will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

Natasha’s voice was unstable as she tried to hold back her emotions, but that went out the window when you frantically nodded your head in agreement.

“Yes!” You whispered out in shock. Natasha looked up at you with a wide smile.

“Yeah?” The redhead asked for confirmation and you let out a small chuckle.

“Yes, of course, I’ll marry you! Is that even a question?” Natasha grabbed your left hand shakily and slid the ring onto your finger.

You were both crying at this point. You didn’t care that you were both stood in the freezing cold, in the middle of Central Park.

All that mattered was that this was going to be the beginning of the rest of your life with the woman you loved.

Suddenly, Natasha stood up and picked you up by the waist, twirling you both around.

Honestly, you were surprised she didn’t stumble, considering the fact that she was wearing such high heels. Luckily for you though, she didn’t fall.

You were both laughing like maniacs when she finally stopped spinning. You were like two teenagers in love without a care in the world.

You leaned down, still in her arms, and kissed her passionately.

You could feel all the love and adoration she had for you through the kiss and you prayed to God that she could feel just how much you felt for her too.

When Natasha disconnected the kiss, she placed you gently onto the floor, your arms immediately going around her neck, hers securing themselves around your waist.

“We’re getting married?” She asked in disbelief. Natasha genuinely couldn’t believe that you said yes, even if you never gave her any indication that you would say no.

“We’re getting married.” You reassured her, kissing the tip of her nose, practically melting as her nose scrunched up adorably.

This definitely wasn’t what you expected the night to be like, but you wouldn’t change any detail about it for the world.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were going to be Y/N L/N-Romanoff.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

And that was a name you were going to carry around proudly.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[jilytho]

Fake Laughs and French Fish

"You laughed in a restaurant but you have a really ugly laugh so I thought you were choking" au. The opposite of a meet cute bc James is an idiot. idk what this is but Happy Jilytober!

Read below or on AO3 or FFNT

It was James’s least favorite kind of restaurant. The kind of place where sure, the food is good, but the portion is barely big enough for a snack and the music was too soft and the tablecloths were too stiff and there were too many types of forks that he didn’t know which was meant for salad and which was for stabbing into his thigh. 

All places should have prices on the menu, smarmy little French places were not an exception. But Peter’s birthday had been last week and James had missed the party to deal with a work emergency so he owed him dinner at Peter’s choice of restaurant. And of course, Peter had to pick the most pretentious place in the city. 

Sirius and Remus were there as well, of course, they could hardly go anywhere without them. It was exactly the kind of place Sirius grew up in, and although he had gotten very comfortable with fast food since he was exiled by his family, he still seemed to fit in perfectly at this kind of place. 

As much as James loathed the whole joint, he grudgingly admitted it was worth the hefty bill to watch Peter’s whole face alight with joy as they sat down. His head was on a swivel, swooshing from side to side, tittering with excitement. 

Just as the young waiter brought their appetizers over, a mushroom risotto and salmon tartare, Remus was in the middle of thanking him and requesting more water when a large man at the table behind them snapping his fingers, head turned to look at the waiter. “Well, that’s just rude,” Remus murmured under his breath. James and the waiter both watched to see a large beefy man glaring over at them, beckoning the waiter with two fingers in a way that made James’s skin crawl. He was sitting with two women, James could see the whole table quite easily when looking past Remus’s right earlobe. The woman on Whale Man’s right looked like she was being choked out by her string of pearls, lips pursed, a nose slightly too sharp for her face, and what appeared to be a stick up her ass considering the daggers she was shooting between the other woman at the table and the waiter. His eyes found the second woman, the one being subjected to Miss. Bony Lady’s eye daggers and was shocked he hadn’t noticed her the second she sat down. That hair was not something that should ever go unnoticed by anyone. 

He couldn’t even see her face, as she was hiding it between her hands, and glaring down at the table, but he found himself craning his neck, trying to get a glimpse. There were waves of hostility trolling off of her and every element of her body language seemed to be screaming “DO NOT ENGAGE” . Her hair was forming a wall of fire, curtaining around her face, protecting her from the angry glares of her dinner mates. As the waiter walked over to their table, after nodding politely at Remus, he watched her emerge from her hands to grimace up at him apologetically.

He couldn’t hear what the whale man was saying, and subconsciously heard Peter start to tell some story about work and dish out portions of their appetizer, but he couldn’t pull his eyes back yet. The girl was flushed and glaring at the bony woman, saying something hushed but clearly angry. Her nose was scrunched up, nostrils flared and as angry as she looked he started to wonder if she’d giggle if he booped her nose, all scrunched up like that. Started cringing at himself for thinking about something as ridiculous as that. 

From his distance, he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, just that they were bright and sparkling and even from ten feet away he could feel the passion and emotion coming off her. 

When the waiter had finally left, dismissed with an angry wave of Whale Man’s hand, he watched the red head roll her eyes, and twist her neck like cracking it would release the anger built up in her. He wondered how creepy she would find him if he offered to massage the shoulder for her, maybe there was some chiropractor-esque or glowstick pickup line he could use to impress her. Cheesy lines had never done him good in the past but she looked like she could use a laugh, maybe she’d think it was funn-

“Right, James?” James tore his eyes away from the girl to find all his friends staring at him, looking for his agreement on something James had not heard a single syllable of. 

“Erm, yeah, right. Of course,” he nodded strongly, reaching for his water to gulp down and give himself a chance to calm the flush slowly rising up his neck. 

Peter looked pointedly towards Remus, “See I told you, Lupin.”

As James busied himself with pushing risotto onto his spoon- the smallest spoon closest to him, was that meant for desert?- he carefully ignored Remus’s eyes on him, silently watching James and nodding to Peter. 

“Mhm, Pete. Looks like I was mistaken.” 

The rest of the course went by smoothly, James kept his eyes off of the Magical Mystery Woman as best he could, forcefully making himself enthusiastically engaged in Sirius’s discussion of the lineup of next week's game. He was in the middle of making an argument for why Johnson should start as center, not Malinsky when he got stopped mid sentence by Whale Man clearing his throat loud enough for half the bloody restaurant to hear and his entire argument went to shit. 

Honestly, who did this bloke think he is, the bloody Prime Minister? Mystery Woman was too perfect to be putting up with this. Why would she go out in public with this oaf? Was he her brother? She seemed perfect but having him as a brother-in-law would really put a damper on the future marital bliss. She was gripping her knife so tightly it had to hurt, maybe he should offer up his own hand to squeeze instead, that’d be less painful he was sure. No. No, that was weird. He shook himself again and wrenched his eyes back to Sirius and resumed his argument.

They were just getting ready to clear their plates and ask for the desert woman when it happened. Mystery Woman’s table was still on their main course, she had ordered the fish, exactly the same meal James had eaten. Was that a sign of compatibility or what? If anyone had asked him later he would have sworn he was paying full and complete attention to Remus’s story of Dale from accounting messing up again but he was somehow also subconsciously completely and totally aware of every single one of Mystery Woman’s movements because he just knew she had just placed a delicate bite of fish on her fork and was chewing lightly when she let out this hacking, squawking, horrific noise. 

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god she is choking. My dream girl is choking and is going to choke on fish and DIE before I even learn her name. If she dies before I know her name I won’t even know what funeral to go to and how to mourn her properly and how would I even introduce myself at that funeral, ‘Hi, I stalked this girl from ten feet away and fell in love and will now live the rest of my life single and alone.”

If anyone were to have asked, he was positive he was still sitting at the table, nodding along with Remus. Somehow, without his conscious noticing, he had thrown back his chair and jumped to his feet, sending his chair falling backwards, narrowly missing a passing waitress. He practically leaped across the empty space, flown to behind her chair, gripped her shoulder tightly, and began to slam his hand against her back. 

“Ma’am, miss, oh my god are you alright? Can you breathe? Can you hear me, miss, oh my god WE NEED AN AMBULANCE, breathe ma’am breathe!” James yelled at her, pounding against her back, mentally preparing to perform the heimlich maneuver, he had never learned it properly but he saw it on a crime show once and it worked there maybe it would work now? He was really regretting not taking that First Aid class with Remus when she suddenly yanked herself out of his grip, leaping to her own feet and spinning around to face him, red hair flying into his mouth as she turned. 

Green. Her eyes were green. Green and bright and shining and gorgeous, oh my god she really can’t die now. 

“Oh my god, are you alright??” He reached out again to grip her shoulders tightly, had him slamming on her back dislodged the fish? Would she live? Was he a hero? 

“I will be when you explain why you just hit me repeatedly.” She crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly cross. 

His eyes widened and he looked around for someone else to agree and call him a life saving hero. Whale Man and Bony Lady looked bewildered, like he had just suddenly sprouted into a fish, instead of saving their dinner mates life.  All across the surrounding tables, he was met with concerned stares and the mortifying sinking feeling that he had completely misread the situation. 

“I- um. I saved you! You were choking! I saved you….. Right?” He dropped his hands from her shoulders, one immediately going to fix itself in his hair, face burning bright red. 

“I wasn’t choking, why did you think I was choking? Are you a doctor?”

He could hear Sirius laughing now. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. “No, just erm- a concerned citizen? Trying to ah, do my civic duty, preventing fish related deaths, I- erm- I’m sorry I really thought you were choking you made like a hacking sound I thought you were dying, I really just wanted to help” he tugged on his hair, averting his eyes to the floor. Not only did he ruin his chance of getting Mystery Woman to fall in love with him but now he has basically assaulted her, dear God he is never going to live this down. 

“That was a laugh.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers, “A what?”

“A laugh. I was laughing.”

“That was not a laugh. That was a deadly sound. Nobody in the world has a laugh that horrible.”

“Hitting me AND insulting me now, wow this is really my lucky day.” 

James’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t even wrap his brain around the fact that he had just insulted her laugh just that this seemingly magnificent girl laughed like THAT. He couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him. 

“Thats your real laugh? Oh my god I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry for insulting me or sorry that that's what my laugh sounds like?”

“Erm… both?” 

She giggled then as well, light and small, and very, very different from the choking sound he heard earlier. 

“See!” He pointed at her accusingly, “now that’s a laugh! That sound before was a dying bird and I won’t have you tell me otherwise.”

“Well,” her eyebrows lowered and she leaned in a little conspiratorially, whispering her next words, “the joke wasn’t actually very funny. I suppose my fake laugh may need a little more work before I attempt to use it so publicly again.” 

The two shared a grin and wow was he screwed. 

“You know,” he leaned in again, “I’ve been told all my laughs are top notch, fake and real, and if you were every interested in some tutoring, I suppose I could-”

“Ahem,” Whale Man cleared his throat again, “If you’re done disrupting our evening, I would very much like to return to my meal.” An apology on the tip of James’s tongue when he was cut off by Whale Man continuing to blabber, “Honestly, the heathens they allow to enter this establishment. Absolutely zero respect. Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners? Of course you attract this sort” The last words were directed to Mystery Woman and all the desire to apologize to Whale Man disappeared immediately. It wasn’t her fault he was an idiot who started hitting her. 

He was prepared to say just that, and apologize to Mystery Woman, when she cut him off herself.

“Now you listen here, Vernon-” Mystery Woman began, red anger creeping up her neck.

“Lily, honestly,” Bony Lady cut in, “Just sit down and let's finish our meal and go, you’ve made enough of a scene.” Bony Lady’s tone was low, but sharp and cutting and seemed to send a shiver down Mystery Woman’s - or was it Lily?- spine. 

He had a feeling she would have kept going, but also had a burning desire to run from Bone Lady’s eyes. It felt like they were piercing straight through him. 

“I’m sorry,” he started loudly, one hand back in his hair, eyes quickly finding those incredible green ones, “I’m truly sorry for interrupting your meal and um hitting you and insulting you. Truthfully, you’re just spectacularly gorgeous and I thought you were choking and kind of lost my head a bit, I suppose,” his eyes averted quickly at that admission, missing the way hers started to fill with mirth and eyebrows began to creep up. “I’ll leave you to your meal.” 

He turned on his heel and returned back to his table, picking his chair off the ground and sitting, adamantly avoiding eye contact with his friends. He felt her eyes burning into his neck and stared determinedly down at his fork. 

“So you’ve gone crazy,” Sirius states, matter of factly with a shit eating grin, “that’s fun.”

“I thought she was choking,” he murmured under his breath. 

“What was that, James? Couldn’t quite hear you. Speak up now or one of us will have to beat it out of you.” Peter could barely finish his sentence before him and Sirius began to guffaw obnoxiously.  Even Remus was chuckling. 

James groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. “Can we please just go, I will pay double if they bring the check right now.”

“Oh Jamie dear, why the rush?” Sirius tutted, “We ordered desert while you were busy saving lives! We wouldn’t dream of leaving before Pete gets his birthday desert!” 

Muttering “tossers” under his breath, James set his jaw and raised his eyes to meet his friends, and not to look past Remus’s ear to Mystery Woman again. 

By the time desert had arrived, James had been properly roasted by his mates about twelve times over and they had slowly moved onto other topics, all being other times James made a fool of himself in public. Sirius had just left for the restroom leaving Peter with the task of making James’s life hell.

Peter was just getting into the climax of his own personal favorite James humiliation tale, the Koi Pond Incident of ‘09, when James’s bite of tiramisu was interrupted by a light slapping against his back. 

He spluttered and coughed grossly, ready to whip around and smack Sirius, assuming it was him, when he felt hot breath on his ear and a flash of red in his peripheral and completely froze.

“You alright there? Wouldn’t want you to choke. Just being a concerned citizen and all.” She murmured into his ear, teeth centimeters away from nipping it.

He turned to face her, gaping at her sudden closeness to find her smirking face mere inches away from his own. 

“Thanks for that,” he croaked. 

“Of course, always on the lookout. Doing my civic duty,” she winked. She winked. What the hell did that mean, oh my god, this woman would be the death of him. 

“Here,” she pressed a slip of paper into his hand. “Just in case you want to stop me from choking at dinner another night too.” And then she winked again, spun on her heel, red hair whipping him in the face and left with another tinkling laugh. James stared dumbly down at the numbers on the paper, memorizing them immediately.

“Holy fuck, James. What was that?” Pete stared at James’s dumbfounded face. Sirius chuckled lightly from behind him, apparently having returned in time to watch the entire exchange. 

“That, my friend,” Sirius clapped a hand down harshly onto James’s shoulder, “may have just been the future Mrs. Potter.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Narrow Beds

Oh, it’s been awhile ... fingers creaked as I began to type ... brain hurt trying to remember words ... I have forgotten how much I love to write over the last few months but I think I will begin again ... 

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&

He really should have obeyed more traffic laws getting to the house but he didn’t: thought he saw a cop, began immediately planning alternate route hairpin turns and concocted stories of plunder and raze but in the end, it was just a car with two old ladies and a penchant for drinking their coffee in a parked vehicle as opposed to speeding precariously on the highway.

Regardless, he arrived without incident and knocking on Maggie Scully’s door, fiddled with the keys in his hand until the front door opened up, “Fox. That was quick.”

Desperate to grab her by the arms and ask, in that panicked tone he tried not to let anyone know he had, where Scully was, he instead held himself in check, jamming hands in pockets and rocking on his feet no more than two inches back and forth, “I didn’t catch any red lights.”

Mama Scully half-wondered if he’d driven on the sidewalks part of the way but keeping the traffic lecture to herself, she stepped aside, gesturing towards the steps, “she came in, said ‘I’m fine’ and disappeared upstairs.” Reaching for his elbow, she touched it lightly, “what happened?”

Normally she didn’t ask, knowing their history of diluting the horrors of their day for her benefit, but the look on her daughter’s face when she’d brushed past had her calling Mulder before she heard the bedroom door shut.

He’d been in the car on his way to Scully’s so a detour hadn’t been difficult: two lefts, one right at ‘Oops, I cut it again’ salon and minutes later, he was here.

Fourteen to be exact.

But who was really keeping track.

“We had a bad case. I asked about dinner but she said she just needed a bath and a nap.” Pointing up the stairs to move things along, “she in her old room?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Fox.” Watching his already retreating form, “let me know if you need anything.”

All she got was a wave over his shoulder.

It was enough.

&&&&&&&&&

Having been to her childhood room several times, he knew which door would lead him there instead of the bathroom and knocking lightly, he waited, listening for acceptance or denial of his request.

Instead he got, “I’m fine.”

Opening the door slowly, “you are a big, fat liar.”

She didn’t even flinch at the intrusion that wasn’t her mom, instead simply half-rolling towards him, hands crossed on her stomach, “mom wouldn’t have known that.”

“Your mom is the least dumb person we have ever met. It was your first, ‘I’m fine’ that made her call me and ask what the hell was wrong.”

Instead of denial and irritation at his implication that her world was not all peachy-keen, she stared at him for a long moment, looking from his rumpled t-shirt to his tired eyes, biting her bottom lip in debate and then in resignation at asking for the only thing in the world she wanted at the moment , “are you wearing your shoes?”

Taking the question in stride, “no. I left them downstairs by the door. Why?”

“Because mom doesn’t like shoes on the bed.” Scooting as close to the wall as she could, given she was an adult in a single bed, “would you mind shutting the door and laying down with me, please?”

Shutting as ordered, he maneuvered, with maximum confusion and minimal jostling, to lay behind her on the narrow mattress, “I have forgotten, in my adult years, how much I have grown in relation to my childhood.”

Practically smushed against the wall, she felt an almost-need to try to smile but the mood passed instantly, morose overtaking with lightning speed, “you know, the last person in this bed with me was Melissa; a few weeks before she left for college.”

Not sure where to put his arm, he held it awkwardly against his side, wondering with every passing moment if taking a deep breath would send himself crashing to the floor, “she was decidedly less …” wiggling slightly, his jeans twisted around his knees, “hulking than me.”

The only thing keeping her nose from pressing against the wall was her hand, “she was definitely smaller than you, I won’t argue.”

He’d shared a bed with her before, well, not so much a bed as a quiet corner in some snowed-in airport outside Fargo but whatever.

At least this time, he had the option of covers if necessary.

If only half his body wasn’t hanging off the side of the mattress.

He gave up.

“I’m coming closer.”

For one bless-ed moment, she forgot her churning black cloud in favor of wonderment, “Is that even possible?”

“Hopefully.” Sliding eight millimeters at best, he was now pressed solidly against her from upper chest to ankle, “much better.”

And for some reason, it was the extra warmth, the simultaneous heartbeats, the overwhelming air of another’s existence so close to hers, that made her crumble.

He heard the walls fall, crashing in voided silence and arm be damned, he moved it from himself to her, hand slipping beneath her elbow to rest on her belly, mouth moving as close to her neck as his nose would allow, “it wasn’t our fault.”

“It’s always our fault, Mulder. Every time we go out the door, it’s our fault.”

Moving enough so it was his forehead resting against the back of her head and not his nose, he found himself staring down at the minor flaw in her otherwise perfect neck, “we didn’t know. I didn’t know and you sure as hell didn’t know.”

“Nobody knows anything ahead of time, Mulder but if I had just waited a quarter of a second, a blink of a fucking eye, I would have noticed him. At the academy, the first thing they tell you about handling a gun is always know what’s behind your target. You look behind the damned target before you shoot.”

“No one, not even … shit, not even Superman and his super peepers … would have noticed Jamison under that table. It was pitch black down there. We were doing our job. We did our job and now it’s done and we’re home and jammed into this bed and it wasn’t your fault.” Emphasizing his point, he, for a brief moment, tightened his arm, sinking into cotton-covered stomach, “it wasn’t your fault.” He felt her muscles tighten, knowing full well she was trying to sit up, turn to him, argue his reasoning and he stopped her, quietly, his words drifting over her shoulder, “if you make me fall off this bed with all your arm flailing and point making, I am taking you with me which will just bring your mom up here and then you’ll get in trouble for having a boy in your bed.”

Tensed but debating, she settled back down, logic winning for the shortest possible moment, movement stilled but voice quavering, “I shot and killed a man. Somebody’s husband, Mulder, somebody’s son, somebody’s father. How do I justify that with a simply phrase of ‘it wasn’t my fault’?” Cracking words, her breath hitched violently, chest jumping, abdomen contracting with the effort of not wailing at the top of her lungs, “it was my fault, Mulder. He was hiding under a table. He’d managed to free himself and in trying to escape, heard the raid, crawled under a table and for all his efforts, he died anyway.”

Her last words trailed in a sob and Mulder, ignoring wedged-in bed etiquette, sat up as best he could, wiggled his arm under her neck and finally holding her from both sides, hugged her, kissing each bump of her spine from hairline to neckline, knowing it was time for him to be quiet, to listen, to ache for her.

And when it was time to hold the edge of the mattress as she tried to move closer. Needing any and all leverage he could get to stay on the bed, he simultaneously vee’d his knees, pushing hers forward as well, accidentally-on-purpose spooning to the best of his ability.

She didn’t argue, burrowing into her cocoon of Mulder-heat, vaguely wondering, as the tears flowed out of her and consequently onto him, if it would be, while not scientifically likely, metaphorically possible to crawl inside him, live there protected from the world, for the next few seconds to several hundred years of their combined life.

Choosing to focus on that rather than the harsh reality of now, it still took quite a while for her tears to taper off. Feeling her heart slow its rat-a-tat pace, she whispered into the crook of his elbow, “how do I get through this?”

“Just like we are now. You hold me, I hold you; tomorrow, we do it again.”

It was only now that she began to register how cramped they were, how un-professional they were, how perfect they were, at this very moment and doing a most un-Scully like thing, she let herself sink into the moment, “We should probably find a bigger bed then.”

Hearing just a little of the humor he loved, he chuckled once against her, repositioning his head, deciding both would benefit from a little nap, “I’m not worried about it right now.”

Finding his hand, she ran fingers over crooked knuckles, as close to a handhold as she could manage at the moment, “I wonder if I’ll get grounded if mom finds you here in the morning?”

Already headed to dreamland and taking her with him, “I think we should find out.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Myth: falling asleep.

Fact: waking up.

Confusion: setting in quickly.

Resolution: someone was mumbling beside him.

Follow-through: Once he’d realized he was indeed awake and for some reason in a bed that was seven to eight times too small for two people, he carefully rolled to his side, creating a precious hands-width of space between him and the mumbler.

About to ask if she was alright, he instead, being the terrible person that he was, eavesdropped.

Because … just … because.

And all he heard was a shopping list.

Sleeping next to him and she dreams of chocolate chips and bacon.

He couldn’t help his smile.

Then she hit ‘lube’ and ‘batteries’ and his interest sky-rocketed.

His smile widened.

Oil change and toilet paper should have bought him back to Earth but it didn’t and he listened to her talk another few moments before silence settled again in the time-locked room.

Continuing to stare at her and the dark grey wall behind her instead of going back to sleep, he began thinking in Mulder-type fits and spurts about time and space and awareness and his infinitesimally small space in the universe.

Did the universe still exist outside the room?

Had he been granted his desire to wake beside her only to have the rest of existence forget about them and consequently, forget about existence in the process?

What if Scully’s God had raptured the world and left them behind, alone but together?

Outside the door could be nothing, a vast void of blackness stretching out beyond infinity?

He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was just a rest stop between today and tomorrow. He ought to have been at home on his couch, comfortably hugged by warm leather and soft cotton.

Instead, he was in some weirdly light, hollow, empty, anticipating place.

He could feel the room around him. Everything in it, except him, resting their weary constructs: dust motes, drafts, deliciously warm partners. It unsettled him. This was the snowed in airport at 3am when he had to get up to go to the bathroom and fought it because the empty, dim hallways made his heart beat faster and put him on an edge he didn’t enjoy.

“Scully?”

Another mumble and what he would describe as a weirdly purring throat noise, later, she opened one eye in his direction, “trash bags.”

Another soul awake. Aware. He took a deep breath but continued his whispering, “I’ll add it to the list.”

Finally grasping some sort of faculties, she opened the other eye, brought him into focus as best she could, “why are you in bed with me?”

“You invited me here, remember?”

It took a second to recall but she got there and the smile desperate to cross her lips showed itself at the corners of her mouth but she didn’t let it win, “oh yeah.” Pausing for deep breath, she shut her eyes again, stretching as best she could and very narrowly using him as a full-body pillow in her quest for more sleep, “why did you wake me up?”

“Because I’m an adult freaking out about the dark and infinity and weird spaces where time doesn’t seem to exist and frankly, I’m worried that we are the only two people left in the universe and that we are floating in an utter blackness void even of stars and …”

He stopped because her hand was now covering his mouth, “Mulder … I swear to you. Outside is still outside.”

Talking through her hand, “Then why do I feel so strange? This never happens when I wake up at my own place in the middle of the night.”

Knowing sleep was now officially at least a few minutes away, she removed her hand but kept her eyes shut, thinking that if sleep accidently floated by, she could catch it, “you, my friend, are caught in a ‘liminal space’”

Liminal space. He felt he should remember that from somewhere but his 2am still spiralling mind couldn’t organize, “what?”

“I will be writing this down as the day I knew something you didn’t. Remind me to play the lottery later.”

Smart-ass-ness was starkly evident this later/early in the day but he liked her so he didn’t tell her about the ‘lube’ comment, “this isn’t helpful.”

“Sorry.” Finally looking at him, eyes dilating wide in the dark, “liminal spaces are kind of like waiting areas between one thing and the next. After one point in time and space and before the other.”

He was remembering now, “where magic happens and anything is possible.”

“Or where you begin to doubt universal existence and are afraid of the dark.”

“I am not afraid of the dark.”

She really hadn’t meant it to sound like it did and in apology, she rested a finger in the dimple on his chin, “I know. I just meant … when I was a kid, I’d wake up just like you and wonder if mom and dad were still in their beds. If Missy and Bill and Charlie were going to be at breakfast the next morning or had the darkness snatched them away?”

“But I’m an adult and I know better.”

“No one knows better at 3am or whatever the hell time it is.” Figuring the best way to fix this was to show him and she struggled to sit up, she accepted an assistance shove from her Mulder, “come on. We’re going downstairs.”

Now he was just starting to feel silly and for Mulder to feel silly required quite a bit of silliness, “it’s okay. We should probably just go back to sleep.”

“No.” Taking his hand and tugging until he was standing beside her, thankful for socks against the chilly floor, “I want to show you something.”

Giving in because she was her, he followed, inaudible sigh of relief he would never admit to once the bedroom door was open and he saw that, indeed, the rest of the house still stood. Shuffling across wood floor and creeping down the stairs, avoiding, under Scully’s direction, the creaky seventh step, she took him to the couch, pushing on his chest lightly to get him to sit. Once settled, several afghans piled over their legs, he waited as long as he could before asking, “what are we doing?”

“We are learning to love liminal spaces.”

“We are?”

“Yeah.” Quiet for another moment to gather her explanation, “we are witnessing timelessness. Enjoy it.”

So he sat, hand in hers, until he mused, half to himself, “liminal spaces should be an X-File.”

“No. I’m not letting you file these away. I have fallen in love with them and don’t want them categorized and easily referenced. They are meant to be discovered by accident and left alone when done.”

Sliding somewhat down the cushions to rest his head against the back of the couch, “do these spaces make you feel better?”

Knowing the question behind the question, “this space is making me feel better right now. It was still my fault but I think I’ll have to accept it and move on.” Matching his slide, she went one better and shifted her head to lean on his shoulder, “how are you feeling?”

“Better about the universe and about liminal magic.”

“Liminal magic?”

Turning his head, he first kissed her forehead, then shifted enough to brush his lips against hers, impulsive and unassuming, “that right there was liminal magic.”

With a smile, she let her hand drift to his knee, then his thigh, squeezing before coming to a rest slightly higher than strictly friends defined, “shush.”

“Shushing now.”

&&&&&&&&&

Maggie found them prone on the couch the next morning, smushed together on something even more narrow than the bed they’d occupied earlier. Scully, true to form, using him as a pillow while he held onto her dear life, fearful even in sleep of falling to the ground and leaving her behind.

It was then that she knew her daughter’s answer of ‘I’m fine’ later on would be a genuine one and moving to the kitchen, she decided chocolate chip waffles and bacon would be the order of the day. 

[eryiss]

Request: A Pattern of Dots and Dashes

Summary: Laxus has always been good at seeing patterns. So when Freed starts to tap out a pattern, Laxus can't help but pick up on it. The more he thinks about it, the more it drives him crazy. But as he looks into what this pattern means, he starts to realise just how romantic his boyfriend can be. [Fraxus One Shot]

This was part of a prompt based request thing I'm doing, based off of a request focused around sweet gestures and subtle touches, made by Tumblr user: @fairiesherefairiesthere. I went a bit off the prompt, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy and if you have a request please leave a comment or maybe talk to me Tumblr.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

A Pattern of Dots and Dashes.

Laxus had always been good at recognising patterns.

It was an odd little talent, one that was very rarely useful in his line of work, but it was one he had non the less. He didn't know where this talent had come from, but it seemed that whenever some kind of pattern was in place, he could find it relatively easy. It could be something visual, something he heard, or even something he smelt.

He had a few ideas as to what might have caused it. It could have been that his dragon senses made it easier to pick up on things. It could be that, after having the dragon lacrima forced into him, he focused on anything that could distract him from the pain and looking for patterns helped in some way. Or maybe he was just the kind of person who looked out for patterns in the world and there was no greater reason for it.

It didn't matter, really.

What did matter was a certain pattern Laxus had picked up on. A pattern that Freed Justine was responsible for.

Freed and Laxus had been dating for months now. It was a private thing, neither wanting to deal with the hassle of their guildmates finding out and jumping to conclusions about their future. Perhaps Bickslow and Evergreen knew, the two knew Freed and Laxus better than anyone else after all. But for all it was important, their relationship was private to the two of them and nobody else needed to be involved.

Something that had shocked Laxus was how intimate Freed could be. He wasn't interested in public displays of affection, but he did small things that made Laxus smile. It was little actions, like a firm pat on the shoulder if Freed walked behind him in the guild, or a quick glance and smirk when something happened that Freed knew would amuse Laxus. Just small things.

Even thinking about him made Laxus feel warm inside.

But recently something new had happened. Laxus had no idea if it was related to their relationship, but he felt that it must. Because Freed had repeated this little pattern multiple times over the last few weeks, and it was always in a way that Laxus would be aware of. It felt like a message, but Laxus didn't know what it was.

The first time, it was when they woke up side by side. They had been kissing, waking themselves up properly, when Freed's fingernail scraped across the back of Laxus' neck. This wasn't abnormal, but the pattern in which he did it stayed in Laxus' mind.

Tap. Scrape. Tap. Tap.

Laxus had dismissed it immediately, his boyfriend was in his bed and kissing him after all, and for the rest of the day it had been forgotten. However, when they went to the market the next day, as Freed was looking over a fruit vendors stock, he made a clicking noise with his tongue.

Click. A click with a pause. Then two more quick clicks.

It was the same pattern, and Laxus immediately recognised it. He couldn't remember where from exactly, but he knew for sure that he had heard it before. For a few minutes he tried to think where it had come from, but then Freed suggested that maybe they get something to eat at one of the hot food stores and the appeal of cooked pork overthrew most of Laxus' senses.

The next time it happened was on a mission. They had been called in to see the mayor of a small town who was having issues with a group of bandits. They were waiting in the mayor's office and Freed tapped out the same pattern again on the desk.

Tap. Tap and pause. Tap. Tap.

Throughout the rest of the week, he heard it again and again. When they were walking together, Freed patted his finger against his thigh to the pattern. When playing his violin, Freed had begun a song with that pattern. Even when he was cooking, Freed had removed residual soup from the wooden spoon by tapping it on the ridge of the pot in the pattern.

It seemed to be a thing Freed did now, and Laxus didn't understand why.

Furthermore, he had gotten so used to it that he felt as though the pattern was missing now. Freed and the Raijinshuu had gone on a mission and had been gone for two days, leaving Laxus alone. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, and normally Laxus wouldn't have cared, but he now found himself expecting the pattern to appear. The fact that it didn't felt as if he was missing something. It wasn't bothering him, exactly, but he couldn't exactly think of anything else. So, as he sat at the bar and nursed a tankard of beer, he found himself questioning what the sound was. And where had it come from.

His immediate thought was that Freed had a song stuck in his head, but it didn't make sense. The pattern wasn't a rhythm – not a good one anyway – and surely he wouldn't have fixated on a song for weeks.

For a second, he had considered maybe Freed had some kind of spell put on him. But again, it made no sense. What kind of spell advertised itself so obviously? And Laxus knew Freed's magic, he could tell if something new had been added to it. A long-lasting spell would have been obvious.

Other than that, no explanations had come to mind. Which was annoying.

Not quite as annoying as the fact that he was now tapping his tankard in the same damn pattern.

Clink. Clink and a pause. Clink. Clink.

Maybe that was why Freed was doing it, just to be an asshole and get the stupid little chime stuck in his head as some sort of weird prank. Laxus wouldn't put it past him; Freed had a mischievous side, as subtle as it may be. He also had a weird sense of humour, so perhaps this really was him. Laxus smiled a little at the thought.

He probably should stop thinking about it. There was no reason to, it wasn't as if he could get a definitive answer without Freed being there. All he was doing now was-

"Okay, you seriously need to fucking stop that."

Laxus looked up from his beer at the sound of Gajeel's raspy voice. The other dragon slayer was looking at him with an expression of annoyance, his ridiculous metal eyebrow twitching a little as he did so. Laxus at up a little straighter, putting on an equally annoyed expression. Couldn't a man drink in peace?

"The hell d'you mean?"

"The fucking tapping you've been doing for like twenty minutes," Gajeel continued, apparently not put off by Laxus' stature. "It's fucking annoying, so cut it out or fuck off and do it somewhere else."

He'd been doing it for that long? He hadn't realised it was that bad.

"Why should I move, kid?" Laxus butted back, hoping 'kid' got under Gajeel's skin. Annoyingly, he seemed unaware of it.

"I just fucking said, it's annoying," Gajeel reiterated, turning to face Laxus. "I mean what the hell even is it. Who fucking taps the same damn thing again and again for half an hour?"

So it was half an hour now? Either Gajeel had some time magic nobody knew about or he was just exaggerating to make his pissy attitude seem more justified. Laxus was going to say just as much when another voice spoke up.

"Sounds like Morse Code," The voice said, and Gajeel turned to show Laxus that Levy was sitting on the other side of the iron dragon slayer. Both Laxus and Gajeel looked at her with confusion. "Well, it is Morse Code. I think it's an L, actually."

Morse Code. Laxus knew what it was, of course, but he didn't know how to speak it; well, speak isn't the right word. But it made sense that Freed would know, given that he seemed to know every damn language under the sun. And tapping out secret messages would definitely be the type of thing he would do, the fucking smartass. But why would be just keep saying L over and over again? It didn't really make sense.

But still, it was an explanation. And something he could do to occupy his time alone.

He stood up from the bar, leaving his beer half drunk and making a note to remember Gajeel's comment about him not being smart enough to know what Morse Code was; the iron bastard would regret it later. He stalked past the stairs and towards the Guild's library, an expression of determination painted onto his features.

There would be a book on Morse Code in there somewhere; if there were books on all the random languages Freed wanted to learn about, there would be one on Morse Code. And the time it took to find it gave Laxus some thinking time.

The more he thought about it, the more the repetition of the letter L made sense.

Freed had shown himself to be something of a romantic, in a downplayed way. Knowing that Levy – and perhaps others – knew Morse code meant that messaged told in it wouldn't be private. So maybe it was just a small romantic gesture from Freed. It seemed too coincidental that Freed would be tapping out his first initial whenever they were around each other. Maybe it was something that Freed did to show his feelings; it sort of made sense.

Laxus wished he had a way of communicating his feelings better. Words had never been his strongpoint, and he was even worse at being honest with his feelings. He never could be vulnerable.

But he wanted to be. He really did. Because these few months of dating Freed, it made him realise a lot about himself. Freed was perhaps the most important person in his life, and he wanted to let him know. Let him know that he loved him.

Because he did. He really did.

And as his fingers ran across a book named 'A History of Coded Languages', an idea came to mind.

-~---~-

When Freed returned to his home, he was exhausted.

It was just past midnight, he had been walking for hours in the rain because of a cancelled train journey, and the cuts covering his body from the mission he'd been on were starting to irritate him as they rubbed against his sodden clothes. Needless to say, he was incredibly happy to be back in his home.

He moved without thinking. He went to his bedroom, had a warm shower that was the perfect remedy for the dirty rain that had been beating down on him for hours, treated the wounds that would need to be bandaged when he went to the guild, put on some comfortable clothes, and went to his living room. A fire was roaring within moments and the heat from the open flame was heavenly. As the room started to heat up, Freed walked to the kitchen to make himself a pot of Chamomile tea; he was in an annoying middle ground of being exhausted but not actually tired.

As he waited for his kettle to boil, he saw that Laxus' sound pods resting on the kitchen table. Freed frowned a little; the blonde rarely went anywhere without them. Freed knew that he was on a mission – it was unfortunate that their missions overlapped, but it happened.

The rune mage walked slowly towards them, to see the headphones were resting on a small note written in Laxus' handwriting. He picked it up and smiled a little at what he saw.

'Made a puzzle for ya, see if you can figure it out. Smartass.'

He laughed a little at the note, including the small kiss that had been put at the end that had been crossed out. He slid the headphones over his ears and went to press play, but the kettle started to whistle. He made himself the tea, walked into his sitting room and rested in the large leather chair that he did most of his reading in, and pushed the play button on the side of the headphones. For a second, he heard a small amount of scraping, before the tapping began.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He knew that it was immediately, and he smiled. So Laxus had picked up on his use of Morse Code, and was apparently using it now. The rune mage paused the track, picked up one of the notepads that he had lying around his house. Once he was ready, he restarted to track and began to write out what Laxus had coded.

... . -.- / -. . .-. -..

Hey Nerd.

Freed smirked a little at the nickname Laxus had taken to giving him. While it wasn't exactly flattering, he saw it as a sign of endearment that Laxus had started to use, and the rune mage wasn't bothered by it. It was cute, in a certain way.

.. / .- - / -. - - / -. - - -.. / .- .. - ... / .- - .-. -.. ... / ... - / .. / .- .. .-.. .-.. / .- ..- ... - / ... .- -.- / .. - .-.-.-

I am not good with words so I will just say it.

After translating the second sentence, Freed found a little. The rune mage knew his boyfriend well, even the small sentence told Freed that this was something serious. Laxus had never been good at speaking about his feelings – no doubt the result of his father's bad parenting – but perhaps this was a way of doing it for him.

.. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.- / .. / .- - / .. -. / .-.. - ...- . / .- .. - ... / -.- - ..-

I love you. I am in love with you.

Freed looked down at the words he had written. He re-translated it again, just to be sure, and found himself smiling wide when the same result came out. Laxus had just confessed his love for him, he didn't know how to react to that. But damn was he happy about it, and he felt a fire burning inside of him.

Laxus loved him. Just as much as he loved Laxus. They were in love with each other. The feeling was… euphoric.

But, as much as he wanted to let that feeling sink in, the message wasn't over. He pressed play again.

... - .-. .-. -.- / - ... .. ... / .. ... / -. - - / .- / -.. .. .-. . -.-. - / .- .- -.- / - ..-. / -.. - .. -. -. / .. - .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

Sorry this is not a direct way of doing it. But I love you.

Freed felt a small laugh split his lips apart. Of course Laxus would second guess his declaration of love. He didn't need to, though. Because Laxus had learned a language just for the sake of this message, and the effort that he put into this was spectacular. Freed would make sure Laxus knew how much he appreciated what Laxus had done for him when he returned. With a smile on his face, Freed pressed the play button again.

... . . / -.- - ..- / .- ... . -. / .. / -. . - / -... .- -.-. -.- .-.-.- / .-.. - ...- . / -.- - ..- .-.-.-

See you when I get back. Love you.

-~---~-

Upon returning from his mission, Laxus found arms wrapped around his neck. He was pulled into a kiss by his boyfriend, one that he was happy to return. He dropped his bags on the floor of his hallway and wrapped his arms around Freed's waist, leaning down and strengthening the kiss. Returning from a mission to a kiss was something Laxus was very quickly getting used to.

Honestly, he was shocked he had lived without it for so long.

When they pulled apart, Laxus smiled at Freed. "Hey."

"I love you too," Freed said immediately, his smile heavenly. Laxus felt a rush of exhilaration at his words, an equally love-filled smile plastering itself on his face.

"You do?" He asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Of course I do, idiot," Freed whispered, resting his forehead against Laxus' shoulder. Laxus pulled him a little closer. "And before you ask, learning Morse Code to tell me that you love me, perhaps the sexiest thing you – or any man – has ever done."

"Of course you'd think that," Laxus chuckled, before tilting Freed's chin to initiate eye contact. "I do love you, Freed."

"I love you too, Laxus."

And within a moment, they were kissing again. As they did, Laxus felt Freed's finger scraping against his neck again; the same pattern that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. It made the blonde smile and lean further into the kiss. He knew what the pattern meant now; it was Freed's way of saying that he loved him.

Dot. Dash. Dot. Dot.

So, just as Freed would affirm his love for Laxus by tapping out Morse Code for L, Laxus would do the same for Freed by tapping out Morse Code for F.

Dot. Dot. Dash. Dot

[notcanoncompliant]

A Coast That’s Unclear

Chapter Links:  Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 

on Ao3 // Explicit, 18+ // TW: dubious consent (not in this chapter, and not between Tony & Peter) Pairings: WinterIronSpider

DISCLAIMER:

The 'Underage' warning is for a brief scene while Peter is 17, which is the legal age in NY. The rest of the explicit action happens after Peter is 18. It is going to get explicit. There is Daddy kink. Heed the tags, please. If you have an issue with it, don't read this fic. Don't bother with ship-shaming, I will delete your comments.

If y'all are good with this, keep going, and I hope you enjoy <3

____________________________________________

CHAPTER 1: Just Typhoons and Monsoons (Intro)

Peter has always been ahead of his age group.

He's intelligent, gifted at science in general, but especially robotics.

At 14, his first year at Midtown High, he's awarded entry into an elite junior robotics club, sponsored by Tony Stark. 

In his sophomore year, Mr. Stark offers Peter a spot in the high school internship program onsite at Stark Industries.

*

The February after he turns 15, a couple months after he starts working directly with Tony at the internship, Peter's aunt and uncle die in a carjacking incident while waiting to pick Peter up.

There's no other family to take Peter.

Tony can't let him end up in foster care.

He hands the company over to Pepper and becomes Peter's legal guardian.

Tony's not good at feelings.

Peter is a depressed teenager (not good at feelings but has a lot of them).

Peter's depression drives a wedge between the two for a few months.

They fall into a pattern of nagging at each other's bad habits (they basically eat and sleep in quantities/frequencies in complete opposite of each other).

Their mutual concern leads to them dragging each other in towards a healthy middle.

(They compromise:

"I'll only sleep for 8 hours if you actually get 8 hours of sleep, you ass", etc)

They spend most of their time together, and halfway through Peter's 16th year, the kid's looking healthier and smiling more.

*

Peter goes to school and hangs out with his friends.

He swims in Tony's pool and works out in Tony's gym a couple days a week.

He still affectionately nags Tony about his habits.

They joke around with each other and share almost every meal.

They watch movies on the penthouse couch.

Sometimes, they fall asleep together.

Most of the time, it's Peter who falls asleep on Tony (head on the man's shoulder at first, and then on his lap, and eventually stretched out on top of him, head on his chest).

Sometimes, after an inventing binge or a rough conversation with Howard and Maria, it's Tony who falls asleep on Peter.

*

For the six months before Peter turns 17, Tony refuses to spoon him.

It could be so easily transformed into something sexual, and Tony doesn't want to put Peter or himself in a bad position.

Tony's worried he might feel the urge to push Peter into something he's not ready for, or that Peter might agree to something because he feels obligated or driven by hormones.

Peter just wants Tony wrapped around him, because Peter's a teenage boy with a giant crush on his older, very hot guardian.

They argue about it for the three months leading up to Peter's seventeenth birthday.

Three weeks before homecoming (three weeks before his birthday), Peter practically begs Tony, says he's fine, he's ready, he wants Tony closer...

...and Tony firmly disagrees.

They fight, and--feeling hurt and embarrassed by the rejection--Peter pulls away.

For a couple of days, they barely speak.

Peter starts asking to stay out after school.

He tells Tony he's hanging out with some friends.

Tony doesn't question it.

He trusts Peter, and...

...and he hopes that maybe Peter will give up the crush on his own, so Tony doesn't have to end it himself.

Two weeks before the dance, Peter asks if Tony will loan him money for his and his date's homecoming tickets.

His date.

His date.

His date.

Tony loans the money immediately and without question.

He shoves the mourning to the back of his mind.

He labels it 'inappropriate', where it is kept company by his fantasies of spooning with Peter.

The night of homecoming, Peter tries to kiss Tony.

Tony stops him.

Peter, hurt and rejected and angry, yells at him:

"If I can't do it with the person I love, what does it matter?

I might as well just sleep with whoever, right?

Maybe if I fuck around, I'll be experienced enough for you!"

Peter goes to the dance.

Tony panics.

Peter loves him.

Peter might go fuck strangers.

Fuck.

Tony's stuck between staying home and letting the chips fall...

...and driving to the school to bring Peter back to the penthouse and Tony's massive bed.

His biggest fear of being with Peter is that he would take Peter's life away.

Peter wouldn't get those first messy fumbles in back seats and under bleachers, with people just as nervous and unskilled as he is.

He wouldn't get to experience those awkward learning moments and memorable dating milestones that Tony had always heard were so important to Growing Up.

Tony didn't get those things.

He had the brains, but for love, he had Howard and Maria Stark: rich and powerful and distant.

He had MIT at 16, and older people who were attracted to him, but didn't give a single real fuck about him or his mental health.

Peter...

Peter is miles ahead of his peers, intellectually.

But he got to have Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

Peter was loved, treated with respect and caring.

He was raised so well that when he went through intense loss, he was able to come out the other side while helping Tony crawl out of his own hole.

He's snarky and intelligent and brave.

Peter was--is--amazing, and Tony loves him.

Tony loves Peter.

God help him, but he does.

Tony doesn't go to the school.

He falls asleep on the couch, watching a movie.

He imagines how it would feel to have Peter's back pressed against his chest.

Close to midnight, Tony wakes up.

He comes online as his arm is lifted and Peter curls up into his side, still wearing the suit he wore to the dance.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispers into the dark.

Peter clings tighter, his fingers twisting harder into Tony's shirt.

Tony wraps his arms around the teen, presses a long kiss to the top of Peter's head.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

The kid cries into Tony's shirt, and Tony lets him; lets Peter sob himself hoarse and pass out on Tony's chest, Tony rubbing the boy's back and whispering apologies and sweet nothings in a midnight gravel voice.

The next morning, Peter wakes up, showers and brushes his teeth first.

Tony wakes up to the sound of water running and the scent of Peter's apple shampoo filling up the suite.

When Tony's done showering, he finds a fresh pot of coffee and Peter at the kitchen island, drinking tea.

It's 10:30 a.m. on a beautiful morning.

They kiss for the first time.

Tony makes breakfast.

*

A month later, Pepper tells Tony that a man lost his arm at a Stark Industries construction site in New York City, because of another laborer who was drunk on site.

Tony tells Pepper to take care of any and all expenses related to the loss, and requests the man's medical history and physical stats.

He asks that she set up consultations with leading experts in prosthetic technology.

A week later, Tony begins the biggest project he's taken on in a long time.

He's going to make James Buchanan Barnes a new arm.

*

Peter gives him room.

He supports Tony in any way he can, even if it's just to make Tony take breaks or sit down for a meal during long work binges.

Tony falls a little more in love with him.

*

Tony may be miles ahead, but Peter is a trip.

Peter's enthusiasm is infectious, his curiosity a force to be reckoned with; he keeps Tony on his toes.

Physically, they take it glacially slow.

Tony does his best to make sure Peter knows it's not rejection, but out of concern and care.

One of their most difficult conversations is the acknowledgement of Tony's lingering discomfort about the age difference, and his guilt that it hasn't stopped him from getting so close to Peter.

Peter does his best to respect the lines Tony draws in the sand for those first few months.

(But Peter is seventeen and constantly on...

...and Tony's not a saint.

There are many nights where Peter lays back between Tony's legs, his back to Tony's chest and his hand gripping his own cock, Tony doing nothing but trailing fingers up and down Peter's bare thighs, whispering encouragement and compliments and instructions into Peter's ear until he makes himself cum.

With intelligence, curiosity, and a loving partner, comes the beginning of kink exploration.)

*

On Peter's graduation night, he comes home early from the class party.

He and Tony make love for the first time.

Tony's careful, and Peter's happy (so happy), and their nerves are wiped away with quiet laughter and kisses and whispered words of love.

It's perfect.

*

A week later, the first ever StarkTech prosthetic arm is completed.

The pair celebrates with dinner in the penthouse.

They've only half-finished their food when Tony spreads Peter out on the dining room table.

*

Six months later, two months after Peter calls Tony "Daddy" in bed for the first time, and two weeks after Peter's 18th birthday, a Stark Industry employee leaks a photo to the press:

It's a grainy--but clear enough--shot of Tony pulling Peter into a chaste kiss in one of the labs.

Tony and Peter are in Seattle when the news breaks.

Two days later--after hours and hours of debriefing, legal counsel, and prep--Tony and Peter attend a small press conference in Seattle.

They tell select members of the news media that Tony Stark is in a romantic relationship with Peter Parker, the 18 year old that had been the 15 year old of whom Tony had legal guardianship.

They leave the conference to climb into a waiting car and take off towards the coast.

The media explodes.

*

They take turns driving down the scenic western coastline.

Their notoriety forces them to only stop in secluded areas and virtually unknown towns to avoid paparazzi.

It makes for a much more interesting road trip.

Four days after the scandal goes live, Peter and Tony pull up to their destination, the address for which Pepper Potts had provided:

A little AirBnB in northern California, in a town called Harvest Moon.

***

Bucky gets engaged to Steve because he doesn't know what else to do.

*

In childhood, they're inseparable, running around like hooligans, Steve getting into fights and Bucky getting him out.

Bucky adores the scrappy kid, admires Steve's conviction and bravery in the face of insane odds.

When they reach their formative teenage years, Bucky easily acknowledges his crush on his best friend.

(It's much easier than acknowledging how often he still has to clean up a lot of Steve's messes.)

*

They start dating at the end of senior year, the day after prom.

It's sealed by an emotional argument that leads to a confession of feelings and awkward, intense sex in the back seat of Steve's beat up Ford.

Steve isn't out, but Bucky's patient; endlessly so.

Steve doesn't tell his family about his and Bucky's relationship.

Bucky's just happy he's with the punk he's been following his whole life.

*

A year and a half later, Steve cheats on Bucky with Peggy Carter.

Bucky is 19.

*

Steve moves to California for a degree in art and web design.

Bucky stays in New York, splitting his time between construction and helping run his ma's diner.

*

Two years later, Steve starts writing him letters; one a month.

Six months after that, Bucky starts writing back.

Steve apologizes.

Bucky forgives him.

*

For nine years, Bucky lives.

He works, becomes closer to his family--blood and construction crew.

He's the best man at a couple weddings, and he dates around--guys and gals, nothing lasting longer than six months.

Steve writes him every month, like clockwork, and visits New York every so often.

The visits all end the same way:

with a plea for Bucky to move to California that Bucky always declines.

*

The crew Bucky's contracted with gets hired to work on a Stark Industries project.

One of the members is newer, a cousin of one of the lifers.

They give him a chance because...family.

They don't know about the guy's drinking problem.

The guy doesn't think they'll notice if he nips at a flask onsite, or if he slips off to his car to take swigs out of a bottle.

Unfortunately, he's correct.

Bucky's nearby when the drunk worker stumbles into a badly-supported beam, and part of the structure comes down.

*

The alcoholic ends his day in the drunk tank, with a court date pending, and no job.

Bucky ends his in the hospital, without his left arm.

*

Stark Industries agrees to pay all of Bucky's medical bills and any other expenses incurred relating to the loss of his arm.

Bucky quits construction.

Steve comes to New York, stays until doctors declare Bucky ready to leave the hospital.

Again, he asks Bucky to move to California, and slips a ring on Bucky's right ring finger.

Bucky says yes, as long as they can wait a bit to say 'I do'.

*

Six months later, at his and Steve's little two story in the middle of nowhere, he opens the front door to see the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts.

She's professional and warm, and the most efficient person Bucky's ever met.

Pepper tells him that Mr. Stark has finally approved a design for a StarkTech prosthetic, an arm that will function as well as--or better than--his original, and at no cost to Bucky, including the surgery to link the arm directly to Bucky's nervous system.

She passes along apologies from Tony Stark himself, for both the accident and the length of time it took him to reach out to Bucky with this incomparable gift.

Bucky signs the NDA, but he isn't asked to sign a waiver of liability.

When he asks, Ms. Potts smiles the smile of an overworked assistant to an eccentric genius billionaire.

*

A month later, a group of Stark Industries appointed surgeons and scientists, the best in the world, stands around him as he is put under anesthesia.

Bucky wakes up groggy, and with a new arm.

The arm works like a dream.

*

Post-surgical observation lasts two weeks.

On the last day, he signs the discharge forms and Ms. Potts offers congratulations, from herself and Mr. Stark.

She hugs Bucky.

Bucky goes home.

*

Steve seems like he's trying to be supportive.

He's clearly happy for Bucky, but he tells him he's worried that Bucky will want to go back to New York, back into construction.

Bucky assures him that construction is not a part of his life anymore, and he wouldn't just end the engagement because he's got his arm back.

They argue.

Steve is upset at the thought of Bucky leaving him.

He's angry that Bucky isn't asking for more from Stark Industries, while simultaneously being pissed that Stark Industries has something to hang over Bucky's head.

(Bucky decides not to tell Steve about the omitted liability waiver.)

Bucky realizes that part of his own anger is coming from guilt.

Even though he hadn't lied about being done with construction...

...he had thought about leaving.

*

He doesn't.

He shares Steve's bed, and takes care of the things that Steve doesn't:

fixing things, housework, cooking.

When Steve says he wants to offer their guest room up for rent or as an AirBnB listing, Bucky takes that up, too.

He doesn't mind the work; it reminds him a little of helping out at the diner.

The routine gives him something to wake up for, something to take pride in.

*

Steve may have suggested it, but the AirBnB project is Bucky's baby.

They're not insanely busy; they give the space out for a maximum of three nights, and Bucky vets the potential guests so they don't get any questionable people under their roof.

They mostly have one or two-night stays, and only once a week, but it more than supplements Steve's income, enough that Bucky doesn't have to get outside work.

Bucky lets the work fulfill him and distract him from his empty relationship with Steve.

*

Five months after Bucky comes home from surgery, Steve rants as Bucky holds Steve's laptop.

The article on the screen details Stark Industries' latest and greatest scandal:

The owner of Stark Industries has been sleeping with his adopted teenage son.

There are articles everywhere, examining every possible angle.

Bucky reads only from the reputable sources.

He's relieved to read that Peter is 18 years old.

He sees the picture that was leaked--a sneak shot of a gentle, smiling kiss--and the photo taken during the press conference where the pair had publicly announced the relationship.

They look nice together.

*

Steve rants.

Bucky wonders if Peter Parker is okay.

*

Bucky considers reaching out to Pepper Potts, but in the end, he doesn't need to.

Three days after the relationship goes public, Ms. Potts calls Bucky to tell him that Tony and Peter are on their way, and offers to pay for at least a month-long stay.

After the call, Bucky gets on the AirBnB listing and books out the month under his sister's name.

Four days after the scandal breaks, Tony Stark and Peter Parker show up on his doorstep.

***

Chapter Links:  Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4

[darecruit]

Sneak Peek: New One Shot!

A Shelby/Rachel AU where they aren’t related but form a special mother/daughter relationship. Rachel’s in college and hasn’t been making the best decisions when it comes one of her classes. When Shelby finds out, she has something to say about that. 

Motherly Attentions

Twenty-year-old Rachel Berry stood outside a familiar row home in Queens, shifting from foot to foot as she worked up the courage to knock on the front door. It wasn’t a common occurrence for her to feel anxious about facing the woman behind that door. Normally she couldn’t wait until Friday rolled around so she could go visit her favorite middle school teacher.

Shelby Corcoran was a tough-as-nails teacher with a heart of gold. She had taught Rachel eighth grade English. Truthfully, Rachel had been intimidated by the stern teacher those first few weeks of school but grew to love her as the year progressed. Shelby had helped Rachel through a tough year full of bullying and no friends. And she had stayed in touch with the young teen through high school and now her first two years of college. Truly, Shelby was the mother Rachel never had, having grown up with two loving fathers instead.

Shelby had been there to offer guidance and advice all through Rachel’s teenage years, and a few stern words whenever the girl needed it (something she didn’t tend to get from her doting fathers). Rachel had always craved the attention from the maternal figure, taking the woman’s words to heart even when they were to scold.

Rachel knew she was in for a pretty serious scolding tonight. Shelby had been informed by Kurt (that fink!) that Rachel had been skipping most of her physics lectures this semester and her grade in the class was dropping. Shelby had sent her a text earlier asking her if she was still coming that evening as planned. When Rachel replied in the affirmative, Shelby then informed her that she wanted to sit down and have a long talk with her about school and her grades. That had made Rachel’s stomach flutter with guilt, but nothing compared to the text she had received just thirty minutes ago. She was running late to Shelby’s and had expected a text…just not the one she got.

Where are you? Get your butt to my house so I can beat it!

Rachel had been on the subway when that message came through and had audibly gasped. She had gotten a few looks from those closest to her but ignored them as her mind raced. Shelby couldn’t possibly mean that literally…could she?

The twenty-year-old looked down at her phone and reread that message for what must have been the thousandth time, then eyed the door warily. She couldn’t stay out here all night, and she didn’t want to. She loved seeing Shelby. She was even still looking forward to tonight—Shelby was making her favorite, eggplant parmesan (vegan, of course), and then they planned to catch up on this week’s episode of Project Runway. Rachel only wished that she knew if her mentor was serious or not in that text.

Surely she wasn’t…but on the other hand, Shelby had once swatted a fifteen-year-old Rachel. Rachel was visiting Shelby one Saturday afternoon and they were making chocolate chip cookies. She couldn’t remember exactly what she had said, but she knew it had been something meant as a joke that came out more smart-alecky than intended. It had all happened so quickly. Rachel remembered how Shelby had turned on her with that scary teacher face that had so intimidated her once upon a time, the sudden fear and guilt that had bubbled in her chest at clearly having upset the woman she looked up to and adored, and finally the surprise and then shock she felt when Shelby had laughed and swatted her with a wooden spoon. The girl hadn’t even seen the woman pick it up! The swat left the barest of faint stings, obviously meant to be playful, but Rachel, always so dramatic, had yelped and flung a hand back to rub just the same, all while giving Shelby a hurt-puppy look. Rachel could still see the teasing look the older brunette had given her and hear her words as if she had just spoken them this minute. “That’ll teach you not to mouth off to your mother, won’t it?”

Those words still brought a smile to Rachel’s face. Your mother. Of course, Shelby wasn’t really her mother, but she and Rachel had cultivated a familial relationship over the years, Rachel even calling her Mom and Shelby introducing her as her daughter when they were out together. Rachel’s fathers weren’t always so supportive of the role Shelby had grown to have in their daughter’s life, but even they had had to admit the benefits that came from Rachel having a trusted adult (and female to boot!) she could talk to and seek help from for things she wasn’t comfortable going to her dads for—especially those matters that dealt with the more delicate issues of growing up and becoming a woman.

In turn, Rachel knew that her own role in Shelby’s life meant a great deal to the woman. Shelby had long since been divorced, had one son, Jesse, who was twelve years older than Rachel and living in Northern Virginia with a wife and family of his own, but wasn’t able to get away from work often to visit. The year that Rachel walked into Shelby’s English class was the same year her son had moved away, and Shelby had said on more than one occasion that Rachel had come into her life at a time when she needed it most too.

Rachel was pulled from her thoughts as her phone buzzed in her hand and she saw “Momma S” flash across her lock screen. Shelby was calling! Slightly panicked, Rachel’s thumb fumbled once before she was able to swipe to answer.

“H-Hi, Mom,” she said, wincing as her voice cracked.

“Alright, Rach, seriously, where are you? It’s not like you to be this late. I’m starting to worry about you, kid. Are you okay?” came Shelby’s concerned voice in her ear.

More guilt bubbled inside and Rachel let out a sigh before replying, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m right outside—just got here.”

A second later, Rachel heard the deadbolt unlock and then the door was opening, revealing the beaming face of Shelby Corcoran. Arms opened and Rachel was pulled into a quick hug before being dragged inside the light and warmth of the house.

The delicious smells of dinner wafted towards her nose and coupled with the familiar smell of Shelby’s favorite perfume, Rachel couldn’t help but relax. She was home here.

“I’m sorry I’m late…and for worrying you. I didn’t mean to,” Rachel offered as Shelby took her coat and hung it in the closet. She bit her lip and shifted her feet when the woman turned back towards her. “Dinner smells wonderful, Mom,” she added, figuring a bit of buttering up couldn’t hurt.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You know me, I worry about you regardless. Momma’s prerogative, right?” Shelby said with a wink. “Now come on, the food’s almost ready. You can keep me company while I finish up.”

Shelby led the way from the foyer down a narrow hallway, past a small sitting room and Shelby’s study, to the back of the house where it opened into the kitchen/dining area and family room. Rachel followed a pace behind, wondering when Shelby was going to start in on her about her class. She knew it was coming and didn’t want to be caught off guard—especially since they were heading to the very same area of the house where a certain wooden spoon could be snatched up at a moment’s notice. And Rachel was almost certain that if it was, it wouldn’t be for play.

“So how was your day, my little rebel? And your classes? You did go to all of them today, I hope?” Shelby asked as she rounded the island to check on the meal.

Rachel noted with relief that while Shelby did sound exasperated, there was also a hint of amusement in her voice too. She chose to monopolize on that. “I…went to all the important ones?” she ventured. She ducked her head at the glare her adoptive mother shot her over her shoulder.

“Rachel,” Shelby warned, and there was no amusement in her tone now. “I obviously know you’ve been skipping at least one class and your grade is starting to reflect that. Are there any others I need to know about? Now’s the time to tell me if there is.”

“Mooom, I’m not,” Rachel found herself whining before she could stop herself. “And it’s not—my grade isn’t dependent on attendance for that class.”

“But your ability to learn and understand the material is dependent on it, is it not? Why are you skipping anyway? That’s not like you—you’ve always been very responsible when it comes to school. What’s changed? Is it a boy?” Shelby fired questions at her as she dipped a fork into the boiling pasta water and fished out a long linguine noodle. Bringing the fork to her mouth, Shelby took a small bite from the noodle and then nodded to herself. “No boy is worth changing for and certainly not failing a class for. Grab the strainer for me, please.”

Rachel rolled her eyes at the woman’s back and did as she was asked. She handed it over and then went to collect plates and silverware to set the table, knowing that would be the next request. “Nothing’s changed, no there’s not a boy, and I’m not failing.”

“That’s not what Kurt told me when he called to let me know what’s been going on with you,” Shelby disputed. “He said you’re worried about passing the final. How many weeks are left in the semester? You’ve got to stop fooling around, Rachel.”

“I’m not sure why Kurt even told you to begin with,” Rachel grumbled. “I’m not fooling around either, I just—”

“Are you or are you not failing the class, Rachel?” Shelby demanded, turning to face the girl with her hands on her hips.

“I’m not failing,” Rachel insisted. “I’m just…barely—” She made the mistake of catching Shelby’s eye in that moment and faltered, finishing in little more than a whisper, “—Passing.” Rachel licked her lips and felt her cheeks grow warm in shame. Shelby’s eyes had narrowed to little more than slits and she gave Rachel a look that made it exceedingly clear that she didn’t appreciate her subtle distinction on the matter of her grade.

[nimarasnetherworld]

Sick day

I wanted to write another one shot centered around Delia and Lydia so here you go!

Summary : Lydia gets sick and Delia takes care of her.

You can read this one shot and my other Beetlejuice one shots on Ao3 right here :https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814204/chapters/45799051

*******************

Lydia didn’t feel well. It had begun with a sore throat and now she was stuck in bed with a fever. Some kids in her class had gotten the flu and of course, she had to get it. Because her life was awesome. She didn’t even like the kids in her class. Somehow, to make it even worse, she alone at home with Delia.

Delia had been her life coach for a while after her mother’s death. And now, since last month, she was her step mother. Life was weird. It’s not that Lydia didn’t like Delia. Actually, the teen had become fond of the older woman. It was hard to imagine their family without her now. And what a family they had. There was her dad, Delia, herself, two ghosts, demon and a cat. The thought of her weird family made her laugh. Or maybe it was the fever. But even if she liked Delia, being completely alone with her was not something Lydia was looking forward to. They were so different. Where Lydia was dark and quiet, Delia was bright and loud. Plus, her step mother had developed a terrible habit to make them try vegan meals. It wasn’t the fact that they were vegan that made them terrible, but the fact that Delia’s cooking skills were very limited.

In a way, they were both weird, Lydia mused while watching a small spider crawl on the wall. She missed Beetlejuice. The demon that had caused so much trouble had been back in their house for a few months now. Lydia liked him. He was her only friend. Of course, there were Barbara and Adam too. They were also nice. But right now, the dead couple and the green demon, were in the Netherworld. The three of them had been summoned in the other dimension regarding the whole “living people in the netherworld and Juno eaten by the Sandworm” events. Her father, Charles Deetz, was currently on a business trip. So, it was just her. And Delia.

Lydia winced. Her head was killing her. At least the nauseas were gone. The teenager shivered and pulled the covers tighter around her. She could hear Delia’s voice coming from outside her room.

“No Charles. The doctor just left. He says it’s just a bad case of flu. Nothing to worry about.”

Well at least her father was worried about her. She couldn’t hear what her father was saying over the phone but was surprised when she heard Delia answering with a slightly annoyed ton.

“Charles, I know how to take care of her. Don’t you trust me?”

So far, her dad and Delia’s relationship had been nothing but joy. It was rare to hear them fight. It happened of course, like it did in every relationship. At least her dad was happy. Genuinely happy. That was something she was thankful for.

“Okay. Have a nice trip. Yes, I’ll call you if it gets worse. But don’t worry it won’t.”

Another pause. Lydia pulled the covers down. Now she was hot. Damn fever.

“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye. I love you too.” And with that Delia hung up.

Lydia rolled her eyes when she heard the door of her bedroom creak open. But a small part of her was actually glad for the life coach’s company. Wait, what? The fever must be higher than she thought.

“Hello sweetie.” Said Delia sitting on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Not good” croaked Lydia.

“Aw sweetheart.” The redhead said, putting her hand on her step daughter’s forehead. “You still have some fever.”

“No shit.”

“Language Lydia.” Gently reprimanded Delia.

Lydia let out a small laugh. Delia had somehow become more motherly over the last few weeks. She wasn’t even sure the woman had realized that.

“Oh, I forgot! I made you a soup!” exclaimed Delia.

Oh no. The life coach reached for the bowl she had put on the bedside table.

“I’m not hungry.” Said the teen. Which was actually true. And she would do anything to avoid Delia’s terrible cooking.

“Lydia. You need to eat. It’s going to help your body fight the sickness.” Delia narrowed her eyes. “It’s either the soup or the yoga session.”

“Give me the soup. Anything but yoga.”

With a satisfied smile, her step mother gave her the bowl and the spoon. With a little bit of apprehension, Lydia brought the spoon to her lips. Her eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t bad. It was actually good. She turned toward Delia.

“Who are you and what have you done to Delia Deetz?”

Delia rolled her eyes.

“I may not be the best cook but I still know how to make a simple vegetable soup.” She told the teenager. “Is there anything else you need?”

Lydia thought about it for a moment, sipping the soup. It actually did make her feel a little bit better.

“I’d like to watch a movie.”

“Sure sweetie! Which one?” Delia asked turning the TV on.

“IT. I haven’t seen the new one yet and people at school were talking about how awesome it is.”

Delia selected the movie and pressed play, before walking toward the door.

“Enjoy. And if you need anything don’t hesitate to call me. Alright?”

Lydia nodded, watching the life coach leaving the room. However, before Delia had even closed the door, the teenager called her.

“Delia.”

“hmm?”

“Can you watch the movie with me?”

The life coach was surprised by the request. And to be honest, Lydia was too. But having someone with her was nice.

“Sure!” Delia said, after a few seconds, seating on top of the covers next to her step daughter.

The movie started and Lydia expected screams of terror from Delia who hated horror movies. But the life coach remained silent. Jumping here and there but nothing more. Lydia turned away from the TV to look at her stepmother. Delia had become a member of their family. She had stuck with them even after the whole “Beetlejuice” thing. She’s never shown any resentment toward Lydia even if she had been terrible to her. And right now, she was willing to put herself through a horror movie she probably hates just because she had asked her to.

On an impulse, Lydia wrapped her arms around Delia’s waist, resting her head on her chest. She would blame it on the fever later. After a moment of surprise, the woman wrapped her arms around the teenager.

“thank you. For taking care of me.” Lydia muttered, before closing her eyes.

Right as she was about to fall asleep, she could swear she felt Delia place a kiss on the top of her head.

******************

Charles had decided to come home earlier than planned. He was worried about Lydia. He knew that Delia was with her but still, she was his daughter. He tried to open the door as silently as he could since it was still the middle of the night.

Hanging his coat, Charles made his way upstairs to check on Lydia. When he arrived in front of his daughter’s room, he was surprised to see a faint light coming from under the door. With a frown, he opened the door quietly. When his brain finally took the sight in front of him, Charles could help the smile forming on his face.

The TV was still on, the volume on low, playing a random tv show. On the bed were Lydia and Delia, sound asleep in each other’s arms. Charles felt his heart swell at the sight. He was so happy that Lydia had finally accepted Delia as a member of their family, and was happy to see their relation improve with time.

Grabbing the remote, Charles turned the TV off, deciding on letting his girls sleep peacefully. He made his way to his bedroom. Turning on the light, the businessman was immediately met with the growl of Vincent, Lydia’s cat, who had, once again, decided to settle on his bed.

“You know what, I’m not even going to try tonight. You can sleep here, you demon.”

Charles grabbed a spare blanket and pillow and with a last growl from Vincent, made his way back to Lydia’s room, not wanting to sleep in the guest room alone. There was a small couch in his daughter’s room and it would be enough for tonight. Settling on the little couch, Charles, sent one last look to his wife and daughter before closing his eyes, happy to be with his family once again.

[shipburner]

For the past week (or perceived week, she had only her watch to go by), Iris Henson had been using the ［ＬＯＮＥ  ＳＴＡＲ］ as a base of operations. The room was easily refindable, the food was edible, the beds were safe, and the staff wasn't inimical to human life.

Iris just wished that it wasn't so aggressively Texan.

Her partner, Stheno, lacked the cultural context, and treated it as just another one of the Memory Palace's cavalcade of oddities. And to be fair, it was plenty odd, since none of the animal or plant life implied by the ［ＬＯＮＥ  ＳＴＡＲ］ was native to Texas, or, in most cases, Earth. But the name – the intent of the food – the overall aesthetics – made Iris cringe harder than anything she'd seen yet.

To be fair, it wasn't all bad – the most requested jukebox tune was a passionate ballad of a truck's love for his man by a singer with a voice like a glass guitar, followed by a lot of mooing that allegedly translated to a song about rustlers having stolen all the singer's trucks. The staff appeared to understand human gender better than most humans did, and the Daisy-Dukes-and-close-tied-flannel uniform showed off a full spectrum of cheesecake, beefcake, cheeseburger, yeast block, singing mouth, and chassis. In fact, Iris couldn't remember ever having heard a mean word said in the place.

The biggest problem, flagrant Texaninity aside, was the floor show.

Stheno held a clear plastic umbrella in two arms, sporadically wiped it clean in a third, and held Iris' chocolate mousse behind them in a fourth, shielding Iris and her sketchpad from the spurts of blood and gore as the showpeople tore each other to bits. Iris was busy recording the anatomy of the most human-approximant staff members – glass skeletons intricately whorled to support their hydraulic muscles, nine cervical vertebrate clearly revealed whenever one got their skull pulled out, four stomachs in a familiarly ruminant arrangement … "Ooh!" remarked Stheno as something bounced off the umbrella; Iris shot out another arm and grabbed it before it fell to the sawdust floor. She turned it around and examined it. "Their hearts are wasps' nests? Huh. Not what I was expecting." "Just wood pulp," Stheno corrected, pulling it down to Iris' chest so she could see. "I'll be damned if wasps were involved in this." "Hm. Ooh, Nutella!" A hazelnut eye had ricocheted off a neighboring table and landed in the glass, shattering into fragments as it hit the adamantine pole of the tiny fancy umbrella. Iris handed her sketchpad to Stheno and stirred the fragments into her dessert, spooning it into her mouth. "I don't know how you have the stomach to eat this." "Like you know what it's like to have a stomach, Stheno." "Get fucked."

"YEEEEEEEE-ALLLLLLLL-RIIIIIIIIGHT, PARDNERS!" blared the sound system. "THAT'S A DE-CI-SIVE – AN' IN-CI-SIVE – WIN FOR MX. OPHELTEK! LET'S GIVE EM ALL A BIIIIIIIIG HAND! OOPS, LOOKS LIKE E'S ALREADY GOT ONE, AHAHAHAHA!" Mx. Opheltek held up the severed hoof-hand of eir last opponent over eir head. "WE'LL BE BACK AFTER THE BREAK! GET UP, GET ANOTHER DRINK, GO POWDER YOUR –" the last word sounded like "NOSE!", "MUZZLE!", and "GRILLE!" layered on top of each other. Stheno folded the umbrella gingerly as Iris got up to head over to the bar. "Jes' water fer the li'l misses, 'sright?" squawked the bartender. They were perhaps the least aesthetically consistent person in the place, being a swarm of parakeets inhabiting an articulated wire cage that Iris thought looked a little like Jimmy Buffett. "Mhm." Iris nodded, rubbing under her glasses. It had been a long day, especially when they'd had to brachiate through the ribcage of a Spearmint Hound carrying an unconscious lumberjack. Stheno squeezed her hand supportively and accepted the drink. "Heeeeeeeey y'all!" There was a heavy thump as someone slid onto the bar next to Iris, along with the squishy sound of body parts pushing themselves back together. "Whoof, I got splattered out there! Top me up, thank y'kindly …" A quiet snick noise accompanied the retraction of six glass claws as their owner held out a glass skull to be topped up with bloodwine. Iris turned to see a showgirl sitting on the bar, tall, tan, young, handsome -- Iris quelled the rising strains of "Girl from Ipanema" along with some unhelpful gay thoughts. The woman's hazelnut eyes took in the mutualistic partnership, flicking between meeting Iris' gaze and Stheno's. "Hey, how y'all doin'?" she said. "Saw the host here doin' some sketchin'; we puttin' on a good enough show y'wanna capture it?" She downed the bloodwine and wiped her lips, which Iris could now see were just lipstick painted around her mouth. Iris swallowed, voice suddenly ragged. "More … scientific interest. We're not … not from around here." "Ooh, you a bio nerd? I'm psych, myself. Workin' this job t' put myself through college." She took another long gulp and held out her hand. Iris shook it cautiously; Stheno circled a arm around them. "Annie-Mae, pardner; what're y'all's monikers?" Annie-Mae probably didn't notice the bit of Iris that died inside when Iris put together what her name sounded like. "Iris Henson." "Stheno." Iris reflected belatedly on the lack of differentiation between their voices -- clear enough to her and Stheno, but since they both had to use Iris' vocal chords, she wondered if Annie-Mae could tell who was which. "Nice t'meetcha! Am I gettin' y'all's grammar right?" Iris looked down at Stheno, who shrugged a pair of arms; Iris said, "… No, we think you've gotten the right take on our partnership." "Sweet! So what brings y'all around here?" "Stumbled through the wrong hole in space, both of us," said Stheno. "Now we're both stuck on this crazy-train of a castle." "Whoof! Sorry t' hear that, but y'seem like y'all're enjoyin' the show here." "I am," said Iris. "More … energetic than I'm used to, but I am interested." "Personally, I'm disgusted," said Stheno. "Well, ne gustibus te disputandum'n'all that!" Annie-Mae kicked a leg high in the air, which probably meant something like nonchalance in whatever body language her species had, but which caused Iris to suddenly become very interested in her water. "Y'all hangin' around here for the night?" "Think so, why?" said Iris. "Wonderin' if we can continue this conversation or if I'm keepin' y'all! Y'all're becomin' a regular; figure it's worth meetin' y'all, proper-like." She slithered down off the bar onto a stool besides Iris, resting her angular chin in her broad hands. "You two an item?" she asked, suddenly, voice sugary. Stheno's arms coiled, half under her own power and half under Iris', who stammered, "We're … uh …" "As romantically entangled as two people this physically entangled have to be, I guess," filled in Stheno. "We're a … package deal, at any rate." "Is this a deal y'all're offering?" Annie-Mae licked one of her eyes, grin glassy. Iris' throat stalled for several seconds.

Annie-Mae recoiled quickly, face falling. "Sorry, I can never judge how fast is too fast with visitants. I made y'all uncomfortable an' that ain't the ［ＬＯＮＥ  ＳＴＡＲ］ way." Iris shrugged. "I think we're both filing it under cultural relativity, and I gotta say -- the 'Lone Star way' where I come from is a lot less courteous than it is here." "I ain't rightly sure if I should feel good about that." Stheno rolled her eyes. "Trust me, you'll need a lot more of that bloodwine if we're discussing Iris' homeworld. Or mine, really, but we already went through the section of the castle that's got my cultural baggage attached. All the evil in this place is dramatic. Overt." Annie-Mae hung her head. "I ain't no damn good with y'all plausibly evolved folks." Iris patted her shoulder. "Better than we are, ma'am." Annie-Mae laughed. Well, let loose a horrifying screech, but Iris had heard enough of her species laugh before. She took another swig of her bloodwine. "So! How's bio life?" "Art life, actually," said Iris. "Anatomy studies, y'know? I mean. I hope it's art life. I don't know how 'getting sucked into a memed-up Borges novel gone metastatic' is gonna affect my major." "I'm just a tech," said Stheno. "Biological, but I went into trade." "Oh, ain't that jus' a zmood. Time's a fluid; y' should get back fine, if I remember anythin' from physics when I was a scrap." "Thanks, that's … comforting." "May I offer a restrained yet supportive 'yeehaw'?" "You may not," said Stheno, the joke clear enough in her tone, and bumped Annie-Mae's proferred fist. "Yee haw!" Annie-Mae said, the bisection of the word groaningly obvious to Iris' ears. "Thanks," said Iris, "I hate it." Annie-Mae sprayed bloodwine out of her mouth, Stheno opening the umbrella just in time to deflect it humorously. Iris couldn't help laughing too as Annie-Mae contorted, dislocating several joints with the force of her screeches. "Your – your deliv'ry – ho-leee fuck, Iris – hoooooooo dawg-geez, I needed that." Two minds trying to speak in unison through one set of vocal chords tended to produce a fairly good Voice of the Legion. "What can we say, except, you're welcome …" The reference didn't appear to land with Annie-Mae, but that was par for the course; frankly, Iris (and Stheno, in the case of her references) was more surprised when one did. Annie-Mae wiped her face and leaned back. "So, how's the art and/or trade life, funnybones?"

They ended up chatting far longer than any of them had in truth expected. Iris and Stheno described their own consistently-weird homeworlds and attempts to break into the art world/museum scene, respectively, and as the subjective night wore on, pipe dreams, like unseating Mike Mearls and claiming his skull-throne, or winning the Abomination Foundry Ceremonial Brisket for excellence in species design. Annie-Mae described her inconsistently-weird homeworld – the ［ＬＯＮＥ  ＳＴＡＲ］ and related rooms, and her efforts slowly working towards a psychology degree, and, later, her own pipe-dreams, about wandering through the mind of a long-dead god she'd found a few floors greenward and healing its hurts, or maybe just getting to rip her back off on Hellevision. The parakeethead behind the bar eventually had to shoo them upstairs, citing concerns about them turning the mops all "Sorcerer's Apprentice snuff film".

They told more stories, upstairs, of the time Iris and Stheno had faced the Xenomorph version of Billy Bob Brockali in rock-combat, of the time Annie-Mae had gotten a glimpse into what turned out to be an erotic baking show from Stheno's homeworld, and of loves lost and dreams deferred and huge old things seen when the viewers should have been asleep.

It would be nice to draw a curtain over the room, and praise darkness and creation unfinished. For indeed, Iris and Stheno had foes to face, friends to find, and, eventually, a way home, although for now we should perhaps send our well-wishes to Iris and Stheno not for homefinding but for overcoming the dour tentpole ghouls of Barthes' Necropolis, and for the assistance of the Warden Sueish, the only author who enacted his own narrative death. But before we send Iris and Stheno to go out deconstructing and to deconstruct, well-fed, well-rested, well-comforted, we have one stumbling block to place in their way.

Annie-Mae's hat hung on the bedpost atop Iris' pea coat; cowboy boots and sneakers lay jumbled together on the rug that might be called cowhide by someone who had never actually seen a cow. The room was dark, the air warm with breath and things that worked like breath. Stheno began to speak –

A squat, humanoid skeleton-creature poked eir cumberously-hatted head out of some fourth-dimensional space, hissing, "Niiiiiiiice…….." The words "CORPSE-GRADE QUICKLIME" flashed into Iris' eyes from eir shirt. Stheno lifted her bodily off the bed with all ten arms and sent Iris' feet plowing right into eir face. E made a noise like an EDM opossum and vanished with a puff of sand. "What'n tarnation was that?" Annie-Mae said, dazedly. Iris groaned. "That's … not far off. Eir name's Darnation, with a D. E's a skook. Skooks are the … Dante's Vergils of the Palace ecosystem, at least in our experience. E is a horrible little neman and we're probably being taught a really heavy-handed lesson by eir presence." "Yeesh. I can recommend a de-curser, if y'all think that'd help." Iris and Stheno turned all four eyes to her. "We don't." "Well, I can help y'all forget em." "We'd like that."

[This is my overwrought birthday present for @titleknown, inspired by the anon message posted above. What character, after all, is more a character than the fantastical Memory Palace?]

[Also, in the spirit of the thing, Annie-Mae, Iris Henson, Stheno, and Darnation are all free to use under a CC-BY 4.0 Vanilla License as you see fit as long as I, Nausicaä Harris, am credited as their creators when you do so. The Memory Palace, and the species I call skooks, are under the same license, as long as Thomas F. Johnson is credited as their creator. ETA: The anon on whose ask I built her character graciously gifted me with credit, and open-sourceness, for Annie-Mae.]

[And, while I don’t have designs for Iris or Stheno worked out yet, I do have a design for Darnation. Eir cheap trick is pocket sand; eir hat is meant to represent that e was born on a mountain, raised in a cave, and craves nothing but truckin’ and fuckin’.]

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Not a Favor.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3258

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Seventy

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

Maggie never failed in making me smile or chuckle to myself at least once a day. Today, she'd made it rather early. She had been hesitant about something for a few days, I'd seen her with a bunch of papers just looking at them and pinching her lower lip with her fingers, which I didn't like her doing, I stopped her every time I had the chance.

Today she'd brought a big manual like book and was looking at it again, and I could see her looking at me when I tilted my head up to drink my coffee. I knew my wife, so I knew what was going through her head.

When Alma started crying she took the manual with her and left it somewhere, returning with the child in arms. I let her finish her coffee in peace whilst she nursed the baby, but when she laid her on her shoulder to burp her, I tossed the spoon in the cup scandalously. She looked up at me with one eyebrow lifted.

"So, are you gonna ask me what you want to ask me today? Or are you gonna wait another day?"

She continued looking at me, I was expecting she gave me her little cute side smile and to look at me like 'how did you know?'. She didn't, she just kept looking at me serious, and that made me realize it was more serious than what I had anticipated.

"I'm still debating if I should even present you the request" she replied after a while.

"Debating what? If I'd do it?"

"No, I know you're gonna do whatever I ask of you because-" she motioned at herself with her free hand "you can't say no to this face" I chuckled at her vanity, knowing that she was absolutely right about that. "It's just that... It's" she moved on her seat and secured the baby to her chest "it's kind of like cheating, and I'm debating if I should cheat on this or not"

She stood up and took her cup with her, I followed her with mine, watching Alma's eyes open wide from Maggie's shoulder. I left the cup next to hers in the sink and snuck my hand under Alma's arm, holding her over my head and kissing her cheek.

I was amazed at how quickly she'd outgrown being held like a baby, she could hold her head up for a while, and even though she sometimes lost some balance, I had her very much secured to my chest. I smiled at her again and kissed her cheek one more time.

Maggie walked around me and to the front door when the doorbell rang.

It wasn't a process to leave Alma with Carol, I don't think she was old enough to understand what was happening.

Maggie and I often took our own cars to work, but some days, if I knew I had to deal with the paperwork after a case, I would usually drop her off at her work and then pick her up at the end of the day.

When I neared her firm, I gave her a quick glance.

"I'd do anything for you Mags"

I heard her snort and look at me.

"I'm not going to ask you to mutilate somebody, you need to relax" I parked in front of her firm and looked at her.

"I just wanted you to know that"

She gave me a little smile and unlocked her belt.

"I know it"

I leaned in to receive a kiss from her.

"Lunch later?" She grabbed her purse and pulled on the handle to open the door.

"Sounds lovely" she exited the car and I staid parked until I saw her enter the firm, giving me a little wave goodbye before she crossed the door.

Usually, after we finished with a case given to us by Reddington, we had paperwork to finish for files, statements to take and we usually saw the closed trial that, more often than not, ended in jail time for hopefully the rest of their lives. If we were lucky we would have an extra week or two going trough the files of our suspect and going after other people related to him. We usually delegated the cases to other task forces to get some work off our hands and be ready for Reddington's next case.

I shot Mags a quick text that I was taking her lunch to have it at her firm, when I took her lunch to her job, I usually took an extra one for her assistant, who always made us the favor of not let anyone disturb Mags in that hour.

When I got to her firm I walked straight to her office, everyone already knew me so I could roam freely in the building.

Maggie had been promoted to another bigger office in the upstairs, so I had to walk a little bit further than what I used to. The upstairs had a clean look, everything was separated with glass panels, and from where I was exiting the stairs I could see Maggie's assistant's office, the desk was currently empty, but there was a guy with a lot of papers in his hand just standing there. Maggie's office had the glass with a blurring effect to give it more privacy.

I entered the office, not giving the guy much attention, heading straight to the door.

"Good luck, she's busy" he said behind me, I turned my head to look at him as I knocked on the door.

"Not for me" I gave him a little smile when the door open, Brenda poked her head out and smiled at me.

"Hey Don, come in" she moved to exit the office and left the door open for me, I handed her a separate bag and she gave a little 'you shouldn't have' smile. I walked inside the office, seeing Maggie clear some papers from her coffee table.

We could still hear a conversation from inside, muffled, but still.

"Can you please get rid of him permanently?" She said a little annoyed as she took the bag from my hand.

"That's called murder and it's illegal"

She gave me a smile and a chuckle as she shook her head.

"Fine, just go and be mean to him and tell him that I'm busy for the next 3000 years"

"Roger" I turned on my heels and walked the short distance to the door.

"She has to review these today, it's urgent" he said talking to a very nonchalant Brenda, I guess she was sick of him too.

"She's busy today"

"Here" I said motioning at his papers "I'll hand them to her"

He gave me a dismissive snarl.

"I need to see her for these"

"See her do what exactly? Read them?"

"No" he said quickly "I just need to add some commentary to them"

"Well, if they're so urgent everything should be drafted completely for her review, comments and all"

"What's your problem with me seeing her?" He said defiantly taking a step to me.

"She's my wife, that's my problem" I said taking one myself, we almost bumped into eachother.

"And what are you? Some kind of control freak who has to know who she sees and who she is friends with?"

"Sounds to me like you're projecting yourself on me" I said with a little smile that I knew people hated "either give me the papers and leave or I'll have you escorted outside by US Marshal, but that sounds like I'd have to skip lunch with my wife to do so, so I suggest you don't escalate things more"

He tightened his lips in an enraged smile.

"Okay" he said quietly "but this doesn't end here pal" he shoved the papers to my chest.

"I'm counting on it" I said with a smirk and watched him walk a step back, then turned and walked out of the office.

I looked at Brenda, who had a little amused smile herself.

"Do you have access to personnel files?" I asked her in a lower voice, not wanting Maggie to find out that I was going to research this guy's entire existence.

Brenda made a few clicks of her mouse, typed a few things, then turned the monitor to me. I snapped a quick photo of the screen, Cameron Olsen. If Maggie was okay with it, I was going to find any way to end him.

As I walked with the papers on my hand back to the office, I shot one of my most trusted agent friend the picture of the file and asked him to dig in on anything he could.

Back in the office, I left the papers on the desk and walked to Maggie, who had sprawled our lunch in the table as was sitting in the couch in front of it, checking her phone.

"He said those were important" I say next to her and placed my hand on her thigh.

"Right, if they were important, I would know about them" she dismissed "I think he's got a thing for me and I don't want him near me, he makes me nervous. I mean, when I am conscious that someone likes me I get instantly upset because I know that it would get your blood boiling and I don't want that"

She handed me my sandwich before she took hers, she'd taken her shoes off and had placed her legs up in my thigh, her feet dangled between my legs. We usually sat like this all the time, it gave me free access to her legs and a very nice view of her chest.

"I have to live with the fact that everyone has a thing for you, and I know I have to be selective with the people I choose to tell to back off of you, I can't get into fights with everyone"

I mean, I could, but what good was that gonna do me.

Maggie waited until we were halfway done with lunch to clear her throat, I looked at her with a complicit smile.

"Stop, or I'm not gonna say anything"

She leaned over the table and took the manual I'd seen her with previously, then moved closer to me.

"This is the favor I need. Well, it's not really a favor I need you to do me, it's like... I need you to be the middle man between people I need the favors from"

"So you just need me to talk to someone" I took the manual and gave it a look.

"Well, I'll explain. The security portion is always put to the test, we hire a company that 'robs' the place and there's a percentage of the accuracy in which the security measures can prevent the attacked. With all the ones I have in place it's like a 30% chance we could get effectively robbed. That's from what we can do, now, if the attackers actually leave the building then-" she motioned at me "the feds come into play, even though we have permission to use an additional force to perssue, there's thing we can't do like shutting down blocks, establishing a perimeter, close roads and all that."

"And you want me to do what exactly".

"I want you to wink wink nudge nudge some people from the FBI and local police to act fast in the staged robbery"

I nodded and left the manual in the table.

"And how is this cheating?"

I laid my hand in the small of her back and pulled her close, she leaned to me and placed her forearm on my thigh.

"Because it's supposed to be a spontaneous response, if I tell the cops when the hit is going to be of course they're gonna catch the robbers"

I nodded, then leaned in a bit and kissed her lips.

"Consider it done cupcake, whenever it happens, they'll be ready and respond quickly"

"Thank you" she said quietly, then kissed my lips again.

I snuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out my car keys, handing them to her.

"I'll take a cab home, you can take the car, it looks like you'll be here for a little while"

"Yeah" she took the keys and left them on the table "short day today?"

"A little, but I prefer to head home now and be with the kid before you get home and hog her"

I stood up and smiled down at her, she gave me a little twist of her lips and finally smiled.

"I can hog her all I want, I made her" she snuck her hand to mine and walked outside with me.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and took it, giving the notification a quick look, Maggie probably noticed that I was staring at it, reading the text I'd gotten from my friend.

"You have to head back?" She asked when we were in the entrance of the firm.

"No, it's a side thing" I quickly put it away and shot the hand that was holding hers to her back, pulling her in to give her another kiss. "I'll see you later love"

I heard Mags saying she loved me before turning around and walking on the street, I heard the door close behind me and I pulled my phone again. After I hauled a cab I looked at the text closely. My friend had sent me the full report on Cameron, but he noted, as well as I, that there were some gaps between a few years. He told me he could look into it if I wanted to.

I spent the cab ride home thinking if I should. Something he'd said to me didn't hit me at the time but now I reflected a lot about it, about me being controlling. I'd like to think that I had my reasons to be worried about anyone making such an approach to my wife, specially if she told me that she made him nervous or she didn't feel comfortable at work.

Maggie was one of those people who always tried to see the good in people, and I guess I was the one who always saw the bad in them, I don't know if that made us a good or a bad couple.

I decided upon arriving home that I was going to let it slide for now, it was pointless hunting everyone who I didn't like.

When I got home, Carol was about to feed Alma to hopefully make her sleep again, she told me she'd been awake for a few hours and she was getting a bit grumpy. I told her that I could take it from here and dismissed her early. I was surprised at how good she was with Alma, I saw her from the cameras at work when I had a spare time, and I never saw her do something other than cuddle Alma, rock her, feed her and be vigilant of her when she was asleep.

I must admit I'd never up until this point fed Alma, that was Maggie's job, but now that I had to do it I understood why she did it, it was a nice sense of protection and overall love to just sit there and feed her.

She didn't instantly fell asleep, I guess she took after me. I took the time I had before Maggie returned home to work out what she'd asked me. Since Alma didn't look like she wanted to sleep I carried her on my shoulder and paced around the empty house with her, talking on the phone with people I hadn't talked to in a while. Everything always started with "it's been so long, I heard your got married" and then it would turn into "oh wow you had a baby?".

Asking for favors usually meant something in return, and in my line of work the 'something in return' usually was something of more pressing matters than what I actually required, like helping build a case, help with the investigation, put my name in a report, all those things I could do. What I absolutely couldn't do, not even for my wife, was agree to reveal the source of all the high level arrest I'd been making for the last couple of years. Word usually got around and after the manhunt for Liz, I don't want to say that I was on the sights of people, but I knew some of my old co-workers talked about my sources, and how I was catching criminals that people hadn't even heard about or didn't know where to start looking for them.

I learned to avoid the conversations that started with 'you've been busy lately', that meant that they knew. So I would generally try to end those quickly.

It was nearing 6 pm when I saw Maggie appear in the doorway of Alma's bedroom. I'd sat down in the loveseat, holding Alma still to my chest as I finished the last phonecall.

She gave us a little smile and walked to us, leaning to the side to check on the baby.

"Is she asleep?"

She lifted her hand and took her phone, quickly snapping a picture of her and showing her to me. I chuckled because she had a visible frown on her face.

"She even sleeps with the same frown you do"

"She doesn't"

Maggie didn't lift her eyes from the phone, she typed a few things and curved her lips in a smile.

"I'm sending this to your mom, and she'll be the key witness to this" she put her phone away and let out a sigh "well since I've been accused of interrupting father-daugther time before, I'll take a bath"

"Alright love"

I watched Maggie smile at the both of us, then she exited the room.

I staid with Alma a little while after she left, not too long because I also wanted to see Mags.

We were still in the dead of summer so after a bath Maggie slipped a simple tank top and a pair of shorts, only this time she'd decided to skip the shorts and parade around the house with a thong.

I was walking through the kitchen to the salon when I caught a glimpse of her bare ass, and I had to double back to make sure my eyes were not tricking me.

I walked to her and stood next to her, she was sitting in the high chairs of the kitchen, leaning forward and looking at her phone.

"What are you doing?" I asked her. She motioned at her phone without looking at me.

"I'm taking to my sister"

"I meant without your pants on"

"Oh, it's super hot out. It's a freeing experience, you should try it" she said with a sly smile.

"I don't know. Maybe I need a little help"

She stood up and walked a little step to me. God damn she was still the hottest thing in the world to me.

"Mmm, those look a little hard to get off" she teased holding the loops of the belt and pulling me to her.

I moved my hands to her ass and pulled her to me, she smiled and hooked her arms around my neck.

"Let's go to the bedroom shall we?"

I moved my hands lower and pulled her legs up, moving her legs to my waist, she held herself tighter on my neck.

"Yes ma'am"