#this all stemmed from him promising to get me pizza and then at the last minute deciding it was too late to get pizza so o just didn't eat

[cryptid-crusader]

Bro I am just so grumpy tonight. :/

[realcube]

haikyuu!! boys with a s/o that becomes clingy/affectionate while drunk

characters: kyōtani, kenma, iwaizumi, matsukawa and bokuto

thank you anon for this marvellous request mwah

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!

tw// drinking, suggestive themes, sexual references, swearing

Kentarō Kyōtani

kyōtani was used to having a cool, laid-back s/o who was just as awkward about physical touch as he was 

i mean, that’s kinda a part of the reason he liked you so much - so y’all could get over your awkwardness together

so imagine his surprise when his usually level-headed, calm s/o came stumbling out of the club, a blubbering mess and threw themselves into his arms, wailing something about a maths test

THE AMOUNT OF EMOTIONS THAT FLOODED HIS MIND IN THAT ONE MOMENT OMFG ADFGHJKL

he was like ‘omg why are they touching me? i kinda like it- wait are they crying? tf? i ain’t ever seen them cry before- should i help them? lord everyone is looking at us now. so what the fuck do i do- AYE DON’T TOUCH ME THERE’

so he had no choice but to dip with you flung over his shoulder lol

he took you back to your shared apartment and forced you to drink some water and instead of ordering a take-out, he just gave you his leftover burrito which he took to the club smh

it was probably cold 

but that was the best he could think of at the time bc he simply needed to shut you up with food bc the alcohol in your system was causing you to become especially touchy, hence resulting in kyōtani getting especially aroused

but the last thing he’d do is fuck you while you’re drunk and i firmly believe that despite the fact kyōtani is a bit of a lout - he still has like a basic moral compass

but i mean if you kept being so damn suggestive then it was gonna be a lot harder for him to resist his urges

you were rubbing him up and shit, calling him every pet name in the book so ofc he just stuck a burrito in your mouth and went ‘stfu 😡’

the painful part was that he was silently enjoying it too (┬┬﹏┬┬)

(though, he was red from blushing lol, not anger) 

and he wasn’t used to it either so obviously he was gonna get flustered, i mean, everything was happening all at once

oh and you told him ‘i love you’ and he literally combusted like lord have mercy on this man 

just that morning you were calling him your ‘annoying rat boyfriend’ (jokingly, ofc) and now you love him?-

that wasn’t the first time you told him that you loved him but he was still blushing none the less 

and he stammered out a ‘love you too’ PRAYING that you wouldn’t remember any of this the following day

anyway, he cuddled you to sleep and railed you as soon as you sobered up - the end ❤

Kenma Kozume

pov: you’re kenma happily being a wallflower in the club then your s/o approaches you, demanding for you to fuck them 

- ok, end of POV - 

anyway, your speech was slurred so kenma wasn’t really sure if that was what you were asking him to do but if it was, he would’ve happily obliged if it wasn’t for the fact you were clearly drunk

mans was blushing though

bc y’all hardly ever do it but now - all of a sudden - you were tightly wrapped around him, garbling erotic threats into his ear

kenma was worried at first but you were like..really weak

so it wasn’t hard to get you off his torso, usher you out of the club and grip your hand as he ordered a taxi 

also kenma had read enough wattpad fanfictions to know how to deal with someone while they’re drunk 

but none of those fanfictions ever mentioned a single thing about how to deal with yourself while your partner is drunk

like seriously..he was in pain

both from the throbbing erection he had and the aching embarrassment he felt - both stemming from the fact you tried to give him a lap dance in taxi ✋ please oml

anyway, he took you back to his apartment and insisted that you have a few slices of the left-over pizza in the fridge along with a glass of water

after you changed into your pyjamas, you had clearly sobered up slightly as you could now compose coherent sentences

but that wasn’t any better for him bc now you were draped over him, whimpering into his ear about how much you love him

‘i’m so lucky to have you, kenma. i love you so much. you remind me of my first cat - you’re such a cat- i mean, blessing..you’re such a blessing.’ 

ngl, at that point he would be at a loss for words, just deciding to hug you until you fall asleep

like he finds it so cute that you’re finally opening up to him about how you feel as you’re usually quite composed and restrained 

but also- what does he do now? 

you eventually fell asleep in his arms and the next day, you woke up to kenma having made breakfast and telling you how much he adores you which was..confusing, to say the least

he told you about how you acted when you were drunk and to say you were embarrassed would be an understatement 

also, he’ll tease you about it for the rest of your life ;)

Hajime Iwaizumi

literally all you had to do was send him a text like ‘iwa...,,.,...ily so mycj ❤’’ and he’s already waiting in the line to get into the club lol

he marches in there, finds you, grabs your hand and drags you home 

let’s hope that your friends know what iwaizumi looks like so they don’t have to just watch a random guy haul you out the club-

and tries to act all like angry iwaizumi >:( but when you are trailing behind him, muttering about how amazing he is, he becomes more like angy iwa grrr (* ￣︿￣)

by that, i mean that angry iwaizumi would bring you home and lecture on how irresponsible it is to get so intoxicated 

but angy iwa just takes care of you but with a disapproving scowl 

and angry iwaizumi would make nasty, bitchy remarks about how inappropriate your outfit is 

while angy iwa would be like ‘babe, your outfit is lovely but maybe wear something different next time, idk....’

either way, he takes good care of you 

he makes sure you eat (and he cooks good food btw - he doesn’t make you eat leftovers lmao) 

he lets you change into more comfortable clothes

he ensures that you don’t die in the shower 

and he forces you to go to bed

but all of that is rather difficult when you’re clinging to him like your life depends on it, raving on about how sweet of a boyfriend he is and covering his face sloppy kisses

his original plan was to go train some more in his gym (yes, there is a gym in y’alls house-) but when you were peppering his cheek in kisses, begging him to stay with you for whatever reason, of course he didn’t have the balls to leave

 so he ended up laying like a log in bed as you cuddled up to him like koala, resting your head in his chest and allowing him to run his hand through your hair as you slept

in that moment - as he stared down at your tranquil figure - he realised how grateful he was for moments like these, as he finally got see a side of you that he knew you’d almost never exhibit when you’re sober

like yeah, you often tell him how much you love him but he can always tell that it’s as if you’re setting aside your pride to say such a thing but now, you’re gushing on about it with the most genuine look in your eyes, he can tell that you’re being completely sincere 

and to say that he adores it would be an understatement 

so yeah, you were kind of a pain while drunk but you were also the most adorable thing that iwaizumi had ever laid his eyes on (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Issei Matsukawa

ok so the only reason matsukawa wasn’t getting drunk with you was bc the first time y’all got drunk together he got fined for public indecency and you got done for public intoxication

so you decided that it was best (for your wallets) if you took turns getting tipsy

emphasis on ‘tipsy’ bc you both went to the bar together (along with a few friends) and you promised matsukawa that you’d only have a few drinks 

so please explain to him why he is now having to carry you bridal style out of the bar because you are too hammered to walk properly 

and he was kinda grumpy bc he had to leave his friends mid-conversation bc not only were you pestering him but also, the erotic things you were whispering in his ear caused him to get a boner

and he was getting weird looks from people as he carried you home but that was the least of his problems tbh- he didn’t even notice lol

the biggest issue on his mind rn was the fact that you made him hard yet you can’t help him bc you’re drunk smh 

like he was tempted at first bc you seemed down to do it but he quickly came back to reality and realised how morally incorrect that’d be 

so he was mumbling curses the whole way home just to tune you out bc if he paid any more attention to the racy promises you were muttering in his ear- he’d explode

he’s alright at taking care of you like he isn’t iwaizumi’s level of caring but he’s a close second, i mean he’s gotten drunk plenty of times so he knows the basics

he was like ‘drink water idk lol ’

anyway, once he handled himself he wasn’t too fazed by your lustful advances

and he was so smug about it too deadass like ‘keep talkin’ me up, (y/n), you ain’t getting shit until you’re sober.’

smh ANYWAY he thinks you’re so charming when you’re like lovey-dovey drunk but SO annoying when you’re horny drunk bc like- he can’t get some (T_T)

Kōtarō Bokuto 

best for last 👌

ok anyway he’s an athlete and he doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time- he’s forever drunk tbh- drunk on life :)

so while you’re getting hammered with your pals, he’s doing stupid shit while sober lol

once you both rendezvous outside the club to head home and you’re absolutely steamin- he’s just like ‘hi, babe! how’s your night been?’

SO OBLIVIOUS OML

anyway, he drives back to y’alls house and since you’re fatigued at first, you spent 90% of the car ride sleeping

but when you get home, more awake, you’re all up on him

but you’re not like sensual drunk- more like..emotional drunk but with love 🥺

so basically you are sobbing into his chest about whatever and bc he is an such empath he will start crying too, or at least get a bit emotional 

you could say something like, ‘omg, bo. i hardly get to see you because you’re at work so often- i wish i could spend more time with you. i miss you so much’  ╯︿╰

and he would deadass reply whole-heartedly while weeping into your shoulder, ‘I’M QUITTING VOLLEYBALL, (Y/N)!!’

(ok, so maybe he was a bit tipsy too- but like..definitely not has drunk as you)

he has no idea where to start when it comes to taking care of you but he tries (´◡` ‘) 

at the very least, he ensures that you don’t having any more alcohol and that you don’t die somehow 

he’s v overprotective though 

you could be getting a fork to eat your instant-noodles with and he’ll be like 

‘apologies ✋ but i cannot allow you to handle such a dangerous weapon while intoxicated. maybe eat with a spoon instead, idk.’ /h

other than that, he just cuddles you to sleep and deals with you in your badly hungover state the next day

[emerald-studies]

Racist Clothing Brands + Black Brands to Buy From Instead:

                                         Racist Brands

Chanel

Chanel has been repeatedly accused of racially profiling Black customers and last year they hired a white woman as head of their "diversity and inclusion" department.

Gucci

Gucci has a complicated history with the Black community, stemming from them all but trying to destroy Dapper Dan's business only to hire him two decades later. Most recently they came under fire for releasing a sweater that had suspiciously Blackface elements and stealing designs from Black designers.

Prada

Prada has a similar history and they recently had to apologize after releasing a collection of monkey key chains.

Dior

Dior's most recent fragrance campaign came under fire for racist undertones but a Black Hollywood stylist also gave BET.com an account of an incident that she had with a brand. The stylist requests to remain anonymous says, "they compromised our creative relationship by not following through on requests and instead loaning looks that were promised to me to white actors instead."

Celine

Celine's branding is notoriously extremely thin and extremely white. A quick scroll of their social media will reveal exactly their opinion on Black lives.

Barney’s 

Before going bankrupt, Barney's had to pay out a settlement in a racial discrimination case of $525k to two plantiffs. 

Moda Operandi

A former employee of the company released this thread on Moda Operandi, citing several micro aggressions she suffered there. 

Burberry

Burberry issued an apology after releasing a sweater featuring a noose motif.

Tommy Hilfiger

In 1996, Tommy Hilfiger famously made comments against the Black community and has since clarified what he meant, but the hurt in the community lingers. 

Moschino 

Managers discriminated against black customers who did not appear to be rich or famous.

“If a potential black client was not a celebrity and did not have an outward appearance of money via diamonds or name brands, defendant [Ranna] Selbak called them a ‘Serena’ to other sales associates and wanted the ‘Serena’ to be closely watched,” according to the complaint.

Versace

A former male Versace employee sued Versace for allegedly firing him after his manager realized he was Black.

Zara

Zara was accused of using racial code words for black and Latinx customers. The Center for Popular Democracy surveyed 251 Zara employees in New York City about the retailer’s practices. Poll respondents said that when the term “special order” was used at the store, employees were to find the location of the shoppers in question and follow them around. Black customers were most often described as “special orders,” according to the survey results.

Reformation 

They were criticised for their internal practices by a black former employee, Elle Santiago. Santiago said she was denied work promotions in favor of white colleagues, as well as being ignored by the company founder, Yael Aflalo, because of her race.

“Being overlooked and undervalued as a woman of color who worked and managed their flagship store for three years was the hardest,” Santiago wrote in an Instagram post picked up by industry watchdog Diet Prada. “I cried many times knowing [that] the color of my skin would get me nowhere in the company.” 

Urban Outfitters

“As one of very few PoC [people of color] I quickly noticed the toxic environment I’d joined,” says the former employee, who wishes to remain anonymous. “Within my first month my manager made a flippant racist comment in regards to an Uber I’d called; the driver’s name was Muhammad. Her comment was, ‘You would get a Muhammad’ – in what I can only take as a comment made because of my heritage.

“There’s no PoC in the executive team and very little representation of PoC in head office, on the website, marketing campaigns and within the retail management teams.”

The company has a history of producing offensive items of clothing, including a seemingly blood-spattered T-shirt seen as a reference to the 1970 Kent State shootings; a T-shirt in a color named “Obama/Black”; another featuring a six-pointed badge, which seemed to allude to the Star of David badge that Jewish people were forced to wear during the Holocaust; and a racially insensitive Navajo line which used the Navajo nation name illegally.

Dolce & Gabbana

Ads, featured a Chinese woman struggling to eat spaghetti and pizza with chopsticks.

Comme des Garçons

White models wore wigs of traditional Black people’s hairstyles during its men’s autumn/winter 2020 show.

                                             BLACK BRANDS

ASATA MAISE

This designer transforms vintage fabrics into unique pieces that are made to be photographed. I mean, this whole slideshow of looks is A-R-T. Of course, being a one-person business can be overwhelming, so if you have the means, you can donate to Asata's GoFundMe which will provide her with equipment to keep up with demand.

Website: asatamaise.com

MIE

If dreamy, flowy dresses are up your alley, you definitely want to give this brand a follow. All the pretty pieces, including this stunning red puff-sleeve number, are made by local seamstresses and artisans in Lagos, Nigeria where it's based.

Website: mie.ng

JBD Apparel

Kim Kardashian recently gave this brand a shoutout, and it's easy to see why she's a fan of these body-hugging knit sets. All the pieces are handmade to order.

Website: jbdapparel.com

PHLEMUNS

Another celeb fave is this gender-neutral brand designed by James Flemons and based out in Los Angeles. Solange Knowles, Lizzo, Billie Eilish, Clairo, Lil Nas X, Miley Cyrus, and Bella Hadid have all worn its designs.

Website: phlemuns.com

RIOT SWIM

Looking for a truly standout swimwear piece to add to your summer wardrobe? Check out this label designed by Monti Landers featuring minimalistic silhouettes and shades that blend in seamlessly with darker skin tones.

Website: riotswim.com

COME BACK AS A FLOWER 

Specializing in hand-dyed garments, the pieces are ethically made using 100 percent recycled cotton. It also does drops of cool vintage tees, and stars like ASAP Rocky and Big Sean have worn its clothes.

Website: cbaaf.org

HUMANS BEFORE HANDLES 

This jewelry label has some of the cutest accessories for summer (eyeing these seashell ones, wow), and most impressive is the fact that everything is under $50.

Website: humansbeforehandles.com

LAQUAN SMITH

Here’s a real celeb fave (Rihanna, Beyoncé, and sooo many more have worn his pieces). Go to LaQuan Smith for any of your glam/sexy outfit needs, please! 

Website: laquansmith.com

BROTHER VELLIES

Founder Aurora James creates truly one-of-a-kind shoes (please look at this pair of mesh boots topped with feathers) and small leather goods that are handmade by artisans around the world.

Website: brothervellies.com

CUSHNIE

Designer Carly Cushnie’s sleek styles have been worn by the likes of Jennifer Lopez, Ashley Graham, and Lupita Nyong’o, btw.

Website: cushnie.com

JADE SWIM

Need a swimsuit? You’re going to want one of these pretty, minimal designs by former fashion editor and stylist Brittany Kozerski.

Website: jadeswim.com

CHRISTOPHER JOHN ROGERS

The 26-year-old designer from Louisiana was one of the hottest tickets at New York Fashion Week in February 2020, and high-profile ladies like Michelle Obama and Cardi B. have worn his unique, colorful pieces. Find his clothing exclusively at Net-a-Porter online.

Website: christopherjohnrogers.com

MATEO NEW YORK

Matthew Harris of Mateo New York is a self-taught jewelry designer hailing from Montego Bay, Jamaica, and living in NYC. Shop here for beautifully minimal 14k-gold fine jewelry.

Website: mateonewyork.com

TELFAR

Looking for something truly magical and out there? Consider designer Telfar Clemens, whose hybrid pieces (hello, “sweatpant jeans” and “scarf-collar shirt”) really stand out.

Website: telfar.net

FENTY

DUH.

Website: fenty.com

PYER MOSS

Founded by designer Kerby Jean-Raymond in 2013, Pyer Moss uses its platform for social change, storytelling, and activism as well as art and design. For shopping, come for the bright, matching suits, glam, and pleated gowns and stay for comfy sweats and jeans.

Website: pyermoss.com

                                         + More Brands Here +

[xbladekitkat85]

Why Clint is on Tony’s Sh*t List

Word count: A bit over 3k.

Chapter summary: Peter and Harley are brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Which is highly classified knowledge that nobody outside of the Avengers knows. Until Clint Barton accidentally spills the secret with a technology related mishap.

Warnings: A bit of language here and there. Tony threatening Clint’s life because he did an oopsie.

Peter's POV

In the school that is Midtown School of Science and Technology, everyone is basically a genius of some sort. You have biology geeks, math geeks, chemistry geeks, robotics geeks. You name a branch of STEM subjects, there are guaranteed to be at least 5 masters in every subject.

That being said, being a master in a subject doesn't mean that you would be instantly popular. Sure you might get hounded for homework help, but it doesn't mean you actually make friends as easily. It's more like people want to leech off of your knowledge and don't bother to get to know you.

There's a social pyramid in all schools and let's just say I'm towards the bottom of mine. I build Lego sets, I love Star Wars, I'm a whiz at chemistry and math. But people ignore the fact that I'm 'somewhat' intelligent and focus on the Lego and Star Wars part of my image. Which sucks big time. At least I'm graduating this year.

But at least I have my brother Harley to confide in. We argue over stupid stiff but we both enjoy poking fun at each other.

3rd person POV

Peter was sitting at his usual table with his small group of friends. Ned, MJ, and Betty made up this small group of people.

"So, what are you guys doing this weekend?" Ned asked the group.

"Uhhhh, I was planning on going to see that new movie coming out." Betty answered. "You know, the one with Emilia Clarke and what's his name."

"Oh yeah, I know which one you're talking about." Ned replied.

"You losers can go see a movie, I'm going to a protest outside of Oscorp." MJ replied, sipping her thermos of coffee.

"What did Oscorp do?" Peter asked curiously.

"They're trying to cover up an employee getting severely injured, the safety protocols are shitty, and HR is as usual, the worst part of it all in addition to the censorship of the incident online."

Peter nodded his head, eyes widened.

"Gotcha. I definitely understand why you're going."

MJ set her thermos down and opened her latest book, Speak.

Ned turned to look at Peter.

"Stark internship all weekend?" He inquired.

Peter shrugged and took a sip of water.

"I'm gonna hang out with Harley. Probably do some stuff in the lab. Usual stuff."

Betty shook her head in disbelief.

"I still can't believe you're friends with him." She said. "He's pretty high on the social ladder here. I mean I know you guys have the internship together but it's still kind of baffling that I never see you interacting in school."

Ohhhhh, if you only knew Betty. Peter laughed to himself on the inside.

Nobody at school knew that Peter and Harley were half brothers and the children of Tony Stark. Not even Ned or MJ knew although he suspected that MJ somehow knew or was close to figuring it out. She's scarily perceptive and freakishly good at knowing things about other people that she definitely shouldn't.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch.

The four friends parted ways and headed to their respective classes.

*After school*

Peter arrived at the tower straight from Delmar's after picking up snacks for the weekend. He had grabbed an assortment, ranging from potato chips to pretzel M&Ms.  He waved at Ms. Maldonado, the lady who commanded the reception area and dashed to the elevator, scanning his pass when prompted.

FRIDAY greeted him when the doors closed.

"How was your day Peter? Harley is already waiting for you. He told me to tell you, and I quote, "Peter, I hope you remembered my PRETZEL M&Ms not PEANUT M&M's like last time. If you forgot, I'm going to steal that new Lego set you were planning on building tomorrow. And I WILL hide it somewhere you'll never, ever, find it. Insert maniacal cackling, blah blah blah."

Peter stifled a laugh at Harley's message.

"Uh, well my day was the usual, you know. And tell Harley I got his stupid M&Ms. And I grabbed him something else too if he promises not to threaten the Legos again."

"Sure thing, Peter."

He exited the elevator to the floor which housed the labs he shared with Harley. There were multiple as the duo tended to accidentally blow things up and would need to have another place to work while repairs were being done. Needless to say, Tony was more than a little annoyed that his kids needed multiple labs because they kept blowing them up. But whatever, he loves them and will pay for it as long as he gets to blackmail them with all the ridiculous stories of what blew up and how it happened.

Harley looked up towards the door Peter walked through and lifted his welding mask off his face.

"Hand over the merchandise, blockhead." He said, his arm stretched towards the bag of goodies Peter was carrying.

"Only if you promise to leave the Legos alone, biotch." He replied.

Harley rolled his eyes and dramatically lifted his hand in the air as if he was testifying in court.

"I promise not to touch the Legos." He said in a half joking tone.

Peter handed him the pack of M&Ms as well as a container of Oreos.

"I still don't understand why you like pretzel M&Ms." Peter remarked. "There's too much pretzel and not enough chocolate."

Harley stared directly at him as he tore open the M&Ms and popped a few in his mouth.

"I don't understand why you don't like pineapple on pizza." Harley shot back as he swiveled around in his chair

Peter groaned.

"We are not having this discussion again."

"Peter you're an idiot if you don't like pineapple on your pizza."

"Harley, you're a disgrace to the entire state of New York if you do. Fruit is not supposed to go on a proper pizza."

Harley chucked a bolt at Peter's head.

"Hey!" He protested as he turned to look at Harley. And then he saw a glint in Harley's eyes.

"Pizza is a dish with everything from the food pyramid. You have grain, dairy, meat, vegetables, fats, and oh, wait, you don't like pineapple so you're missing out. You could be getting every nutrient from the food pyramid but you're an idiot so you miss your daily serving of delicious pineapple on your pizza."

"Oh my god, stop."

The boys busted out laughing for a full 3 minutes, eventually with Harley falling out of his chair. Tony walked in to find his kids cackling at who knows what, and one on the floor, almost incapacitated by his laughter. He sighed before clearing his throat to gain their attention.

The boys sobered up and finally stopped laughing but they had unshed tears left from the fun.

"What on earth were you two dying of laughter over? Should I call a therapist? Do I need to be concerned? Did you eat something that you shouldn't have?"

Harley sniggered as Peter was trying to keep a straight face.

"He was eating pretzel M&Ms!" Peter said, holding back his laughter. "The type that should be illegal!"

"Peter, you don't diss Pretzel M&Ms, they're an underappreciated member of the M&Ms family. If you think pretzel M&Ms should be illegal, you clearly haven't tried the raspberry ones." Harley replied while doing his best to keep his face straight. "If anything, you should call a therapist for Peter and help him overcome his aversion to pineapple on pizza."

Tony looked even more lost than he was before.

"Ok, I don't know what I'm supposed to make of this. FRIDAY, show me footage of what the hell happened while I wasn't here."

"Sure thing boss."

Friday pulled up security footage of Harley and Peter's conversation. Tony watched it as the two teens were snickering behind him. After he understood the situation he turned to his kids and let out a tired sigh.

"Ok, I don't understand your sense of humor, but I came to tell you that we're having Italian for dinner."

Peter pumped his fist and Harley just shrugged.

"Italian is fine by me I guess."

"All right kiddos, be in the dining room by 7ish or else I'll cut the power to these labs. We eat as a family."

*Time skip*

It was 2 am, Monday morning and everything was silent except for the faint noise of shuffling towards the ceiling.

Clint Barton was crawling around in the vents, obviously on his way to do something he probably shouldn't be.

He had lost a bet with Nat earlier and the punishment was that he had to steal something for blackmail off of FRIDAY's databases.

He quietly dropped out of a vent shaft into an important looking office. He didn't bother checking who it belonged to but he was already too far gone to ask.

"Ok Nat, what do you want me to look for?" He whispered into his earpiece.

"Check the computer on the desk. The password is written on a sticky note in your pocket."

He checked his pocket and there was indeed a post it with a password on it.

"Ok, what am I supposed to find?" He asked once he logged in.

"Look for footage from the labs." She said. "Check labs CTS2 and IAI1."

"CTS2 and IAI1, gotcha." He reaffirmed.

He browsed around until he found the cameras he needed.

"Ok, found em. What dates should I look at?"

"Look at this past Friday," She answered, "around 4:45 to 6:15 pm. Tony drank from a can of motor oil instead of his coffee cup. I would like this footage in my posession. For my entertainment, and possibly blackmail to pull on him."

"All righty, ok, uhhhh." He muttered as he searched through that window of time.

He watched snippets of the footage and fast forwarded a few times until he glimpsed footage of Harley swiveling around in his chair as Peter looked exasperated. He paused and rewound to see what the situation was.

As Clint watched the whole argument play out and the aftermath, a shit eating grin began to spread across his face. He emailed himself the whole interaction for his own entertainment (blackmail, cough cough) and went back to searching for what he originally came for. He eventually found it, sent it to Natasha, logged out of the computer, and climbed into the open vent.

"You get it?" Nat asked suspiciously.

"Oh yeah, I got it." He said, trying to hold back the mischievous laughter that was threatening to let loose. He checked his phone to see whether he got the email he sent to himself. But to his surprise and sudden panic, it was not there. His social media, however, was blowing up with comments about the two kids and who they were and theories people were spouting.

"Oh shit."

"What did you do, Clinton?" Nat asked in a threateningly monotone voice.

Clint banged his head on the vent, forgetting that he still had his comms on.

"I may or may not have accidentally exposed Peter and Harley as Tony's kids."

Nat was silent for a moment before she finally responded.

"Tony's probably going to kill you for this, so you should pack your bags right now. Make funeral arrangements as well and update your will."

"Ah shit."

*Monday morning, 6:45 am*

Peter woke up to his phone ringing. He groaned and turned on his side to ignore the call. The phone rang again and he sighed before reluctantly sitting up and grabbing his phone.

What the hell, who's calling this early?

He looked at his notifications and saw multiple missed calls and texts from Ned and MJ. Something must have happened because Ned had typed in all caps, 'PETER EVERYONE KNOWS! CALL ME NOW!' MJ's text just said, 'I knew already. Don't try to hide it from me whenever you come to school.'

Instantly, Peter was wide awake. Did the whole world know he was Spiderman? But how did this happen, who would leak that information and how did they get it?

He called Ned and before he could even say, "What's up?" Ned butted in with a sentence he was not expecting.

"Peter, when were you going to tell me your dad was Tony Stark?! This is even bigger than Spiderman! As your Guy in the Chair, I think this knowledge might have been missing in our conversations."

Peter was at a loss for words as he stood up.

"It's all over social media and people are going apeshit over this!"

"Ned, you shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet." Peter replied in a nervous tone as he began pacing back and forth in his room. "How do you know the source is credible? Remember what Ms. Hernandez said about credibility when giving information in an essays or whatever?"

"But Peter, Hawkeye was the one who posted it. You know, the Avenger who shoots arrows?"

Peter stopped pacing and froze midstep.

Uncle Clint was behind this? But why?

"You sure he wasn't hacked?" Peter asked as he feebly attempted to get out of this confrontation.

"No, it's security footage from a lab. Tony said in the video that you guys were a family."

Peter then realized that he couldn't worm his way out of this situation. The whole world knew he and Harley were brothers and the sons of Tony Stark. Of course this happened, why wouldn't it?

"I'm going to call you back, I need to talk to Clint." Peter said.

"Ok, just let me know if you and Harley are going to be ok or not." Ned replied.

"Bye Ned."

"Bye."

Peter hung up and took a deep breath before leaving his room to go find Clint.

He entered the kitchen and almost everyone was there except the one person he wanted to talk to.

"Hey, uh, where's uncle Clint?" Peter asked.

Uncle Steve looked up from his breakfast.

"He left last night. Family emergency."

"Uh huh, so correct me if I'm wrong but Clint left because dad was going to kill him, right?"

Suddenly everyone was avoiding eye contact with Peter. Yup, everyone knew what happened.

Just then, Tony walked in with a very irritated expression.

"I don't think you and Harley are going to be able to go to school today. Some kid from your school, Dash or something posted you go to school with him and know you both. So there are multiple news stations outside the tower and surrounding your school. Might be best to just stay home today."

"Is Uncle Clint still alive?" Harley asked as he walked in, yawning.

"He is alive," Tony responded "Not for much longer though."

"Dad, you can't just kill him." Peter protested. "It's not like he actually did anything that warrants his death."

"I don't think he meant to do it." Harley added. "He deleted it maybe 10 minutes after he posted it but other people recorded it on their own devices and re shared it. He probably realized what he had done and tried to delete it but of course, once it's out there, it's out there."

"Don't kill Uncle Clint, he's got a wife and kids. Besides, we need him on the team." Peter said.

"We don't need Clint," Tony said, waving his hand. "I already got a replacement set up."

Peter had not heard of this new team member that was apparently going to replace Clint.

"Who is it?" Harley asked curiously.

"Kate Bishop. She's already on her way here. Clint trained her to take over the mantle of Hawkeye anyway so it shouldn't be that big a deal." Tony shrugged. "She's a bit older than you two, 18 or 19, I can't remember at the moment."

"Ok, then, as long as she's trusted by you." Peter relented.

"Don't know what she might be like, but if Clint trained her, and they share similar personalities, whatever spirits above help us." Harley said solemnly.

Peter smacked Harley's arm.

"Hey!" He complained.

"She's not even here yet and you are badmouthing her already. Have some manners, dude."

"It doesn't matter at the moment right? You said it yourself, she's not here yet and I will 'have some manners' when she does."

All of a sudden, Peter heard a nearly imperceptible shuffling coming from above. He felt a shiver go down his spine and the instinct to get into a defensive position.

"He's right, you should have some manners young man." An unfamiliar voice boomed from above.

Harley looked around wildly in confusion.

"Who's there?! Are you a spirit from above???" He asked.

All of a sudden, a figure dropped out of the vent directly above Harley and tackled him to the ground.

"And that is Kate Bishop." Tony said, answering the question in everyone's mind.

Kate released Harley from her grip and she helped him up.

"Clint was right," She said, smiling. "Crawling through the vents to prank people is fun."

She looked up to the open vent and held out her arms, to everyone's confusion.

"Lucky, come on down!" She called.

To everyone's shock, a dog with one good eye poked his head out from the vent and jumped into Kate's arms.

"Oh crap, nobody has allergies to dog dander, right?" Kate asked, looking at everyone.

"Maybe? I'm not sure." Peter replied.

"Damn, I should have checked before bringing him, huh." Kate muttered.

Tony waved his hand at the dog.

"As long as he's potty trained, we should be fine." He said, trying to reassure her worries. "We're all fine with dogs."

Peter thought back to all the dogs he's pet on patrol. They always seemed happy to play with him and now there was a dog in the tower. Huzzah, he didn't get to only pet dogs on patrol now!

"Well, all's well that ends well, right?" Peter said.

"How about everyone gets acquainted with Kate?" Tony suggested. "It's not like you two are going to school today anyway."

Peter and Harley agreed and that day became a get to know the new team member day.

Peter texted Ned to let him know he was going to school the next day and invited him to the tower after school to meet someone. Oh the look on Ned's face when he found out would be priceless.

Taglist:

@frostedgiant

Send an ask if you would like to be tagged!

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 6

November 21st - Part 3

DeeDee heard both her phone and computer go off at the same time. She sighed, turned away from the computer and picked up the phone. She decided to see what the girls had to say first. 

Phyll: DeeDee. We can just hit the hookah spot tonight. No club.

Bev: Yeah, and you know you love the wings from Hakeem’s place. It’s a win-win for all of us.

“Ooooh, Hakeem’s wings.” Her stomach gurgled at the thought. “Ok, maybe not.”

DeeDee: Sorry ladies. I have a bottle of wine and a very interesting book calling my name. But you two have fun. 

Bev: Fine. Next week, then?

DeeDee: Yes, Bev. Definitely next week, I have no class or work. 

Bev: Great.  

Phyll: Punk. 

DeeDee: Love you both. Night. 

Bev: Night.

Phyll: Yeah.

DeeDee slid the phone on the coffee table and picked up the computer. Now, back to her book. She clicked on Erik’s email and started to read. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Ms. DeeDee, 

There is no need to pout. I promise you that. 

So, you want a career in teaching. You love to see it. I think that is amazing. 

It reminds me of the work I started when I first came to the Center. I used to run an afterschool science program for the local kids. With the same goal as you, I wanted more of us in STEM careers, looking out for us. 

Reading. I wish I had more time to do it. A good book is always a great escape. 

Speaking of which, what are you getting into tonight? 

Mister Erik

“My night? Oh, just in front of my computer. Talking to a man, I didn’t even know existed until a week ago. Just spilling my guts.”

DeeDee never told anyone that her parents met at Southern, but something about Erik made her want to share that with him. Then realization dawned on her. It was another perfect set up for him to talk about his love life and he smoothly dodged it again.

“This damn man.” She rolled her eyes and got up to put the rest of the pizza away. 

“And of course, he used to work with kids.” Like he couldn’t be anymore interesting. DeeDee sighed as her smile returned. She grabbed another bottle from the fridge. It was definitely about to be that kind of night. 

DeeDee came back to the couch and picked up the notebook. She pulled out the neatly folded note, spread it flat and read it for the umpteenth time. 

On paper, he seemed like a dream. Talking to him, even better. There is no way that he was not happily taken by some extremely lucky woman.

DeeDee wondered what it would have been like if she had met him while he was still at Southern. She was on campus back then. A shy and soft-spoken junior who lived in the chemistry labs on campus. And Erik obviously would have been in and out of those same labs, too. 

It’s funny that they never did meet. “I would have remembered crossing paths with him.”

But then again, she didn’t meet Dr. O until he was a Grad Assistant for one of her organic chemistry classes. And she never thought, he would be her mentor when she joined the Ph.D program.  

And then there’s that part. One degree of separation and it just has to be that he is friends with Dr. O. Erik is obviously entertaining her for professional reasons, and not because he could be interested in her romantically.

“Get it together Dee. He is taken.” And yet, somewhere deep inside she kind of hoped that he wasn’t. That maybe he could see her for more than just his friend’s student. 

DeeDee looked back at Erik’s email, quickly wrote her reply and closed the laptop. She popped the cork on the new bottle and started drinking directly from it. With wine in hand, she got up and started swaying to the soothing sounds of Alex Isley and Masego’s ‘Good and Plenty.’ 

--- 

It had only been 15 minutes, but to Erik it felt like forever and he worried that maybe she did have other plans. He ran upstairs to change into some work out clothes and came down when his email chimed. He ran over to read it immediately. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Mister Erik, 

I am sitting on my couch, enjoying pizza and wine. Although, my bottle is gone. 

Other than that, I have no plans for the night. 

I let my best friends drag me out last night, so indoors it is for me. 

What about you? Any plans for the evening, like with someone special? 

It’s pretty early over there; like 7 in Cali, right? 

Anyways, I should probably let you enjoy the evening. Don’t be a stranger.

Miss DeeDee

“Wait! What?” Erik rapidly typed his response and sent it to her. He dropped down onto his couch. “I really lost my touch and can’t even talk to a woman anymore.”

He only asked because he didn’t want to assume she was gonna be available to chat via email all night. Erik knew he would do it, too. He was fascinated with her. He wanted to hear whatever she was willing to share with him. And yes, that meant even if he eventually had to answer the question. 

Erik went to the kitchen and got two bottles of water. From the living room, grabbed the tablet and headed to his downstairs gym. If DeeDee stopped responding at least he could work off whatever feelings arose. He set everything down besides the punching bag.

---

DeeDee had danced and drank all around her living room. But once she started to spin, the dance party came to an abrupt halt. The wine finally caught up with her and she plopped down on the couch. She slowly leaned over to set the quarter full bottle down on the table and opened the laptop. 

She had a new email. She squinted at the screen. From Erik. 

Her chest started pounding, so she took a few deep breaths and opened it. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Miss DeeDee,

It is a rare night in for me. I usually work on Saturdays, but I have had the whole day to myself. 

I played ball with some kids from the neighborhood this morning. And I cooked earlier this afternoon and was planning to watch a movie before turning in. 

However, I have been having a wonderful conversation and don’t really want it to end. 

Would you care to join me on a video call?

Erik

“WHAT?” DeeDee threw her laptop down on the couch. She stood up and paced the floor, slowly. “He’s gotta be kidding. Right?” She looked at the message on the screen again. 

She sat back down and sent the first thing that came to mind. Was this actually happening? What is going on? Her thoughts were circling around in her head and all through a wine-induced fog. Just her luck. 

“He --” DeeDee giggled, “Oh my god.” She dropped her face into her hands. 

---

Cool, calm and collected, he was not. Erik’s stomach was in knots while he waited for DeeDee’s response, if any. He hit the punching bag a few times in jest before the nervous energy kept him going. He stayed there for 15 minutes before moving to the free weights in the corner. 

As Erik laid back on the bench to start lifting the barbell, he heard the email alert. He slowly sat up. His heart couldn’t race any faster since he had been working out anyway. But it felt like it was gonna just fly out of his chest. He wrung his hands while he sat on the bench. 

He stood up and made his way over to the punching bag where everything was. Erik grabbed a nearby towel and wiped himself off before he picked up the tablet. 

“Now or never.” He unlocked it and opened DeeDee’s email. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Uh Mister Erik, 

I am enjoying our conversation as well. But I am not camera ready. And I am definitely not changing to get ready either. 

Let’s do it some other time. 

DeeDee

Erik released the biggest breath. He didn’t realize that he was holding it as he read her answer. Then he started to chuckle. And that small chuckle grew into a big full body laugh. It even echoed off the walls, but he could not help it. He was relieved by what he read, and knew exactly how to respond to it. 

He grabbed all his stuff and left the gym. He went upstairs to his bedroom. Erik sent the email and dropped his tablet on the bed. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Now DeeDee, 

Did I say anything about being all dressed up for this call? Doesn’t matter if you are in a hoodie and some sweats. 

I just wanted to have the face-to-face interactions while we chat because I can imagine you pouting about a silly question. And I am sure you want to see my reactions to you calling me Mister after I told you not to. 

No pressure, though. You have my email, so use it to connect to me if you want. I’ll be around, you know, since it’s early over here. 

Erik

Taglist: @teakturn​ @ghostfacekill-monger​ @shaekingshitup​ @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​ @woahitslucyylu​ @ladymac82​ @bugngiz​ @eyeknowmywrites​ @ajspencer1892​ @arafatih​ @issimplyaamazinggg​ @tchallasbabymama​

[hhunjins]

Pairing: Minho x gender neutral reader

Genre: body changing!au, angst

Word Count: ~2,800

Warnings: none

Notes: By body changing, I mean like the movie The Beauty Inside except I’m putting a little twist on it. Also rewritten for Minho because I liked the idea of him on a bike :’)

Summary: There was no way this was going to end well, but it was so easy to fall in love with Lee Minho.

The timer on the inside of your wrist tells you there are five minutes left. You rub your finger against the black numbers, knowing that trying to erase them was as hopeless as trying to pluck a star from the sky above you.

The world is dark, allowing you to see the faint glittering stars dot the black expanse of the universe. You feel so small, so insignificant like this. After five minutes are up, Earth will continue to spin, time will continue to tick by, life will continue to go on. After five minutes are up, the person in this body will wake up on the roof of their car on the side of the highway, wonder for a moment why they’re there, and drive home.

They’ll question the past few days but once they find the little post-it note on their fridge that says, “Hope you found yourself!” they’ll remember bits and pieces of their impromptu road trip…at least the pieces you want them to remember. They won’t question the gaps, filling them in with their own made up memories. Eventually, the past few days will be forgotten as nothing out of the ordinary.

Your eyelids are getting heavy, breathing slowing down as sleep beings to creep in. You close them willingly, letting the darkness finally overtake you. The last thing you see is the twinkling of the faraway stars. The only thing that stays constant throughout your constantly changing lives.

Your breath catches in your throat, like someone has forced all the air from your lungs yet you can’t breathe out. A tick, tick, tick echoes in your ears.

Finally, darkness.

The first thing that you register when your eyes open is how warm it is. There is a weight draped over your stomach and when you finally will yourself to open your eyes, you realize that there’s someone else in the bed with you. It’s his body heat and the blanket covering you that’s making it so warm.

“Hello. You’re finally awake. It’s noon,” he laughs, bopping your nose with his finger.

You blink slowly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “Noon?”

Your voice sounds foreign to yourself, but this man’s voice sounds like you’ve known him for years.

“Yes, noon. Come on, get up.” He slips his hand under your shirt and tickles your side, letting out a bubbly laugh when you swat him away with an indignant squawk. “We can go out for lunch,” he offers. He untangles himself from you and rolls out of bed.

You watch him rummage through a closet, pulling clothes off their hangers. He’s effortlessly attractive, even with nothing but sweatpants on.

He turns around. “Hey, get moving! I’m hungry.” With a crooked smile, he walks out of the room while trying to smooth out the mess on his head. You can’t take your eyes off him.

Once he’s gone, you look at your wrist.

Three months.

His name is Lee Minho and he’s been your boyfriend for two years and your best friend for much longer. He stays at your place over the weekend because his roommates are obnoxious. You don’t get to see him often on the weekdays because of your job, but sometimes he’ll drop by with food and a kiss. He has the softest smile, the most genuine eyes, and the most infectious laugh.

He loves you.

You’re so screwed.

You’ve never experienced anything like this before. There were lives where you were married or had significant others, but they never felt like this. Your body loved them, instinctively knowing which places to touch to bring the most pleasure and the right words to say when conversations about the past arose.

But with Minho, there was more.

There was something so pure about this relationship, so fulfilling and warm even after two years of being together. Minho’s partner loved him wholeheartedly, and with every interaction you had with him, you could feel that he reciprocated that love with the same intensity.

It was hard to push those instinctual feelings away. It would be easy to say that whenever you ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek that it was his partner’s mind urging you to, but that wasn’t really the full truth.

You may or may not be falling for him too.

“Why aren’t you eating? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly.

Minho tilts his head to the side, raising a concerned eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’ve been out of it since Sunday.”

You swallow. “I just have a lot of things on my mind.”

“Baby, you have three months off for the summer, why are you stressing?” Minho’s hand pats your head gently as he gives you his most sincere look. “Relax. It’s not like this is your first year teaching, you should be confident! It’ll be fine!”

You grimace and duck your head away from his hand. “I know,” you say meekly. You’re glad he doesn’t try to pry more. Being in a two year relationship has taught him a lot about your boundaries. Still, it feels weird to lie to Minho, even if you’ve only known him for less than a week.

You’re sure it’s because you’re in his partner’s body. Because there are so many overwhelming feelings associated with the man sitting across the table. Even though you have control of this body, you can’t control these impulses because the connection they have transcends Earth. If soulmates were real, Minho and his partner would definitely be the picture perfect pair. And, if an anomaly like you exists, then who is to say soulmates don’t?

But even without all of that, honestly speaking, it’s hard to not like Minho.

“Stop thinking,” Minho orders, “I can see the gears in the brain turning. You’re using too much brain power for summer break!” He takes your free hand and holds it to his face, so your palm cups his cheek. His skin is soft under your touch. When he smiles, you can feel the movement against your palm. “Eat faster! We have things to do!”

You crack a small smile. “Okay, okay.”

It feels a bit cruel that whatever entity in charge of the arduous task that was finding bodies for you to switch into chose someone close to Lee Minho. This higher being must either have it out for you or taking pity and presenting you with an opportunity.

Minho loves late night drives just as much as you do…the real you, whoever or whatever that form was. But the problem is that his partner doesn’t like sitting on his bike as he speeds down the highway. There was no way you could really do this without making something seem off.

“I’m going to for a drive,” Minho says as he grabs his keys from the coffee table you have your feet propped up on. “Don’t stay up too late. I know it’s summer, but you really shouldn’t be pulling all-nighters.” He pats your head with his hand, smiling when you frown at his action. “Don’t give me that face. I’ll be back safe and sound.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you try to stem the urge to ask to come along, but Minho takes it as distaste.

His eyebrows furrow, smile slipping off his face. “What? I promised to be safe.”

“Could I come along?” The words leave your mouth before you have a chance to stop them, the urge too strong. You wanted to feel the wind in your hair, to breathe in fresh air, to feel free.

Minho’s jaw drops and he looks like you’ve grown a third eye or something. “You? Want to come with me?”

You scrunch up your face and avert your eyes, regret filling you up. Your fingers tug at the loose string on the pillow on the couch so you don’t have to look at him and see the surprise on his face. The rational side of your mind is telling you that this is too big of a change, but the other side is giddy with excitement. “Maybe? Just thought I’d give it a try. If you’d let me.”

Minho lets out the most wonderful laugh and you feel his hands pinching your cheeks. “Who are you and what have you done to my y/n? Yes, of course I’ll let you!”

If only he knew how funny the answer to his question would be.

As much as you love zipping through the lanes of the highway, no doubt going over the speed limit, the body you’re occupying doesn’t. The moment you two hit emptier roads, you tap frantically at Minho’s shoulder to signal him to pull over. The cheap pizza dinner you had is emptied out onto the side of the road. Your eyes are watering from the acid burning your throat and your head is spinning from how dizzy you are. This really wasn’t a good idea, but it’s too late to regret now.

But the one good thing you could feel was Minho’s hands holding your hair back and pressed firmly against your back as a reminder that he was there.

When you’re done heaving into the grass, both of Minho’s warm hands hold onto your shoulders to steady you. “Damn, sorry. I probably shouldn’t have gone that fast,” he laughs nervously. He gives you an apologetic smile, already grimacing at your inevitable complaints.

You wave your hand dismissively to his surprise. “It’s really fine,” you say. Your voice cracks at the end, which prompts a soft chuckle from him. “I liked it,” you add. “Really.”

“Your stomach doesn’t.” Minho walks you back to his bike and guides your hands to hold onto it so you don’t fall over on your jelly legs. Then, he flips up the seat and pulls out a water bottle. He twists open the cap and holds it out for you to take. “Drink up.”  

The cool water soothes your throat and gets rid of the nasty aftertaste that lingers on your tongue. As you chug the water bottle, you see Minho pull out a thin blanket from the same compartment. “What are you doing?” you ask as you crush the bottle in your fist and twist the cap to tighten it. “How much stuff do you have in there? Where are you pulling all of this from?”

Minho smiles softly, spreading out the blanket on the flat ground beside his bike. “That’s all I have. Come here and sit with me.”

You place the crushed water bottle in your lap when you sit down, settling into the space right beside him. It’s partly instinct but more because you want to be close to him, to feel the warmth emanating from his body.

Minho is leaning all of his weight on one hand while his other arm is slung lazily around your shoulders. You take advantage of the position to lean your head on his shoulder. “What are we doing exactly?” you ask.

“Look at the stars. Aren’t they pretty?” He points to the distant sky.

“Is this what you normally do on your drives?”

“No, I usually just drive, but someone has to settle their stomach first,” Minho teases. He plays with the strands of your hair, stroking them between his fingertips absentmindedly. “I’m really glad you decided to come out with me today,” he murmurs. “I like doing fun things with you.”

You finally look up.

No matter where you are, no matter whose body you’re in, no matter how you got there, the stars always look the same. It was the one thing you looked forward to seeing. It was the sense of consistency, of familiarity in an always changing world. They were the most beautiful thing, and if there was one good facet about changing bodies, it was the last moments before you fell asleep where you would be surrounded by nothing but the vastness of the universe.

But today, there was something better.

The sparkles in Minho’s eyes put the stars to shame.

There’s something different about Minho that leaves an impact. He doesn’t love by telling you he does, it comes in the little things. Whenever you meet, he comes early and has your favorite drink ready for you on the table. Whenever you’re out shopping, he’s always cracking dumb jokes and making you laugh. Whenever you part ways, he gives you a small smile, cups your cheek, and presses the softest of kisses to your forehead. You find yourself jealous of the person who gets to see him like this, soft and smiley and oozing with nothing but affection. For some reason, you know he’s only like this with you – or rather, his partner – but the thought of it makes your insides tingly and your heart beat a little faster.  

Maybe for these few short months, you could let yourself be loved by this man. Maybe you could pretend like it’ll all be okay. Maybe you could hope that you wouldn’t wake up after it’s all over and be in a different body.

Maybe Lee Minho could be yours.

It was so easy to fall in love with Minho that you forget how time isn’t on your side. Three months fly by. You forget that your time with him is fleeting because every moment spent with him feels like a lifetime’s worth of happiness. You forget that you’ll have to leave him eventually because he promises forever. You forget that he isn’t yours to love because in just five hours, you’ll fall asleep and wake up in another body, another life.

And you won’t see him again.

But what hurts the most is that when he gazes at you like you’re his world, he whispers his partner’s name instead. It’s a brutal reminder that you’re not his, that you’ll never be his. You’re just not meant to be.

Of course, he doesn’t know that. That’s why when you’re mentally breaking down at the thought of no longer seeing Minho and being held by him and being kissed by him and being loved by him, he’s doing all the things that hurt you the most.

It makes letting go so much harder.

“Is this going to become a new thing for us now? Are you going to finally stop nagging me to stop driving?”

You give him a weak smile. “Maybe.”

You might be able to leave Minho’s partner with the wonderful memories of being on that bike and feeling him so close. When they come back, they’ll hopefully continue this routine with him. If doing what he loved with the person he loved made him happy, at least you could leave Minho with that much.

The drive feels shorter this time, much to your dismay. Your stomach feels like it’s still spinning in circles but at least you don’t throw up when it’s over. Minho spreads out the same blanket and you sit like you did months ago. It’s a warm sense of familiarity, of being close to someone who has made you fall so damn hard, that makes your eyes burn and your throat form an uncomfortable lump.

Minho doesn’t notice, too busy rattling off about constellations he’s learned over the past few weeks to show off to you.

Your eyes are closed to keep the tears at bay. The beating of your heart is loud in your ears. You don’t want to leave this. You know the clock is ticking down and that there are only a few minutes left until midnight. And when you wake, the grass will be gone. The bike will be gone.

Minho will be gone.

“I’m so glad I’m here with you,” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I exist here with you,” Minho says. “In this universe. At this moment.” You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “How lucky am I to be here together with you?” He presses a kiss to your hair. “I’m so ready to spend forever with you.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, not daring to actually speak in case your voice cracks. Pushing the ache in your chest away, you force your tone to be light. “Can I take a nap? I’m comfortable,” you ask.

Minho laughs at that and nods.

You change your position so that you’re curled up on your side with your head on his lap. His fingers are stroking your hair, something you’ve learned he tends to do without thinking and something you’ll definitely miss. You wonder if you’ll remember it tomorrow. Remember this feeling. Remember him.

“I’ll wake you up in thirty minutes. Then you’ll have to point out all the constellations I showed you before we can leave,” Minho jokes.

“Alright.” The tendrils of sleep are pulling you down. “I love you,” you murmur.

He manages catch it. “I love you too,” he replies.

Minho doesn’t see the tear that slips down your cheek as you fall asleep.

Your breath catches in your throat, like someone has forced all the air from your lungs yet you can’t breathe out. A tick, tick, tick echoes in your ears.

Finally, darkness.

[buoyantsaturn]

waiting with you bonus scene #4

read waiting with you

takes place after the cake tasting scene

There was no use in hiding his feelings. Nico knew that by now. After the cake tasting and going out to dinner with Will, there wasn’t anything that could keep him from spending time with the other man, whether it was a good idea or not. 

Still, he was going to keep his pinky promise, if only because he also knew that it would hurt less if they had to break things off later if nothing had ever really happened between them to begin with. 

But a pinky promise wasn’t going to stop them from texting each other at every available opportunity. Will typically wouldn’t respond until later in the day due to his classes, but Nico had no problems with texting under his desk during a lecture. Really, he should have paid more attention in his classes, though, since he realized he hardly knew anything for the upcoming test. 

He remembered one of the older texts he’d gotten from Will: somebody you’ll need my studying expertise, and I won’t be around to help because you’ve mocked me one too many times. 

Nico fired off his own text without letting himself think too much about it: you still wanna flaunt your flashcards in my face, loverboy?

Will replied almost instantly, with is that an invitation?

Nico invited him over to study that following Saturday, and when the time finally came for Will to arrive, Nico started panicking. He tried to clean as quickly as possible, having put it off until the last minute, and stood in front of his open closet to figure out what he should wear before he remembered that it wasn’t a date. He and Will were...just friends. Nico didn’t need to look nice just to study with a friend. 

When Will knocked a few moments later, Nico opened the door, still in his pajamas - a combination of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Will gave him that usual blindly beautiful smile and held something out in his hand. It was one of those bluish-purple flowers that Nico had pointed out in the flower shop over a month ago.

“What’s this?” Nico asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“A gift,” Will answered. “Don’t give me that look. Friends give each other gifts all the time. I just happened to pass by a flower shop on my way here, and I remembered you pointing out that you liked this flower because it looked cool. It’s a lily, by the way, and it does look very cool. Are you going to take it? Or let me in?”

Nico leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “I dunno if I should. I mean, bringing a flower over to my apartment? That sounds pretty romantic.”

Will took a step closer and picked Nico’s hand up off his own elbow, wrapping Nico’s fingers around the flower’s stem, and then closing both of his own hands around Nico’s. “Nico, dear, I assure you this is a totally platonic gift. Look, I’m willing to look past your massive crush on me for the sake of our friendship, so would you please let me in so I can woo you with my hundreds of flashcards?”

Nico tugged him into the apartment and kicked the door shut quietly. “Oh, my massive crush? Let’s talk about your massive crush.”

Will kicked off his shoes and followed Nico further into the apartment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nico started into the kitchen with his flower in hand while Will followed close behind. “Let’s see, there’s the time when you bought me ice cream, the fact that you flirt with me almost constantly, and, oh yeah--” Nico pulled a glass down from the cabinet and filled it with water, setting the flower inside, “--the fact that you remembered the one flower that I chose out of hundreds, and then bought it for me.” 

Nico spun around to find Will behind him, not quite cornering him against the counters, but causing Nico’s breath to catch at their proximity. 

“You forgot about the time that I kissed you,” Will reminded him.

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“I didn’t think I had to.” Will leaned one hip against the counter and leaned in a few millimeters closer. “Will?” Nico said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yes, dear?” 

“We’ve talked about the personal space thing.” 

“Right,” Will said, suddenly coming back to himself and shuffling back a few steps. “Sorry.” 

Nico held the makeshift flower vase in one hand and reached for Will’s wrist with the other, pulling him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Nico set the flower on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Will, and said, “So. Flashcards.” 

Most of the day passed with studying. Will helped Nico make up flashcards that weren’t just vocabulary and definitions, but important dates and places of events. Nico quizzed Will a few times on his own hefty stack of flashcards, and after a while, they kept each other silent company while they worked on readings and research and papers individually. 

Nico had a habit of staring off into space while he formed sentences in his head, and happened to wind up watching Will for a few minutes as he read from his medical textbook. Will tended to forget where he put his highlighters immediately after he set them down, which resulted in him searching frantically for markers that were either tucked behind his ear or that had rolled onto the floor. 

After the third or fourth time that it had happened, Will caught Nico laughing at him. 

“It’s rude to make fun of people,” Will pointed out as he quickly highlighted a sentence from his textbook in pink.

“Who says I’m making fun of you?” Nico asked. “Maybe I just remembered a joke.” 

“Oh yeah? What was it?” 

Nico grinned. “You’ve probably heard it before. It’s about a guy who keeps losing things as soon as he puts them down.” 

Will frowned and tossed one of his highlighters into Nico’s chest.

“Careful!” Nico said around a laugh. “You’ll forget where it went!” 

“You wouldn’t find it funny if I started picking on you,” Will told him, his frown melting into a pout. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Nico taunted. 

Will eyed him from head to toe, as if searching for something to make fun of. “You’ve been here all day and you couldn’t even change out of your pajamas for our study date?” 

Nico rolled his eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got? Besides, we’re studying. It’s not a date.”

“Yes, dear.” 

Nico tossed the highlighter back. It bounced off Will’s cheek. “You keep doing that.”

“What?” 

“Calling me dear,” Nico told him. “Like we’re an old married couple, or something.” 

Will’s smile was soft, and he didn’t raise his eyes off his textbook as he replied, “It’s a nickname. Friends give each other nicknames all the time.” 

Nico smiled and rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine, loverboy. What do you say we order a pizza or something, and when it gets here, we can call it a day with the studying?” 

Will perked up, his smile brightening at the thought of staying past the end of their study session. 

They ordered their pizza, and ceased studying when it arrived about half an hour later. They settled back on the couch closer than they were before with plates in their laps and a movie starting on the TV. Nico would admit that he wasn’t paying very close attention to the movie, more conscious of Will’s warmth so close beside him.

At some point, likely near the end of the movie and sometime after they’d both finished their pizza, Nico heard Will sniffling beside him and looked over to see tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Will noticed him staring, and shoved at his shoulder, muttering, “Shut up, I’m an empathetic crier.” 

Nico hid his smile by wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders and pulling him against his side, guiding Will’s head onto his shoulder and running his fingers through Will’s hair.

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

TW: Ouija Board Use, Disturbing Topics, Ghost Mentions, Possession Mention, Talks about the Sixth Sense, Blood Mention, Suicide Mention

**Don’t read this if you’re easily scared**

There’s this thing that I just can’t get out of my head.

I figured that if I shared it maybe the nagging thought would leave me alone, so I’m writing this here to account it with that hope.

Last night I was watching a horror movie with my sister and her girlfriend and it just reminded me of someone that I knew back when I first started Uni.

But first full disclaimer here, I was never really close to this person, we had just met in my English class because we sat next to each other and had a couple of group work assignments together, but that was it. I’ll only talk about my experiences while I was with this girl, we’ll call her B for the sake of this recounting. And yes, this actually happened, but as you should with anything you read off of the internet, take it with a grain of salt because even I don’t know if I’m recounting everything perfectly, it happened a couple of years ago now and I’m trying to remember them as I write this.

I’m a very superstitious person, also. I totally buy into that bad luck stuff about ladders and mirrors, but my belief stems from I simply don’t want to try it if it ends up being true. That and from my Filipino descent I have many relatives who are superstitious also, not to mention the sixth sense runs in both sides of my family and is floating around somewhere in my generation so I don’t want to suddenly awaken that shit, no way (I’ll include a bit explaining that at the end of this post if you’re curious). Hell, I’m so superstitious that I won’t watch certain movies that deal with summoning entities just in case, or at least, I won’t watch them at home. But onto the story.

Anyway, the movie we were watching mentioned a Ouija board once or twice, which is what reminded me of my classmate, and it just sent chills down my spine and I’m still thinking about this even now because, my god, I am certain that she was possessed by something.

If you don’t know what a Ouija board it, let me crash course you. Essentially it is a tool to communicate with otherworldly creatures. Its a board with letters, numbers, and a yes/no option, and you hold on to the planchet (which is a huge triangle with a magnifying glass in the middle) and theoretically the spirit you contact will move it around to respond to your inquiries. However, this is not always the case, the board serves as a portal, and it is very rare that the entity you are trying to contact is actually the one interacting with you, and such it is considered a profane object. Once you bring it into your home alone you open your home to immense amounts of negative energy and it is now somewhat of an area of thin protection in which otherworldly entities can walk in and out of.

Basically, don’t fuck with them.

Now B is a huge occult fan, she loves the stuff, has read books on it and everything but, go figure, she’s a religious studies major and she wanted to specify in more occult practices, and with that you’d think she’d know never to dabble in those things, but I think her choice of major stemmed from a different kind of fascination in it. I think her thing was that she wanted to see if this occult stuff was real, I think she was a true skeptic and she just got a kick out of playing dangerous games and inviting dangerous creatures. I remember being appalled when she recounted her experience playing the dangerous game known as the [Midnight Game], which still gives me nightmares to this day. Either way, it would be an understatement for me to say that I wasn’t worried about her.

One day around week 8 of the quarter, meaning we were finishing up the quarter and starting to study for finals, while we were working together in class, she brought up to me and the other two group members (C and D for simplicity and anonymity) that she recently purchased a ouija board. And I immediately voiced my concern. 

“You’ve already fucked with spirits before in the Midnight Game and [Dry Bones], are you trying to piss them off even more?” I was genuinely worried about her.

“Come on, Crys, they’re not real.” She insisted that towards me, but me and C made eye contact, both of us being Filipino and highly superstitious, we warned her again to give it back to where she got it from but she refused.

“What are you going to talk to anyway, B?” D asks her.

“Dunno, maybe I’ll talk to my granddad.”

“Or you could open your apartment to a poltergeist who will possess you and kill you slowly,” I said with a half joking tone, or at least that’s how I intended it to be.

“If you’re going to be so uptight about it then ignore me, Crys. It’s just a game,” she scoffs.

“Sure, yeah, I just think it’s smarter not to try anything. You’re already walking around with a target on your back because of the other games you’ve played, I’m just worried that something bad will happen to you this time. They come in threes, B,” I continued on. I didn’t know if it was fear for her or for me.

Needless to say she didn’t show up the next class. Me, C, and D just brushed this off as maybe she decided to skip class, which she had done many times before, and didn’t think much more of it. Of course I was still worried, I had a feeling that it had something to do with the board, but she looked really pissed when I brought it up to her so I didn’t want to overstep more than I already did.

But when she didn’t show up for the next week’s worth of classes, that’s when we really got concerned. We asked my professor about it just in case she just dropped the class and didn’t tell us, but no, she was still on the roster. So we decided to pay her a visit and make sure everything was alright.

Now we knew where she lived, it was an off campus apartment a couple of blocks away from school so it was an easy walk, and we had been there a handful of times already for group work. It was a relatively new apartment she had moved into before school started and, to our knowledge, she hadn’t tried anything there yet up until the board. But when I stood outside of her door, something just felt off. The air felt still, and something just wasn’t right. I knocked on the door and nothing. No shuffling, no movement, we thought she wasn’t home. But right when we turned to leave, the door opened.

Now B looked horrible. Her cheeks were sunken in and the bags under her eyes were more than just concerning.

“Hey, are you okay?” D asks her.

“I just have the flu,” B responds. Her voice was hoarse.

Now here is where I am conflicted. As you all know, I’m a premed student, and as you now know I am superstitious to a fault. My rational side says “ah, I get it now” but my superstitious one told me to call a priest. Like yes, the flu can do this to you, but it’s been a week. 

Either way we’re backing away from the door. She opens it wider, as if to let us in, and when I tell you the apartment looked unrecognizable, I mean it. It looked nearly unlivable actually. I swear there was probably something alive hiding under the piles of pizza boxes and clothes. And this really concerned us because we knew B to be a very clean person, she always was throughout the quarter and would even reprimand C for being so messy himself, so the change was very jarring for us.

“You can come in if you want,” she says. “I haven’t been upholding my end of the group project.”

“No, it’s fine,” I declined for the group.

“I insist.”

“You have the flu, we could catch it.”

“You won’t, I know you’re all careful,” she says. Keep in mind, C and I are premed and D is accounting.

“We just wanted to check in on you,” D steps in now, seeing that I’m uncomfortable.

“Then why did you come all the way here and bother me?” She snapped. We were taken aback and she just shook her head. “Forget it, I’ll be fine by the presentation date. Just email me what I have to do.” Then she closed the door and was gone.

She never came back to class, and I learned later from another person in our class, who I’m assuming she was close with, that she dropped out of uni altogether. She never really told us either, so we had to rush to finish her part of the project, which was horrific, but that’s besides the point.

It’s just... this superstitious nature of mine typically gets in the way of a lot of things I choose to do. It’s always the first thing I put into consideration. And it’s a bit strange considering how... bad of a Catholic I am. Either way it’s just terrifying. Maybe I’m just more hyper aware of it because of how “close” I am to otherworldly things. I have cousins who’ve played games like [The Hosting Game] or [Lady Spades]. So I can sometimes feel things when they’re not right, then of course there’s the whole sixth sense running in both sides of my family thing so there’s that too. I don’t know, the whole thing just rubbed me wrong and still does to this day. I guess I’m more afraid of these negative energies reflecting back on me somehow, who knows?

I don’t know, maybe this was just me vastly overthinking things, maybe I’m just being paranoid, but something just didn’t sit right with me with that last exchange we had, who knows? The movie I watched last night just reminded me of her so much and I started getting worried again, I just hope she’s alright.

~

As for the promised bit about the sixth sense running in my family, here’s an abridged version from what I’ve learned:

On my mother’s side, it skips generations (therefore it is in my generation). The most notable one with this sense currently is my Uncle, who can see the auras of spirits (white for passive ones, red for aggressive ones, etc.) he’s helped other family members and extended members for many things involving these. There’s a certain term for him, actually, in the Philippines that is. He’s definitely not a shaman, no way, but the term escapes me for now. But it stemmed far back in our family’s lineage when we did have shamans and albularyos (witch doctors), if you looked up my mother’s maiden name in the Philippines you’ll even find an extensive history behind them (Obviously I won’t share that, but they were a very prominent Clan throughout the Philippines and still are in some islands). They have a history of communicating with enkantos (which are environmental spirits), the strongest one in our family to date being my great-great grandfather. I also have a cousin who sees spirits as they died, like if they happened to jump off of a tall building (and I’ll spare you the details because the aftermath is bloody) he will see them like that, it was so bad that he even went to the best therapists in the UK to treat it, but something like that isn’t exactly... treatable. So there’s that. 

On my father’s side it’s a bit more muddled. We don’t understand the pattern it’s in, we just know that some people have it and most don’t. And if anything, it’s more of a curse. In every generation there has been someone who’s literally gotten possessed (one of my aunt’s did in the Philippines, she got possessed by a duwende I think? I’ll have to ask again). Haven’t had a possession yet in my generation (and no that’s not an invitation), but we’ve had hauntings many a time that my previously mentioned uncle helped us out with. There’s also a spirit who appears to every male who carries the name, and apparently when she is seen said male should not travel anywhere, some cases being my grandfather’s usual transit bus which drove off a cliff, my dad’s brother’s motorcycle combusting, etc. Whatever is going on in my dad’s side likely got passed down to me so I’m being extra careful.

TL;DR: I’m very superstitious because of the shit that has happened on both sides of my family and that probably fed into my fear for B.

Anyway, if you guys want scary stories, trust me, I’ve got scary stories.

[hattywatch]

J. Vesey - You Like Making Me Wait For It

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be done for Valentine’s day but uhhh, about that... So here it is, almost a month late. The premise for this story is that Jimmy is actually a BIG FUCKIN’ SOFTIE and not the sarcastic little shit that I constantly make him out to be. This can be proven by the attached tweet. As always this is fiction, so don’t get carried awayyyy :) 

“It’s not a real holiday,” he texts his mom, in regards to her message to him, bright and early, on February 14. He follows it up with a heart emoji and tells her he'll see her tonight though, because she’s his ma and he’s not a complete mutant, but he pulls the blanket over his head and rolls onto his side and tries to fall into the warm feeling of sleep again. 

As cool and standoffish as Jimmy tries to come off, everyone who knows him would jump at the chance to tell you that in reality, he’s soft as shit. A quick scroll through his recently played on Spotify would give him right up if he tried to deny it. 

His icy indifference to Valentine’s day was never the norm. He used to look forward to it, liked it even, but after years of disappointment the shine has worn off and he's really had enough of it. 

_____

His first Valentine’s memory is fond. He put on his best clothes and walked into school, chest puffed out and chin raised proudly, the little red and pink valentines he worked on with his mom tucked away in his backpack, heart-shaped lollipops carefully taped onto each one. 

He didn’t understand the point of it until his mom patiently explained to him, “Sometimes we’re so busy everyday that we don’t tell people we love them like we should, so on Valentine’s day we spend the whole day letting everyone know we care about them.” He snaked his little arms around her waist and promised his mom he’d never be too busy to remind her he loves her. 

She hugged him back tightly and brushed away a stray tear on her cheek before she opened up the box and had him start listing off the kids names in his class so she could neatly write them on each card. He spends his time taping the lollipops gently to the cards that declare “Have a sweet Valentine’s Day.” 

As the class walked around dropping a card into each other’s decorated shoe-boxes, Jimmy couldn’t help but be filled with love for his friends. Tipping over the box afterwards, he was a little glum when he found out Tommy was the sole recipient of a card from Ashley, the pretty blonde with pigtails who sat 3 seats in front of him. 

When he walked home from the bus stop with Jess later, they talked about their favorite ones, in particular the heart shaped erasers the teacher gifted each of them. She didn’t get a card from Ashley either. His mom told him not to worry about it and quickly diverted his attention to the pile of valentines with pencils and stickers attached, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as he explained who each one was from. 

_____

In highschool Valentine's day is marked (like everything else during those awkward teenage years) by a rush of hormones and snickers. 

The week leading up to Valentine's day the cheerleading squad hung signs up all over the halls detailing how to purchase a rose to be delivered to the person of your choosing during classes. All of the proceeds go to a local charity, so each morning the voice over the speaker reminded the student body to buy a rose for a good cause before listing off the lunch of the day and signing off. 

Jimmy fills out a few; a pink one for his little cousin a few grades down from him, a yellow one for the librarian who helped him submit his college applications, and an orange one for Jess who just got a rejection letter from Duke and could use some cheering up. 

On the 13th he finds himself with $2 extra dollars and some time to kill before Jess is done with extra help and ready to walk home. He goes to the office and fills out a slip for a red rose to be delivered to Molly, a girl he's helped in Chinese class a few times; she's popular and cute. He can't help his heart from quickening when they go over characters that have been giving her a particularly hard time during the spare period they share once a week. 

He writes her name clearly in black ink, trying his best to keep his penmanship even and neat. 

"There you are!" He jumps, but luckily his pen is off of the paper, having just finished scribing the Y in his name. Jess walks up to him, braids trapped under her backpack straps; it looks uncomfortable. "I've been looking everywhere for you, dude." 

He slides the scrap of paper into the slot of the box in front of him. "Sorry, last minute love, you know how it is." 

He feels his cheeks get warm at the thought of Jess catching him in the act. She is much more pragmatic when it comes to love. She hasn’t dated at all in high school, laser focused on her grades and soccer. He knows she thinks he’s a sap for caring at all when it’s unlikely anyone will find lifelong love in high school, but he's a romantic, sue him.

"Yeah, I know. You're a sucker for this stupid holiday," she rolls her eyes at him and adjusts her bookbag, swinging the tails of her braids free. He shrugs a shoulder but smiles, because she’s right and he can’t deny it. 

“C’mon Romeo, my mom said she’d pick us up out front, it’s freezing today.” He follows her, excited about the prospect of tomorrow. He’s not sure, but he thinks Molly may feel the same way, and there’s no time like the present to find out. 

_____

When he quietly places his lunch tray down next to Jess she knows something is off. He usually bounds over to the table, chatty and excited to talk about his morning classes and who said what stupid thing that made the class groan, but he’s downright meloncholy and she can feel it roll off his body in waves. 

Jess twirls the stem of her orange rose between her pointer and index fingers, “Thanks Jim. Made my day.” She bops him on the head with the flower. He smiles a little but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Rough day?” He nods and starts picking at the crust of his pizza. 

“I didn’t sign my fucking last name.” Jess doesn’t quite understand, so she kicks him under the table to get him to look up from his pizza and make eye contact. She raises her eyebrows in question and he finally continues, “I sent Molly a rose.”

Jess hums for him to keep going, she heard a rumor going around about Molly and James Jordan getting together, but she hadn’t heard anything about Jimmy. 

“We study together every week. Chinese. She has a hard time with the-" he waves his hand to clear the subject, "anyway it’s not important. We have a free period together every Tuesday and I help her with it. I thought maybe she noticed.” Jimmy sighs and squishes his water bottle in his hand, “You know I get nervous around her, so I thought maybe she knew. Anyway, I sent her a flower, but I just wrote ‘Jimmy.' No last name. She thought it was Jordan and she walked right up to him in between classes and kissed him. They have a date Saturday night.”

Jess winces, “That blows. I’m sorry, Jim. Maybe it’s not meant to be for a reason. I heard that she…" she pauses because she's never actually heard anything bad about the other girl, but desperately wants to cheer up her friend. "I heard that she… snores?" Jimmy finally rolls his eyes and laughs. 

"Oh yeah, cross her off the list. That's a deal breaker." He smiles for the first time in hours and he's sure Molly isn't the one he's been waiting for. 

_____

In college his fervor to have a nice Valentine’s day led him to ask out the brunette from his Public Finance class, she said yes and seemed excited, but then text him to cancel 2 days before that she "forgot about a big paper that's due on Monday." His buddy John is in the same class and didn’t say anything about a paper, so Jimmy takes the hint and decides to go home for the weekend, tail between his legs and heart heavy from the rejection

He heads to the laundromat with a veritable sack filled with, what feels like, every piece of clothing he's ever owned, downtrodden and pissed off. He's loading his clothes into the machine when someone jabs him in the side with a boney digit. 

"What the hell are you doing, Jim?" Jess beams up at him. She's wearing pink lipstick, but is otherwise dressed in all black, like always. 

“Laundry. My mom had too many loads at the house ‘cuz Nolan brought his home too, so I’m just going to do it here quick.” He keeps shoving his clothes in the washer machine.

Jess nods at him, “Cool… cool. So, your mom still does your laundry?” She shoves her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans and leans back on her heels with a shit eating grin.

Jimmy stops and looks up at her, “Uh, usually. Yeah, why? Can you tell?” He stands up, back sore from being hunched over the front-loading washing machine. She looks up at him and grins wider. 

“You’re supposed to separate the colors. Let me help you.” She starts pulling all of his clothes out of the washer and dumping it into her orange pop-up hamper. “Come over here, I’m using this machine.” 

“Why are you here,” he attempts gentle conversation since, apparently, he’s domestically useless. Jess opens a machine and starts pulling out all of his light colored clothes, basically pairs and pairs of socks and a few t-shirts here and there. 

“My stupid comforter is too big. It takes forever at my house, so I just bring it here instead of drying it 6 times,” she pauses,  pinching a lone sock and holding it out in front of her swinging it in his direction before throwing it in the washer, “lucky for you, James.” She helps him sort the other colors and shows him where the detergent goes and lends him some fabric softener that smells nice, she even advises him against washing his suit pants and the one nice sweater he owns, saying that he’d be better off dry cleaning them. 

An hour later when their stuff is all folded and packed back up, he’s got no other plans and he hasn’t seen Jess since the summer, so he helps her bring her comforter and sheets to her car and stands there awkwardly trying not to make this weird. 

“Jessie,” she turns around, scarf half wound around her neck, death glare pinned on him. 

“Did you want me to kill you? Don't call me that,” she swats at him and opens her trunk so he can drop her cottony smelling bedding in it. 

“Let me buy you dinner, this was really nice of you to help me.” She smiles and agrees without any cajoling. 

“Oh god, yes. I’m starving. Chipotle?” There’s a reason they’ve been friends for so long. 

They order and he pays while she fills up their cups and finds an empty booth. When he drops the trays down on the table and slides her the burrito she ordered, he smiles and reaches his hand across the table, “Jessie, will you be my Valentine?” 

She rolls her eyes, but it’s warm and laced with affection when she kicks him under the table, “You fucking sap. You’re lucky you bought me food or I’d say no.” She takes a bite and chews, but Jimmy keeps needling. 

“So you’re saying the way to your heart is through your stomach.” He nods, “Noted.” 

They chat over dinner, discussing college and what people from high school are up to. She’s in an accelerated program at BC and should graduate a year early. He’s reserved, but hoping to get drafted. 

It’s not long after they're done, still taking up space in the booth, when his mom calls, “Hey ma.” Jess mouths ‘tell her I said hi!’ and gets up to throw away their garbage and heads to the ladies room. 

“Jess said to tell you hi,” it’s barely out of his mouth before he regrets it. 

“You’re out with Jess. On Valentine’s day?” Her tone is accusing, but soft. “I always liked her. I didn’t realize you were seeing each other. You don’t tell me anything anymore.” Before she can get too deep in her pity party he stops her.

“It’s not like that. We just ran into each other, we didn’t plan anything” Jimmy scratches at a scuff on the table, wishing he just waited until he got home to have this conversation. The last thing he’d want to do is make Jess uncomfortable with this. His mom prattles on about how she’s always liked Jessica from down the block, but Jimmy mostly tunes it out. It’s not until she’s walking back to the table, smiling softly at him that he rushes his mom off the phone the best he can.

“I’ll tell her you said hi. I’ll be home soon, see you, love you, bye!” He hangs up before she can get a word in.

Jess plops down across from him, “Did you tell her I said hi? I love your mom.” He assures her he did, and stands up, stretching. 

“We should get going,” he grabs his keys off of the table, and Jess stands too and follows him out to their cars. 

“Thanks, Valentine,” she unexpectedly hugs him around the middle. “I usually hate this fucking day, but you made it pretty bearable.” 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him; she’s such a pessimist. “Yeah, I get that a lot after dates. Bearable.” 

His heart stutters when he realizes what he said, his hands get clammy. He feels dumb, hanging up on his mom so she didn’t make Jess feel like tonight was anything that they didn’t intend it to be, and then he sticks his foot straight into his stupid mouth.

Jess doesn’t flinch though and just follows him out the door to their cars. “See ya later, Jim. Don’t be a stranger. Cambridge isn’t that far, yeah?”

He laughs and hugs her goodbye again before getting in his own car and driving home. 

When he unlocks the front door his mother is on him like a hawk. “Where’s Jessica? Why didn’t you bring her here? I just love that girl.” He has to remind himself to calm down before he opens his mouth, because she means well and loves him. 

“She had some stuff to do, but she said hi,” he grabs a cookie off of a plate cooling on the countertop and prays his mom doesn’t need to go out, lest she catch sight of Jess’ car in her driveway and ruin his lie.

She takes his half eaten cookie from his hand and takes a bite, chewing slowly. “What you’re saying is that I shouldn’t get my hopes up,” before she pins him with a glare only a mother could muster. 

“Still single, ma.” He grabs a cookie in each hand and hustles up the stairs to his room before she can pepper him with more questions. 

He lies on his bed and flips on his tv, clicking channel to channel until he finds a hockey game that will keep his attention. By the end of the 2nd, the Bruins are up 4-1 over the Leafs and he mutes the intermission report to scroll through twitter uninterrupted. 

His timeline is filled with photo after photo of happy couples and gushing declarations of love. He can’t help but sigh and be a little jealous. After watching the rest of the beating Boston lays on Toronto, he shuts the TV off and lies awake, staring at his ceiling. The jealousy has faded, and now he’s just a little sad, slightly disappointed, with a pinch discouraged mixed in. 

He’d blame his next action on hopelessly romantic desperation as he opens Twitter back up and drafts his tweet. 

Spending another Valentine's day without having found “the one.” Hope she is out there somewhere safe and sound.

Jimmy taps the button to send the tweet and rolls over onto his side before the day catches up to him and he falls into a mostly dreamless sleep. 

_____

 Valentine’s day as a Ranger finds him alone in the city once more, begrudgingly texting his mother back and pretending this holiday doesn't make him feel like Steven fucking Glansberg. 

At least he's back in Boston tonight, starting  an away stretch down the eastern seaboard. He has two whole days to spend with his friends and family in his home state before the game against the Bruins and before they leave for Carolina and two more down in Florida. 

He takes his parents out for dinner soon after he lands, and then hits up a few friends to go to the bar. They’re all happy to hear from him, but only Tommy can come out, everyone else is busy with their girlfriends. He can’t blame them. He’d rather be courting a pretty girl than third-wheeling with his parents, but he’s not there yet in his life, so a few beers with Tommy will have to do.

They’re chatting through their second round of Guinness and watching the basketball game when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He leaves it, the game is getting good and it’s almost the half. A three-pointer closes it out and Tommy excuses himself for the bathroom, so Jimmy signals the bartender for two more and finally pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

Jess: Jimmmmmmmmm

He smiles in spite of himself. 

What’s up Jessie?

But then Tommy comes back from the bathroom and he puts the phone back into his pocket, because he’s a good bro and that’s rude. 

He almost forgets about it, laughing with Tommy through the rest of the game and catching up with a few kids from the neighborhood that walk into the bar and spot him, but then he takes his phone out to order an Uber and he sees the notifications. 

4 unread texts from Jess

He orders the Uber after putting in Tommy's address as the first stop and his parent's home as the second before he swipes back over to his texts. 

Jess: I'm at a galrnyinrd day party

Jess: Galrntinrd*

Jess: GALENTINES******* 

We were playing text or delete and I didn't want to delete you 😭

She's obviously had a few. Jess was never one for overt emotion. But it's always fun getting it out of her, so he hopes she hasn't sobered up in the hour that's passed since she text him last. He climbs into the Uber after Tommy and types out a careful message to her. Eyes struggling to focus since he had a few beers himself. 

Didn't know you cared, Jessie. 

He finally looks up and says goodbye to Tommy with a handshake that turns into a hug when the car comes to a stop, before settling back into the backseat for the rest of the ride to his childhood home. 

He doesn't get another message from her until the driver stops at the final destination and wishes him a good night. Jimmy leaves a tip when the app pops up asking for a review and sits on his front steps in the cool night air, trying to sober up before he walks inside and wakes the whole house up. 

Jess: You're a big dummy. 

The message is quickly followed by another. 

Jess: When are you coming home next? 

Jimmy doesn't know what to say to that, so he stands up next to his house number and snaps a selfie before sending it off to Jess. 

Jess: 👀👀👀👀

Jess: I'm walking to you now

He hears her front door slam from 6 houses away in the quiet stillness of the late night. The next thing he hears echoing are her giggles followed by heavy footsteps as she runs over to him. 

"I misssssed you." She's a little tipsy still, he can tell by how tightly she wraps her arms around him. 

"Missed you too, Jessie," he winds his arms around her too. She buries her face in his chest and he can feel her cold nose through his shirt. 

"Let's go hangout in the basement. It's freezing out here," he unlocks the front door with his Patriots key, the same one he's had since middle school; the paint chipping with use over the years. 

When they walk through his mom's kitchen, she opens the fridge and grabs two water bottles before following him down the steps to the basement where they'd spent much of their youth watching movies, doing homework, and playing Mario Kart. He feels calm and at home here, sunken into the old couch with her by his side. 

"So, Galentine's?" He swipes one of the water bottles from her and takes a sip before switching on the TV to whatever is on TBS, it looks like The Notebook.

"Don't make fun. It's a nice excuse to drink some wine and have a good night with your friends." She sniffs haughtily.

"Yeah, yeah. Any excuse to drink and gossip," he's just picking on her a little. It's what they do.

She swigs her water and looks at him with a little distaste coloring her face. "Stop acting like you and Tom didn't do the same thing earlier; I saw his insta story." 

Her eyes open wider as she realizes what she said, and he's a little taken aback. If she saw Tommy's story, that means...

"So you knew I was home?" He presses his knee against hers on the couch.

She looks anywhere but at him, finally focusing her attention to the water bottle in her hand- unscrewing and re-screwing the cap back on. 

"I mean..." She rolls her eyes in that careless way she has about her, and he notices her sweater is pink, as are the socks peeking out of the tops of her boots. "Kinda." He feels her move imperceivably closer into his side.

He can't help the smile taking over his face, "You just wanted to spend Valentine's day watching chick flicks with me, you can say it." 

"Shut up," she hits him with a pillow, firm across his chest. "Maybe."

It's the closest he's ever gotten to a mushy declaration from her and it warms him up. "You're an ice queen," he wheedles gently, wrapping his arm up and over her shoulders along the back of the couch. 

She sighs and leans her head on his shoulder, he's happy to sit here watching Noah hang from the ferris wheel, just like this, but Jess is apparently not.

"Not feeling so icy right now," she whispers, so low he's not sure if he imagined it, but then she's right up in his ear, "Feeling a little warm, actually."

She places her hand flat on his chest and sucks gently on the skin under his ear behind the tendon in his neck and he's feeling a little warm too, as a matter of fact. 

"Jess," she doesn't pause at the sound of her name, "Jessie," he pushes, a little more firm, he can't bear to physically remove her because it feels too good, but he's just, not sure she wants this.

"Jimmy," it's mumbled against his neck, and she barely pauses sucking into his skin to pant out his name. 

"You don't really…" he stutters, not sure how to go about this. "Are you sure you…" She bites gently at his neck and he can't help the groan that leaves his lips, "Jesus Christ, stop that for one second. I can't think straight when you do that."

 He gently pushes her shoulder to give himself room to breathe and collect his thoughts, but when he looks over at her she looks downright chagrined. 

"I'll just… go," she starts to stand up and he grabs her wrist and pulls her back down to the couch. 

"No you don't." She falls to the couch ungracefully next to him, red in the face and eyes glassy. "What the hell is this about, Jess. You can't just do… that and then leave without a word." 

"Don't make me say it." Jess looks down at her hands. Her face gets impossibly redder and Jimmy is sure he's going to like this next part very much. 

"Gotta tell me your feelings, Jessie." She refuses to look at his face and he can't stop the grin from forming. 

Deciding to put her out of her misery, he nuzzles his nose against her neck, gently exhaling into the sensitive skin there. 

"You… I… ugh!" She grasps at the back of his head and tilts her own to give him better access, but he refuses to take the bait until she says it. 

"Say it," he whispers, pulling away just enough so his lips don't graze her skin. 

He can feel the sigh she releases before she steels her body, spine going straight and takes a deep breath. 

"I want nothing more than to watch cheesy chick flicks with you. Both on Valentine's day and every other single day of the year. You're the only person that has ever made this day worthwhile and I…" 

He's not sure how the sentence was supposed to end, because he's so proud of her that he can't wait and stops her mid-sentence with a kiss on her mouth. 

She doesn't really have much to say after that, and he knows she's not great with feelings, so he's just being merciful.

_____

Mrs. Vesey makes her way down into the basement on February 15th, a basket of laundry propped up against her hip. She screams once, startled by the unexpected lump she finds on the couch in what she thought was an empty basement. 

She screams a second time when she realizes who spent the night. 

Jimmy could have done without either.

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door V (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Read Part IV Here

A/N: I am so sorry I couldn’t get this out on Valentine’s Day like I promised. I wanted to have a wonderful day with my boyfriend, and we ended up falling asleep and I found no time to post. I really am sorry.

But anyways, I’m not sure how well this chapter is gonna go because the last one was kinda slept on :/ BUT, to be fair, the previous one had no reader, and it was literally just dialogue, so I get it. I just really hope this one does better.

Summary: Roger goes home with a proposal to change his deal with Y/n.

(Real or Borhap! Roger. Whatever seasons your chicken.)

WARNINGS: Swearing, sLoW bUrN, EXTREME Mentions of sex, but again, No SmUt, mature romantic subject matter, I think that’s it. This one was a lil sad too.

Hun, this is about to be steamy, so this IS rated M. Read at your own risk, peeps, and if you’re under 18, maybe skip the ending of this one.

Roger pulled into his driveway, and after he took his key out of the ignition, rather than going inside immediately, he sat in the driver’s seat listening to the loud taps of raindrops hitting his windshield. 

 He rubbed his face stressfully, glancing over to the rather expensive bouquet of flowers along with the stupid, cliché heart shaped box which only contained the most expensive chocolate Roger could find in any London supermarket. 

 "If this is too much, she’ll kill me,“ he mumbled to himself before reaching for the purchases and pushing the door open. 

 And out into the rain he went. 

 He unlocked the front door after being completely annihilated with the heavy, stinging rain falling fast and largely from the stormclouds above. 

 He was able to make it into the house before the lightning began to strike, and as he toed off his shoes in the front hallway, his hair dripping with water, the low rumble of thunder vibrating the floorboards below his socks. 

 No matter, he was safe, and at home, and… something smelled really good.

 Roger removed his soaked jacket and hung it up on a hook in the hallway behind the front door before moving deeper into the dark house. The only light that could be seen on was in the kitchen, at the end of the hall. 

 He turned into the room and stopped in the threshold, taking in your lovely appearance as you wordlessly chopped up carrots, turned away and unaware of the visitor behind you. 

 Roger quietly set the flowers and chocolates on the counter before moving behind you, and after you put the knife down, he rested his freezing, wet hands on the back of your neck. 

 Almost immediately, your shoulders rose to your ears, and you let out a loud squeal, turning on your heel and shoving Roger backward, to which he laughed hysterically as he backed into the counters on the other side of the room.

 "You scared me!” You groaned before turning back to dinner stubbornly. 

 "Ah, Love, I’m sorry. The look on your face was priceless.“ He softly combed his fingers through your hair, pushing it to the side to leave a soft, warm, innocent kiss on the back of your neck, where he’d just placed his hands. 

 At the contact, you shut your heavy eyes and hummed gently in appreciation. 

"Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner,” Roger mumbled hotly, and deeply. Your face burned when you felt the drummer’s lips curl into a devilish smile against your skin.

 "Y’know, I bought you something today,“ he continued on, and you swallowed nervously. 

"Yeah?” You squeaked, to which Roger hummed in return, his hands planting on your hips over your clothes to not disturb the warmth of your body with his freezing fingers. He gave your hips a little squeeze, and let another hum reverberate in the back of his throat.

Your cheeks glowed pink, and you wordlessly brought your thighs closer to one another. 

 Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner, you thought to yourself.

 "Oh yes. Because you’re such a good girlfriend to me.“ And like that, his touch was gone. 

You opened your eyes, and looked over your shoulder, where you found Roger cutting the stems off the bouquet of flowers one-at-a-time. Your eyes fell to the heart-shaped-box, and Roger put the knife in his hand down to move the box closer to you. 

”’S’ll be our dessert,“ he smiled kindly. You offered a friendly smile back, your cheeks still warm from earlier, as you turned your attention back to dinner.

 "Y'know… if we even get there,” Roger finished. Your eyes widened and you turned your gaze back to him. The little bugger was back to cutting the stems off the flowers he bought you, his lips gently upturned in an innocent grin. 

 "… Are you okay?“ 

 "Hm?” Roger opened up one of the cupboards to retrieve a flower vase. He moved to the sink, ran the faucet, and began filling it with water. 

 "What are you talking about? I feel great.“ 

 "You’re just…” You squinted your eyes. “You’re acting really weird." 

 Roger shut off the faucet, and leaned back against the counter to look at you. 

He was giving you this look… it was like how he looked at you at the Garrison’s the week before. But there was something off about it. 

His gaze seemed… Darker.

 "Just getting my mind off things,” was all he had to say before picking the vase up from inside the sink and returning to the flowers on the counter. 

You tried your best to return your focus back onto dinner, reaching for another carrot to cut up. Meanwhile, Roger was dissolving the plant nutrients in the water.

By the time you reached the final carrot, the room was still quiet, and Roger, moving to pick up the bouquet and redirect them into the vase, paused his movements to look over his shoulder at you.

 Roger watched intensely as you moved around the little area you were working in. His eyes were fixed on the back of your head, but as time progressed, he began to find it difficult to keep his eyes from viewing lower, and lower… 

 "… Y/n, have I ever told you how pretty you are?“ Roger asked suddenly. You turned to him in startled confusion, and Roger made a face of regret. He mentally chastised himself for saying that. 

This was how he picked up women. You were not just a woman. You were much, much more than that.

 You laughed nervously, and awkwardly turned back to the carrot that had nearly been forgotten on the cutting board. You tried distracting yourself from Roger’s strange behaviour by dicing each carrot slice you prepared. 

 "You do realize you’re not in public, right, Rogie? You don’t have to be that nice to me." 

 "But I’m being serious.” The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board ceased again, and you finally dropped the knife to properly approach Roger.

 You crossed your arms over your chest and sighed in pretend annoyance, though the charade didn’t last long. 

“Alright. You got me. What do you want?" 

 "A favour." 

 "What kind of favour?” you challenged with a smile, one you’d tried to suppress, but gave in to. 

Classic Roger, you thought, King of bribery AND flirting.

 Roger opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were caught in his throat. 

He suddenly went pale, and your smile contorted into one of worry. “… Roger?”

 "O-um… well Y/n, y-you see, uh…“ Roger’s gaze fell helplessly to the floor as he stumbled over his words nervously, his cheeks growing hotter with every try. This especially worried you. 

 Roger was the most confident man you knew, and watching him be this hesitant about something really bothered you. In a case like this, you would have probably made fun of him, but you could see how stressed he must have felt, so you rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

 It was as if your touch was magic. Roger’s stuttering ceased, and he looked at you with big round eyes. 

Then he took a deep breath. 

"Y/n, I talked to the guys today.”

 "… About?“ 

 "Us. This…” Roger gestured to the house. “… Situation we’re in.” You both knew he was stalling from asking what he needed to, but you tried to keep patient. 

“Look, Y/n, I feel awful, and I know I made a promise to you about no groupies…" 

 ”… This is what this is about?” you asked dryly. “You not being able to have women over?“ 

 "What?! No! Well– yes, but–” you removed your hand from Roger’s shoulder and went back to cutting vegetables, the sound of the blade hitting the wooden cutting board getting louder and louder as time ticked on.

 All of that stuttering just for him to tell you he needed sex. Of course you were pissed off, and Roger knew that. You had a deal. In fact, he was horrified with himself. And now that you were angry, he was certain you would say no to the burning question he needed to ask. 

 "Then go.“ You told him sharply. "Go find someone to sleep with. Just don’t bring her back here. If you’re ever caught, we are done for." 

 Roger’s heart ached at your words. He tried to speak, but, like before, he couldn’t get the words out. 

He didn’t care if it was too late, he had to tell you he wanted you; that he needed you. 

 "Y/n," 

 "I said go!” You turned to him angrily as you shouted, and Roger could swear your eyes were glassy with fresh, unfallen tears, though you blinked them back stubbornly. 

 He breathlessly apologized, and rushed out of the house as fast as possible, leaving you alone in the kitchen, homemade pizza in the oven almost ready to come out, and a half prepared garden salad that would never be eaten.

_________________________________

 Roger stood in the candy section of the supermarket for a second time that day, red eyes scanning the shelves for something you liked. 

 Rather than listening to you and getting laid, he was more focused on rebuilding the relationship he was unintentionally tearing down. 

 He needed to apologize to you as soon as possible, and going empty handed, Roger decided, was not a good idea. 

 "Pissed off your girlfriend too, mate?“ Roger looked to his right to see another man his age, looking at the wide selection of romantically-wrapped sweets before him. 

 ”… Yeah, you could say that.“ 

 "Figured. See, in times like this,” the stranger began as he slowly walked down the aisle before reaching out and grabbing a cheap candy bar from off the shelf. 

“The best thing you can do is buy her her favourite candy bar, give her a kiss, and tell her how much you appreciate and love her.”

 Roger silently thought this to himself, and although he wanted to somehow thank the guy for his advice, he was already giving Roger an encouraging slap on the shoulder and exiting the aisle to pay for his girlfriend’s gift. 

______________________________

 When Roger got home it was just before midnight. He made sure to enter the house and close the door as quietly as he could in case you were sleeping. 

 After toeing his shoes off and hanging up his once again wet jacket, he went to the kitchen. There, he set a large bag of your favourite candy bars down on the counter so the rustling of the plastic bag didn’t wake you up. 

 He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his back pocket, and opened it to retrieve a new one. He mumbled a curse when he realized he only had two left, and he hadn’t bothered to pick any more up when he was in town more than once that day. 

 He just tossed the nearly empty carton on the table, and that’s when he saw the vase of flowers he neglected to finish preparing. 

They were placed and displayed beautifully and intricately; the definite works of a woman. Roger couldn’t pull off making such a display if he tried to do it on his own. 

 He guessed that was one reason to appreciate you: your creativity. 

 But he appreciated you for many other things. The list was just so long; if Roger had to name everything he appreciated about you, he wouldn’t even know where to start, and his rambles would surely never end. 

 He placed the cigarette between his lips, and wandered to the back door. He took his time getting there. 

There was no need to hurry. 

 He slid the door open a crack, and lit his cigarette with a lighter he’d left on the counter. 

 After the first inhale, and watching as he blew the smoke out into the wet, miserable night, Roger already began to feel a little better.

 He still felt guilty about his earlier conflict with you, but he planned out and repeated what he wanted to say to you to and from the supermarket. 

 "I don’t want just anyone. I want you.“ 

Like his journey home, Roger began mumbling the statement like a mantra between his draws of smoke. 

 After getting to the filter of the cancer stick, Roger flicked it outside before sliding the patio door shut and locking it. Afterwards, he went upstairs, prepared for bed, and went to his room. 

 There, he turned his bedside lamp on and retrieved a notebook, his book of lyrics and brainstorm ideas for songs, from under his pillow. He opened it up and began writing in it. 

 Hearing a knock on his door was the last thing Roger expected that night, but when you slowly walked in, and stared at him from your place at the door, he put the book down and gave you his full attention. 

 "Rog… Look," 

 "Y/n, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You pursed your lips, and Roger beckoned you over with his finger. 

You slipped into the room completely, and shut the door behind you. 

 When Roger felt the dip in the mattress, he reached out to touch you. He didn’t have an exact plan on what he was doing, so his hand fell to your back, and he decided to rub slow, soothing circles around your shoulder blades. 

 "… Y/n, I don’t want just anyone,“ he finally blurted out after a while of silence. 

You looked at him in confusion, and Roger’s hand stopped rubbing your back. The silence in the air was thick, and Roger tried his best not to start panicking again. 

"I uh…” He removed his hand from your back and awkwardly shifted in his spot. 

“I wanted to explain earlier that… that I wanted to um… maybe… talk to you about uh… adding onto this… this agreement." 

 The look you gave him was devastating. Big, sad eyes, and downturned lips. You felt guiltier than ever. You wanted to apologize for what you’d said, and how you acted earlier, but you didn’t even bother.

 Roger wouldn’t have allowed it, anyways. 

 "Yes…?" 

You asked gently, reaching your own hand out and placing it reassuringly on his thigh. Roger stared down at your hand for a moment, taking a shaky, deep breath. 

 ”… Don’t you think it’d… y'know… be easier if… we were friends but… helped each other uh…“ he couldn’t continue further than that. He tried, but he physically couldn’t say any more. 

 "Are you… suggesting what I think you are?" 

 "If what you’re thinking is that we can sleep with one another with no strings attached then yes.” His words rushed out of his mouth like a flood, and Roger felt as if he was overheating. 

He wouldn’t dare to speak, or move until you did.

 And he was glad to have made that decision. 

 You, after recovering from the shock of Roger’s confession, wasted no time in gripping Roger by the hips, and pulling yourself up into his lap. 

Roger exclaimed in surprise when you did this, and after wrapping your legs around his hips, your fingers slid back into his blond hair, and you kissed him with a hunger neither of you expected you to possess. 

 Kissing you, Roger decided, was better than he ever dreamed it could be. Your lips were soft; your kiss was forceful and controlling, only making this more enjoyable for him; and the way you were touching him– pulling his hair and tightening your legs around him– teased the absolute hell out of him. 

 And he loved every single passing second of it.

 Roger’s hesitation melted away quicker than he expected, and in no time one of his hands was gripping your thigh while the other held the back of your head.

You pulled at Roger’s hair harder, and a smirk played at your lips as he let a deep growl elicit from the back of his throat. 

You let your tongue slide past Roger’s lips and into his mouth, to which he made another, pleased noise. Both of his hands grabbed your hips, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the waistband of both your pyjama bottoms and your underwear beneath as he forced his tongue into your own mouth. 

 You encouraged him to continue when you whined rather loudly, practically begging him to kiss you like that again. 

 His confidence and ego only inflated from there. 

He moved the both of you around so you were lying beneath him, his hands on either side of your head. He dipped down to kiss and suck your neck like it was the only thing he knew how to do. 

 His hips lowered down onto yours, and you, without thinking, whined again and slammed your hips up to excitedly grind against Roger’s, who let out another deep, guttural moan. 

His hands tightened into fists as grasped his bedsheets beneath you and pulled at them tightly to restrain himself from either being too rough with you, or taking you right then and there. 

 In fact, he had to eventually force himself to pull back, but just enough to get a good look at you. He noticed your beautiful, untouched hair just waiting to be pulled; your hot, red face; your parted lips swollen from the assault of his own; and your quick, heaving chest.

 His eyelids lowered and he licked his lips. 

 You were the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. 

 He shifted his hips around once or twice more, and when he watched you shut your eyes and bite your lip, he decided he couldn’t handle your erotic behaviour any longer. 

 "Fuck,“ he huffed deeply, hands releasing the blankets beneath you to grip your ass. You opened your eyes slowly, and smirked. 

You, of all people, had Roger Taylor hot, bothered, and completely at your mercy.

Roger reached over without breaking eye contact with you to retrieve a condom and a bottle of lube from the dresser in his bedside table, meanwhile, you clicked the lamp on the very same table off. 

 It was time to get to work, and see how beneficial this new addition to the deal would be for the both of you.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Man, I REALLY hope this chapter does well. Things are only gonna get better from here, and I promise! No more lacking!

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen​ 

FIC TAGLIST

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@amy-brooklyn99 

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@demo-wise​ 

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[falseh0od]

All They Really Need

It’s finally here.

Note: A reminder that this is being written Right Now in honor of a strike that is happening on TikTok! There's been an influx of toxic Fanders on TikTok who seem to think that Logicality, Prinxiety, Dukeceit, and Remile are the only valid Sanders Sides ships which is nowhere near the truth! So, a lot of Sanders Sides cosplayers (myself included) are going on a two-week Sanders Sides cosplay strike to stand up to the bullies, and I'm also writing this finally as well! Because I will *always* prefer Analogical and Royality above any other ship, especially Logicality and Prinxiety! So enjoy my boys being gay disasters and finally deciding to make a lifelong promise to each other!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446493

Summary: Virgil decides it's time for the next big step in his relationship with Logan... no matter how irrelevant it may seem.

TWs: a couple swear words, some anxiety, but nothing horrible!

It was a quiet day in the Mindscape.

Virgil was quietly lounging on the couch in the living room, scrolling through Tumblr and generally minding his own business. On the surface level, it might’ve looked like Virgil was just indulging in his typical emo content on Tumblr.

However, the side was actually desperately attempting (with attempting being the keyword here) to pull together a date plan for the evening.

Today was his and Logan’s two year dating anniversary, and although Virgil had come up with his overall plan for the evening a month ago, he had been so anxious about pulling it off that he had been procrastinating it ever since.

This had all stemmed after Roman had suddenly actually proposed to Patton nearly six months ago. It had been a shock to everyone- Patton included! But the two were determined to take that next step in their relationship despite the fact that it wasn’t possible for Sides to legally be married.

Considering that they had basically everything they could possibly want at their disposal, the wedding planning had gone smoothly and had taken much less time than it normally would. As a result, the wedding had happened about two months ago. Virgil and Logan had been the ‘best men’, and Thomas had done his best to officiate.

And in all honesty, Virgil had never seen either side as happy as they had been for the past two months.

Did Virgil originally think that the concept of them, as sides, getting ‘married’ was unimportant because they would never be truly married anyway? Yeah. Logan had clearly felt the same right after the announcement had been made, too. But Virgil couldn’t deny the rising feeling of longing. He didn’t want anything big or over-the-top, but goddamnit, he wanted to make that lifelong promise to the one person he loved most.

He didn’t know how Logan would feel, but he was hoping Logan would agree.

So here he was, ring in his pocket, scrolling through Tumblr trying desperately to come up with a good way to propose.

That was until his peaceful mid-morning was suddenly interrupted by a very loud Prince.

“Yes, the wind blows a little bit colder!” Roman burst into the room, singing what had quickly become one of his favorite songs from Frozen II to sing (especially when he was doing a duet with Patton). “And we’re all getting older! Aaand the clouds are moving on with every autumn breeeeze!”

Roman continued to sing through the first verse of the song, giving both Anna and Olaf’s lines his all. Virgil just rolled his eyes, trying to put his focus back on Tumblr.

That is until he had an idea.

Besides, maybe Roman could help him, anyway.

As soon as Roman got to the start of the second verse, before Roman could continue, Virgil butted in.

“The leaves are already falling,” he sang (a rare occurrence indeed, but he could make an exception). “Sven, it feels like the future is calling.”

Roman paused for half a second, almost instantly catching Virgil’s drift. A wide grin almost instantly formed on his face. “Are you telling me tonight you’re going to get down on one knee???”

Virgil sat up and gave Roman a quick nod, continuing on. “Yeah, but I’m really bad at planning these things out- like candlelight and pulling of rings out.”

Roman plopped down next to him. “Maybe you should leave all the romantic stuff to me…”

Virgil just rolled his eyes. “Some things never change… like the love that I feel for him.” (yes, purposely changing the pronoun.) “Some things never change… like how reindeers are easier. But if I commit and I go for it, I’ll know what to say and do… right?”

Roman gave him a Look. “Some things never change…” He then smirked and stole Virgil’s last line. “Virge, the pressure is all on you.”

Virgil shoved him gently in response. Roman just laughed, deciding not to continue with the song. “So, I thought you two thought getting married was irrelevant?”

“I mean, I did,” Virgil muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… I’ve realized that I wanna make that promise to him.”

Roman nodded. “You know, Virgil, that was actually exactly my reasoning behind proposing to Patton, and sometimes that’s the only reasoning you need. I think, even if he still thinks it’s irrelevant, he’ll do it for you if you truly want it.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. The only problem I’m having is figuring out just how the hell to do it.”

“Mm, I see. Well, I have a few ideas, if you’d like to hear them.”

“As long as they’re not too extra, I’m all ears.”

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

Virgil stood outside of Logan’s room, hand in his pocket, clutching the ring box.

It had turned out that Roman could actually have some down-to-earth ideas if he really wanted to, and had helped Virgil come up with a solid plan for the evening that could be easily amended if needed. It was simple and quaint, and Virgil was feeling pretty good about it.

Save for the butterflies in his stomach about the proposal, but that was normal, right?

Virgil took a deep breath and knocked on Logan’s door.

He had taken it upon himself to actually look somewhat decent for the evening. He was wearing the only tie he owned, which resembled his hoodie to a point, along with a purple button-down. It was similar to what he had worn in the courtroom, though Virgil had made a point to wear a black vest, too, to put some distance between the two events.

He was still wearing his hoodie, though. No amount of persuasion from Roman could keep him from wearing it. He was also wearing his signature ripped black skinny jeans as well because they looked good with formal outfits and Virgil would die on that hill.

The door opened, and Virgil’s breath suddenly disappeared.

Logan was looking even more dapper than ever and holy fuck was Virgil gay.

He was wearing a black button-down in replacement of his usual polo, along with his signature tie- but adding on a snazzy blazer that had a gorgeous galaxy print. Adding in the dress pants and shoes Virgil was starting to feel slightly underdressed but he knew Logan wouldn’t care.

“You good there, starlight?” Logan asked, almost teasing in a way.

Virgil finally found his voice. “Oh, uh, yeah, I’m ga- good. I’m good.

Logan just laughed softly and the two leaned in for a quick kiss.

Virgil spoke up after they broke apart. “So, I have a couple of things planned for the evening, actually. For after dinner.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I managed to convince Roman to let me borrow the imagination for the night.”

“That actually sounds wonderful, Virgil. I think that’ll be a nice change of pace for a date night.”

“Well, it is our anniversary. I thought it would be appropriate.”

“Indeed.” Logan put his hand around Virgil’s waist, and Virgil put his own hand around Logan’s as they walked down to the kitchen.

Where they were treated to a sight that Virgil was not expecting.

Patton was dressed up in a chef outfit, humming ‘Into the Unknown’ as he stirred a pot on the stove.

“Patton!” Virgil exclaimed. “I thought we had kitchen rights for the night?”

Patton turned to them and grinned. “Aww, you two look so dapper! Oh, yes, Virgil, you guys do have kitchen rights for tonight! I just thought I would do something nice for you two for your anniversary and cook dinner!”

Virgil went red. “Oh- uhh. Well, I guess that works. Thanks, Pat.”

“No problem!” Patton then winked at him and Virgil resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan.

Of course Roman had gotten Patton into this.

He couldn’t complain though, because Patton was the best cook out of all of them, and he had just been planning to stick a frozen pizza in the oven. Roman had probably taken personal offense at that crime against romance at its very core and enlisted Patton for help.

“That indeed sounds wonderful, Patton. What are you making?” Logan asked.

“My secret spaghetti recipe!”

That recipe was not secret, but it was one of Patton’s best recipes, so Virgil couldn’t complain.

“Oh, cool,” Virgil nodded, walking over to the table and pulling a chair out for Logan (like a gentleman, of course). Logan sat down, saying a quick thank you to Virgil as Virgil went to sit down himself.

As they waited for Patton to finish, the two of them chatted quietly, talking about the day they each had, holding hands across the table and just generally being sappy.

After a while, Patton finally came over with two plates of spaghetti in his hands.

“There’s more on the stove if you want seconds!” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry ‘bout the dishes when you finish, I’ll take care of them later!”

“Are you certain, Patton?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You two deserve to enjoy your evening, I can do the dishes for ya!”

Virgil gave in with a shrug. “If you’re positive.”

“I very much am! Now, enjoy your dinner, and if you need Ro or I for any reason whatsoever, we’ll be in the living room watching Mulan!”

Suddenly, in the distance, both left-brained sides heard Roman start booming out the lyrics to ‘Let’s Get Down to Business’.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Sounds good, Pat. Have fun.”

“I’ll do my best,” he grinned with a wink, walking off.

Logan and Virgil then dug into their dinner, which tasted even better than it ever had before. Patton had obviously made certain everything was perfect. It was mostly silent as they ate, both trying to be polite so as to not make the other have to talk with their mouth full or to have to wait awkwardly to finish chewing before they responded

Then, as they finished, Logan finally spoke up. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, Roman conjured a movie theatre in the imagination for me, and I picked out an astronomy documentary I’m 90% certain you haven’t seen.”

“An astronomy documentary I haven’t seen? What a concept.”

Virgil laughed. “Nerd.” Virgil then grabbed Logan’s plate and stacked it on top of his own, putting their utensils on top. He stood up, then held out his arm. “Shall we head out?”

Logan took his arm. “Indeed.”

The two stopped momentarily to share another kiss, which lingered longer than the one before.

“God I love you,” Virgil murmured.

“I love you as well.”

Virgil led them to the door to the imagination and opened it.

Logan gasped.

Virgil had spent a good two hours in the imagination with Roman making sure it looked absolutely perfect. They had studied star charts and replicated the night sky to the best of their ability with the time they had and made sure the setting was in the middle of nowhere. Virgil would’ve liked if they’d managed to figure out the whole ‘movie theatre in the middle of nowhere’ concept, but he digressed. He was still happy with how it turned out, and this was the Imagination anyway- things almost never made sense.

“Virgil, this is beautiful,” Logan whispered, almost even choked up a little bit.

“Roman and I spent all afternoon on this,” Virgil nodded. “I owe him one.”

“Yet Roman would never have been able to replicate the night sky to this degree of accuracy if you hadn’t helped him,” Logan added. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. I can clearly see the personal touches you added to this. I absolutely adore it.”

Virgil hardcore blushed. “Thanks, Lo. Shall we head to the theatre?”

“After you.”

The walk to the theatre was only a few minutes long, but it was a few minutes of blissful silence as he appreciated the company of his boyfriend… hopefully soon-to-be fiance.

As they got to the theatre, Logan took the opportunity to be the gentleman and opened the door for him. Virgil walked through and held out his own arm again in an attempt at the domination of the gentleman role again. Logan relented and let his boyfriend take the lead.

They entered the screening room, which was completely empty save for them.

“Any preference on where we sit?” Virgil asked.

“Might we sit right in the middle? I think that’s a prime spot for optimal view.”

“I agree, middle it is.”

They quickly took their seats and Virgil conjured drinks- iced coffee for Logan in his favorite mug, and hot black coffee for himself. Logan settled into his chair, putting his arm around Virgil. Virgil slid closer to Logan and put his head on the other’s shoulder.

The opening of the documentary came on, and Logan immediately reacted with “I can confirm that I have not seen this documentary!”

Virgil laughed. “Thank god.”

As the film progressed, both sides settled in even closer to learn about the stars some more together. As time went on, the two continued to move closer and closer together, until Virgil turned their two chairs and the one on the other side of Logan into a couch so they could cuddle.

Virgil could tell that not only was this a documentary that the logical side hadn’t ever seen before, there was also content discussed that Logan had not known before. Looking up every so often, Virgil could see metaphorical stars (pun) in Logan’s eyes as he listened intently to every word spoken.

Everything had turned out perfect.

And as the credits rolled, Virgil knew it was time.

Logan sighed as he sat up from where he had been sitting, leaning against Virgil. “That was thoroughly fascinating, Virgil. I can’t believe you managed to find a new documentary!”

“Well, sometimes it just takes a little deeper searching to find what you need. The internet is a wonderful place sometimes.” Virgil sat up as well and stretched as his heart began to race.

“Thank you so much for this, Virgil. Oh, did you have anything else planned, or are we returning to the mindscape?” Virgil’s heart melted at the pure hope in Logan’s eyes, knowing the side wanted to stargaze more than anything. Thankfully, Virgil knew the other side very well.

“You really think I would create a nearly-perfect night sky and not give you the opportunity to stare at it for hours on end?” Virgil teased. “Don’t worry, love, that was the plan all along. Right after one other thing.”

“Oh?”

As his heart pounded relentlessly, Virgil almost chickened out, losing a good portion of the confidence he had built up over the course of the evening in a matter of milliseconds.

But pushing past the thoughts in his mind telling him not to do it, this is a horrible idea, he’s going to hate you- Virgil cleared his throat and began to talk.

“I know we talked a lot about this when the topic first came up, and we both agreed at the time that it was kinda unnecessary, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few months, about all sorts of things. About how much better my life has been since I left the dark sides. Since I joined this family. Since… I first went out with you.”

Virgil swallowed. “And I’ve realized that my life would be nowhere near as incredible as it is now if you hadn’t asked me to be with you. You have made my life, which was pretty shitty beforehand, actually mean something, when four years ago, I would’ve said to anyone who asked that I wished I didn’t exist. Thomas himself said that ‘it’s a pretty big deal when someone makes you enjoy something you’d normally dread’… especially if that something is life itself.

“I know you might still see this as an ‘unnecessary formality that we don’t need to pursue in order for our relationship to be whole’, but even then… I want this, even if it’s only to make you a promise of forever. I love you with all my being, Logan Sanders.”

The butterflies were gone.

Virgil pulled out the ring box and got down on one knee on the floor in front of Logan. “Will you marry me?”

He opened the box to reveal the ring he had put so much time and effort into summoning. It was a simple black band, with purple highlights, decorated with small white diamonds resembling stars, forming some of Logan’s favorite constellations.

Logan was stunned speechless for a few moments, and Virgil suddenly had an influx of overwhelming anxiety.

He’sgonnasaynohe’sgonnasaynohe’sgonna-

Then Logan went red and buried his face in his hands. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve known this was going to happen.”

“What?” Virgil was very confused.

Logan lifted his head up and Virgil was greeted with one of the most genuinely amused smiles he’d ever seen on the other’s face. Logan then reached into his pocket and pulled something of his own out.

Another ring box.

Virgil’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god.”

“Only we could pull this off.”

Virgil then buried his face in his hands. “We’re so useless.”

They then looked at each other in the eye and broke out into hysterical laughter. Logan fell onto the floor beside Virgil as they leaned against each other, laughing harder than either of them could ever remember.

As Virgil started to attempt to compose himself, wiping a stray tear from his eye, he asked, “So is that a yes?”

Logan nearly started laughing again. “Yes, Virgil. That’s a yes.”

Composure regained, the two of them then launched into a hug, holding on as tight as possible.

Virgil only pulled away for a kiss, and then to slide the ring onto Logan’s ring finger. Logan then finally opened the ring box he had brought, showing Virgil the solid black ring band with a sparkling purple amethyst donning the middle he had chosen for him. Virgil nearly burst into tears at the sight. It was absolutely perfect.

Rings exchanged, they leaned in for another long, perfect kiss. Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck, and Logan wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist.

When they broke apart, Virgil was the one who spoke first. “Ready for that stargazing I promised?”

“More than anything.”

Hand in hand, the two newly engaged sides walked out of the theatre and over to the field Virgil had chosen as the perfect stargazing spot.

The rest of the evening would be perfect as they talked about the events that lead up to this. Logan would even share that it was, in fact, he who got Patton to cook dinner, having informed the moral side of his plans that afternoon just as Virgil had with Roman. Patton had no idea Virgil was also planning to propose (and Virgil realized the winks were probably aimed at Logan, not him).

Which also likely meant that Roman hadn’t known that Logan was planning to propose. The other two sides were in for quite a tale when they returned.

But for now, Logan and Virgil just laid down in the middle of the field, the perfect spot for optimal view of the stars, cuddling close together as they enjoyed each other's company.

Yeah, maybe the concept of the Sides getting married was pretty preposterous.

But when it comes down to the bare essentials, marriage was just a lifelong promise to be together for each other, no matter what.

And that was all they really needed.

----

AAAAH IT’S DONE

I HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS

I LOVE MY CHAOTIC GAY BOYS

Taglist (of one person):

@cefinitely-rolo bless your soul

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Six):Burnt Offering

Notes: So, given that the last chapter was kind of short, at least by my standards. I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter this month. We're starting to near the point where what I post and where I'm at in writing are meeting up, I have chapter 7 done and am currently about halfway through writing 8,  so don't be shocked if we end up with a slowdown in chapters like what's had to happen with my other fic series. It just happens, such is life. 

Word Count: 9243

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, POV Switches, Talks of the Testicle Festival,

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The cruiser door shuts with a heavy thud, followed by Rook’s boots hitting the asphalt. Staci stifles a laugh, the newest addition to the Sheriff’s Department has a pea sized bladder and a penchant for guzzling energy drinks like an idiot. He’s had to pull into the Golden Valley Gas Station for her to run off to the bathroom, again.

His joints pop and crack as he gets out of the car, taking the chance to stretch his legs. The sun hangs high and bright in the great blue sky, warming his skin as rolls his shoulders to get out the kinks. It’s nearly noon and if he has to be here, he might as well find something to eat, the door of the gas station chiming as he walks in. He looks over the hot food options, garbage mostly, but tasty garbage. Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs-

“You getting lunch?”

Staci jumps at the sudden question, a voice over his shoulder that he wasn’t ready for catches him off guard. A soft laugh as he turns to look at Rook who’s just scared him, sometimes she’s like a bull in a china shop and other times she’s silent as the grave. He can’t keep up and ends up glaring at the smirking woman. She finds way too much enjoyment in his misery, she’s the probie, he’s supposed to be giving her shit not the other way around.

“Someone needs to put a fuckin’ bell on you, I swear.”

“I thought you could ‘hear me coming a mile away’,” she says trying to imitate his voice when he mocked her earlier.

“That was then, this is now, and right now, you’re a sneaky bitch.”

He can’t resist the chance to wipe that dumb little smirk off her face and grabs her cheek between his fingers, stretching the soft tan skin. A small sharp pain in his wrist when she smacks him away, but it’s more than worth it to see her looking a little less cocky.

“Bite me.” She says and knocks against his side as she grabs a hamburger, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ew.” Rook grimaces at his little attempt at flirting, like an asshole. Then again, with her, she may not realize he was trying to flirt.

He grabs himself one and follows after her to the drinks, he watches her line of vision immediately go to the large sized slushie cups. They’re nearly the size of the short deputy’s head.

“No,” he tells her, voice low with warning, he already has to worry about pulling over  for her constantly.

“What?”

“You drink that and you’re gonna be needing twelve more bathroom trips before our shift ends.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You nearly pissed yourself, five minutes ago.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rook rolls her eyes as she fills up the giant cup with blue slush. No matter what he says, he swears she’d break her neck just to do the opposite.

They buy their lunches, if it can even be called that, and leave the gas station. The weather’s too nice to eat in the cruiser, a soft breeze and a clear sky to eat under instead.  Staci instead sits on the trunk of the car, balancing his drink on his thigh as he eats. Rook follows his lead, for once since she’s been here, and sits down on the car as well. She pulls one of her legs up onto the car and under her, keeping her drink in hand.

It’s quiet as they eat, but unlike the awkward still of when they first started patrolling together, this silence is surprisingly pleasant.  Staci has never liked quiet, making those first patrols painful to sit through, but their time spent in silence has grown more bearable with every shift.

Rook is weird, but not bad; he’s decided. She’s quiet and serious, especially so at the start. But, she never misses a chance to talk back or give him hell, which might be his own fault.  She’s dedicated to the job and never seems to shy away from what it entails, only ever seeming bothered by the work when she was stuck pushing papers.  Despite her constant scowling and resting bitch face, Rook is eager to help people.

He doesn’t know much about her, which is only natural with her short time with the department and her lackluster communicative skills. She likes her job, Hudson, animals, and giving him hell. She hates crowds, churches, and talking. That’s about all he’s got. And dress codes he guesses? Though since the Drubman incident she’s stuck with modest tanks and tees under her uniform, other than buttoning it up, it’s the same damn thing. Hell, even Hudson and him don’t button it up all the way. 

When she was first hired, the week separating her hire and her actual first day, he asked Whitehorse what he was thinking when he hired someone so young. The sheriff just laughed, saying she had a good heart. He supposes her jumping to help Mary May the day of her interview was proof of that.

There are a lot of reasons why people become cops, not all of them necessarily good or right. Staci himself is exhibit A of that. He’s always been honest with himself and others that he became a cop to get laid, it was nothing short of a whim. Something women are attracted to and didn’t require too much education, so he could avoid debt. No ideas of helping people or delusions of keeping the peace; he chose his career based entirely on the prospect of getting his dick wet.

Hudson is better than him in that regard, well, in many regards but that’s beside the point. But, her choice mostly stems from her family. Almost everyone in her family has had a career in either the military or law enforcement. Her mom is a veteran and her dad a veteran turned police officer, retiring early due to injury.  One of her brothers works as an officer in Billings and the other currently in basic training. It only seemed natural she’d follow one of those paths, becoming a cop because it’s what they do in her family. A fact she’s always taken pride in. 

Danny, not to speak ill of the dead, was probably a hall monitor in high school. He was a stickler for details and rules, he enjoyed being the one enforcing order. But Staci isn’t confident that Danny enjoyed it because he believed in what was best for the public so much as he liked rules for the sake of rules and being the one to crack the whip. It’s strange to say after so many years of butting heads, but Staci misses that asshole. It hit Joey hardest, Danny being her partner, but it hit him too. Danny was with the station since before him or Joey were hired on, for him to just be gone one day… Hope County is a sleepy little place, it can be easy to forget how dangerous this kind of job can be when speeding and hunting violations are the biggest crimes. Danny was a grim reminder and hopefully, the last one Staci will ever get.

“That’s gonna fall,” Rook’s voice cuts through the quiet, her finger pointed at the drink balanced on Staci’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses her out of hand, and she rolls her eyes, sunlight making the brown look nearly gold. 

She’s cute, it’s something he’s had to admit, as much as he’d rather not. While he’s always been a bit of a womanizer, it still feels weird acknowledging he’s attracted to his newly acquired pain in the ass. But…Rook is real easy on the eyes. Even with her constant sourpuss of a face, she's cute. Though the rare times he’s seen her smile… It’s a good look on her.  Hell, it's a good enough look that he asked her out on an impromptu date to the F.A.N.G Center the moment he saw it. Though that ended up being botched; the Junior Deputy inviting Joey along and then abandoning them partway through the day.

He’s gotten to spend hardly any time with her outside of work, between that and her never tagging along to The Spread Eagle, a part of him has to wonder if she just doesn’t want to deal with him when she doesn’t have to. God knows, it’s not Hudson, he’s pretty sure Rook would break her neck to spend more time with Joey.

Staci’s mind is drawn back to Rook’s dismissal of his mild flirting, she seemed uncomfortable with Adelaide’s more…forward tendencies too. But there’s no denying she has a huge annoying crush on Joey. Her face going redder than a lobster anytime the two are near each other. He’s asking her on dates without even meaning to and he’s not even sure what way she swings.

“So, what’s your deal?” He decides to just ask, it might be a long shot, but no harm in seeing if he has a chance. Right?

“My deal with what?” She raises an eyebrow and takes another slurp of her drink.

“Well, I know you’re into women; so are you gay?” Rook chokes on her slushie, blue dribbling down her chin as he continues, “Bi? Pan?”  

“What the fuck, dude?!” She yells, scrubbing her slushie covered hand against her jeans, her blue stained tongue catching his eye as she freaks out.

“It’s just a question.”

“A real fuckin’ personal one.” Her face is a vivid red, making her blue chin and tongue stand out even brighter.

“What? You worried ‘cause, ya know, Montana?”

“No, I’m not worried because of that.”

“Good, because I promise you most people here don’t give a fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I just don’t like talking…”

“You can honestly stop that sentence right there.”

“Pff,” she lets out a soft laugh and the corner of her mouth curves up as she says in a gentler voice, “I don’t like talking.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He gives her the out and she groans.

“Look, dude, not that it’s any of your business but I barely know what the fuck’s going on in my own head. If I can’t figure that shit out, how the hell am I supposed to explain it?”

“I know you like Hudson.”

“Yeah, I do… I can’t say I’m not attracted to men? I don’t think, I’ve thought men are attractive. I just, women catch my eye more,” she shrugs, face still red, “though I don’t know if that’s because of me or ‘cause of the….selection here.”

“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, dark eyebrows furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious while she slurps on her slushie. He can nearly see the gears in her head desperately trying to turn.

“Dude, seriously?” She asks raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously, you make it sound like the men here are drooling apes.”

“Women in Hope County.”

Rook points out a woman stepping out of her car, long tanned legs and daisy duke shorts.

“Men in Hope County.”

She gestures towards a man at the gas pumps, bent over with his jeans half falling off his ass with plumber crack on display for the world.

It’s his turn to choke, pop catching in his windpipe as her sputters and gags on his laugh, leg jerking and sending his entire drink falling into his lap.

“Jesus fuck,” he manages to cough out as cola soaks his crotch.

“Told you it was gonna fall.”

“At least I don’t look like I blew a Smurf.”

“Fuck off.” She roughly shoves him as they both laugh.

“So, all us Hope County men are just too ugly for you?” He says with mock hurt in his voice as he stands from the trunk, walking around the cruiser.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no, I get it, I mean, how could anyone stand to even look at me.”

“What do you want from me?” She’s glaring at him now from over the cruiser, each at their respective doors as they talk.

“Nah, it’s my cross to bear, I have to learn how to deal with being hideous.”

“I mean, we can always get you a paper bag.” Her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing halfway through her own joke, blue tongue pressing against her canines.

“Wow, fuckin’ wow, just double down.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, face still flushed from laughing, “for what it’s worth, you’re one of the more attractive guys in Hope County.”

“Thank you,” Staci can’t help but genuinely smile, between the compliment and her expression, something about the moment settles warm in his chest.

“Which is kinda like being a tall dwarf.”

“Fuck you,” his outburst makes her laugh and he can’t help but laugh right along with her, “you can’t let me have anything can you?”

“Nope.”

They’re still smiling, stomachs and cheeks aching as they climb into the cruiser. He turns the key and starts up the engine, pulling them out of the parking lot. The soft tapping of Rook’s finger against the door is the only sound as they drive through the valley. She’s always moving, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her completely still.

The cola on his jeans has barely started to dry by the time the radio starts to crackle, dispatch putting out a call.

“Units please respond, we have a domestic disturbance at the Ramsey Residence, neighbor reported yelling coming from the home and threats of violence.”

The Ramsey place is about fifteen or twenty minutes out from where Benjamin and Julie live. They’re familiar with the Sheriff’s department. He hates to sound so jaded and cynical, but they’ve done this song and dance so many times.  Benjamin has been an abusive drunk since as long as Staci’s lived in Hope County. No matter how many times they cuff and drag him away; Julie refuses to press charges, bails him out, and welcomes him back with open arms. It’s an endless cycle and Hope County doesn’t have the resources to break it. With that in mind, he grabs the receiver.

“Deputy Pratt and Hale responding, over.”

He flips on the sirens, lights flashing and the speaker squealing as they rush towards the Ramsey house. Tires spitting up gravel as he drives along the backroads, following them to the old farmhouse. It was once a beautiful house, he’s sure, but it’s started to fall apart over the years. The white paint peeling and the wood of the porch starting to rot away.

There’s a tension in the air as the deputies get out of the cruiser, grass crushing underfoot as they make their way to the home. Despite being Staci’s subordinate as far as standing in the department goes, Rook is in front of him and taking the lead. Not because he wants her too; she just does that.

The porch lets out a loud creak when the junior deputy takes a step, straining under her weight. That doesn’t bode well for him, while not a particularly heavy guy, he’s over a foot taller than Rook and fit. She may have muscle mass, but he’s sure he still weighs more at the end of the day. 

“You might wanna be careful,” she warns him, standing next to the door, clearly having gone through the same thought process as him.

“Yeah, this porch has seen better days.”

It strains and creaks, echoing a louder under him as he takes the steps up. Then his foot goes through the porch. He curses as he starts to fall through, broken rotted wood splintering into his jeans and boot. A hand wraps around his wrist, Rook steadying him as gets his bearings. He grips the railing as he his rips his foot back out of the wood; breaking and ripping apart boards with the force of it. The smell of mildew, rotted lumber, and muck getting kicked up from it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He has to shift back onto the steps that were able to hold him, he could step over or around the broken gap, but the chances of it just breaking through again are high. Rook lets go of his wrist once he’s on stable footing and turns back to the door. She knocks on the door three times, before calling out.

“Hope County Sheriff’s department, we got a call, just here to make sure everything’s okay.”

There’s no response, of course they’re in no rush to open the door for police. A beat of silence  and then something breaks from inside the home, like glass crashing to the ground.

“You ever deal with them before?” Rook asks as she tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Plenty, he always has to be taken kicking and screaming. ”  

“Is he dangerous?” She’s slid a pick into the door lock, twisting and turning it. Why the hell does she know how to pick locks?

“Only to his wife, every time I’ve dealt with him, he’s no worse than a drunk toddler.”

“Hmm,” she nods in understanding, “go around back and see if there’s a back door or something, we can’t take anyone out this way. I’ll head in.”

“Since when do you give the orders, probie?”

“Pratt,” she says his name like a warning, just as the door clicks open. She’s right and he Staci knows that, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being bossed around by the probie he’s supposed to be teaching the ropes.

He waves her off and goes walking around the house, all this trouble and splinters in his shin over some damn drunk who should have been locked away years ago. There’s a set of concrete stairs up to the backdoor, not attached, but sturdier than forty-year-old rotted wood. He shakes the backdoor and finds it’s locked, because of course it is.

Staci slams his shoulder against the door as he hard as he can, putting all of his weight into it. The lock and frame give out from the force, a boom and splintering sound ringing out.

“Fuck!”

It’s Rook’s voice, no mistaking it, a groan of pain punctuating the curse. Staci’s blood runs cold and he runs into the house; feet hitting the floor in heavy thuds as he runs to where he heard the sound. Nearly tripping over himself as he enters the living room.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Staci recognizes two figures instantly as he enters. Ben Ramsey standing over a curled up figure dressed in the familiar green of their uniform, blood is on the carpet, soaking it through.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What’d he do? What did that son of bitch do to her?

From his angle, Ben’s back to him, Pratt can’t make out anything other than her fallen body. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if she’s moving, where the blood is coming from, if she’s even alive.

Words stick in his throat and his mind only spins curses, his hand pauses, body frozen. Only a moment in reality, but in eternity to Staci; just enough time for the old drunk to pull his leg back and slam a boot into the young deputy on the ground. A sickening crack and curse from the young woman.

And for the first in his career, Staci pulls his gun out. It may be too quick of a move and maybe in the hours after he’ll think of how he should have gone for the baton or taser, but his hand is on his gun. Pointed at another human being. There’s a shake to his hands.

“Ben Ramsey, you’re under, under arrest! Put your hands up!” His words stall for a moment and he curses himself for the way fear seeps into his voice at the worst times.

“Fuck you-“

His words are cut off by a yell, Ben’s body convulsing for a second before he hits the ground with a heavy thud. Rook taser in hand moving as it happens, quickly cuffing him, and Staci can breathe again. He’s not going back to the station alone. The side of her head is stained with blood, hair matted in it, her left eye shut and that half of her face red. Her nose and lip are busted open, blood streaking down her chin.  She’s hurt, but she’s alive. His head is swimming, drops his grip on his weapon, his shoulder aching and making him realize just how tense he was. He’s not even certain his finger was on the trigger, he realizes as he holsters the thankfully unused gun.  Her lips move over and over again, but the words don’t cut through the fog of his brain until another moment passes.

“Pratt, radio backup, now!” Her hands are on the man’s cuffed wrists, keeping him in place on the ground, subdued for the moment as the man’s thankfully still dazed from the shock.

He’s hesitated, his delay to grab his radio no doubt wasting precious seconds. Why does he always fucking hesitate? He’s tripping over his words as he talks, because of course he is.

“Officer Pratt, we need backup and, and emergency services to the Ramsey house, immediately. Officer injured, suspect is belligra-belligerent and dangerous.”

“Suspect’s wife is injured as well.”

There’s more than three people in the room, Julie Ramsey curled up in a ball beside the couch, sobbing desperately at the entire scene. He didn’t even notice, fuck, he fucking hell.  He gives the exact address and gets confirmation that someone is coming.  Staci crouches down, closer to Rook’s level where she’s kneeling next to the suspect, he’s able to get a better look at Rook’s injury. He can smell beer, both from the suspect and from her head, shards of brown glass clinging to the blood-soaked skin. He bashed a beer bottle over her head, then kicked her in the face while she was down.

He needs to get something to hold against her head, to help stop the bleeding. Staci’s starts to move to get his overshirt off, thinking it’d be better than nothing, but then sirens screech at them. Police officers for the station and EMTS coming through the house. It’s going to be okay.

No thanks to him. He did nothing. He wants to pull his hair out, scream at himself, why the hell is he this fucking pathetic?

Ben Ramsey is arrested and charged, taken to one of the officer’s police car. Meanwhile Julie and Rook are assessed before being taken to the back of ambulance. Staci follows them, moving on instinct to follow and make sure Rook is okay.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, just grateful to be allowed in the ambulance, he listens as they access her. Lacerations, contusions, possible skull fracture; the words swim around his head as they look her over in the ambulance. He watches as the EMT forces Rook’s left eye open, seeing why it’s been shut, blood vessels damaged across part of the white, red irritation in the other half that goes into the brown, blurring the edge of the iris.

Ideas of her losing vision in that eye flood through his mind, how severe is the damage, could it impact her career? Is she going to be out of here before she’s even finished probationary hire? He was supposed to be looking out for her.

He sits outside her room at the Hope County Clinic, privacy or some sort of doctor crap, he can barely even remember the rest of the ride there. His back against the wall as he sits on the floor, ringing his hands, mind racing through a million possibilities. 

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse’s voice is what ends the frenetic mess in his head, if only for a second. The presence of the sheriff easing some of his nerves, knowing the older man will be able to handle this, whatever the situation may be.

He scrambles to his feet and explains everything that happened; from the porch falling in, him pulling his weapon but not firing, and an injured Rook having to subdue the suspect. Each word of it making him feel just a bit more pathetic, a bit weaker, he really fucked this up.

Whitehorse squeezes his shoulder, a warm heavy hand to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Pratt. Everything is gonna be fine, Rook’s made of tougher stuff than this.”

He sighs, unsure of how he feels by the statement. It’s meant to comfort him, and it does some part of him. He wants Rook to be okay, fuck does he need her to be okay.  But, Whitehorse’s unwavering faith in her strength, makes him feel all the more pathetic in comparison.

The hospital room door opens, a doctor walking out, looking over at Whitehorse and Staci.

“You can come in now, if you’d like.”

Staci follows behind Whitehorse as they walk into the little clinic room, off white walls and floors greeting them. Rook’s sitting on the side of the white sheeted bed; seeing her cleaned up and moving is instant relief for Staci’s frayed nerves. Her face is bruised, her eye still messed up, but she’s no longer painted red with her own blood. His hands twitch, he realizes he wants to hug her, to pull her close and feel that she’s truly okay. But he can’t find the nerve to do it, unsure of how the young woman would react. 

“So, what’re you dealing with?” Whitehorse asks her and she sighs. 

“Needed some stitches, some glass scratched my cornea so vision in this eye is gonna be a little blurry, but it will heal. Minor skull fracture.” 

“Skull fracture?” Staci can’t help but blurt out, that’s  bad, isn’t it? Skulls are kind of important, being the thing that protects your brain. Why the hell is she just shrugging it off?

“It’s not bad, they don’t do anything for it. My head is gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” she shrugs, “if spinal fluid starts coming out my ears and nose, call 911, though I think that’s the rule for everyone.” 

“Alright,” Whitehorse speaks up, “there’s gonna be some paperwork to take care of with your injury and your time off.” 

“I’m not taking time off.” She’s emphatic, shaking her head like the sheriff is ridiculous to even suggest something like that. 

“I’m not sending you out like this, Rookie, you need to worry about healing up.” 

“You want me to take time off, during my probationary hire, that’s ridiculous.” 

“Don’t stress, it’s not going to affect anything, just take two weeks off-” 

“One week, max.” 

“Fine, one week," Whitehorse gives him with a hefty sigh, "just take it easy. And actually take it easy, not doing anything to hurt yourself in the meantime.” 

“Pfff,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, hopping up from the bed. 

“We’ll go back to the station and take care of the paperwork.” 

Whitehorse puts a hand on Staci’s back; the other on Rook’s as he walks them out the door. Staci feels exhausted as he gets into Whitehorse’s truck with them, someone having taken the cruiser back to the station for them. His body slackening into dead weight as he leans against the door; his nerves are shot to hell and back, he just wants to collapse after everything. She’s okay and that’s what matters most; his own insecurities be damned. 

They arrive at the station; since it’s regarding just her injury and leave, Staci isn’t needed for the paperwork on this one. He instead waits outside, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t feel ready to just go home yet. It’s after shift and usually he’d be at The Spread Eagle by now, sipping cheap beer and shooting the shit with Joey. 

Speak of the devil, the older  deputy is coming down the hall, nearly jogging towards him. And he’s wondering if she’s felt the way he did when he heard something happened to Danny, before they told him about the former deputy’s death. That anxiety of knowing something is wrong but not knowing the details, fear building ideas of what could have happened. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Rook got hurt, she’s gonna be okay, but, uh, Whitehorse is giving her the week off.” 

“Thank god,” Joey lets out a sigh of relief, tension noticeably leaving her body, “I thought, jesus, I don’t know what I thought.” 

“Yeah, uh, been a rough day…” 

“How you holding up?” 

“I fucking choked, Joey. The asshole was trying to kick her damn brains in and I choked.” 

“You can’t blame yourself,” she tells him, a faraway look in her eye, “I get it, I do, but you can’t blame anyone but the asshole who hurt her.” 

“It's not just that…” He sighs; is he really going to have this conversation? It feels so damn pathetic. 

“So, what is it?” 

“I...don’t worry about it.” 

“Well, I’m certainly not gonna complain about skipping the feely talks. But, uh, for what it’s worth, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Beating yourself up over what you should have done, what you wish you’d have done, is pointless. You do your best in the moment and it’s all you can do.” 

“I guess…” 

“So...how this affect your little crush on Rook?” She asks after a beat of silence, trying to turn the conversation light-hearted.

“Ugh, don’t call it that. The only crush around here is Rook’s on you.” 

“Yeah, right. You got it bad and we both know it.”

“I might have asked her if she’s gay.”

“Seriously, Pratt?” 

“What,” he says halfway through a laugh, “she always follow you around like a puppy dog, I had to make sure I even had a chance.” 

“Well, do you?” 

“Maybe…if she stops crushing on you.” 

“Eh, that’s nothing, she’ll be over it before you know it.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“The only reason she’s like that with me is ‘cause she thinks I’m pretty, it’s completely superficial, like a little kid.”

“Well, do me a favor and stop being pretty?” 

“No can do, you just gotta sack up and ask her out.” 

“‘Cause the F.A.N.G Center went so well.” 

“Okay, so ask her out and this time, be specific and talk slow.” 

“She’s oblivious, not brain damaged.” 

“Ehhh, debatable.” 

He thinks for a moment, he likes Rook, he does. She’s cute and spending time with her is nice; being able to tease each other has made his job way less mind numbing. Relationships that go beyond the bedroom have never been his forte; it’s honestly been a while since he’s been on an actual date. But, he thinks it could be nice with her. There’s no telling if they’d actually click romantically, that’s not something you find out until you try it. It could be worth a shot. 

But he thinks about today and thinks about the future for a moment, something he’s not fond of doing. Rook is still on probationary hire; who’s to say she’ll be here after the six month period. He doubts Whitehorse will get rid of her, maybe due to her age, he handles her with kid gloves and he’s always been a bit soft as far as sheriffs go anyway. But,  it’s always a possibility if she crosses too big of a line or does something unforgivable. 

Hell, she might decide she wants to leave, might realize Hope County is just not the place for her and head back to Louisiana. 

 At the moment he just likes her, nothing intense, nothing he can’t deal with losing. If he found out tomorrow she was fired and leaving, he’d be bummed sure, but he’d recover relatively quickly. But if they started dating, if it worked out and one date led to another. If they hit it off, meshed as well as he thinks they could and that ‘like’ grew into something more and then she had to leave... 

“Once her probationary hire is over, I’ll do it,” he says out loud, committing himself to the action in front of Joey. Once that threshold has been crossed, once he has a little more reassurance that he can pursue Rook without fear of her leaving, he’ll go for it. 

“You sure you can hold out that long?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You tell me, Mister asked her out on the first day.” 

“Shut up.” 

Dahlia signs the last of the paperwork, her hand cramping, all of this fuss because someone hit her with a beer bottle. She’s still sick from the idea of having to take off a week, better than two, but she’d rather just do her job. So, her vision in one eye is a little blurry and her head hurts like crazy, big deal. 

“There’s something else to address.” 

“What’s that?” She raises an eyebrow at Whitehorse, let her out of paperwork hell, please. 

“It’s up to you if you want us to press charges against him for assaulting you.” 

“Oh.” 

“If it matters, we’ve dealt with Ben a lot, he’s been beating his wife black and blue for years. But, she’s never willing to press charges and nothing’s been severe enough to bring him up on charges from the state.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’s not sure how much it will help, without counseling and after care, who knows if the cycle can break. But, if she can get the guy put away, it will at least give her a chance to get out without fear of repercussions. 

There’s some more paperwork associated with that, filling out a statement and the like. But, that’s more than worth it. She finishes it up and is massaging her hand to help alleviate the muscles that are cramping in distress. 

“Also-”

“If I have to sign one more piece of paper, I’m gonna kill you.” She cuts him off and earns a chuckle in response. 

“No, I just wanted to tell you, hell of a job, today.” 

“All I did was get beat up.” 

“You were in a high stress situation and you resolved it as best you could, you subdued him without deadly force, and showed you know how to handle yourself.”

“The standards are low, aren’t they?” 

“You did good, be proud of yourself for a moment,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as he passes by.  Her heart warms at the gesture, he thinks she did good. Despite being stuck taking a week off, he still thinks she did well. 

Hands in her pockets, she’s grinning as she leaves the office, Hudson and Pratt are just outside; talking about who knows what. They’re usually off drinking right now, but he seemed freaked out about her injury, maybe he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. She’d appreciate it if that were the case. 

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson greets her, bright smile, and Dahlia gives a small nod of her head. Unable to force words out of her throat. 

“Everything taken care of?” 

“Yeah...guess I’ll get to see you guys in a week,” she grumbles, still upset about it. 

“Hey,” Hudson stops her before she can leave, “why don’t you come out to The Spread Eagle with us?” 

“You know I can’t drink, right?” 

“They serve water and pop,” Hudson says, shrugging. 

“Um, okay…”  Dahlia scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck, she gets to go out with them, her heart is warm. Between Whitehorse’s praise and being invited out with the other deputies, this is a pretty good night. 

“Is that why you weren’t tagging along with us?” Pratt asks as they start to head towards the door. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to tag along…” 

“Oh my god, you awkward little disaster.” Pratt ruffles her hair as he insults her and she playfully smacks his side, happy to see him joking around again. 

The neon sign of The Spread Eagle flickers above Dahlia’s head as they walk to the old bar. It’s cheesy and ridiculous the logo of a scantily clad woman with she assumes eagle wings.

 “So, I'm gonna live my life like it's my last damn night.”

“Cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to hell”

 The jukebox and lowlight greet them, people spread around drinking at the bar and cozied up over the wooden tables. A little stage in the corner for those nights when they have live music. Behind the bar, Mary May works away at getting people their drinks, honey blonde hair tied up in a bun and her flannel’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A window behind her shows a glimmer of the kitchen, an older man with dark hair slaving over the orders.

“You’re late,” Mary May teases Hudson and Pratt as the deputies all grab seats at the bar, Dahlia between the two of them.  

She’s never sat at a bar before and something about it feels decidedly mature to the young officer. That is until she can barely climb up there and unlike her two coworkers, her legs aren’t long enough for her feet to comfortable rest on the ground or even part of the stool. Her legs left to swing like a child’s.

“You can blame the probie for that one.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to get my ass kicked in the future.” 

“You finally gonna get your round of free drinks, hero?” Mary May asks her, a slight smile on her face and dear god, why must the women in this county be so pretty? The apples of Dahlia’s cheeks are growing warm. 

“‘Fraid I can’t, still got a year before that’s legal,” she says, never mind if it’s maybe a bit closer to a year and three months. 

“Well, a free meal it is then.” 

“No, no, I can’t do that,” She quickly dismisses the idea, local businesses tend to need every dime they can get, she’s not letting Mary May cut herself short just because Dahlia did her job. 

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d be shut down for the month, it is the least I can do.” 

“Give it up, Rook, she’s not gonna budge,” Pratt tells her. 

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” Hudson warns. 

“You heard them, cowboy, your money’s no good here.” The cowboy nickname is a new one, but Dahlia doesn’t mind it, or the way it makes her smile. 

“Fine, free meal, but I’m tipping.” 

“Okay, okay, I can work with that.” 

Hudson and Pratt get cheap weak beers and Dahlia gets a pop as they look over the food options. Everything makes her stomach growl; desperate for something more than convenience store food or microwave meals. There’s a sign below the window into the kitchen, saying they deliver, she wonders if the trailer park is too far away for it.

She decides to try something she’s never eaten before, a burger with huckleberry barbecue sauce, never having heard of the condiment before. Orders in, she can’t help but look around the room, taking in the decorations. Newspaper clippings beneath a neon blinking sign for Lease Lager, a little flag for Hope County Cougars, and a smaller flyer advertising something she’s seen billboards for all over; the Testicle Festival, advertised with a little screaming cartoon bull.

“The fuck is a Testicle Festival?”

“Pffff,” Pratt laughs and chokes on his beer, pulling it away and licking the beer away from his lips. Hudson cracks a big grin, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back chuckles.

“I mean, it’s basically exactly what you sound like,” the older woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

“People get together and eat bull balls,” Pratt adds.

“Willingly?”

They both laugh as Dahlia looks at them wide eyed, that’s so fucking gross, why the fuck would someone eat that? She’s never been one to turn her nose up at any meal, but that so disgusting, her stomach churning at the very idea.

“Yeah, it’s a thing, I, don’t know what to tell you.”

“Montana is gross…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure they eat gross shit in Louisiana too.”

“Not really,” she shakes her head at Pratt, trying to think of the weirdest food she’s ate, well weird to them, “I mean, I’ve had alligator before.”

“You’ve ate alligator?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“I didn’t eat it’s balls!”

They cackle and laugh at her outburst, she’s joining along before she knows it, face flushing as she cracks up. She barely can remember the ache in her head or the blur in her vision, the more painful moments of the day forgotten as she loses herself in dumb banter and jokes. The burger is incredible, she’d lick the plate clean if she wasn’t in public. Hell, that fact is barely holding her back. She’s not sure how many colas she’s drank her way through, but at some point, her bladder is screaming at her.

“Let me guess, you gotta piss,” Pratt taunts her, reminding her of their little bickering match this evening, she’s an adult she’s allowed to piss.

“Fuck off.” She grabs a grimy fry off the ground andt she drops it down into his beer as she walks by.

She uses the bathroom and washes her hands, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she does so. It’s the first time she’s got a proper look at herself since she was beat up. Stitches over the laceration under her eye, the skin bruised, the white of her eye purple with busted blood vessel with the brown of her eye blurring into it. An absolute mess and she grins.

There’s something fulfilling about getting in a fight, not starting but, making it through one.  Having the marks to show it, knowing she held her own. Whether it was fights in school or when she’d fight back against her step-father, no matter how it ended up, she’d feel proud of herself. Whether because she fought back or simply because she survived. The aftermath was nothing more than a badge of honor marking what she went through. She’d take a thousand more stitches and bruises over the week off, if she’s being completely honest. Dahlia leaves the bathroom once her hands dry, shoving them in her pocket as she goes.

Oooh, oooh, ooh~

If I told you a lie, you could smile, my love.

You’d never understand.

The jukebox hums and Dahlia finds her eyes looking around the room, taking in the faces of the patrons. A shift of a door and the step of boots draws her eyes towards the door. Her breath catches in her throat, what the hell is a Seed doing here?

John Seed, the youngest of the brothers, is walking through the door. All of the siblings make her uncomfortable in some fashion, largely to do with their religiosity, but then they each have their own unique brand of unsettling. John reminds her of a sleazy car salesman, too sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes. Even when he shook her hand at the church, something about him felt off, like he’s wearing a mask but she can’t quite tell what’s under it.

If I told you a tale, you’d cry, my love.

You’d never hold my hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary May yells over the bar, when she sees him.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes when he looks at her, not unlike a cat finding a mouse to tear apart.  He strides to the bar with purposeful steps and he smirks, but unlike those salesman smiles, it reaches his eyes.

“I just thought I’d check in,” his eyes lazily scan the room, looking at the beer bottles and glasses of whiskey in patron’s hands, “do we really need to have this conversation again?”  

“It’s a bar, the hell you expect me to serve?”

“I expect,” John puts his hand on the bar with a sharp sound, “you to listen to reason and start to understand your position.”

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia’s question escapes her without another thought, everything about John’s body language putting her on edge. 

When it all bleeds out, you don’t know.”

When it all bleeds out.

John’s eyes leave Mary May and land on Dahlia, those piercing blue eyes cutting through to her core. He looks her up and down, as if she’s the mouse now. But she doesn’t shrink away or avoid his gaze, unwilling to show any signs of backing down in the face of his intensity. 

Wake up, little man.

Don’t you break her heart. 

“Dep-yoo-tee,” John speaks in a low drawn out way, emphasizing every syllable with the slow drag of his gaze on her.

“Stay out of it, Rook,” Pratt warns her as she walks past him and Hudson at the bar. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, why the fuck would she stay out of it? Supposedly, John already tried to get members of Eden’s Gate to steal Mary May’s alcohol shipment and now he’s showing up to push her around; fuck that shit.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh c’mon, little man.

Don’t you fall apart. 

“I was just trying to have a little talk with Mary May, though she’s never been one for civility. More importantly, what happened here?”

He reaches out towards her face and she flinches out of reflex, John’s fingers grazing her bruised cheek before she smacks his hand away. Not sharp enough to truly hurt, but enough to force him away.

When the devil’s got you, but only by the hand. 

“Hazard of the job and, please, don’t touch me.”

John’s eyebrows furrow, eyes growing dark and face scrunching for a moment in anger before he forces a soft smile. It doesn’t touch the stormy look in his eyes; another little mask hiding whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.

Let go, little man.

Let go, little man.

“Ah, you poor thing, you” his voice deepens with concern, but it feels more like pity. He fidgets with his sleeves and lets out a sigh, irritation seeping through the false concern. She has to resist the urge to smile, something satisfying in seeing his true emotions bubbling up.

“It is what it is, are you done with your ‘little talk’ now?”

His nostrils flare and he bites his lip, it feels like poking a bear, but she’s having fun with it. He gives another fake smile and she wants to wipe it off his face.

“With Mary May, yes, but I was hoping to speak with you more. Though,” he looks around, “this is hardly an ideal setting. Have you given any more thought to tomorrow?”

“Like, I said before, I have to work,” she says the white lie and dismisses him with a shrug, hopeful it will appease the Gucci wearing gremlin in front of her.

“You know, it’s not often The Father goes to the trouble of inviting someone himself,” he tells her, as if it’s meant to entice her. Instead the title ‘The Father’ just makes her skin crawl, not unlike the title her step-father took on with his own church. As if she needed more reasons to avoid these people.

“What are you talking about, Rook? You got a week off for your injury, remember?”  Pratt pipes up and Dahlia’s blood runs cold, why the fuck would he do that to her? Why would he do that? John’s eyes go bright and a sly smile stretches across his face.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you there, dep-yoo-ty, service begins at nine in the morning.” John gives her arm a hard squeeze before he leaves, Dahlia’s skin crawling beneath his touch. Empty air where he once was within the next moment.

Yeah, I vow to the moon, yeah, I howl at the wind.

I’m bleeding and I can’t stay clean.

 She’s expected to come to the service, dear god. The air is punched out of her lungs. Even being outside of a church put her nerves on edge, she’s not sure if she could step foot in one without getting sick.  She moves behind Pratt and puts her hand on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rook, what are you-uuck-” Pratt’s words cut off as she moves and wraps her hands on either side around his throat. Not hard enough to genuinely hurt him, but enough to feel it as she shakes him and pretends to wring his neck .

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“It was funny,” he defends himself when she lets go and throws herself onto her chair, bringing one foot up into the seat as she leans back. Her body going slack with exasperation, she’s seriously going to have to go church?

“I fucking hate you, I actually fucking hate you.”

“God, you’re dramatic. It’s church, not like I volunteered you for a root canal.”

“I’d rather have the root canal.” She tosses her head back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Pratt doesn’t know her issue with religion, she knows that, so she can’t truly be angry at him. But, fuck, would it have killed him to keep his mouth shut?

“Well, I think I should probably get out of here before Rook kills me,” Pratt says as he pays for his meal and drink, standing up from his seat.

“I’m gonna head home too,” Hudson stands up and ruffles Dahlia’s hair, “cheer up, Rookie.”

Dahlia doesn’t even have the energy to get worked up about Hudson’s touch, peacefully letting the casual touch come and go with a mere blush. Then the two have left and Dahlia is trying to gather the energy to get up, with the looming reality that she’s expected to go to church in the morning, she no longer wants this night to end.

“Deputy,” Mary May says after a moment, baby blues watching Dahlia sigh and rub a hand down her face.

“Hmm?” Dahlia straightens her posture enough to look at Mary May properly, realizing how somber the bartender’s expression and posture really is. The blonde chews her lip, looking away, visibly searching for her words.

“Eden’s Gate has been in this county for a long time, hell, I was in high school when they moved in on us. They started buying places out left and right, they own half the damn county, now.”

“They have that much money?” Dahlia can’t help but ask, aren’t churches relatively low profit ventures, assuming you aren’t selling snake oil or asking people to donate money for Jesus.

“Got that much money, that much power, and they know how to twist the law to suit their needs. They want the entire county and everyone in it under their thumb…”

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the bar, a far away look in her soft blue eyes. Dahlia puts her hand over Mary May’s, hoping the warmth of her touch can help ease the sting, even if she’s not sure what’s hurting the blonde. It’s enough in the moment, it seems, Mary May looking up at her and giving a soft smile, speaking again after a beat of silence.

“You’re one of the few people around here who’s not rolling over and letting them do whatever the hell they want. I don’t wanna see that change. Just do me a favor, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

“Look at me,” Dahlia looks directly into Mary May’s eyes, “I’d rather play jump rope with my own intestines than join a church.”

“Good.”

Mary May is satisfied with that answer, smiling as she’s called away to get someone else a drink. Dahlia’s not sure what the history is there with her and John, but clearly something has happened. Other than the Eden’s Gate members stealing alcohol and Lonny’s asshole behavior, there’s not conclusive evidence that they’ve done anything more than petty theft. John’s opinion on Mary May selling alcohol, supporting that he might ask them to do that. Otherwise, anything else is just bad feelings and hearsay. She wants to trust they’re good people, just staunch in their beliefs and a little strange, always wanting the believe the best of people. But, she’s going to be sure to keep an ear to the ground and stay wary of them, knowing she’s apparently not the only one concerned about their shit.

Dahlia shakes her head and gets out her wallet, getting out enough for the meal and then some, calling it all a tip for the sake of getting past Mary May’s generosity. She puts it down on the bar under her plate, letting the bartender know she’s taking off for the night.

The night air chills her skin as she leaves the bar before she’s caught. She pulls a cigarette out as she loiters outside the bar, leaning back against the building’s porch. Dahlia takes a deep inhale looking off into the distance.

Even in the valley, the statue of Joseph Seed is looming in the distance, the tallest thing in the entire county. There must be light around it, setting the statue aglow at night. She lets out the smoke in her lungs as she’s reminded of the real man. It wasn’t long ago she could barely believe he was a real living person. The statue makes him seem too large, too imposing, too important to be tangible. Meeting him and his family still feels like a fever dream.

Faith is like a living fairy, floating along in a white dress with flowers in her hair. An ethereal being with long dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dahlia’s dream or perhaps exhaustion induced hallucinations of chasing after her still making the woman feel like a specter.

John feels like someone pretending to be human or maybe it’s just how out of place he seems in the rustic little county.  Dark slicked back hair, designer shades always on top of his head, silk shirts, and tailored vests; he looks like a Ken doll someone drew tattoos on.

The brother who didn’t bother to offer his name cuts possibly the most intimidating figure of them. He seemed larger than life. At least six foot six and wider than a door, dressed in army attire with his ginger hair shaved at the sides. The man could snap her spine in half if he had a half a mind to.

Then there’s Joseph, The Father, goosebumps raise on her skin when she thinks of his title. It’s bias, projections of her trauma that bring up those gross feelings when in reality he’s done nothing to her. His statue is true to his likeness in some ways, dark hair pulled back in a small bun and the full beard that seems standard for all men in Eden’s Gate. But at the end of it all, the statue is a composed sterilized version of the intense man who stood in front of her. The concrete can’t capture the intensity of his blue eyes, the way they cut through her, the way his choice of sunglasses turn them green. His unblinking stare as he stood out in the cold of night, shirtless with ink and scars marring his skin, sweat still sticking to him and strands of hair falling into his face.

But despite the wild appearance, he spoke calmly, he spoke deliberately and with devotion. He’s intense and he’s all encompassing, everything about him is too much, from his stare to the way his touch lingered for a moment more than it should have. His presences like a raging fire that can’t be ignored. 

She has no real reason to dislike him, he’s done nothing cruel, he hasn’t wronged her. But every fiber of her being screams at her to stay away, that he’s everything she doesn’t want near her. A forest fire that her body is urging her to run away, lest she be burned to ashes.

It may be paranoia and experience perverting her feelings; and it may be gut instinct trying to save her.  

But regardless, it seems she’ll be burned alive come morning.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Out of Time: Time Out Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Stark!OC, Steve Rogers Rating: FRT Summary: “I am Loki, of Asgard.” Notes: Continuing my strange little foray into cyberpunk with Loki on a futuristic Earth (after his escapes with the Tesseract in Endgame?). This one has a bit more cursing, drinking, and original characters...and a cameo by one Captain America!

Chapter 1

Loki stays with her right up until there are boots pounding their way to the exhibit, then vanishes from human sight. He watches security rush in and spread out to secure the room, including some breaking off to investigate the hole made by the shooter’s body. He takes note of the one who takes his place at Ms Stark’s side.

“Ana?” The gentleman is older, most certainly the one in charge, as he crouches and tears the dress at the wound. “Get the fucking medics in here now!” He pulls a pen from his inner pocket and slips one end into her wound. She whimpers, then gasps. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s me. It’s Orson. Just checking for toxins.”

“F-Fuuuck…” Her teeth grit hard, her breath a hiss as he pulls bloodied pen back out to read. She pants, her eyes darting for the mystery man in black. “Wh-where i-is…” Her head of security again encourages her to stay calm. “…The man…Where?”

Orson sighs in relief, no toxins detected. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him. Medi-!” He’s cut off as they arrive, switches to answering questions and reminding them exactly how important she is.

A medic stretches pale flesh-colored tape across her wound as another unfolds a sheet that hardens into a flat stretcher. Loki watches with interest as it hovers after she’s placed on it. It floats out, leaving the medics free to attend to Ana as security escorts them towards an emergency back exit window. He hears the helicopter, but doesn’t bother to go watch her loaded into it. Instead he teleports himself into the crowd now being forced to exit, remaining unseeable to take in the scene unbothered.

Ana’s eyes open to a white ceiling dotted with black, red, and gold. Her ceiling. “Status report?”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” says Tony in his usual laissez faire. “The bullet went through and through without caustic or explosive damage. Stem cell injection patched up the insides, skin patch worked for the aesthetics.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two days out at the hospitals, three days in and out at home.”

“Is the data from that night filed?”

“Filed, examined, and filed again.”

“Examined by who?”

“I’ll give you one guess - wait, it’s not me - now I’ll give you one guess.”

She knows. “Is he here?”

“Not at the moment. Want me to ring him up?”

“Fuck, no. Am I mobile?”

“Vitals say yes, but I’d take it slow.”

For all intents and purposes, her head of security aside, Tony is all she has. Her parents died in the last outbreak, she’s no siblings. What little extended family left were too busy bickering over the Stark name and fortune to make nice. And the Avengers? They were little more than a fairy tale, a myth, now. It was just her and her innovations.

She lifts camisole to examine her midsection, pulls off the now clear patch to see underneath. The skin came in well, smooth, with perfect tone match. Deep breath in, then out, with minimal pain overall. She reaches for the med pack and tears off a square to pop in her mouth. The analgesic spreads warm across her body as it dissolves. She smiles, gets up slow and ensures she’s stable, then prepares for the day.

Up on the rigging his eyes stay on the man below. So this is what passes for a knowledgeable man these days? Hardly impressive, even (or especially) with the women swarming him. Loki watches carefully as each in turn chat, some getting tabs or a tap of the wrist with his, while others leave with no contact only for the man to swipe and type a handheld glass panel after. A dealer of some sort. The god waits for him to be alone, then slips down into the bright, grubby, streets of this new Midgard. He’s surprised, impressed, when the other clocks him within four feet.

“No new clients, pal, sorry.” Cyno slips phone into backpack, then swings the mass over his shoulder.

Loki grins in confidence of his skills. “I urge you to reconsider.”

The man seems entranced before blinking the charm away. “Yeah, no. Nice try though. Haven’t had that chem mix in me before. Strong stuff, kudos to you and yours.”

The god is stunned, then enraged. “You will help me, mortal!”

Cyno gauges the other’s seriousness, then laughs. “Man desperate as you…I expect high and constant pay.”

“Then you shall have it.” Loki can’t be unreasonable, not right now.

“And what do you want?”

“I want information on Ms Ana Roget Stark.”

“Do I look like an IronMan to you? I know what everyone knows. Genius, zillionare, party girl, philanthropist.”

“Surely there must be more to her than that.” Nobody gains such a skilled assassin without cause.

“Like I said, I’m not an IronMan, I don’t know what happens behind the golden screen.” Cyno watches the other’s brows rise expectantly and sighs. “Stark International controls security for most of the world. Every aspect of surveillance, whether you see it or not, is theirs. These days Ana is the head of the family and the company, but that’s always being contested by an extended family member or business rival.”

“...Go on...”

“The rest is rumor. Secret labs making mutate super-soldiers, mutant-android experimentation camps, inter-universal trade. Hell, there’s even one of a first generation Captain America module she plays when lonely. Impossible to say what’s bullshit and what’s fact.”

The information was as intriguing as it was irritating. “Yes, well…surely you can find ways to dig through the gossip for the golden nugget.”

“What?” This guy spoke a different language to Cyno. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“I am Loki, of Asgard.”

Cyno smirks, snorts. “An anarchist. Figures.” He sighs. “Well, look, Loki of Asgard, you got the credits I’ll get what I can as far as facts, but no promises. I’m no IronMan and I ain’t risking my life playing one so you can virus the Stark woman on the dark net or whatever the fuck you’re planning.”

Loki’s smile spreads slow and malicious. “Leave what’s done with the information to me, you just get it.”

“Fine, meet me at Kibishī Ākēdo Ten at 23:30 tonight. Go to the bar, order the house cider, and wait in the back. I’ll be there first.” He always is. “You pay me two-thousand and I give you a sample of information. If you like it, we can set up...a subscription, if you will.”

“I require a guide for this world, can you procure one for me?” He will not make the same mistake as in New York. He will understand this new Midgard far better than the old one before making any moves.

“Male or female or....?”

“It hardly matters.”

“You wanna be able to play?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Fuck it, guy. You wanna be able to fuck it?”

“Did I ask for a whore?”

Cyno sighs. “I’ll get you an open one, help you set it up.”

“Now.”

“Yeah, now, com’on.” Cyno shifts bag fully onto his back and heads down the street, leaving Loki to follow.

“Display layout, with guests, at the opening of the museum gala. Pull up all bios available.” Ana heads towards her main room, throwing hair up into a bun. She’s showered, dressed, but still sore, too high for the lab. Today will be a regroup and review day - she’ll go through each guest until she finds the man in black. As the hologram of the charity event populates stats on all guests she heads towards the bar of the open kitchen.

“Don’t you think you should slow down on that?” His voice is gruffly calm. “At least while still doped.”

She turns to see her head of security, in the flesh. “Tony said you weren’t here.”

“I lied,” her AI confesses without guilt.

“I made you too smart.” Ana sighs, carrying on with her plans. “And I can drink whenever I damn well please, Orson, so just move on.”

He remembers Tony like this too - stubborn, defeated, ready to slip back into the bottle - but pushes on. Now was not the time for a lecture. “We found the shooter. Dead. Blasted through the wall.”

“Who was he? Was he part of a group or lone nut?”

“Mac Headstrom, part of the Altered Brotherhood.”

“Which ones are they?” There are too many to even bother to keep track of.

“The same ones that blew our labs in Costa Rica, think we’re making an army of mutants out of the homeless.”

“Ah.”

“You didn’t tell me you rigged a charge to your ring, Ana.”

“I didn’t, I only had the taser.” She pours out liquor, ignores Orson’s sigh as she drops another analgesic strip into it for good measure. “It was the man in black. The guest.”

“The guest in black?”

The sweet rush of numbness almost causes her to moan. “Yeah. Got in via one of the golden ticket invites, but didn’t seem to understand that himself. Didn’t seem to understand much, actually. Weird thing was…” She grabs a slice of cold pizza. “I thought he used a hologram to contact me the second time, but he…he caught me.”

“Caught you?”

“After I was shot. I was going down and he was able to catch me.”

“So he actually teleported?”

“Apparently.” She stays standing at the counter, unwilling to walk away from the bottle or take it with her into the living room. “But his tech knowledge seemed nonexistent. How does a guy not even know he’s got a codes tab, but then be able to navigate teleportation?”

Orson hesitates, then proceeds. “Maybe he’s a mutant?”

“I thought most of your kind died out with the Legacy Virus.” Not the same as the one that took her parents, but just as devastating.

“Most did. But not all.”

“If I might cut in,” says Tony. He reddens one of the people in the hologram of the party, pulls aside an enlarged image of the man. “But if this is him, he’s not a mutant.”

“That’s him, yeah.” Ana pours another drink, finally coming around the counter to sit. As she does, her chair adjusts for her comfort. “You already ran checks on him?”

“He’s a core file in my coding from the original Tony.”

“Loki.” Orson sighs, jaw clenching with a tension that Ana rarely sees from him. “Adopted brother of Thor Odinson, from Asgard. Basically a god. Iron Man fought him with the rest of the Avengers when he attacked New York City in early 2010s.”

“The Chitauri thing?”

“Yeah, the Chitauri thing.”

“So an intergalactic terrorist god…” She sips. “Came from the past.” Holds up a finger when Orson threatens to speaks. “To save the descendant of his enemy?” Her finger stays up until her drink is downed.

“Ana -”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I’m not nearly sober nor drunk enough to unpack all that just now.” She waves the hologram away and gets up. “And I’m not up for the ‘shit I did wrong’ security debriefing either.”

“Ana.” Orson pleads, for what he’s not sure.

“So, you don’t have to go home…” She heads back towards the bar. “But you do have to get the fuck out. Right now.”

The man’s eyes go to the ceiling, the cameras in the black dots. Nothing. Not a peep from Tony. “Fine, I’ll check in on you later.” He stands with a sigh. “But you better not be half-in-the-bag then.”

“Half in the bag?” She smirks, he uses such old-timey turns of phrases sometimes.

“I want you clean and sober before I return.”

“Can’t be that until you actually leave.” The liquor and pain meds cause her to happily slur her words. She follows him all the way to the elevator with goodbyes, watches until his car exits the property, then goes to pour another. “Tony?”

“Yep?”

“Activate Captain Comfort.” If a disembodied AI computer program could roll its eyes, Tony did. “Have him waiting.” Ana finishes her latest glass, sets it in the sink, and heads back to her room. She doesn’t want to think about the crazed assassin, the terrorist organization he was part of, the time-traveling god, the security upgrades Orson’s no doubt already planning, or anything else. She doesn’t want to think at all. “Captain?” She calls out, already letting her hair back down.

“Ma’am?” He steps out of the bathroom clean and clean-shaven. He’s tall, well-built, with broad shoulders and ramrod posture.

She smiles. “Call me Ana.”

The phrase triggers his softer expression, going from stern soldier to caring man. “Ana, are you all right?”

“Comfort me.” She relaxes into his arms easily, smiling at the warmth and sense of care he provides. “Kiss me.”

He does, passionately, and she returns it in kind.

Sorry, I couldn’t help but make the rumor about Ana having a Captain America pleasure-bot true, LMAO!! (I may write a separate, smut, piece of their full interaction, lol!) If you’re wondering why Loki’s mind control didn’t work on Cyno it’s because - using a magic-as-science type concept here - he’s got a way to clear out drugs/toxins/chemicals from his body (I confess, I’ve no specifics beyond that just yet, sorry, lol!) and that includes what Loki’s magical charms can do to one’s brain chemistry. ALSO...Orson (Ben Mendelsohn faceclaim) is an OC from another series (not on my masterlist yet oops). He’s a mutant with super-strength who’s impervious to damage, illness, and (for the most part) aging...he also lacks touch sensation for the most part. Ana’s faceclain is Evan Rachel Wood. Cyno’s faceclaim is Ryan Gosling and you’ll find out more about him as we go, lol! ;-)

Still/Always playing with this one, feel free to share ideas/thoughts/suggestions!! 😉

Tagging: @lady-crowned-with-stars​​, @beccaliciooouuusss​, gravitational-anomaly, @fuckthatfeeling​, @v-2bucky​, @ultrarebelheart​​, @tarithenurse​​ @latent-thoughts​​ @chibiyanai​​ @lukeevansandjdmobession​​ @sweetfictionalworld​​ @ladyfluff​​ @theangelsfightwithdevils​​ @holykryptonitekitten​​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​​ …And I legit don’t know who else to tag anymore lol

Gifs made off ones I found on Google, then combined myself.

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 2

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 31: I went to Tesco’s at Hampton at @8pm. It was weird. But I made it less weird by buying (amongst all the legit stuff I needed and some stuff for Karen’s mum) more booze. I have, atm about 30 assorted cans and 60 assorted bottles. I’m gonna stop buying booze now until I’m down to the last dozen. I don’t want owt to happen and I leave many behind!

Day 32: More than a calender month! I was rung up by a recruitment agent today about a contract with DHL as a remote support engineer to their aviation section. €400 a day! I’ve applied. Few beers tonight, watching a new Netflix release (Extraction) and catching up with Fog, Ham, Andy and Rog later at 10:30pm - yikes, might be pissed.

Day 33: Typing this on day 34. Dossed around during the day, few beers and another video call with fog, Ham and Rig plus I invited John Monk along. He was his usual self and signed off from the call with a moonie! Later on I had the pleasure of Scottish Louise video calling me! She was pissed, in her shed drinking den at her home with some neighbour called Ronnie and her daughter Ellie. She was her usual outrageous self who imaprted such gems as “Tim, you look old” and “Roger on coke is the only time I’ve taken it up the arse”. Nice.

Day 34: Today I skyped Laurie and ‘met’ Matthew and Nicholas for the first time. It was bloody fantatsic. Janine was there as well.I cannot believe it takes lockdown (plus an idea to get Laurie to add me to his regular Monday skype chat with Dad) that managed to get us doing something that should have happened years ago! It was so great to talk to them all face-to-face. Janine hasn’t changed a bit, Matthew is very quiet with Nicholas being the more gregorious twin. And Laurie is still Laurie. I’m reminded of how much I sort of miss him! It was all so comfortable. I loved it! Tomorrow is Dad’s 85th hence the 3-way chat idea. I hope it comes off!

Day 35: So dad and Laurie and I skyped. It was OK but my video feed was very dark, (still dunno why) and Lauire’s kept freezing. I dropped out so as to leave them to it, my thinking being the extra person takes up bandwidth, with the promise I’d call dad later. Before I could, Rita called me and suggested Dad and I skype, which we did. So, all in all, a good day of comms! And Dad seems his happy usual self - 85 years old! Amazing.

Day 36: I am really struggling to motivate myself this week. Today, I’ve done fuck all of note. That is all.

Day 37: A similar day to yesterday. All I have really managed to do is lay down audio from Pink Floyd (Absolutely Curtains) to a video I shot of a cow on yesterday’s walk. I am having a downer of a week without any good reason why, ld aside. I have worn my new walking boots today (’cos my old ones are leaking, I found out yesterday) and they fucking hurt, despite having tried to wear them in for months, albeit pathetically. Also, a few days ago (Friday 24th April), I got notification from HM Revenue & Customs that I’m getting tax rebate (from 2018-19) of £392. Yay!

Day 38: I received notification today that I’ve got a speeding ticket…last Thursday back from Tesco’s - 87mph somewhere between the A1 and Elton. I am hoping it’s a fixed penalty. I dunno whether it is yet, I just have to send the form off confirming it’s my car and I was driving. I spoke with Lynda from Woodfords asking her to ask for a rent reduction before I sign for another year. Plus, I let her know that I will be Howard and Sue’s eyes as the look at rental properties in Oundle - I do hope they return although it would be a shame for them that their plans have been scuppered (she’s lost her job in Oz due to Covid-19)

Day 39: Today I started another piece of exercise - up and down the stairs 26 times. Not sure why 26 - it was some thing online to do with the London Marathon, I think. It fucking killed. I used 13 clothes pegs for a counting system. I asked Karen to pick up some stuff when she was shopping (burgers, radishes) - Dan dropped them off, He was with Shaggy (driving his van) and going to see Jonah. That pisses me off - they should be social distancing, ffs.

Discoevered, today, that Cornershop, post-Brinful are fucking excellent. listening to the album ‘England is a Garden’ as I type.

Day 40: That 26 times up and down the stairs is fucking hard. I did videos about it today. My legs are aching like fuck right now.

Day 41: Just done Young Sam’s (Sam Clews) quiz. 3rd week running and it’s now become a habit and something I look forward to. Out of all the internet driven socialising I’m undertaking in ld, this is the weirdest - I feel totally detatched from all others taking part but, now, would feel pissed off if I didn’t or couldn’t join in. I got 47/70 this week. My best score and only about 8 off the winning score  -  most others aren’t doing it on their own!

Today’s walk was a cloudy one - I captured some fine, dramatic pics of the clouds. I am getting into this photography lark, albeit very amateurish. But, when I post any pics online (mostly FB), they seem to be widely appreciated, which is nice.

Day 42: Applied for a remote service delivery job with a firm called TTEC. £60k. Finished watching The Outsider. The creepiest TV show I have seen in years. Really great use of background music.

Day 43: Finished Mindhunter S2 last night. It’s so good but I cannot quite put my finger on why. Today has been a nothing day apart from day 2 of me not typing the letter ‘e’ in any post or comments on FB for a week. It’s hard.

Day 44: Watch Anna last night. A Luc Besson film that starts a kick-ass suprermodel. It’s right down my street. Today I have been lazy af. I need to pick up my online learning again…tomorrow, maybe! I watched Andy Murray Resurfacing. A documentary on Amazon. Fantastic. What a top man he is. Completely human and completely inhuman!

Day 45: Much talk in the news of possible lockdown relaxation. I am off the opinion we should stay the course until we are completely assured of beathing this thing i.e. a working, widely available vaccine. Dad and I Skyped - he is doing well, as usual. So is Rita. They both seem very happy in lockdown! Today has been a glorious day, weather wise. I had my walkk at 10ish this morming and it was very warm. Hottest day of the year so far I reckon.

Day 46: Bank holiday Friday (75th anniversary of VE day). Nice walk. Chat with Karen letting her know about being caught speeding just in case I am banned and need some out of town shopping. Watched second episode of DEVS by Alex Garland. It’s good and intriguing. Now, @7pm, gonna eat and hit the beers and smokes.

Day 47: Typing this at 15:45 on day 48. I had lots of beers and a good old chat with Rog…

Day 48: Today’s daily press conference was eagerly anticipated today with rumours of a relaxation in lockdown. It seems it was a fuss about nothing with no clear instructions - I didn’t watch it but, skimming the BBC news site, I shan’t be doing anything different over the next few weeks, not that I would anyway - furlough and self isolation are the order of the day and I won’t change that until I am sure it’s safe. Meanwhile people, including Danny flaunt the rules, it’s been pointed out to me plus I know he spends time with Jonah and Marc. It really fucks me off. So, the actions of the few mean I will lock myself down for as long, if not longer, as it takes. Attended Sam Clews quiz again. It passes the time. Also, I had half a scotch bonnet chilli with tea tonight (roasted veg, cous cous and sausages). Ridiculously hot!

Day 49: Received the speaker I ordered a few days ago (from eBay). It’s an AudioPro Addon T10. I got it for a very reasonable price from a German shop. As a result, the power lead isn;t three pin and that has seriously fucked me right off!

Meanwhile, I did my 26 stair climb before my daily walk today. It was easier than usual (surprise surprise) and I did 7km - but that was tough! ‘Cos I am on (yet another) free trial of Amazon Prime, I am ramping up watching stuff available. Last night I watched Booksmart - really nice little film with a great soundtrack. I am listening to Dan the Automater as I type. Today I watched half (3 eps) of The Night Manager and the film ‘The Founder’. The former is a superb series, the latter an OK film about Ray Kroc - the supposed founder of McDonald’s. Except he wasn’t; he was the wrong side of ambitious and a cunt.

Day 50: Stripped the 2 pin cable from the speaker I received yesterday and wired up a 3 pin plug and it worked. Win. And it sounds great. Win-win. Went to go shopping in Hampton but the car wouldn’t start. Loss. But it was the battery so I managed to borrow Karen’s jump starter which worked. Win.

Spent £107. Loss. But just under £40 was booze plus £10 for two big pizzas, two sides (dirty fries) and some dips. Win. Didn’t do any online learning - seriously fucking letting myself down. Loss.

Did my usual walking and 26 stair climb. The latter is hard but defo getting easier. Win. Day 51: Sam’s 51st birthday on day 51 - coincidence! Today I received my face mask from Lou - House of Stewart tartan. I’m pleased with it and that I have got a mask now. I managed to get up at a reasonable hour, just left 09:00, and revisit my web design course. Module 1, lesson 5 and I am fucking stuck. Trying to code an online CV with a side nav bar and I cannot get it to fucking work. Grrrrrr. Later, i got into a FB dispute (easily distracted due to the above) with someone over his statement of fact (Tim Martin’s treatment of Whetherspoons’ employees) when he doesn’t know it’s fact. It probably is, but that is not the fucking point.  I wish I could leave these sort of spats alone. I am drinking, at 20:45, peppermint tea as I type. Jeez, what’s happened to me?

Day 52: Well, last night took a swift chnage. Rog message me and, to cut a long story short, I hit the beers, also called Foggy later, got trashed. I got up today at gone 1pm. Sam posted on fb that Paul had forgort her birthday yesterday. Oh dear! The 26 stair climb and walking each day is noticeable for how knackered my legs feel all the time, I noticed today!

Day 53: My birthday! Nice comments and banter of FB. Rachael brought round a bottle of whisky; gobsmacked. Karen popped round some beers and sausage rolls. Sam sent a card, as did dad with a £50 cheque. Dan’s ordering me a pizza later.

Chuffed! Day 54: I went to bed late after a lot of beers, huge pizza and chips, a few smokes and a long call with WWJ and video chats with Fog then Rog. Got up around 1pm and dossed with my usual exercises and I made fish pie with a scotch bonnet. Day 55: Late one last night but up early today (11ish). Really fretting about hospital tomorrow. Nervous anyway but the safety aspect, in terms of Covid-19, isn’t helping.

Day 56: Hospital appointment was just for an eye scan so the consultant can review it. I was very surprised to see how few people were wearing face masks! I did two lots of washing today. (After the hospital) I went to Morrsions, Asda (queue too long though), B&M (queue too long though) then Tesco’s. All to buy a baseball cap ‘cos I’m fucked if I’m going to wet my hair each time I go out and want it to look presentable! In Morrsions (no mens’ clothing apart from underwear!) I stocked up of 10 cans of sugarfree apple Caraboa….I was only thinking of this drink just the other day. Yesterday I finished The Night Manager on Amazon. I liked it a lot but, also, expected much, much more from it consdiering the hype. Hugh Laurie has come a long way from comedy sketches with Stephen Fry!

Day 57:Received an email from Sueanne yesterday asking ( as designated spokesperson for everyone) how I am. The most interestring piece of news in a rather uninformative email was that the US has started to open resorts!

Day 58: I am writing this on Day 59. I started a two walk a day regime. The first walk I do is shorter, around 4km. my aim is to be ready for 1,000,000 steps Diabetic UK challenge (throughout July, August and September). I need to do just under 11,000 steps a day. The relaxation in ld rules makes this achievable. On that score, I am allowed to visit a friend’s house, as long as it’s just the two of us, outside, 2m apart. I went round Karen’s last night. I was desperate to have a Happy Hour (I allow myself a midweek beer - today (well, yesterday) is/was Wednesday!) of sorts with another human (rather than a video chat). I was there for about 2 hours, very enjoyable, and then came home. Then I had usual roasted veg with rice and sausages but I couldn’t eat it. I used half a scotch bonnet rather than the usual birdeye chillis. It was too hot, had to sling it! Had a few more beers and, hence, neglected my diary duties!

Day 59: It’s 01:20am. I don’t know why I am still awake and up, but I am. But, also, I am now going to bed. Nothing else to report, really.

Day 60: Half way through 12 weeks furlough. I was discussing this with Dad and Rita earlier - I am expecting that, at the end of 12 weeks, I’ll be laid off. I hope I’m wrong but I reckon it’s well on the cards. Off to have a beer round Karen’s in a sec which will be pleasant. Just a hour or so. It’s fucking windy today so I shall wrap up!

[desperationandgin]

Deep as the Road is Long (Part II, Chapter 16)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

A/N: Surprise! A bonus chapter. I realize I haven't gone through and replied to anyone's comments for the last chapter that was posted. I need to and I will, but in the meantime, I wanted to offer a chapter early as my sincere and heartfelt gratitude. The feedback has been passionate all the way around regarding this story whether readers have been frustrated with Jamie, sad for him (sad for both of them) or firmly on Claire's side. I know I've said this before, but I really didn't think anyone would ever read a story with this specific subject matter; I was just writing it for me. So, I'm really touched and floored at the reception of it all. Here's hoping I stick the landing, and here's to goodbye to Part 2! 

Thank you all so, so much from the bottom of my heart. Part 3 begins on Thursday.

December 2016

When the monitors began to pick up the rhythm in which they beeped, when Faith’s breathing changed, Claire knew. She’d yelled, that much she remembers, the screaming for Jamie, for someone to find him. Without thinking, she’d climbed right onto the bed with the little girl, reached out to touch her cheek, to beg her not to go, not yet. There were no life-saving measures performed; that hurdle and those signatures from Jamie to not resuscitate had been taken care of two weeks ago. And so, all Claire could do was hold Faith as she took her final breath, unable to process that it happened, that she was gone. The only sound was the single tone until Jamie thundered in, looking like a complete mad man, eyes wild as he took in the scene in front of him. Never in her life had she felt so much like nothing, trying to apologize while cradling his dead daughter.

Eventually, she’d moved so that he could take over, pulling Faith to his body and crying in a way that was so loud and so guttural Claire thought he might die, too. In the immediate days afterward, she tried telling herself she’d lost patients before, that she’d been the witness to more parents’ tears of agony than she could remember, but even with that thought, she knew this was different. Different because she’d started to fall in love with Jamie and she already loved Faith. The pain, at that time, was unmatched by anything she’d ever felt in her life. Even her husband’s death. When the police notified her of Frank’s accident she’d felt numb, felt nothing for such a long time. When it happened, she couldn’t imagine anything that would ever feel worse.

She learned after Faith’s funeral, there’s always a worse.

She’d been able to feel it, the shift between her and Jamie. Claire knew it was only a matter of time before he told her to go. To his credit, he never said that, exactly.

Your best wasna good enough.

When he said it she’d known he was right; the rest of the fight (could she even call it that?) was a blur to her, registering his words and letting them settle on her heart. After getting on the plane back home, she’d cried (her poor seatmate) until the flight attendant brought whisky minis and an extra pillow. Sleep for the duration of the flight was fitful, but once she was home she’d collapsed in bed and hadn’t moved for twelve hours. The harsh light of day only served to bring into focus what she couldn’t do anymore: treat terminally ill children. Not until Faith died in her arms did Claire realize how many devastating moments she had already been witness to, and couldn’t bear the idea of going through more. She hadn’t stopped second-guessing herself, wondering if she’d done the right thing, if the treatment had been the right course. For an entire day, she’d pored over Faith’s chart and all of her medical records; it did nothing to help, nothing to ease Claire’s mind. She should have recommended surgery or donor stem-cells; anything but what she’d done.

The doubt hadn’t left by the time she returned to work and she knew the second she stepped foot in her office that this branch of medicine wasn’t something she could physically do anymore. That was the day she spoke to her direct superior and decided to take a leave of absence at the hospital, knowing upon her return (if she returned) it wouldn’t be to that wing. All of her current patients and courses of treatment were explained and passed on to the only doctor she knew would give the same level of care - Joe Abernathy. He was a good man, and as they’d hugged, he’d kissed the side of her head, knowing (even if he didn’t know) this last death had done a number on her. With one more sweep of her office, Claire’d left, gone home, and hadn’t returned. She’d always been good with money; it was the one thing her Uncle Lamb had never worried over in regards to her well-being. She had the rest of Lamb’s money to live on for a while, everything she’d inherited when he died, along with Frank’s life insurance money. All she’d done with the latter was pay for the funeral, everything else has been in a savings account, waiting for the day it could be put to good use.

June was spent doing as little as possible, not letting herself drink anymore but not doing much else in the self-care department. Tears seemed to turn on like a switch being flipped; dinner one night was pizza ordered in, and all it’d done was make her sob for two hours before going to bed without eating a single slice.

In July, she decided she wasn’t ready, that going to work wasn’t something she could stomach yet, and so she’d turned in her phone, the phone that technically belonged to the hospital. When she’d finally made the decision to replace it she was asked if all of her contacts should be imported to her new device, if her photos should be. With hesitation, she’d finally said yes to keeping everything; photos of Faith and Jamie. Jamie’s number. She’d kept it all even though looking at the pictures did nothing but hurt.

Finally, in August, Claire knew she couldn’t avoid making an income again, and so she’d applied for and accepted a job as a general practitioner in a pediatrician’s office. Sore throats and objects stuffed in noses, healthy babies at normal checkups, that’s what she could handle. It worked out, it eased her mind, and slowly she fell into a routine again that was hardly living. She existed in the world, and it would have to be enough. She wasn’t making decisions anyone put all of their hope into, she didn’t have to watch anyone suffer because she did something wrong. Weeks passed; she went to work, saw her patients, and went home. Forgiving herself was slow going, but eventually, the pressure in her chest eased just a little.

And then Jamie called.

It was early on an October morning; Fridays the doctor’s office was closed, so she was home when his name flashed on her caller ID. Jesus H. Christ. Mostly, she’d listened after she picked up. His words registered, that he didn’t truly blame her, but the way he’d looked at her when he said it--he’d meant it then. Maybe he didn’t believe it anymore, but he had then. She heard him say she hadn’t let him down around the same time she’d started to cry. He promised to call again, and he had. He’d called the next day, then the next. Sometimes they didn’t say much, just sat on the line with static between them. Other times they spoke in circles around Faith, not saying her name, but remembering.

By the time December rolls around, they’ve spoken every single night since late October, never missing, even if the conversations are short. They FaceTime every now and again, and when her phone rings today, she can see it’s for video. Looking at herself in her phone camera she groans at hair that’s a mess piled on top of her head, the reading glasses she’s wearing and the ratty t-shirt with holes she has on. He’s caught her cleaning, but still, she accepts the call.

“Good morning,” she greets him, holding the phone out. She has to puzzle out what’s filling the screen on his end, tilting her head from side to side before giving up. “What am I looking at?”

Jamie’s face finally comes into view and he sits back. She recognizes the room he’s in, the library at Lallybroch with all of its old books and secrets. “Afternoon, technically,” he corrects for his own time zone. Then, he shows her the book she’d had an extreme close-up of. “I’ve been going through the books, trying to make some sort of catalog so we know what we have,” he explains. “And this one, well. I thought perhaps ye might like it as a gift.”

She can see the author is e.e. cummings and raises an eyebrow. “A gift for me, really?”

“Aye. Because it’s an original edition.”

That gets her full attention, and Claire frowns in disbelief. “Jamie, why would you give that to me? You should keep it. That has to be valuable, or at least mean something to your family.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I thought that, until I started to read and--” he pauses, looking down at the book in his hand now, swallowing.

“What, Jamie?”

There’s quiet for a few beats before his gaze meets the camera again. “I started to read it and everything reminded me of ye. So, I thought the book should belong to you instead.”

A lump feels lodged in her throat and when she finds her words again, they’re quietly spoken. “Which poems?”

“Och, Christ, dinna ask me that,” he says in a rare show of, well. Not quite embarrassment, even though his cheeks do turn a little pink.

“I can’t take something from your home without knowing.”

There’s a long pause before finally, he opens the book and simply begins to read. She doesn’t recognize the words, but his voice and soothing lilt make her heart, for the first time in months, unclench a bit.

“My blood approves and kisses are a better fate than wisdom. Lady, I swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry--the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids’ flutter which says we are for each other. Then laugh, leaning back in my arms. For life’s not a paragraph. And death, I think, is no parenthesis.”

By the time he finishes there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and she takes a deep breath, sniffling and brushing any moisture away. “Reminded you of me?” she reiterates.

“I want ye to have it. And perhaps ye could come get it.”

She isn’t sure of what he said, still too wrapped up in the poem. When it registers, she furrows her forehead. “Come and get it?”

Jamie clears his throat, quiet as he waits for it to sink it.

When it does, Claire’s eyes go wide. The last time she’d been to Scotland it changed everything she thought she knew about her life. “You want me to come there?”

“Aye, I do. But if ye canna do it, if I ruined it, if I...what I’m trying to say, Sassenach, is that I dinna want ye to be alone for Christmas. Everyone here would be glad to see ye.”

“You...you would be glad to see me?”

Jamie nods, his gaze intent. “I shouldn’t have let ye leave the first time.”

He’s apologized so many times, tried to make it right, what he’d said, what he’d done. She believes him now when he says she did her best, when he tells her that he knows there was nothing else she could have done. It doesn’t inspire her to pick up where she left off, though. She’s happier now, content to answer the questions of first-time parents and assure them they’re doing just fine. Still, even with forgiveness, she never thought Jamie would ask her back to Scotland, that they would ever share the same space again. She hears herself saying she’ll come, though as she lays in bed that night after purchasing a plane ticket, she can’t quite believe it.

She’d tried, a little more than a year ago now, to wrap her mind around her feelings for Jamie; the attraction was there, no doubt. Now as she lays in bed, she wonders if they fell into one another because he was sad and she took advantage of him as he sought some sort of anchor. If she hadn’t done exactly that, then was Faith the only link between them? Without her, and with her death leaving such a large hole in both of them, would there be anything left with Jamie to salvage? This trip, she knows, will give them both the answer either way.

When she arrives and makes it down to baggage claim she sees him right away; he’s hard to miss, giant that he is. Making her way to him, there’s a moment of not being sure whether or not to hug him before his arms wrap fully around her.

It’s the best she’s felt since February.

“It’s good to see ye, Claire. In person, I mean.”

When he pulls back she immediately feels bereft, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s good to see you, Jamie. You look well.”

He walks with her to get her bag, turning his gaze to her. “Speaking of looking well. Were those glasses in the video last we spoke?”

Grabbing her suitcase, she raises an eyebrow. “They were. For reading. I had to bite that particular bullet in September.”

“I havena seen ye wearing them before,” he says, wracking his brain and going through every FaceTime conversation they’ve had since October.

“I never happened to be wearing them. The other day I was cleaning, going through bills and organizing paperwork.”

“Ye should do more paperwork when I call,” he teases lightly, taking her bag from her to carry.

He liked her glasses, and Claire ducks her head a little as she walks behind him a bit, letting him lead the way to his car. It’s still there, she thinks. Whatever it was, the embers are still warm. She remembers how he made her feel, what the guilt was like when he’d told her it was her fault and hers alone that Faith was gone. It doesn’t go away with smiles and conversation, but he is trying to fix it. Day by day, he tries to add another suture to the wound he made. She knows he’s trying, knows he sees a therapist twice a week. He’s trying, and rather than shut him out, her heart tells her not to give up on Jamie.

At Lallybroch, that same sense of family she felt the first time she ever stepped inside envelops her now. It makes her feel connected to something, close to people who’d treated her like family. Instead of Jenny needing to warm up to her, Jamie’s sister greets her like an old friend with a hug, Ian replicating the gesture. The children dogpile her as well; even young Michael who was so small back in May offers her grins and lets her hold him on her hip as they walk to the living room. Claire hadn’t been sure what to expect; everyone still in mourning, maybe because she felt that way for a long while. But there are so many smiles and so much lightness that a peace she’s never been able to find on her own settles against her like a blanket.

This is what healing with family does, and she suddenly, desperately, never wants to let it go.

Instead of staying in Jamie’s room, this time she has her own, and she crashes almost immediately, sleeping through until breakfast the next day. She lets the chatter of family around a table wash over her, and on a walk with Jamie afterward, confesses to him she’s never had that.

Somewhere between the house and the stables, Jamie stops walking, turning to look at her fully before lowering his head. Tentatively, his hand reaches out, index finger hooking around hers. “I ken ye’ve been alone for a verra long time, Claire. I’ve been waiting to say this, was hoping to do it face to face, but…” When he looks at her again, meets her eyes, his own look like a raging sea. “I left ye to go toe-to-toe wi’ the grief alone. I pushed ye away and sent ye home to nothing. That ye found your way out of the dark anyway is a miracle. It took Jenny and Ian both to get me there. So it leaves me to believe one thing about ye.” Raising her hand, he kisses her knuckles before finally letting her go. “You’re stronger than I am, Sassenach.”

There’s a lump in her throat that she can’t quite swallow, and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m still in the dark, Jamie. Or at least the shadows. I don’t know anymore.”

“And that’s my fault,” he tells her; not a question. An acceptance. “I’m no’ sure why you're even bothering to give me the time of day, truth be told. I never expected ye to answer the phone when I called, or to keep doing so after the first time we spoke. I can never do or say enough to make what I said right.”

“I changed my entire life because of what you said to me, Jamie.”

“Claire, I--”

“No. No, I need to say this. I need to talk now.” She has no idea where that comes from, but he respects it, and once he nods for her to continue, Claire clears her throat. “I changed my life. I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself, I couldn’t...stop questioning every decision I was making about treatment plans, which meant I couldn’t do my job. And that was your fault.”

His head bows but he doesn’t interrupt.

“It was also your fault that I started thinking about all of the times I might have to go through this again. In my job, the ideal, obviously, is to beat cancer, and I have before. I know I would have again. But one more loss like that...I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could go through it and make it to the other side a second time. So, it’s your fault I realized I need to do something different. I need to see the joys of life through a child, not fear and pain and sadness.”

Jamie steps forward when Claire stops speaking, tentatively reaching up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. It’s a light touch, hovering almost. “I hurt ye. And no matter what revelations came of it, that will no’ change. I would spend the rest of my life making it up to ye if I could. If ye’d let me.”

Claire looks at up him, bringing a hand to rest over his that’s still tucked close to her face. “Faith brought us together, Jamie.”

“Aye,” he whispers, slowly moving until his forehead can press against Claire’s. “I will no’ let her be the reason we’re apart. Stay in Scotland. Stay for a while until the darkness is gone and there are no more shadows.”

For a moment her eyes close and all she can do is breathe him in. But she feels herself nodding, nose grazing his.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

Through the darkness to the dawn And when I looked back, you were gone. Heard your voice leading me on Through the darkness to the dawn. Love is deep as the road is long And it moves my feet to carry on. It beats my heart when you are gone. Love is deep as the road is long.

Next Chapter

[atsixesandcevans]

you keep me holding on

Summary: The nights were always the hardest. 

Pairing: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of suicide, Jake having a hard time in prison and literally the most cliché ending ever

A/N: so I originally posted this to AO3 like 2 years ago and honestly I completely forgot about it until today when i went to cross-post my past works here... it starts off canon-divergent and then becomes convergent bc s5e2 came out so. Title comes from Holding On by Simple Plan. Hope you enjoy :)

Read on AO3

The nights were always the hardest.

During the day, he could distract himself – with books, basketball, increasingly disturbing conversations with Caleb – but during the night, all he had were his thoughts, disturbed only by the echoed screams of another inmate’s nightmare, the uneasy squeak of the mattress springs underneath him, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the guard’s boots on concrete as he patrols the cells.

And nights like these, the nights after visiting day, were the worst of all.

Prolonged periods – three weeks to be exact – without Amy here meant that Jake could develop coping strategies; the pictures on his cell wall, the endless lists of what he’ll do when he finally gets out of here, but on visiting day…

Jake had thought that those days would be a relief, a sort of respite from his invasive thoughts, and they are – until Amy leaves. Because when she leaves, the deep-set sense of longing he feels is increased tenfold, and the twenty-second touching time allowed is suddenly nowhere near enough, and instead of thinking about the endless possibilities of what he could do when he gets out, he thinks about the endless things he can no longer do, didn’t get the chance – and now may not ever get the chance – to do.

His longing is helped by the recent addition of Jake’s illegal phone, but even with that, one of them has to end the conversation; whether it’s Amy being called away for a case, or Jake being summoned for mealtimes, their conversations are never enough and always disjointed and sporadic and tainted with certain tenseness and apprehension stemming from the overarching fear – fear of being caught, fear of being targeted by the countless prisoners that Jake himself had put away, fear of never catching Hawkins and having to spend a full fifteen years apart with only hour-long visits once every three weeks.

It’s these fears that Jake finds invading his thoughts late every night, on visiting days in particular, but it’s also everything Jake misses. Trivial things, mostly, like Die Hard and orange soda and Sal’s Pizza, but it’s the other things that dominate his mind. The way Amy’s skin feels against his, how safe he felt in her arms, even down to just how much he loves her, in ways he’s never loved anyone else before, and the way he’s so sure of how much she loves him, despite everything. Despite the separations, the difficulties and the differences they’ve managed to overcome, there’s also the milestones they’ve reached and things they’ve achieved, that they’ve achieved together.

What he wouldn’t do just to be together with her again, just to be near her, to feel her warmth radiating beside him as they watch Friends and Grey’s Anatomy reruns on TV late into the night, or to be sat at his desk at the precinct and glance up at her sat opposite him, the brand-new ‘Sgt. Amy Santiago’ name plaque sat pride of place next to the phone, only to find her already looking at him, an almost shy smile gracing her lips, one he returns, cheeks remaining warm with absolute contentedness even as he goes back to doing his work, safe in the knowledge that he has her, and she has him, and that that was all he needed to keep him grounded.

Sometime around his fourth month in prison, the night before Amy’s sixth visit, Jake had had a Bad Night.

He doesn’t use the mental capital letters lightly – after all, as far as he’s concerned, every night in prison is a bad night. But this particular night was Bad. Everything that could happen during a nine-hour period in a prison did happen, each event seemingly worse than the one before including, but not limited to, his phone being found, confiscated and destroyed by the guard on duty, another inmate hanging himself, and a fight in the cafeteria which the cop in Jake had tried to break up, but ended up being dragged into.

He tried to be happy and cheerful as he usually was when visiting time rolled around, but he just couldn’t muster the energy, and the bruised cheek and split lip made it hard to form any kind of convincing smile.

Amy noticed this change in him – of course she noticed, she’s an amazing detective-slash-genius, not even detective RightAllTheTime can fool her into thinking everything is just hunky dory and exactly how they ought to be. In any case, Amy tried her best to keep the conversation light and away from heavy topics like death and the overarching, boundless topics of Guilty On All Charges and Fifteen Years In Prison, and Jake loved her even more for it – if that was even possible at this point – but Jake just didn’t have it in him.

The visiting period ended just the same as it had every other time; they hugged for as long as the guard would allow, gave each other watery smiles full of longing, and reluctantly parted ways; Jake back to his cell or the yard or the library or whatever he was doing before going to see Amy, and Amy back to her car, where she would sit for five, ten, sometimes fifteen minutes, trying not to cry, and traying even harder to make her muscles move in the way she needed them to in order to leave the prison car park and drive away. Away from him, back to her – their, it was still theirs, she refused to believe otherwise – empty apartment, that was once just as empty, but was suddenly full of life and love and happiness but has now returned to its original state, except she has another person’s things there now, another life living there with her. There were still sneakers and shirts and hoodies strewn everywhere but without him there, it all seemed pointless.

And so, she did what she does when she needs to channel her emotions; she wrote them down. More specifically, she wrote them down in a letter – to Jake. Unlike other occasions, though, she didn’t go back and re-read and edit it to make it as concise and elevated as she could possibly make it. No, she wrote it, folded the paper and sealed it immediately in an envelope which she left on the side table next to the front door, telling herself she’d give it to Jake the next time she visited.

Two days later, they caught Hawkins.

She – and apparently the rest of the squad – had absolutely no idea how Captain Holt knew all that stuff about the pig-rearing but she had to admit, it was a damn smart plan.

Amy could see how she would have idolised Hawkins, just as Rosa had. You know, if she hadn’t framed her boyfriend and her best friend for crimes they didn’t commit and left them with a 15-year prison sentence and become the one person Amy hated more than anyone else on the entire planet.

The Welcome Back celebration at Shaw’s lasted well into the night and when they stumbled home to their apartment in the early hours of the morning, the letter sat forgotten on top of the table, despite them bumping into it and each other repeatedly, refusing to let go of each other out of… what? Relief, at being able to finally touch each other again? Or fear, that they’ll only be ripped apart again, perhaps in a manner even worse than six months undercover, an indefinite amount of time in WitSec, or the prospected fifteen years of only being able to see each other for an hour every three weeks, watched carefully by guards making sure they don’t exceed their touching time?

They remained touching for the entirety of the next day, made infinitely easier by the fact that they had been given the day off and hardly left their bed. They did everything they had both been craving for the months he had been away; they hugged, they kissed, they talked, they loved, and left the world of jail and cells and gangs far beyond the walls of their bedroom.

It was around midday when Jake found the letter.

Amy was dozing, and he felt his stomach rumble, so had gotten up, pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and wandering into the kitchen, praying that Amy had kept hold of some orange soda and gummy bears, pleased when he found both in the cupboard that was kept exclusively for Jake’s junk food. He was stood in the kitchen, munching and drinking, enjoying the feeling of just being there, being home, when he spotted the creamy white envelope against the deep brown of the dresser. Overcome with curiosity, he went over to see what it was, stopping short when he saw his own name on the front. With a quick glance over his shoulder to check Amy wasn’t up yet, he carefully peeled the flap open and removed the letter from inside to find Amy’s handwriting covering the neatly-folded paper.

 Dear Jake,

 I’m not sure what the purpose of this is. I guess I’m just feeling so much, and this is the best way I know how to unload all of that feeling.

 One of the things that I hoped and prayed prison wouldn’t take away from you was your liveliness and optimism of life. It was fine for the first few months, then something… changed. Something happened. I don’t know what it was, or why it was, but one visiting day you were your usual self – more tired and run-down, sure, but still you – then the next, you weren’t. You were exhausted, you were banged up… you were struggling. And that made me sad, to see that Jake, my Jake, had had his light taken from him.

Jake felt a small pang of guilt. No one has the right to make her sad. Especially him, who made a silent promise to himself that he would never do that.

 Now, before you try to tell me that you’re sorry, that you didn’t mean to make me sad, that you should’ve tried harder to seem normal that day… don’t. Because it’s not your fault. It’s Hawkins’. It’s prison’s. It’s whoever’s fight you were trying to break up.

He could still feel the dull ache in his ribs where they’d kicked him, the sting of his lip that had nearly completely healed now. Yet that fight feels like a distant memory now.

 That’s why I’m writing this. To tell you that none of it is your fault, that we’re going to get you out, that we’ve been working tirelessly to get you home and back to us. Back to me.

And it worked, they did it, they brought him and Rosa home. He knew they could do it, but still felt shocked when the warden came and told him they’d caught Hawkins. That he could go home.

 Just, hang on in there, okay? Just hold on. We’ll get you out, and we can get things back on track.

 I love you. So, so much.

 Amy xx

His mind wandered to the small, seemingly insignificant velvet-covered box hidden away in the toe of one of his sneakers, somewhere Amy wouldn’t find it, and thought about that their life would be like now if he hadn’t been sent to prison, if they hadn’t have been split apart once again.

Get things back on track.

He knew exactly how to do just that.

Almost two weeks later, everything was finalised.

He and Amy had both managed to get the day off work after spending several days and nights at the precinct working on a particularly tough case that they had finally managed to crack, bringing down a small drug cartel with it.

Jake convinced Amy to agree to go out for dinner, as a ‘celebration’ for solving the case, but refused to tell her where, claiming it to be a surprise.

At exactly 6:55, five minutes before their reservation, they pulled up outside the restaurant, and recognition washed over Amy at the sight of the red awning lit by warm lights; Bouche Manger. AKA the location of their undercover date that ended in two undercover kisses and, eventually, the for realz one the day after.

“Jake, why did you bring us here?” Amy asked, slightly disbelieving, slightly nostalgic.

“Well, I figured that last time we were here, we didn’t exactly get to enjoy it… being undercover and all. Also we gotta get accustomed to French cuisine if we’re gonna take that trip to Paris,” Jake replied with a smile and a wink, before hopping out of the car and running round to the passenger side to open the door for Amy.

They waited at the hostess stand, just as they had before, but this time, the way Amy held Jake’s arm and kissed him on the cheek were for real. They weren’t acting anymore.

They were seated at a two-person table in a different part of the restaurant than before, in a slightly more secluded corner with candles and champagne sat waiting for them on the table.

Conversation and mood remained light throughout the meal, and once they had washed everything down with the last of the champagne and were leaving the restaurant, Jake suggested that they take a walk; the night air was cool but not cold, and the sky was clear, showing various constellations.

They wandered at a comfortable pace for around half an hour, and Amy was about to suggest that they start to head back towards the restaurant when they rounded a corner to another area that was vaguely familiar; a park, at the centre of which was the tree they had hid behind to spy on Augustine when he made the drop. Except, ow the bushes and trees surrounding it were dotted with slowly twinkling fairy lights and lanterns, the grassy floor sprinkled with rose petals.

Amy stared in wonderment at the scene, but when she turned to question Jake, he was on one knee at the base of the tree, something small and cube-like grasped in his hand, rendering Amy frozen.

“Amy Santiago,” Jake started, with a nervous smile. “Ames. I’ve never been good with words or emotions, you know that, but… there are so many things I want to tell you, things I’ve wanted to tell you for god knows how long. Things I thought I wouldn’t ever get the chance to tell you. You are the most… incredible woman, smart, beautiful, and so much better than me that I still constantly ask myself what the hell you’re still doing with me, what you see in me, and I’ve never been able to figure it out, so I began thinking of all the reasons I’m with you.

You make me a better person, both in terms of how I act but also in the things you’ve taught me. Like all that useless grammar stuff you’ve taught me?” they both laughed at this, and Amy’s eyes began to water.

“Do you know what kept me going when I was undercover, in Florida, and in jail?” Amy shook her head slightly and Jake gave her a watery smile full to the brim with adoration. “It was you. The thought of you was what got me through each day in hell, the thought of coming home to you, even when we were just friends. You kept me holding on.

“We’ve been separated more than our fair share of times, and I don’t want to risk that happening again. All I’ve wanted since I got out was to do what I’ve wanted to do for months now.” He finally tore his eyes away from Amy’s and looked down at the box in his hands, opening it to reveal a delicate silver band with in-set jewels that glittered in the warm flickering light of the lanterns. Amy couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her lips at the sight of it, one hand going to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle it.

“Amy Santiago,” Jake’s voice cracked a little with emotion and the strength it was taking not to cry. “I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone in my life, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. Will you marry me?”

All Amy could do was nod, pulling Jake to his feet so she could kiss him, hug him, both finally letting their emotions run free down their faces. Amy felt Jake smiling into the kiss and they pulled away, laughing, while Jake slid the ring over Amy’s knuckle; a perfect fit.

Their lives were finally back on track, and neither could be happier that they’d held on to each other through everything.

The fact was, they made each other better. And even after all this time, he was hers and she was his, and they kept each other holding on.