#trying to wrap up this fucking project and squeeze some data out of it

[grison-in-space]

yeah all right I'm at s5e2 of this dumb firefighters show and look I'm sorry I haven't seen anything this intensely but unacknowledgedly gay without feeling the need to either no homo itself or engage with a very special episode subplot since, like... Due South. Or The Sentinel. It keeps using all the same tropes you see between the main love interests in an ensemble piece, just centered on two people who happen to be guys.

I'm weirdly convinced that this is a deliberate choice to probe the genre and play with the writing opportunities afforded by taking these really standard and familiar procedural tropes and storylines, and then mixing the genders willy nilly. After all, this show is... not subtle about making a habit of that throughout: it loooooooves to dig through familiar procedural subplots with gendered expectations and subversions. This is, in fact, the show that kicks its first arc off by exploring the possibilities for character decisions entailed by a loving, supportive marriage divorcing because one partner wants to come out as gay. It's a show that gives all its most traditionally masculine subplots to Athena, the most femme woman on the main cast! It really wouldn't be out of character for the show to move in that direction.

I'm not actually invested in canon Buck/Eddie per se— I've never needed that from my fandom time — but I'm fascinated by the storytelling opportunities afforded to it, and I'm keenly aware that writers rooms almost definitely include people in them now who have spent a significant time in fandom as participants, and who have thought deeply about the ways that gender can shape stories (particularly though the venue of always-a-gender! AUs). I'm also.... hm, how shall I put this...

That relationship is already textually queer. Wills have been modified involving custody and co-parenting agreements, okay, we are firmly in the territory of "immediate family" commitment levels. They could both be 1000% straight and cis and this would still be a relationship that queers normative expectations, particularly on men and especially on young men. I don't actually need it to do anything else to love it.

So I'm not coming from a place of wanting to see anything in particular in that respect, but I gotta say: it really feels to me that this show is playing with the ability to have its cake and eat it too in terms of the "will they/won't they" dynamic of the "main couple" in a television series: you can be as dramatic and iddy as you want, really dial up those emotional stakes, but at the same time your audience isn't huffing and whining that everything is so predictable because just by existing between two men you're subverting audience expectations.

It's really interesting. I'm enjoying myself a lot.

[jambrainrot]

Leading on from recent anons, my prompt is: Jam being told by their PR team to wait a little longer to come out, both trying to comfort each other and having hope for the future

Pairing: Jacob/Sam

Tags: jam being in love, slight angst

Warnings: none

Rating: T

Jacob looked at the ceiling of his trailer while Sam’s head rested on his chest. Outside, the Prague cold pressed against the windows and they shivered.

“We could just do it,” Sam said. His accent had gone thick, the way it did when he was tired or upset. “Post a picture. Tell everyone. Fuck what they think.”

Jacob ran his fingers through Sam’s hair, feeling the remnants of Lestat’s blonde dye job. The studio had wrapped three hours ago, but they were still here, hiding. Always hiding.

“Sharon called again,” Jacob said. Their PR manager’s warning still rang in his head. Wait until season three wraps. Wait until the ratings stabilize. Wait, wait, wait. “Says the demographic data shows—”

“Fuck the demographic data!” Sam pushed himself up, eyes furious. Those eyes had sold a million teenage girls on his Lestat, made them believe in vampires all over again. But right now they were just Sam’s eyes, angry and afraid and so goddamn tired.

Jacob knew that feeling. He lived it every time he had to dodge questions about his “close friendship” with his costar, every time he had to untangle his fingers from Sam’s when they forgot themselves in public. And even then, some stories slipped by and fans knew.

“Six more months,” Jacob said. But it was more bitter. They’d been saying six more months for a year now. It’s his fault, he thought, when his wife told him she was pregnant as he asked for a divorce. It was be a PR nightmare.

Sam collapsed back onto him. The trailer creaked. “Six more months,” he echoed. “Fuck.” But they both knew, it would be at least a year, if not, two.

Jacob’s phone buzzed. Another message from Sharon, probably with more charts about audience retention and international market projections. He didn’t look at it.

Instead, he thought about Louis and Lestat, as he often did nowadays when things got difficult. At least they had the show, they could make it to next season. And the next. At least they’re together so waiting wouldn’t be too bad. Privacy is never a bad thing.

“Hey,” Jacob said. “Remember what you told me every time Molloy was being a dick to Louis?”

Sam’s laugh was hearty and deep. “That if Louis could wait seventy years to tell his story, we could wait a few months to tell ours?”

“Yeah.” Jacob closed his eyes. In his dreams, he could see their future: red carpets where they didn’t have to stand three feet apart, interviews where they could tell the truth and not be nervous every time Eric opened his mouth. A world where they didn’t have to choose between their careers and each other. “We’re gonna get there.”

Sam’s hand found his, squeezed hard. “Promise?”

“Promise, love.”

The heater kicked on. In the sudden quiet, Jacob could hear Sam’s breathing, could feel both their hearts beating in sync. Even if it was just in his imagination. Outside their trailer, the world was full of shareholders and demographics and calculations of risk.

But in here, for now, they had each other, always. It would have to be enough. Until they could have more.

Jacob kissed Sam’s head, a kiss for what’s to come. A kiss that meant forever was soon.

[iwantutobehapppier]

Still Remains

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You had planned a great Friday, sometimes things don’t go as planned. Perhaps your boyfriend can help salvage the day? 

Warnings: 18+ Only, smut, fluffy so very soft, fingering and cursing

Word Count: 2,969 (hehehe 69)

A/N: Hey hey! Happy Third night of Chanukah I hope you all enjoy some soft Bucky for tonight’s Chanukah present. Huge shout out to @sagechanoafterdark​ for her amazing beta skills on this one. Was def out my comfort zone.

You had a perfect day planned.

It would involve a workday where you gave minimal effort after completing a rather taxing project for upper management under the deadline. Then, go to your favorite and the best-smelling shop for a signature bath bomb, a quick stop at the upscale corner store for some wine plus a premade meal as cooking was not on the agenda tonight. All of that was to be followed by something good and dramatic on your iPad coupled with a face mask while you soaked in the bath not having a care in the world.

Your boyfriend, the ever understanding James Buchanan Barnes, knew how important your much needed me time was. Agreeing to meet with you on Saturday for lunch, leaving Friday as ‘you time’.

That was the plan.

It was a good plan. The best plan you’d had in weeks after endless work and long nights.

But that plan fell apart before you finished brewing your morning cup of coffee.

Your boss returned from his morning meeting with devastating news. The project you'd been slaving over for the last 3 weeks needed to factor in new data he'd failed to previously provide. Not only that but your deadline was moved from next week to today by 4 pm. Making the excuse about upper management leaving by then.

Coffee hastily made you care less about the creamer you spilled on the counter. Rushing to your desk to boot up and start compiling the required information. By lunchtime, you had a tension headache, a stomach ache, and your lower back was throbbing.

Catching one of your coworkers as they went to the cafeteria. You begged them to pick you up something, feeling guilty about leaving your desk for even a second while such a critical project was due in such a short amount of time. You couldn't even consider stopping for something like lunch. Hell, you barely had any water, something Bucky would certainly give you hell about tomorrow.

Speaking of the man, you checked your phone spying a sweet good morning text you had missed followed a little while later by an inquiry about how your day was. Quickly, you sent a quick reply summarizing how it was not a good day then quickly put your phone away, focusing back on the task at hand.

One good thing was you had sent the newly finished project out by 3:45.

The problem that followed?

Your boss had left early dumping their work on your desk. Groaning as your hopes for an on-time escape were dashed, you paused for a break to get some water and check your phone. Replying to some friends you saw your boyfriend’s concerned text, feeling your chest warm.

‘Do you need me to do anything? I can help you relax a little more tonight instead of hanging out with Steve.�� He was a sweet and caring man. Even though most of the world feared him, you only saw the caring, attentive, and dashing lover.

You wouldn’t take up his time tonight though, you needed a solo night in and he deserved time with his best friend for how much you normally take up his time. Sending a quick dismissal reply, ‘No honey, I’ll make it work thank you for being so amazing’ you’re back to the grindstone.

Leaving the office by 6, you thought the shop for our bath bomb closed at 7, and with it raining the past hour the chances of making it there on time were slim but you would not be bested. You had the perfect night planned and salvaging it was a must.

Reaching the doors at 7:30, locked for the night. You couldn’t help the anguished cry you gave out, stomping your feet in the puddles outside the locked doors. Allowing yourself a small pity party, you square your shoulders and make your way to the corner store. Refusing to allow another piece of your perfect plan to be dashed away.

They were out of your favorite wine.

Your bottom lip trembled as you stood in the aisle frustration sweeping over you. Shoulders dropping you drag your feet to the fresh market area, finding a lone wilted sandwich remaining. Clearly, a massive rush of people had been just as desperate for the corner store’s fresh market food as you were. Or, your melodramatic brain supplied, the world was against you today.

Shaking that unhelpful thought away you quickly sent a venting text to your boyfriend. ‘I was too late for a bath bomb and the corner market is a bust. :(’ Your mind coming up with a quick contingency plan as you typed. You knew you had some wine in the apartment that you barely liked but it would do in comparison to what the store had. If you recall correctly you think you had some papaya scented bath rocks that could be an okay substitute.

Moving on to your newly formed Plan C, you made your way home. Arriving home you were soaking wet as the rain had never let up.

Clutching your broken umbrella, because why not?

Your feet drag you through the front entrance of your apartment building. You could feel the building pressure of tears behind your eyes but you wouldn’t let them fall. Nope, not until you are at least in the safety of your home. Sighing in recognition of the terribleness that was your day you go to check the mail and just as your turn to  the bulletin board your heart drops at the sign “Water Heater Out Until Sunday”

Fuck today.

Fuck your boss.

Fuck the rain.

Fuck your stupid super, who barely kept your apartment up to code.

Fuck the people who bought your wine and food.

Fuck today.

Sucking in a deep breath you turn and start the walk up the steps when your phone rings. You answer it without a second thought, trying to keep your mental state from cracking before getting into your apartment your only goal.

“Hey doll,” your boyfriend’s deep silky voice in your ear, “I wanted to see if your night got any better.”

You tried to tell him what happened, you really did but as the words formed you plopped down onto the stairs; then, became a crying and blubbering mess. Your sweet boyfriend only able to make out blips like “water heater, fuck my boss, lazy super, I just can’t anymore.”

As you kept trying to explain what was wrong through your uncontrollable and frustrating sobs, Bucky’s voice finally broke through, “Stay on the phone with me, doll,” he instructed. Hearing rustling on the other end, “I’m on my way.”

Not even thirty minutes later Bucky found you, sitting on the steps. No longer sobbing, but tears intermittently still falling down your cheeks and emotionally wrung out.

He called your name softly and you looked up at him. Tying your best to smile, but it was hard. Without another word, he picked you up off the stairs and carried you to his car bridal style. Turning on the heater after starting the car, he begins to make his way back to his place respecting your silence.

“Bucky,” you whisper out as you both sit at a red light. He turns his head, those cerulean blue eyes shining with adoration and a bit of concern. “Thank you,” is all you can get out but god you want to say more the words stuck in your throat.

Knowing you were still decompressing his hand squeezes your thigh. “Anything for you, doll.” He winks before facing the road once more as the light turns green.

Pulling into the garage of his house, he exits the car lightly jogging to your side and opening the door. You go to grab your bags before he can get you. “Leave ‘em, I'll get them later.” Heeding his advice you let him pick you up once more leaving your stuff in the car.

Carrying you through the house into the master bath he gently set you on the edge of the tub. Holding up one finger he turns around looking under the sink before pulling out your favorite bath bomb. The exact one you threw a fantastic pity party about earlier tonight.

Your jaw goes slack before you rapidly question your boyfriend, “where did you get this? When did you get this?!"

“I stocked up last time we took a bath together,” he explained. Leaning over you Bucky swept the hair off your forehead before kissing you there. “I wanted to make sure you could be comfortable here.”

“Oh,” is all you can get out, floored by such a sweet and selfless gesture.

“Your shampoo is still in the shower,” he said, gesturing to the stand-up shower to the left of his free-standing soaking tub. “I know you like rinsing off before a bath.”

“I don’t wanna be in a soup of my own filth,” you said with a pout, justifying your pre-shower bath ritual. He chuckles at you leaning down farther before capturing your lips. Slipping his tongue into your mouth, trailing over the roof of your mouth, cupping your chin with his cool metal hand. Bucky hums into your mouth when your tongue connects with his.  

The kiss feels endless, the gentle caress of his tongue on yours exploring your mouth a much-needed comfort after this horrible day. When he pulls away your mouth remains slightly open, eyes closed a soft whine coming out at the loss.  When he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles you open your eyes.

“Go on,” he nods his head to the shower, “relax and enjoy your bath.”

Watching his retreating figure you lick your lips eyeing his back end. Shaking your head out of your dirty thoughts you strip down to shower.

Once sufficiently clean, you wrap your hair in one of the microfibers wraps you’d left last time. Realizing you’d actually been leaving a lot more here and Bucky seemed to by buying stuff you normally kept at your place. Eyeing the double sink counter, you notice some of your creams and cleansing products there. Fairly certain you hadn’t purchased some of them twice due to cost alone.

Smiling at all the self-care items he had clearly bought just for you, your fingers trail along the marble countertop until you reach your bath bomb. Grabbing the half pink and half purple ball,  you make your way to the giant tub. Slipping in you set the bath bomb onto the window sill beside you.

Setting the water to the perfect warm temperature, you push the stopper down and sit back, resting your head on the tub rim as the tub fills. Once it hits the right level you turn the tap off and drop the bath bomb in, enjoying the scents of Jasmine and Ylang Yalng permeate the air as the tub water begins to turn a dusky pink.

A few minutes later Bucky walks in, holding a bottle of your favorite Rose Gold Rosé, a sparkling wine glass, and a clear package of food. Setting it all on the counter he turns to you and smiles at the sight of your already relaxed body.

Looking up at him a soft smile pulls on your lips. “I noticed you bought some of my products for here,” you comment.

“Is that a problem,” he inquires, rather sure it’s not but he wants to make sure he’s not crossing a line.

“N-no,” you stutter briefly, worried you might offend him for such a kind gesture. “No, I just didn’t know you did that.”

Smiling he sinks to his knees next to you outside the tub, folding his arms over the lip, “Well, didn’t wanna make a big deal of it.”

You nod, but still curious, “Why though?”

“So you’ll stay here more often,” he admits with a shrug. Bucky felt that the tactic was purely selfish on his part, but if all your things were here why would you need to go back to your place? He’d use tonight to show you that you can have your own space even when living with him.

“You like me being here?” Bucky wants to laugh at your doubt but doesn’t, knowing your nerves are rather frazzles so any sass from him could be misconstrued.

“Of course,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I always want you here.”

“Wh-what?” you gasp sitting upright in the tub so fast the water sloshing on the sides, trying to put together exactly what he is saying.

“This is a conversation later,” he cuts off with a smile. Wanting to stop your brain from the tailspin it was definitely heading towards. “I just wanna help my baby relax,” he says, cupping your cheek with his flesh hand.

You nuzzle into his hand with a contented sigh, “Oh, alright.”

His hand resting on your cheek slips down under the water, tweaking both your nipples pulling an involuntary gasp from you.

“Yeah,” his voice a whisper. Fingers trailing down your stomach to cup your heat, slipping between your slit. “You gonna let me help you relax after such a bad day?” You nod your head, mouth open in a muted moan panting with each stroke against you.

Bucky takes advantage of your open mouth, leaning in for a kiss with his tongue taking residence in your mouth. His fingers capture your clit gently squeezing before rubbing tight circles. Your eyes slipped closed at the growing pleasure.

You whimper into his mouth as he quickens his pace. Dipping your head back as he hits a good rhythm and pressure, making your toes curl but his other hand grips you by the back of your neck keeping your lips pressed tightly against his.

Two fingers dip inside you, slowly pushing in and out curling upwards, his palm rubbing against your clit in tandem with his fingers. When he hits that one special spot you try to slouch down into the water but his hand on your neck keeps you in place.

Your hands grip the lip of the tub, legs moving underneath the water and making soft waves that splash against the sides of the tub. Whimpers and moans pour from your mouth into his, eager to consume them.

Bucky tilts his head, making your teeth clash, ramping him up more. He’s moving faster now keying you quickly up but it’s not enough, he knows you need direct stimulation. Pulling his fingers back out of your heat, he rubs your clit in quick concise circles.

Your eyes pop open catching his intense stare, knowing he’d been watching you all along. Bucky was observant and always intense, picking up on every brow tick, nostril flare, and lip twitch. Almost studying you and picking you apart for his and your pleasure. It’s a goal for him, to make you feel all the emotions you make him feel, giving you the physical pleasure you bring to him.

The intensity of it all was too much.

His fingers keep their tempo, applying a little more pressure and it’s enough. Your legs shake and spasm making the water at the surface choppy and slosh in the tub. He released your mouth to hear your cry out in ecstasy, knuckles turning white as they held the edge of the tub.

“That’s my good girl,” his voice rumbles out.

Removing his hand from the dark pink water, at the same time his metal hand releases your neck. You look up at him panting, dazed in the euphoria of your orgasm as he stands. Bucky turns around, uncorking the wine with a pop and pouring you a glass. Looking around he frowns briefly, walking to the closet and returning with a brand new large bath tray, similar to the one you have at home. He sets it over the tub in front of you and places the bottle and full glass on the tray along with the cheese, crackers, and fruit pack.

He cups your chin pulling your slightly dazed eyes to him, he leans down pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Now you enjoy the wine and eat a little bit of food for me. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Uh-huh,” is all you can get out. Bucky smirks with pride at your ravaged state as he leaves you alone in the bathroom with one last look.

After a good two-hour soak where you ended up emptying the tub a little before refilling with warm water halfway through, you finally felt relaxed enough and left the bathroom. Wrapping yourself in a plush white towel you slowly unwrap your now almost dry hair.

Padding into Bucky’s room you smile at the blue henley he left laying on the bed for you. Lifting it up you notice something is missing.

“Bucky?” you call out in confusion, brows furrowed as you look over the bed.

“Yeah, doll,” he replied, walking towards the bedroom, turning off lights as he made his way in.

“Do you have any of my underwear here?”

He starts pulling his sweats off watching you search for the missing item, “Yeah, I have a few.” He admits from behind you. You jump and playfully swat him behind you, a soft chuckle rumbles from him when he spins you around to face him.

“Hmm,” your lips turned up in a smile. Wondering why he didn’t provide you any and just with his shirt. You wrap your arms around his neck pressing your foreheads together. “I’m going to need a pair.”

He tugs at your towel smirking when it falls to the floor. His eyes trailing down your exposed body and back up to your face.

“No,” he gives you a pointed stare pulling you tight against him, “you don’t.”

[ryo-hirakawa]

I thought about a prompt: one of the drivers turn into a ghost

here it is!! this one is all over the place bc i wrote it over a few days fhsjjf i hope you like it nevertheless

"George, why are you a ghost again?" He'd been racing Alex at the front of the pack again when the CONNECTION LOST message pops up on his screen momentarily. "I can drive straight through you!"

George laughs despite the awful wi-fi that's been fucking up his current game of F1 2020. "If you think about it, being a ghost isn't too bad now, is it? I'd never have to get out of the way of blue flags. Right, Nicky?"

Nicholas chuckles. "If you say so. But be careful what you wish for."

***

He wakes up the next day with a start. Everyone's felt it before. That feeling where you're asleep, and suddenly you feel like you're falling, and you jolt awake. The feeling of the bed solid against his back never comes, however. George sits up, and he realises he is not on his bed, but in his bed.

He is literally clipping through his bed.

For the first minute or so George assumes it was a wacky side effect of a hangover, although the last time he drank was 2 days ago, not a day ago, but George is too disoriented to realise that, as he struggles to get up on his feet. He can't hold on to anything -- they pass through him like he doesn't exist. He's not even firmly planted on the floor. He can stand, but it feels odd. Like he is floating.

Like he is a ghost.

"Are you fucking- Oh my God." Of course he couldn't pick up his phone to text his friends about what was happening. He can't even pick up his phone to answer it when his trainer starts calling.

He'll have to go down to Grove himself. He can't start up his car. He'll have to take the railway. Or the bus. He'd have to start figuring it out.

***

As he had expected, no one at Williams had any idea where George had gone. The place was in a frenzy. Which team wouldn't, when their lead driver suddenly went missing just before the start of the season? He heard them calling Jack in to prepare, just in case he wasn't found in time.

Frustrated, he figures out how to get to a restaurant him and Alex used to hang out at in their karting days (at this rate, he would get quite familiar with public transport); he sits in a corner, just soaking in the music, the warm lighting, the general ambience.

"George? We've all been wondering where you'd gone!"

It's Alex. Amazingly, he can see him.

***

It doesn't take long for Alex to realise that nobody else could see George. Before more people started looking at him strangely and call the cops on him, he took him back to his house. George sits in a corner of the living room by the television.

"Why won't you sit here?" Alex pats the seat on the sofa next to him.

"I can't. I'll pass through them."

"Really?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "Then why's your arm resting on my TV cabinet?"

"I-" George's eyes widen. "It works!" He clambers to his feet, moving to flop down on Alex's sofa.

He crashes through it.

Alex winces.

"Oh. Guess I won't be back to normal that soon." George is surprisingly unpertubed for someone who's just landed on his ass. He had probably gotten quite used to things like this happening.

Instinctively, he offers George his hand; and instinctively, George takes it, and it's a while before it sinks in that Alex not only can see him, but also touch him.

Alex hasn't seen George look this relieved in a long time, and although he doesn't say it, he knows George is thankful. He also knows George probably hasn't had human contact in quite a while, so he wraps an arm around his shoulder, squeezing him tight. "I'm sure you'll get back to normal in no time."

The doorbell rings before George can respond.

"Oh, right. Jüri was supposed to come over and collect something from me. Just give me a moment."

"Hi, Alex." Jüri takes off his shoes at the door and peers in tentatively as he enters. "Oh, hi George. I heard Williams was having quite a headache over you."

"You...you can see him?"

"You can see me too?"

Jüri is completely nonplussed. "...Yeah?"

***

George had managed to get himself seated at the dining table with Alex and Jüri. It seemed to be kind of intermittent, whether things would pass through him or not; but George suspected that if he went about it slowly and focused hard enough, he could hold things and interact with them like any normal person.

And, for some reason, Alex and Jüri could see him. Although nobody in the public could. And nobody at Grove could.

"I've called Nicky and Jack," Alex tells him. "They'll be over as soon as they can."

He hands him a cup of water. "Think you can try drinking this?"

It's not that hard to focus, as a racing driver. George focuses on the cup. He holds it, he brings it to his lips. He realises he hasn't eaten or drank in ages. Being a ghost of sorts kind of meant that he didn't need sustenance.

When Nicholas and Jack do arrive, Jack sees him immediately. Nicholas doesn't. And they've brought Jenson, too, having hoped someone with more life experience could help out. But Jenson couldn't see him either.

"That's odd. Why is it only some of us are able to see George?"

"Maybe it's something we have in common?"

"Oh. Oh my god, don't tell me it's because we're reserve drivers," Alex says, but it's an epiphany he wasn't particularly proud of having. "Because we're like the ghosts of the paddock. Haha. Get it?"

Jack laughs a little. Jüri smiles.

"So. Now what?"

***

The season begins with the Williams lineup being Nicholas and Jack. Jenson explained the situation to all important personnel at Williams, but the truth of what had happened to George was to be strictly kept within Grove.

The car is better than last year's, but they still don't have any points, which George had unfortunately kind of expected -- the Williams recovery was always going to be a slow one, and he knew this. He was grateful for them, of course, but the Williams project needed time, and George wasn't sure he wanted to give them all his time. Not when driving for the reigning champions was a possibility, as long as he proved himself.

If he didn't turn back to normal any time soon, that possibility was going to pass him by, whether he liked it or not.

It's race week, and so far he had alternated between watching the races from home, gaming with Stoffel in his hotel room, or chilling in his side -- well, now it was Jack's side -- of the garage.

This time, he goes wandering down the paddock. Horner's on the phone with Marko about god knows what -- probably nothing good, they're probably plotting to promote Yuki midseason or something similarly insane. On a whim, he follows Horner into the motorhome, and a devious thought pops up into his mind as Horner puts down the phone and goes to get a cup of coffee.

Horner swears under his breath as hot coffee spills out of his hand and onto his shoes seemingly out of nowhere, not knowing George had been there to give the cup a little nudge. He goes to get himself cleaned up, telling someone else approaching him to just watch the documents on the table.

The documents. Red Bull Chassis Data.

And that's how Spygate 2.0 happened.

[storyknitter]

“To you, Master Jedi.”

Hey, so remember when I wrote this angsty mini-fic and then @commanderlurker asked if Sanna ever found Theron’s drunken “I miss you, but you’re dead” message? (The answer’s “yes,” by the way. She totally did.)

21 ATC

Soft footfalls approached the War Table, where Theron studied the data retrieved from the Star Fortress formerly above Belsavis. A small smirk crept onto his face, recognizing Vassanna before she even spoke. “Hey,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “What's up, beautiful?”

The endearment was still a bit clunky on his tongue, but her reaction was worth any awkwardness he might have felt: A flush crept into her cheeks and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

“This hasn’t worked since they rescued me, and Lana said you might be able to help. Apparently,” she said, an impish grin lighting up her face, “I'm not the only one who reacted poorly to carbonite.”

His heart stopped at the reminder of how he'd almost lost her a second time, before he'd even had a chance to see her, hold her, kiss her again. He shoved the memory of those dark days aside and did his best to focus on Sanna: she was holding out a small, banged-up holocomm, an expectant look on her face, that smile of hers doing things to his lungs.

Dammit, he couldn't breathe when she did that.

“I’m not sure exactly how much can be retrieved or salvaged,” she said, “but I had some old messages saved that I’d really like to keep. If it’s possible, of course.”

Theron smirked and raised an eyebrow as he took the comm, trying to recover his balance. “What?” he asked, feigning disbelief as his fingers brushed hers. “A sentimental Jedi? Not possible,” he said, shaking his head.

Hurt ghosted over her features and Vassanna slipped on her Jedi mask. “Nevermind, it’s fine.” She reached for the comm, but he tightened his grip.

“I never said I wouldn’t do it,” he said, holding the comm above his head. “I was just giving you a hard time.”

She eyed him warily and he immediately regretted his retort – this must be more important to her than he’d thought.

“I’ll understand if it can’t be done. I won't hold you responsible if it never turns on again.”

“I’ll do my best, Vassanna. I promise.” And he meant it, even if he had to stay up all night to make it happen.

Sanna thanked him with a smile so bright it took his breath away again.

–––

That evening, Theron sat at the new desk in the Commander's quarters, pieces of holocomm and wires littering the space, and stretched the kinks out of his neck. He'd found the problem – a broken connection or four – and had finally managed the repair after cannibalizing parts from his spare datapad. The comm itself wasn't fit for daily use, especially with the days that Sanna always seemed to have, but as long as she didn't toss it around, message playback was possible.

Well, theoretically. He hadn't tested it out, but found himself hesitant to invade her privacy by going through messages deemed important enough to save during her years as a Jedi. Justifying the need to snoop (he had to be sure it worked properly after all), he chose a file at random, pressed play, and found himself face to face with an older Mirialan male covered in tattoos, his features pulled into a smile.

There was something familiar about his eyes...

"Happy birthday, Sanna," the man said in Mirialan. Theron's implants translated for him and he froze, curiosity warring with his conscience – he'd started calling her 'Sanna' after a few weeks on Odessen and hadn't ever heard anyone else use it as a nickname.

“I don't know where you are or what you're up to,” the man continued, "but I wish you many happy returns. I do hope you're enjoying this beautiful day with your crewmates. Here, the sun is shining, the winds are singing softly, and we're having your mother's sweetcakes in your honor tonight. But don't worry, Star-Blossom: I'll be sure to sneak one into the freezer for you. Though you know they only last for so long, so hurry home. We miss you, daughter, and–"

Theron turned off the message abruptly and glanced at the file's date. After a bit of mental math and cross-referencing her history, he realized this message was from when she was... off the grid. Vitiate's thrall, his mind supplied helpfully, his stomach twisting as he remembered her quiet, shame-filled confession just before she'd gone off to Wild Space.

Missed birthday greetings from the family she loved, while she was going through one of the worst times of her life – no wonder she had wanted to save some of these messages.

“How goes the surgery, doctor?” Sanna's voice came from the door and Theron startled, so lost in his own thoughts that he had missed her arrival. “Were you able to save the patient?”

The hope on her features did something funny to his stomach – he wanted to give her the galaxy on a string, to make her smile, to never disappoint her. What the hells was wrong with him? Focus Shan, he thought, irritated.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did, actually,” he said, trying to play it cool. “I wouldn't recommend taking it on any more missions, though – it's too fragile. I think leaving it on the desk is best.”

Vassanna gave him that damned smile again and before he could blink, she was in his arms, squeezing him close, her face buried in his chest.

“Thank you, Theron.” She glanced up, blinking away wetness at the corner of her eyes. “So much. I–”

Unwilling to see her cry, he kissed her, his hand curling behind her neck to hold her close. She tasted like caf and something sweet – juna berries, maybe – and the smell of her shampoo wafted past him. When he pulled away, he nuzzled her nose and excused himself, fabricating a meeting to give her some time alone with her precious memories.

He'd gotten as far as the War Room when something prodded at the back of his mind – he was forgetting something, something important. Then it came to him: the remnants of his extra datapad. He'd left a mess of connectors, processor parts, and wiring all over her desk, but he didn't think Sanna would mind too much. Just to be safe, he sent a quick message letting her know he'd tidy up the desk when she was done.

–––

After an hour or so, Theron arrived back at the Commander's rooms (which were also his, at this point, though it still seemed a bit odd), dinner for them both in hand. He knew she hadn't eaten dinner yet and was willing to wager good credits that she'd skipped lunch, too.

Knocking with the toe of his boot, the door slid open on its track and he saw Sanna sitting at the desk, entranced by a recording, her arm slowly drifting back to her side after opening the door for him with the Force. She met his gaze over her shoulder and stood up, her features unreadable – some combination of shock, regret, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Had she been crying? As she crossed the room, he saw a blue-tinged image of himself projected above the desk, a half-empty whiskey glass raised in salute and grief plainly etched on the hologram's features.

Shit.

Shit shit shit. He'd completely forgotten about that comm message. How drunk had he been that night?

Theron had no time to feel embarrassment or to worry about what she thought: Sanna took his face in her hands and pulled him to her, capturing his lips with a kiss – hard, demanding, desperate – as though trying to make up for lost time. Their sandwiches fell forgotten to the floor as he slid his fingers into her hair, loosely pulled back in a braid, and returned the kiss.

Breathless moments later, she leaned back, meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she gasped out, eyes shining with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful. I promised you I would and then–”

Shaking his head, Theron gently rested a thumb on her lips. “Stop. It's...” It wasn't okay, but it wasn't completely her fault. And to be fair, he knew – he had known in his heart before she even left for Wild Space, before Ziost and Yavin – that she would have done everything she could to protect people, including sacrificing herself.

His stomach twisted, aching, and his head swam as though it were five years ago and Rineth Nabeshin had just shared Sanna’s parting words to him. Hells, he couldn't do this. The air in the room disappeared and he was drowning.

Five years. Five years. How had he made it so long? And how had he let himself get so wrapped up in one person, to begin with? And a Jedi, no less. An attachment-avoiding, logic-driven, practical, and self-fucking-sacrificing Jedi.

Well, maybe that description wasn't entirely accurate: she had been close with her family (before being trapped in carbonite, at least), saved old messages, and cared for people – cared for him.

A thought struck him, one that had crossed his mind any number of times since he’d met Master Vassanna Nabeshin – Hero of Tython and Upright Paragon of the Jedi Order – all those years ago:

“I’m so screwed,” he murmured as he pulled Sanna close. She was soft and sweet when he kissed her and, gods help him, this felt so damned right. She might be an optimistic, overly forgiving, stupidly self-sacrificial Jedi, but she was his optimistic, overly forgiving, and stupidly self-sacrificial Jedi, dammit.

And he didn’t plan on letting her go any time soon.

[paopuofhearts]

I’m dealing with a lot of emotional junk and this is just an absolute projection of all of that. It’s a wild fucking mess, my pals. But cathartic for me, so.

Still Star Trek, still Chekov, still very much on my Scotty/Chekov/Jaylah pairing - but this time with a bit of Spock thrown in.

JewishJanuary [ @jewishjanuary ​], Day 3: Shabbat.

Where has this week vanished? Is it lost forever? Will I ever recover anything from it? The joy of life, the unexpected victory, the realized hope, the task accomplished? Will I ever be able to banish the memory of pain, the sting of defeat, the heaviness of boredom? On this day, let me keep for a while what must drift away. On this day, let me be free of the burdens that must return. On this day, Shabbat, abide. Let me learn to pause, if only for this day. Let me find peace on this day. Let me enter into a quiet world this day. On this day, Shabbat, abide.

Out of all 432 personnel on board, 34 cycled in and out of the designated Friday after-shift celebrations. It was the responsibility of the Alpha shift was to set up in Lieutenant Cohen’s small private room - one of the few to have their own room, for the sole reason of also being a designated rabbi for the ship - and they would light their own set of candles, sing their own set of songs, and feast until Beta shift. Beta shift would support the transition, resetting the room for their own after-shift celebration. Partway through the transition, Cohen would be tapped to take rest and bunk down in another’s room, a volunteered rotation schedule of its own. It was the responsibility of the Gamma shift to clean his room after their own designated celebration, ensuring whatever challah crumbs and wine stains were left spotless for the next day. 

It was a challenge, given that very few of them shared the same backgrounds - not only differences among the Terran branches of Judaism, but the cultural changes that evolved in other species that encountered the religion, whether through marriage with Terran family members of their own or conversion after being introduced to it. It was a challenge, given that some kept kosher and some did not, and some had had to develop their own versions of kosher based on their own planetary and biological systems that were so very different from Earth. It was a challenge, but together, they somehow made it work.

He was supposed to be heading toward Cohen’s quarters, but instead found his feet wandering of their own accord down the other hallway, only a handful of steps behind his superior officer.

He had been working on and off with Spock for several weeks, picking up the ropes of science officer duties out of curiosity more than anything else. Working under Scotty two years prior had been quite an experience - and taking over for him had been a hell he wasn’t willing to go through again. And while Jaylah had gladly taken up the position of Scotty’s understudy, he wasn’t about to entice the possibility of being placed in such a role again. So instead, he shadowed Spock, watching and learning how to apply his knowledge in the sciences to the unknown - though usually, this just meant he was squared away with cataloguing and notetaking new findings, simple and tedious archival duties.

Yet it had been soothing, doing something so relatively mindless, after the larger fallout he had stepped into earlier in the week.

It was hard, feeling like a third wheel in his triumvirate. Jaylah, being Scotty’s understudy, spent almost all of her time at his side. Yet as navigator, he was holed up on the bridge, only seeing them on the off hours of their shifts. It had caused a streak of jealousy to grow, insidious and twisting as it rooted deeply into his heart. It squeezed around his ribcage, thudding relentlessly in his chest, and burst into the world as it poisoned his lungs and wormed its way through his tongue.

It had been the first time in a long time that he had had to retire to his own quarters and laid alone in a bed with nothing but his thoughts plaguing his mind.

“Is there a reason you are following me, Mr. Chekov?” Spock’s voice broke through his thoughts, nearly causing him to stumble into the man. They had stopped at the door of his room, and the Vulcan raised an eyebrow in wait for him to answer.

“Ah - yes, sir. If you - if it’s - I have a question.” It was a deeply personal question, and one he wondered if he should even ask. He looked at the wall across from them, hoping the shame he felt wasn’t visibly burning across his cheeks.

“And what is your question?”

A beat, a moment of silence, as he fidgeted and rocked on his heels.

“Could you - ah - would you - “ He paused again, frustration welling up at his nervousness. “I need help meditating.”

If Spock were more human, more emotional, Pavel was sure the stone faced expression would resemble something akin to shock. It was quickly overshadowed by a tilt of his chin, perhaps the most he would show of inquisitiveness.

“Come.” Spock opened the door to his quarters - dimmed and warm - and Pavel followed close behind.

Everyone’s quarters were relatively minimalistic, but he was admittedly a bit surprised by some of the more intimate touches in the room. A copy of Alice In Wonderland upon the nightstand, a picture of his family, most likely, perfectly aligned next to the computer terminal, with a 3 Dimensional chess set on the other side. A Vulcan lyre and bell set hung on the wall on either side of the bed, and something akin to a lirpa was set above it. A strange collection, to be sure.

“Sit.” Spock gestured to the two flat pillows he had pulled out from a drawer, placed on the empty floor space. Pavel did as told, picking the one furthest from Spock. He watched, entranced, as the Vulcan pulled out two candles from the same drawer, placing them on the small table at the foot of the bed.

“I believe you are more used to partaking in this with the others,” Spock stated, joining Pavel on the floor. “I prefer to do this before meditation, alone. But I will make an exception for tonight.”

He handed Pavel a match, nodding toward one of the candles. Together, they lit them, and once more Pavel was surprised, this time by Spock’s perfunctory use of Hebrew.

“I do not drink wine, or eat before meditation.” Pavel shrugged, still remaining quiet. Spock was not one to ignore such a thing, especially from one usually so energetic and animated. “I presume there is a reason you have asked for help in meditating, even going so far as to seek me during shabbat instead of joining the others.”

“Have you ever been jealous?” Pavel asked.

“Yes.” While Pavel knew Spock carried emotions, he did not expect him to be so upfront with them. “Perhaps not in the same way you understand it, but yes.”

“It is interfering with - everything,” he admitted, frustration seeping through his voice.

“It is easy to let emotions control you. It is harder to let them go.” Spock shifted. “Straighten your spine.”

Pavel did as told, and closed his eyes.

“Breathe deeply.” He did so, feeling his shoulders rise and relax.

“Think of an object.” He imagined the candles before him. They were plain white candles, nothing too particularly special. But he could see their flames in his mind: the thing bound wick, braided and twisted upwards, caught with the brilliant blue surplus of oxygen blending up into the dark crackling of yellow-orange carbon, reaching to the stars in a thin line of bright white molded by the convection of the flame.

“Begin to clear your mind of the details of the object. Shape the object into another object.” He tried to shift the flame, but only pictured it wavering. He squeezed his eyes, trying but unable.

“Now, think of your mind as a dilithium crystal. Concentration must be an intensive focus. Gather your energy, and direct it there. Gather your intelligence, and direct it there. Gather your emotions, and direct them there.” He wiped the candle from his mind, instead picturing dilithium. He could picture the pulsating light, surrounding the clear shard - transparent, like glass, glowing brightly. He imagined wrapping his energy into a tight ball of light, beaming it into the crystal as a transporter. He imagined compressing the books he had read into a line of data, beam it into the crystal as a transporter. And he imagined his hands, unwinding and unraveling that weed of jealousy entwined in his heart. He tried to trace his steps backwards, noting every moment of mistreatment, of coldhearted action, of glacial bitterness, sharp knives that cut a rift between himself and his partners, widening the divide into a gaping abyss as the roots creeped deeper, crushing as it became more rigid -

“Do not hold your thoughts - do not suppress them, or try to control them. Do not center yourself on these thoughts. Do not indulge in these thoughts. Do not suppress them. Observe them, watch them. Walk past them, and let them flow through you.” He imagined his hands dropping the vines, and the vines began to snake around him, choking him.

He opened his eyes, anger pulsing through his body.

“I cannot - “

“You can. Close your eyes and try again.” Spock sat silently beside him, simply waiting. Though his eyes were closed, it was as if he could sense what Pavel was doing. He was unmoving, like a statue - firm, solid, unwavering. Yet it was softer than his rigid jealousy - grounding, patient, safe. And so he tried again, imagining himself in the midst of the vines, lost and untied to anything but for the crystal in his hand.

“Label your thoughts gently.” He imagined thin strings dangling from the vines, small tags attached to their ends. It was reminiscent of the old antique stores of his hometown, small and dusty, with treasures stuffed away on the unreachable shelves of tucked away corners. 

“Cut them off and return to yourself. Breathe.” He stood among the vines, holding a crystal as a knife, and slowly began razing the vines to the ground. Yet no matter how many he cut away, there were always more ready to take their place. It was never ending.

“Breathe.” He took in a deep breath, feeling his hands shake. “Listen. Heed what is in your heart. Accept what lies there.”

He stayed in that place, watching as the vines swayed. He breathed - in and out, listening to his heartbeat. He began to count each vine as a heartbeat - one, breathe in, two, breathe out - slowly walking among them.

“Listen. Heed what is in your heart. Accept what lies there.” He imagined himself holding the crystal - his focus, his center, all that he was gathered into a tiny shard - and imagined a spark of light, reconnecting to where it was meant to be. Down in the depths of the Enterprise, settled into the heart of the ship; the core of their world. It was not meant to be entrapped in this jungle of jealousy, but placed reverently into its holding, where it could use its energy instead of lying listlessly in the middle of nowhere. The thin spark of light pulsated through the vines, guiding him away.

“Walk past your thoughts, and let them flow through you.” He felt the vines fall away as he walked, the ground becoming solid steel as rafters and ladders and walkways sprung up: the engineering room rising before him. Jaylah and Scotty, waiting for him.

“Breathe, and open your eyes.”

His cheeks were damp, and he sniffed, not realizing that he had started to cry. Spock nodded in acknowledgement, the gazed back at the candles.

“Maintaining balance is difficult. In our line of work, we walk upon a narrow tightrope. But that is why we have shabbat: this is our moment of rest, to recenter ourselves on what matters most.” He stood up, and Pavel followed, unsure of what to do. “I would advise you to talk about your emotions with those who you feel such ways toward. As I have learned, open communication is key to maintaining relationships.”

“Thank you.” Pavel wavered, his body thrumming, wired to run back to Scotty’s quarters, to throw himself at Jaylah’s feet, to beg for forgiveness and understanding. But he did not wish to seem ungrateful. “I am - thank you.”

“What is, is. And in accepting that which is inevitable, one may find peace.” Spock placed his hands behind his back, stepping aside to leave room for Pavel to leave. “If you need future assistance in meditating, you know where to find me.”

Pavel nodded and took his leave.

As soon as the door zipped behind him, he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He did not feel very changed, and yet - and yet he did not feel as burdened as before.

He did not run, as he had imagined, the buzzing feeling beneath his skin fading into a deep seated exhaustion. But he walked, determined, humbled, breathing deeply as he found his way to Scotty’s room, down towards the depths of the Enterprise herself. He carefully coded the entry panel, his hand steadier than his nerves. His mind felt detached; he knew his mistakes, and knew his atonement, and knew that he must press forward and try.

The door slid open, and he saw them, lounging as they compared notes on their pad systems. A tumultuous wave pressed deep within him, but it was no longer the icy spike stabbing through his very being. A promising sign.

They glanced up, Jaylah jumping to her feet to welcome him as Scotty scooted off the bed, hovering in uncertainty. It felt wrong and broken, as if he were stuck in an eternal maze of shattered mirrors and could only see distortions of himself, unable to reach back out to them. Tears began to well in his eyes, dripping despite his attempts to rein them in. His vision blurred, but he could feel their arms around him, and heard their soft murmurs as they led him to the bed.

It was okay to be wrong, for perfection was not an inevitability. It was okay to be broke, for broken things could be fixed and repurposed. He could pick up those shattered pieces of his life and find a way to put them back together - not as it had once been, perhaps, but still made whole once more. He was here, and he was still loved. And in that love, that quiet space between them -

In that love, he found peace.

[pretty-well-funded]

monalisa72 replied to your post “is this thing on?”

Newbie rentboy Peter who keeps getting saved from abusive johns by Iron Man who eventually becomes his sugar daddy to keep him off the streets

@monalisa72 well, this is literally the opposite of what you asked for, but hopefully you like it anyway? lol

*

In Tony’s defense, he was sure the kid was a rent boy.  

Now, normally Tony doesn’t brake for street crime - there are others without highly advanced terrorism- and alien-fighting prostheses to handle that kind of thing.  The blind lawyer, the bulletproof bar owner, that PI in desperate need of antidepressants.  The guy in the onesie.

Still, if he’s in the right place at the right time, he’s not exactly going to fly away and leave someone to get hurt.

He’s on his way back from a rather lightweight peacekeeping mission when FRIDAY alerts him to a probable minor being choked below.  As soon as Tony gets close, he sees she may have misinterpreted the data - her algorithms for human behavior aren’t as sophisticated as JARVIS’s were, though she’ll get there in time - but when he asks her to estimate the kid’s age, FRI says 17.  And well, her physical assessment algorithms are just fine.

It turns out landing in an Iron Man suit ten feet away is enough intervention in itself to scare off rough johns of underage prostitutes, because Tony hasn’t even engaged his speakers before the guy’s tripping on his pants and running.  The kid wipes his mouth with wide eyes and scrambles to his feet.

“Uh, wow.  Hi.”

“Look, kid, everybody’s got to make a living, blah blah blah, sex positivity, wrap it before they tap it and try not to end up in a dumpster, capiche?”

The kid opens his mouth, frowning, but this was already a waste of time and Tony is exhausted.  He’s engaging his thrusters before the kid can speak

*

The second time, he’s just enjoying a little evening joyride, because he does what he wants, when FRI says, “Boss, someone is crying for help three blocks south.  I think he’s being assaulted.”

So, of fucking course, Tony goes.

This time it’s unclear it’s a false alarm until Tony has landed right behind the purported bad guy and yanked him away from the guy he’s got pinned to the bricks.  Said victim turns his head, and Tony groans.  “You again.”

“You should talk.  You’re turning into a serious cockblock, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turns to the guy he’s dangling a couple inches off the ground.  “Listen, pal, some solid advice: stop hiring hookers.  Or at the very least, card them first, huh?”

The guy nods agreeably, and when Tony lets him go, he only pauses to give the kid one miffed look before skedaddling away.

Once he’s gone, Tony lets the helmet retract so he can look at the kid directly.  “Didn’t we have a conversation about dumpsters?”

“There’s a little thing called ‘roleplay,’ Mr. Stark.  They may not have invented it yet in your day, but - “

Tony will not laugh.  Obviously the kid’s fine.  He puts the top up and takes off.

*

After that...well, okay, after that, Tony’s curious.  So he might have FRIDAY monitor for any signs of the kid’s activity in his neighborhood - the two incidents he saw were only blocks apart in Queens, stands to reason that’s his stomping grounds.

The boy’s not on the streets as often as he’d have assumed - probably not a street kid, then, whose only source of income is hooking.  Maybe an in-case-of-emergency-need deal.  Still, it’s weird then that he deals in mostly rough trade - every time FRI alerts him, the kid is getting choked or smacked, etcetera.  

He doesn’t usually intervene.  Either the kid is a hell of an actor or he’s usually pretty into it, which maybe explains who he caters to, even if he’s part time.

There does come a time, though, when the Baby Monitor goes off and Tony quickly realizes that the kid is in over his head.  He’s bruised to hell, for one, and Tony’s suiting up as soon as he sees the hand wrapped around the kid’s throat, which is squeezing.  Tony unfortunately knows what being manually strangled to death sounds like, and this is it.

It takes two minutes and fifteen seconds, which feels way too fucking long but when he arrives, the kid’s brain function is still intact.  Apparently this is less of a first degree murder situation and more of manslaughter-waiting-to-happen.  

Maybe not even that, because the kid easily shoves the other guy aside, and yells, “Okay, seriously, are you stalking me now? This can’t be a coincidence.”

Well, he wasn’t admitting that.  “No, dear.  It just seemed like a lovely night for breathplay, so naturally I assumed you’d be out and about.”

The other guy backs away slowly then flees, and the kid makes an exasperated noise, pointing after him.  “Is your new mission to give me blue balls?  Is that the actual best use of your vast resources?”

“My resources are vast enough to account for pet projects, yeah.”

“So you are watching me.”

“Hey look, Mysterious Skin, a death wish is overrated, trust me.  When it gets down to the wire, you’ll regret that you let it get that far.  Been there.”

The kid squints and clucks his tongue.  “Okay, I’m going to tell you a secret that you can’t share, but first you’re climbing out of that thing because my neck hurts.”

What the hell, Tony’s at least 30% intrigued. He’s done more for less.  The kid’s eyes widen a little when he sees what Tony’s wearing beneath the suit, which is to say a filthy tank top, a lot of engine grease, and sweatpants.  Sometimes when he’s in the lab, he skips underwear, sue him.

Tony lets the little moment of lust pass (he’s used to it), and then prompts.  “Do I have to pinky swear, or what?”

The kid eyes the suit.  “Your friend can tell there’s no one nearby, right?”

“The perimeter is clear. No witnesses with line of sight into the alley,” FRIDAY says through the speaker.  

“Thanks,” the kid says, and then just casually lifts a whole-ass dumpster over his head.

Tony’s jaw drops.

The kid sets the dumpster carefully down.  “See?  I’m fine. and if Mrs. Suit has the medical scanning capabilities that I know that she does, she can tell you my black eye is healing really fast.”

“It’s true, Boss, and quite remarkable,” Baby Girl chirps.

“Thanks, Mrs. Suit Lady,” the kid beams. 

“It’s FRIDAY.”

“Okay, everybody shut up,” Tony manages.  Mercifully, they do.  “First of all, what’s your name.”

The kid’s jaw clenches, and then he allows, “Peter.”

“Peter.  You’re the kid in the onesie.”

This abashed, the kid isn’t a superhero or a sex worker, he’s just a kid.  “I’m Spider-Man,” he corrects.

“Yeah, not until we upgrade you.  But that’s not relevant now.  You’re not homeless, right?”

“What? No!  I live with my Aunt.”

“Does she know that you hook on the side?”

“Yeah, see, I don’t know where you got this idea.  It’s actually kind of not cool of you, sir.  I just like sex. With men.”

Tony blinks.  Yeah, the kid never admitted he was hooking.  “In my defense, you have rough sex in an awful lot of alleys.”

Peter tucks his arms across his chest, defensive.  “It’s what I like!  And also, hello, I live with my aunt!”

“So you don’t need money.”

“We’re not you, but we do okay.”

“How old are you?”

Peter’s chin goes up a notch.  Stubborn, Tony likes it.  “Legal.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Not why I’m asking.  Seventeen?”

“Sure, which is legal.”

“Not to join the Avengers, it’s not.”

Now the kid’s eyes are saucers.  “Are you shitting me?”

Tony’s mouth quirks.  “No, I’m not shitting you.  We can’t even consider it until you’re eighteen, and there’s a process of sorts, but I’ve seen some of your work.  You belong on the team.  Regardless, we should get you a better suit ASAP.”

The kid grins, an interesting mix of earnest with a little dash of wicked.  He steps closer and takes Tony’s tank top in both fists  “Mr. Stark, are you propositioning me?”

Tony’s been seduced by the best, but it’s cute.  “Proposing to give you better crime fighting equipment, maybe.” 

The little shit bats his lashes. “So, not a sugar daddy.  A superhero sugar daddy.”

Okay, Tony can’t not smile.  “If you like.  Better than my actual title of ‘hey you, something broke, come fix it.’”

“Aww. I would appreciate you, sir.”

Tony smirks.  “I’m sure you would.”

“Although, right now you kind of owe me.”  

“Is that right?”

“Mmhmmm.  By my count, at least three orgasms.  But they don’t have to be mine.”

Well, shit.  “Tell me more about this ‘role play’ that you spoke of.”

Peter’s eyes fucking twinkle before he plasters himself to Tony’s front and speaks extra-breathily into his ear.  “You mean like I’m the poor desperate rent boy, and you’re the tech mogul cum superhero who sweeps in and saves me from the bad men?”

Fuck, Tony’s doing this, isn’t he?  “Something like that.”

“And I’m so grateful and so needy, and I can’t survive without you, so you take me home like a stray kitten and pet me just right.”  Aaaand there’s an underage hand in Tony’s pants. And he doesn’t care.  “Except you’re not quite as noble as pretend to be, right, sir?  So when I beg you to hurt me just right, you do that, too.”

“FRIDAY, Sentry Mode, please.  Keep all personnel and surveillance the hell out of here.”

Peter looks so pleased with himself, and so criminally young, but luckily for Tony, not actually criminal.  “Are we starting here, sir?  Rough sex in another alley?”

“Well.  I do have some making up to do.”

Peter grins, and folds to his knees.

[flamereign]

Holds his hand.

“ fuck —, “ the expletive slips from hislips unbidden after the umpteenth failed attempt at getting this damned portalto appear, his irritation and displeasure for once not directed at the other man in the room, but rather at the blankspace of wall in front of them.  it’s gotto be here, he’s sure of it; or at least even and ienzo’s calculations had made sure of it. lea’s no scientistlike them, would rather stab out his own eyeballs rather than pour over datafor hours on end, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid:  impulsive nature and short attention spanaside, he’s capable of drawing logical conclusions: it’s not working.  it didn’t work when he tried it on his own,and now neither does it work with the addition of someone else —- and whennot even his power combined with xemnas’  manages to get the desired results, there’seither something wrong with the data or …

well, there’sone thing he hasn’t tried yet, but it’s an option his mind more than balks at. no matter the fact they’vemanaged to negotiate, without words, a certain kind of ceasefire between them (his own bitter hostility boiled down to a mere distrustful wariness ) it doesn’tmean that their relationship is approaching anything regarded friendly.  lea doesn’t even want to go as far as to callxemnas an acquaintance, not when he can still barely tolerate the other man’spresence in the same room as his withoutwanting to lash out in some way or form.

yes, he didask for xemnas’ help ( or he had someone else do it, at least ) because this isabout more than just his own personal feelings and xemnas’ power would – or should’vebeen enough to get this done quickly, but fuck if he doesn’t hate it. hatehaving to swallow his pride, hate having to bite his tongue, hate having tograpple with this irrational fear and paranoia regarding the other when xemnaslooks like he’s barely affected at all. at least the previous time they spenttogether, he’d had something else than a bare piece of wall to concentrate on.

his jawworks, brows furrowed low. he briefly contemplates just trying for the same thingagain, or calling it quits ( perhaps he can ask someone else ), but there’s astubborn, prideful part of him that doesn’t want to let it go just yet. perhapsthe very same part that’s sick of playing into xemnas’ expectations of him —-the voice in the back of his mind whispering he might be projecting the hint ofsmugness he sees glinting in those orange hues from the corners of his own eyespromptly shoved down.

“ right, “his voice sounds terse, gritted out between his teeth. with a jerky motion, heholds out his palm. “ hold my hand. glove off first, “ skin on skin willconduct easier, much as he shivers at the prospect. his eyes raise, and thoughnot without difficulty, he meets xemnas’ flat, unimpressed gaze head on. “ it’llwork with a double power surge,” he swallows thickly, nostrils flaring, knowingthere had been a time where he wouldn’t even have dared — “ y’ said you’d help, so get to it. “

there’s abrief second stare-off and then, much to lea’s surprise, xemnas does as asked.his palm meets lea’s, broader fingers clasping around his outstretched hand.warm, lea thinks nonsensically. softer than expected somehow, and that’s not a train of thought he needsto go on now. he exhales slowly, tries not to think any further, tries not tofeel the slow beat of xemnas’ pulse beneath the tan skin of his wrist makingthis all the more distressingly real.  

“ okay, let’ssee if —- ow, son of a bitch! “ withoutsecond thought, his other hand slaps against the back of xemnas’ hand, fingerswrapping around it to pry the offending appendage away from his own. “ i saidhold it, not crush it, you asshole,stop, stop —, “ finally he wrenches his hand free, flexing it against thelingering pain of having his bones ground together. fire flashes behind greeneyes, teeth already bared in a snarl as he looks up once more, ready to givethe other a piece of mind when …

confusion. xemnas looks confused, the faintest hint of awrinkle between his brows —- he’s not even looking at lea, but rather attheir hands, fingers curling in and out once, twice, like he’s not quite surewhat happened. part of lea wants to believe he’s just play-acting, but all elseaside, in the time since he’s gotten to know this man ( no matter howreluctantly ) since the other got his own heart, he’s not known xemnas to beanything but completely and brutally honest.  both in his words as in his emotions, nomatter how muted they might appear. there’s no smirk, no smugness, not eventriumph or anger at having been ordered around —- merely a simple confusion.

his angerleaves him in a gust of air, shoulders slumping slightly. all that’s left isexhaustion: he just wants to get this over with. the pad of his thumb pressesagainst the swell of xemnas’ palm, his fingers squeezing the other’s handalmost gently even if his features are shuttered, the line of his lips is flatand straight. “ okay, how ‘bout I just hold your hand and you don’t do anythin’at all. no squeezing, no crushing, no pressure whatsoever, ‘cause this ain’tgonna work if my bones are ground to finepowder.  here, like this, “ hepresses their palms together again, curls the fingers of his other hand aroundxemnas’ fingers so they’re holding on with but the barest amount of grip. “ nomore than this. “

for a briefsecond, xemnas’ hand is pressed between both lea’s hands, the moment feelingstrangely solemn. then he drops one hand, palm feeling cold, slightlydamp.  he doesn’t like it, doesn’t likehow he can’t place how he’s feeling. better get this over with as fast aspossible. “ cast on three … “

[smoaking-greenarrow]

“Don’t kink shame me.”

Send me these smutty things!

Read on AO3.

“Felicity, I’m really sorry.”

“What’s the one rule of the bunker, Oliver?”

He pressed his lips together, “don’t touch your computers.”

“And now you’ve deleted half of my data,” she raised her arms out, glaring up at him as he took a break from his giant tire workout she would never understand the point of. Not that she would ever complain.

“It was an accident,” he defended weakly, hovering over her monitor. Oliver hesitated before speaking again, knowing that his next words would get him into even hotter water. “Felicity, let’s go home,” he suggested slowly, “we can deal with this in the morning.”

“We won’t be dealing with anything. If you’re done with your hammer, you can go home. I’m staying here to try to fix this mess.”

Oliver sighed, “come on, honey. I’m not going home without you.”

She shot him a look, her ponytail swinging as she turned her head to glare. “If you sit there with those puppy dog eyes and stare at me while I work all night…Oliver Queen, so help me God-”

He raised his hands in the air, surrendering before he made it worse. “Okay, okay. I was only trying to help, Felicity. I used to do some of this on my own before you came along, remember?”

He was doing a very bad job at calming her down, if the flash of annoyance on her face was any indication. He held his hand out to her, hating when she was angry and wanting some part of her to touch.

“I didn’t need help, Oliver,” she retorted, nudging his hand away just as his fingers grazed her shoulder.

“I thought I could handle it before you even got here and then, I mean, and then I thought we’d have more time for—just for other things tonight,” he stumbled over the words.

Felicity’s jaw tightened, “you broke my system because you were rushing so you could get laid tonight?”

His eyes widened. He hadn’t exactly been thinking about it in such blunt terms, but she wasn’t wrong. “I can reboot your system,” he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes with a huff, turning away from him, but he swore he saw the tiniest pull of a smile on her lips.

For the next hour, Oliver kept good on their agreement. He didn’t stare at her with any kind of puppy dog eyes. At least, not that he was aware of. Instead, he focused on working out while she fixed the computers.

But the disappointment was real, and he had to try very hard not to pout and ask her again if they could go home. He’d been daydreaming all day about a nice, relaxing few hours in bed with her. Followed by wrapping her up and watching her fall asleep until he drifted off himself to the gentle sounds of her snoring.

It’d never get old.

But that was before he screwed up her work. And now he was stuck taking out his disappointment on a tire. His mind was focused on his thoughts, letting his energy out as he picked the sledgehammer up and dropped it down, circling the tire and working different muscles with each angle.

It was one of his favorite exercises, introduced to him by Diggle. He liked it for a lot of reasons, one of which being that it didn’t take much thought. Lift the sledgehammer above your head, hit the tire with it as hard as you could.

What he didn’t know was that it was also one of Felicity’s favorite workouts. His head was somewhere else, expecting her to be ignoring him. And he didn’t realize that he was making her even more aggravated. But Felicity kept glancing over her shoulder at him, listening to his grunting and breathing and pounding as he slammed the hammer again and again.

Of course, he’d taken his shirt off. Of course he was sweating. Of course he was oblivious. And of course she couldn’t focus. Why he had to do that right behind her…she wasn’t sure.

If she didn’t know what a thick headed dummy he could be, she would have thought he was teasing her on purpose. But he didn’t even notice how distracting he was. Didn’t even have to try.

Damn him.

Eventually, as Oliver’s heavy panting filled the bunker and she could see him wiping sweat from his brow out of the corner of her eye, she turned around in her chair to look at him fully. He was up on the tire, and he glanced down at her, realizing that her attention was on him.

Felicity narrowed her eyes, watching as he licked the sweat from his lips, giving her a strange look. His chest was heaving, his mouth open as he inhaled and exhaled. Tiny, mouthwatering droplets rolled down his chest.

Damn. Him.

Oliver hesitated, wondering if he was forgiven yet or not, but Felicity didn’t say a word. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, her eyes roaming over his glistening muscles unabashedly.

Oliver watched the movement of her gaze vigilantly. Unsure what she was thinking, not wanting to piss her off further if he was projecting his own sexual frustration onto her, he cleared his throat. Then he turned his attention back to the set he was in the middle of. After ten more heavy swings, Oliver hopped down from the tire again. He could see Felicity watching him as he walked to the table where he left his towel, wiping the sweat from his face and neck.

Before he realized it, she was moving. Felicity plucked the towel out of his hand, and he glanced down at her, “what…”

She tossed it over her back, biting her lip as she eased herself up to sit on the table beside him. “Are you done?” She asked, lifting her chin towards the tire. Oliver swallowed, answering with a quick nod.

He’d like to think that he can read Felicity Smoak pretty well. And he definitely knew that look in her eye. “Good,” Felicity murmured, lifting her legs and letting her feet catch around his waist.

She smirked up at him, pulling him closer as he answered the expression with his own grin. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Felicity pursed her lips, shaking her head playfully. “I’d say you have a little more work to do here. A little more of that grunting and sweating, I think…to earn my forgiveness.”

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled, hooking his hands behind her knees and hauling her across the table unexpectedly, his cock twitching at the adorable shriek of surprise and the laughter that followed. “What kind of work needs to be done to appease you?”

“Mmm,” she sighed as he mumbled in her ear, pressing a kiss to her skin before he bit down on her earlobe. Felicity’s eyes rolled back, her arms coming up to wrap around him. His tongue soothed the spot just as his hands ventured up her thighs, slipping under her skirt to feel her smooth skin.

“Think you can squeeze in one more workout?” She asked breathlessly, her hips already rocking towards him. He nodded, letting his nose graze her cheek as he trailed kisses across every inch of expose skin he could reach.

Felicity pulled his head away from her jaw where Oliver was kissing, tipping his jaw and giving herself access to his neck, “oh my god, you’re so sweaty,” she groaned, licking her way across his throat.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

“No,” she mumbled, “don’t apologize.” She nipped at his collar bone before pressed her lips against his throat and sucking. Hard.

His breath caught in his throat, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, encouraging her keep going, to leave a mark. Oliver groaned as she gently scraped her teeth against the tender hickey, and Felicity let out a breathy giggle. “It’s strange how much you love that.”

Oliver shrugged, “maybe I just like the little reminders all over my body of what a freak my wife is in bed.”

She laughed; a tiny, surprised snort that never failed to turn him on. And then she rolled her eyes at him, so much sass and mischievous light in her expression. Another turn on.

Who the hell was he kidding? Basically everything about her turned him on.

Felicity shoved Oliver back and loosened her legs around him at the same time, letting him stumble enough that she could get down from the table. “Hey, where are you going?” he frowned, reaching for her again. She smiled into his kiss, but kept it brief, skimming her lips against his and humming as she traveled south.

Her mouth dragged down his chin and throat and over his chest; kissing, sucking, and biting a path. Then she leaned forward, gripping her fingers onto his abs and digging them in a little bit to scratch him. Oliver inhaled sharply at the pinch of her nails, glancing down to watch her as she reached his nipple.

All he could do was stare as she grazed her teeth over the tender flesh, leaving marks all over his chest.

By the time she was done, he was hard as a rock, unable to fight the tiny jerking motion of his hips, seeking friction that his cargo pants weren’t fulfilling. “Felicity…fuck me. Now.”

She grinned up at him as if the words were all she wanted to hear.

But she still teased him.

Felicity stepped back, cocking her head to the side as she analyzed him. “I don’t know…are you sure you don’t want any more reminders of what a freak your wife is in bed?”

He grinned; a gorgeous, cocky, goofy grin that was only possible with this woman. With the playfulness they shared. The comfort they had together. “if you’re offering to suck on something…” he gestured down to his pants, making her giggle some more.

“Hickeys on your penis? That’s kinky, even for you, Queen.”

Oliver just smirked wider, “don’t kink shame me, Smoak.”

Stepping closer again, Felicity lifted herself onto her toes, “I would never,” she whispered, trailing her tongue along his jaw and up to his ear. She nibbled at the sensitive patch of skin just below his ear. Hiking her skirt up to her waist, she wrapped one of her legs around one of his, bumping against him and using him to find her own pleasure. Oliver huffed, a raspy, delicious “Felicity, oh my god,” falling from his lips as his hands tightened on her waist.

She hummed, feeling how hard he was through his pants. The sexiest kind of confidence took over as her husband turned to putty in her hands. “Yes, Oliver,” she groaned back, grinding her hips against his, taking friction she needed as she ground down on his covered erection.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his touch and his response to her was all-consuming, making her shudder with arousal. She sucked harder on his neck, hearing him grunt.

Oliver’s palms spread out over her ass, gripping her cheeks roughly in each hand. He bent down slightly, angling himself so he could thrust towards her, pumping his hips to meet hers.

Felicity cried out, his cock rubbing against her as she felt his fingers grip her even tighter, moving her body where he needed it so he could find the angle he wanted. And she needed the exact same sensation, reveling in the wicked bruises she could feel his fingers squeezing onto her ass.

Reaching up, Felicity pulled his face down to hers, sucking at his upper lip. Her tongue slipped out, and she ran it across his lip, moaning with the wonderfully salty taste.

When he pulled back slightly, she followed instinctively, her leg tightening to keep him where he was. But Oliver looked down at her, his eyes soft as he smiled.

And she held her breath, wondering if her heart would ever stop flipping around in her chest when he looked at her like that. “I know what you’re doing,” he told her, his voice thick with need.

She blinked, “I’m trying to fuck my husband. Why are you stopping me?”

“You like the hickeys as much as I do.”

“Hm?” She mused, her eyes falling to his chest, to the glorious marks that she’d left.

“Because I’m sweaty,” he continued, reaching between them and shoving her underwear to the side. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how horny you get every time I come home from a run.”

She shivered, her eyes slipping shut as his cock rubbing against her, causing a wet spot on his pants with her arousal, she was sure.

Of course, Oliver didn’t seem to care one bit. “Admit it, Felicity,” he teased, “you like me sweaty.”

Felicity didn’t respond, distracted when he reached between them, this time to push his own pants down.

When he stepped back towards her again, the length of him pushed between her folds, wetting his cock as he slipped in her arousal. He bit back a grunt, waiting for her answer and rubbing the head of his erection against her clit.

“Oh my god,” she moaned loudly like music to his ears. “Inside, Oliver. Inside me,” her voice was tense and needy, but he stopped her hand when she tried to grip him, to guide him into her.

Seeing her frown up at him, Oliver raised an eyebrow at her, kissing the insatiable little pout of her mouth.

“I like you sweaty,” she rolled her eyes, confirming the obvious. Felicity ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. “Don’t kink shame me,” she repeated his words with a sexy little smirk. “Just fuck me.”

[isananna]

Posted Anonymously

Got this title from a title game from @suddenclarityharry and got inspired to write it. So here I am, three days later, with a Chris Evans fic on my hands. I may or may not work on more stuff in this AU. Who knows but I enjoyed writing this a lot!

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female OC

Word Count: 4785

Synopsis: She had no idea the amazing new guy friend in her life was the hot, popular, easygoing colleague everyone had a thing for. Until she did and it killed her to think that if he ever found out, it’d ruin their more-than-just-friendship friendship. Office AU

Tagging @suddenclarityharry @aeliad @klausgoldsteins @iwillpooponthefloor

Bailey stared at the man in front of her, his eyes sparkling and his mouth set into the widest, most charming smile she’d ever seen. No, she had to stay strong and not give in. It’s not like she was his personal analyst and could waltz right on over to her office (high walled cubicle that gave some modicum of privacy if she ever had short, not quite formal meetings with a colleague or a subordinate) and ask her for a favor. Except everyone was just a little weak to one Christopher Robert Evans, man or woman, and he knew how to play that fact very well. It was mostly innocent (if calling favors and giving his target the biggest, most endearing and soulful puppy dog eyes could be considered innocent) and it was for work. But still, she had to be strong but she could already feel her resolve crumbling.

“Come on, please? I’ll owe you one! My boss just sent over some last minute requests and my presentation is tomorrow.” He smiled even wider, like he was trying to highlight the beard he’d been growing recently.

Fuck him and fuck the beard that made him even better looking than he already was. It should have been a crime for anyone to be so damnably gorgeous and having the clearest baby blues she’d ever laid her eyes on that made her heart squeeze just a little bit tighter whenever he was in such close proximity.

“You already owe me a lot, Chris.” Bailey sighed, rubbing her temples. She already had a lot to do, what with one of her juniors out sick for the week and she had to pick up his work. Everyone else on her team was either fully booked or too new to take on the extra, albeit temporary, load.

“Please, Bails?”

There it was. She could feel the crack growing. She didn’t interact with him much outside of work, having different friend groups and working in different departments and all but she knew for a fact that he didn’t have nicknames for everyone he worked with, but somehow she wound up with one. Maybe because they both started in the company at the same time, her as a newbie and him as a hot shot marketing manager who transferred over because the hours and the pay were better. Everyone knew, of course, about the rockstar employee the company snagged when they joined almost ten years ago, and for some bizarre reason, they’d been joined at the hip for work projects ever since.

“I’m only staying at the office until seven. Whatever I have finished I’ll send. I trust you can handle the rest?” She looked up at him, eyes weary, then back down to his knees which was barely just a handbreadth away from her knuckles, Chris having chosen to sit halfway on her desk, leg dangling, as he leaned against her cubicle wall but more heavily on the foot planted on the ground.

“You’re the best, Bails!” His face brightened considerably as he pushed off his standing leg. “It’s not a lot but it’d be great if you could sort out and clean up the additional data tables. I could have done it myself but I’m still not done with the presentation deck.”

“Mmmm.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, glancing sideways, only to catch him popping open his collar and letting his clavicle tattoo peek just a little bit. It was after hours anyway. No need to be all buttoned and suited up. “You have me for only an hour and a half.”

“Getting to it!” He grinned, rolling up his sleeves before walking away, soles of his leather shoes tapping smartly against the floor.

It was only when she didn’t hear his footsteps anymore that Bailey finally let out the breath she’d been holding the entire time. How was she supposed to know that the funny, interesting guy she met online on a restaurant review site, of all places, was her hot, popular, and easygoing officemate? It killed her to know that she was the only one who knew the truth about their… relationship, but how exactly was she going to ‘fess up to one Christopher Robert Evans that one Bailey Alexander Jones was the online friend whose taste in food was the only one he trusted? Other than his own of course.

It all started on an unusually free Sunday afternoon. She was looking at reviews for pet friendly restaurants, to widen her options, and each time she tapped on a restaurant’s profile and read through the reviews, there was always one user that caught her attention. The reviews he left that were detailed and full of all the reasons why he loved the place. Or if he didn’t like the place, his reviews were never terrible, but always worded well so that the owners could use it as suggestions for room for improvement. His profile picture certainly helped matters along too. It was his arm wrapped around the neck of his brown and white mixed breed (a rescue, according to his bio which made him all the more precious in her eyes). No face, just the arm of a man (who clearly went to the gym and took care of himself by the looks of things) and his dog, with the top buttons of his shirt open, offering a peek to his clavicle tattoo and on a whim she messaged him. With absolutely no ulterior motives (which was a flat out lie when she looked back on it, even before she found out it was Chris Evans she’d suddenly become friends with).

It was how she knew.

. . . .

Hey. Sorry, I meant to get back to you on that new bakery with stuff for dogs too but swamped with work. Big presentation tomorrow. Felt bad asking one of my officemates to overtime and help out a little.

Bailey stared at her phone. She was finally at home, seated on her couch and in clean clothes and warm skin after her bath, knees pulled up against her chest as she read the message for the umpteenth time. Chris didn’t realize he had both her work number and her personal number, so he couldn't put two and two together, but she did. And she felt terrible for keeping up the facade but how exactly was she going to bring this up? It’s not like she could just blurt it out, but it’s not like she was hiding some big secret. And wasn’t there some sort of office fraternization rules in the employee handbook? She really didn’t want to lose her job and she didn’t think that he would want to move to a different company either, if their ten year tenure was anything to go by.

It’s fine. Was a bit busy myself today. One of my teammates got sick and no one else could pick up the slack so I had to do it, on top of my own work.

She swallowed thickly. She didn’t mean for him to feel bad, or to fish for some kind words, but he was so easy to talk to on the phone. He was kind, considerate, sent her stupid dad jokes and pictures of his dog (Dodger she later found out after countless hours of messaging). Even if it was just an online relationship, she couldn’t help but feel the palpable attraction. He was the first, and the last, person she texted every day. She replied in turn with goofy pictures of her dogs, a beagle named Rocco and a corgi named Duke, they constantly messaged each other and talked about anything and everything and the only thing missing was that they actually meet up.

Oh? Sorry to hear. Hope your teammate gets better, for your sake too. Don’t want you to burn out or anything.

Bailey smiled, falling sideways into her couch, her dogs jumping onto the empty cushion above her head and making themselves comfortable.

Yeah, me too. He said he was fine today but I told him to stay home and take an extra day, just to be safe. Don’t want him relapsing. He’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll just be my usual busy self, instead of extremely busy.

She closed her eyes and pressed her phone to her chest. What she wouldn’t give to make this awkwardness go away. She desperately wanted to tell him. Every time she saw Chris at work and there was someone just a little bit too close to him, she wanted to tell them he was hers. Which was pathetic, because she didn’t think that falling in love would make her that girl, the territorial and possessive one but apparently that was what was happening. And the fact that she was even admitting to herself that she was in love with the man sounded strange in her ears and gave her some weird combination of a heady buzz and a headache. Her eyes opened halfway when she felt her phone vibrate.

Well, I’ve got to go home now. Still at the office but there’s nothing more I can do now except crack open a cold one, shower, and go to bed. Talk to you tomorrow after my meeting. Wish me luck!

She looked at the clock. It was ten but she knew his commute home wasn’t going to be too long. He lived just a couple of stops after hers and she only had a thirty minute train ride to work.

Night, you. Good luck tomorrow. Hope your presentation goes well.

It didn’t take him long to reply.

Night, you. Thanks for keeping me company, electronically anyway, while I worked!

Her eyes zoned in on the emoji he put at the end, the kissy face one. It was things like this that made her heart beat faster than it should, and why she was falling further and further in love with him, all sweet and kind and reliant on her.

. . . .

His presentation did go well, she knew both from his exuberant, but tired, face when he dropped by her cubicle  during lunch, slumping in the chair beside her desk with a couple of takeout boxes in hand as payment for her overtime. Although really, she knew more than an hour ago because the minute he was finished with his meeting, he texted her with a host of party popper emojis, and ended with his usual kissy face.

. . . .

She was thankful for the rare weekend off. Now was one of them, when marketing was starting to slow down because they’d done all the prep work for the upcoming busy Thanksgiving and holiday sales. Those were always done well in advance so they could put up quality campaigns. Sure they were still busy, but markedly less so, which meant she didn’t see Chris as often, which also meant she could ignore her bubbling feelings at work.

Have you eaten at the new European dessert place in Newton? I heard their ile flottante and their cannolis are to die for.

Bailey smiled, amused. Of course she did. She lived about a ten minute walk away from it and she couldn’t wait to sample their other dishes.

Yup! It’s near my place. I can walk there.

When she realized what she sent, Bailey’s eyes widened and she dropped her phone on top of her kitchen table. She did not just tell him the general area where she lived. No. He might interpret that as an open invitation to finally met up!

Oh you live in Newton? Me too, but not near Beurre et Sucre. Maybe you’d like to go together some time?

. . . .

Bailey shot down any of Chris’s attempts at trying to strike a conversation after that awkward exchange. She didn’t ignore him completely, but she did always reply with short messages or late, saying she was just so busy at work she couldn’t find the time. She felt guilty because he didn’t do anything wrong, but she just wasn’t prepared to face the music. What if he were furious at her for keeping everything a secret? Maybe if she let things cool that everything would blow over? She wasn’t planning on ignoring him for long, just for the next week or so. That seemed like a realistic enough time to be super busy at work. There was a stretch of a few days, soon after they started texting each other constantly, that she all but ignored him, when work just kept piling up on her desk.

. . . .

Hey. I know you’re busy but I hope things are going to look up soon. They should! It’s been almost two weeks and I miss talking with you.

Bailey’s brain conveniently ignored the ‘talking with’ in between the ‘miss’ and the ‘you.’

. . . .

I’m in your side of Newton. Want to grab a cup of coffee over at Beans and Bones while I’m in the area? Dodger’s with me.

Shit. She stared wide eyed at the message on her phone. She blinked a few times and even rubbed her eyes for good measure, to make sure she wasn’t misreading it. But there it was, plain as day. He was asking her out for coffee, strangely enough her neighborhood coffee place, a nice public space that never got too crowded but was never completely empty either. Nice and safe and obvious.

Ah but no pressure! Sorry, didn’t stop to think if you were going to be busy later.

She stared at her phone again, looking at the timestamps. He was really nervous, sending a barrage of messages. The three blinking dots at the bottom of the screen told her he was typing, then it stopped (he probably erased it) before starting up again, then stopping once more. Rinse and repeat.

Hey you there? Sorry I sprung it up on you. I just… I found myself here and was hoping you were home too? Shit. Was I moving too quickly? Oh God. Sorry. Forget it. Never mind. Turning back. I hope I didn’t scare you off. I just really wanted to meet you, I guess.

Her heart started to beat wildly as she fumbled with her phone, sitting up straight from her bed, never mind the wave of dizziness from suddenly shifting positions.

Hey um, yeah. I’m free! Sorry, I was just doing something. Didn’t get a chance to reply to your messages until now. I can be there in thirty minutes?

What the hell was she doing. She wasn’t only going to potentially ruin her friendship with him but she was risking a hell of a lot by doing this.

Great! I’ll see you then. I’m wearing a black leather jacket, navy shirt, and jeans.

She groaned. Of course he’d be wearing a black leather jacket. That’s just the vibe he gave when they were at work. That he was the hot, popular, easygoing one just everyone gravitated to. Not that she was quiet and shy by any stretch of the imagination, no, but they just hung out in different circles and had different friends and just always seemed to be at each other’s periphery if they weren’t talking shop. Usually, the only times they really ever spoke to each other at work, outside of project meetings, was when he sidled on over to her desk and blinked his damnably gorgeous baby blues to ask her for a quick favor and if she could pull up some data for him and prepare it for a presentation deck he had to finish. And somehow, even if she was busy, she managed to keep a straight face and nod, saying she’d have it done before the day was out and he’d smile that infuriatingly gorgeous smile, give her a wink, and walk away.

Leather jacket too, jeans, white button down, and rose gold Air Force Ones.

She fell back into bed, covering her face with her hands.

What on earth was she doing?

. . . .

Bailey gripped Duke’s and Rocco’s leashes tighter when she made her way to Beans and Bones. It was her favorite coffee spot, both because they made the best pick me ups after her weekend jogs and she could bring her dogs inside. Right now, she was hoping their food and coffee would be enough to help fix the inevitable breaking of her heart. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and walked inside, her dogs trailing happily behind her as she looked around for Chris.

He was at the corner booth, on the side facing the door, with his brow slightly furrowed, book in one hand, the other scratching the back of his dog’s ear. Dodger’s tail was thumping happily on the wood floor, mouth open and tongue wagging as he stared up at Chris. Just as she was about to take a step, his head lifted and his eyes caught hers. Her heart nearly stopped and she couldn’t look away from his magnetic blue eyes. He’d seen her, and by the appraising look on his face, he pieced everything together. There was no going back now. The only thing she could do was walk up to him with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Hey um.” She tucked her hair back behind her ears nervously, fidgeting as she clenched and unclenched her fist around the leashes. It’s not like she’d never been in close proximity with him before, but this was different. This was outside of work, in her favorite coffee spot, with their dogs.

“Why don’t you get something first?” Chris smiled kindly, leaning forward and reaching for Duke’s and Rocco’s leashes. “I’ll keep an eye on those two while you’re at the counter.”

“O-okay.” She let her grip go, wondering if he felt the static too when his fingers brushed her hand.

The trip to order her food and drink was quick and Bailey found herself back at the booth not even five minutes later. When she reached out to get her dog’s leashes, Chris only gripped them tighter and propped his elbow on the table, book discarded, as he grinned.

“Oh no. I’m keeping Duke and Rocco hostage for the afternoon while we sort everything out, Miss Jones.”

She hoped she managed to sufficiently suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at his words.

“I um.” She looked down at the table. What could she say? He obviously wasn’t angry. Surprised, but not angry. In fact, surprise easily gave way to a look that was equal parts amused and victorious.

“I had a feeling it was you.”

Her head snapped up as she stared at him. She wasn’t expecting the look on his face, something soft and tender and relief and happiness.

“W-what? H-how?”

“Lots of little things really.” Chris tapped his clavicle. “I pay a lot more attention to you than you think.”

Bailey opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the arrival of her coffee and blintz with strawberry compote. She mumbled a quick thanks before wrapping her suddenly too cold and shaking hands around her mug, hoping the warmth would help. She felt her ears grow hot when she heard him laugh, deep and warm and rich.

“From the way you reply too. I also live a couple of stations away from you and we’ve ridden the same train a few times. I get in earlier and get off later than you if we’re commuting the same time so I kind of figured you lived in the area. Imagine my surprise you told me you did, in fact, live in Newton.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it from you that I knew it was you.”

Chris shook his head good-naturedly, covering one of her hands with his own.

“Don’t be. I understand why you’d freak out about it.” His thumb was absently stroking the back of her hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do to calm her down. The dogs were sorting themselves under the table, trying to find a way to settle themselves in between table and human legs. “How long have you known?”

“Couple of months maybe?” She squeaked. The skin he was touching felt like it was on fire. “It was late, we were all working overtime to finish that presentation, and you ended up pulling off your tie popping open top buttons of your shirt at some point. I saw your tattoo when I looked over towards your general direction. It’s pretty distinct and it’s hard not to put two and two together.”

“Just my general direction? Not me?” He teased, eyes warm. He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“You’re too full of yourself sometimes,” Bailey mumbled, averting her gaze but not doing anything to shake off his hand.

Chris laughed, tilting his head back, the hand with the leashes reaching up and pressing against his chest. The dogs scrambled beneath them, three furry faces staring at him like he was going to bring them out for a walk.

The rest of the afternoon passed by pleasantly, nerves on both their parts starting to fade. As it turned out, Chris admitted he was panicking after she didn’t reply to his text about going to Beurre et Sucre, and again (clearly) after he invited her out for coffee.

. . . .

“What would you have done if I said I couldn’t make it today?” Bailey took her dogs’ leashes firmly this time, her nails grazing his broad, calloused palm. She wondered why they were rough, like he spent years doing some sort of manual labor.

“Hate myself for scaring you away?” He shrugged, smiling a little carelessly. “To be honest I really didn’t think about it. I just had to know. My days were getting pretty boring without you and your witty remarks.”

“I have to admit I missed your stupid jokes.” She let herself smile a little too, falling in step with him as they started to walk towards her apartment building. He said he’d drop her off then make his way to the station and back to his place, then see her on Monday at work.

“You like them, admit it!” He grinned, blue eyes sparkling, as he tilted his head downwards to face her properly.

“Some of them were well timed. Shitty day because a certain someone dumped more work on me when I could have been home and lounging in a bubble bath!” she shot back playfully. It was nice, whatever this was between them. Certainly more than just a plain old friendship but she’d be lying if she thought that it was anything more than that.

Chris’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and his eyes shone with an almost wicked gleam at her last words.

“Pervert!” Bailey shoved his shoulder, face bright and burning, as she turned away, her dogs gleefully sniffing about as they led them home.

“Hey now none of that. Healthy adult male right here!” He laughed, wrapping his free arm around her shoulder and pulling her in.

Bailey snorted but let him drag her along to his pace just the same.

Their banter continued until they reached the stoop of her building, his arm around her the entire time like she’d up and disappear if his grasp wasn’t secure around her.

“Well, this is me.” She gently pried herself away from his side, a little disappointed at the sudden lack of warmth but there really wasn’t any reason for him to keep holding her anymore. Not that there was any during their walk but she just couldn’t bring herself to peel away from him. Whether it was because she just couldn’t find the timing or she actually liked the weight of his arm around her, the smell of his crisp, ocean cologne invading her nostrils, or the added warmth on a cool day, she didn’t know.

(Oh but she did, she absolutely did.)

“Um, see you on Monday?” She rocked back and forth on her feet, nervous again.

“Seems too far away.”

“Huh? What do you mean? Monday’s in a couple of days.”

With his free hand, he reached out and lifted her chin, leaning his head down as he kissed her. Bailey’s eyes widened and her hands instinctively pressed against his chest.

“Shit. Sorry, did I read that wrong? I was so sure…” He pulled away, apologetic, head down like an abandoned puppy. Even Dodger could read his body language, the dog wedging himself in the space between his legs.

Bailey’s fingers rested on her mouth, touching and pressing her slightly swollen lips like she couldn’t believe what just happened. She could not, in fact, believe what just happened and her mind was whirling.

“Bails?”

Her heart ached at how worried and flustered he sounded, like he’d just ruined everything he managed to fix earlier this afternoon.

“You, um. You like me?” she squeaked, looking down, hair falling and covering her face. She was sure her face was steaming.

Chris’s shoulders relaxed as relief spread through him. She sounded like she was amazed that he could even think of her that way.

“Yeah. You’re pretty cute and adorable, huh?” He tugged Dodger away, the dog dutifully following, as he closed the gap between them and pulled her flush against him with his free arm. He bent down and kissed the top of her head before resting his chin on it. “Yeah, I do. I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“I’ve been told I’m bad at reading things like that,” she mumbled into his shirt, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“Well then. Let me spell it out for you, Bailey Alexander Jones. I like you. Would you go out with me?” he murmured into her hair, the arm around her squeezing tight like he’d never let her go unless she said yes.

She looked up at him, chin against him now, staring into his endlessly blue eyes and the warmth on his face. She tiptoed to close the space between their faces, eyes falling shut as she kissed him back, his hold on her tightening to support her weight.

. . . .

“Please? I’ll finish faster if you help.” Chris bat his eyelashes shamelessly as he leaned forward, elbow propped on her desk, hand cradling his cheek.

“Excuse me but I have my own work to do.”

“I’ll take you out to dinner!”

Bailey’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. Was he really going to use that as a bribe?

“You’ll take me out to dinner anyway.”

Chris laughed, picking up his notebook as he leaned back.

“Was worth a shot anyway. Would have been nice to work together again.”

The first thing they did that Monday was to go to HR and tell them about their relationship. It wouldn’t do to both be assigned on the same projects, conflict of interest after all, and HR was more than amenable to finding a solution for them. They were in different departments to begin with and had proven themselves more than professional that the company was willing to work around their relationship. They weren’t the first set of officemates to find themselves dating and they certainly weren’t going to be the last.

“Go ask the data analysts actually assigned to your team. I’m sure they’re more than capable of handling your requests.”

“Fine. Spoilsport.” He stuck his tongue out childishly.

“Chris…” Bailey sighed, twisting in her seat until she faced him. You know wh—mmf!”

He cut her off with a kiss. She let herself be led along for just a moment until she remembered where they were.

“We’re at work!” she hissed, glaring at him.

“I know but your cubicle wall is pretty high! No one saw us.” He grinned, all cheek and mischief.

“Just… go back to your own desk. We both have work to do and I’d like to actually go out for dinner and not eat takeout.”

He leaned forward and kissed Bailey on her hairline, dodging a swipe from his girlfriend. His skin warmed at the thought.

“I’m going, I’m going!” He stood up, holding his notebook in one hand and pocketing the other. “I should be done at six. That good for you?”

Bailey glanced at her to do list, just three more relatively easy, but a little time consuming, tasks left.

“If you let me get back to work it should be.”

He laughed, nodding, turning on his heel to leave her alone. But not before winking and a whisper of ‘see you later, sweetheart’ right by her ear.

Bailey groaned and slid slightly down her chair.

He was equally as infuriating as he was adorable and that made things all the more challenging. Not that she would change it for the world.

[letmeletmetrashyourlove]

Moved On

(Gif credit: allywantstofly)

Summary: After being rejected by her childhood crush, Steve Harrington, the reader looks for comfort in Billy Hargrove. 

It had been two months since Nancy and Steve broke up. And only a month since he stopped coming over to my house a couple times a week sobbing about her. Nancy… it was a shitty breakup. She led him on, told him she loved him, and then cheated on him. He was busted up, he was arranging his future around staying with her.

I always had feelings for Steve. The two of us grew up together, he was the neighbor across the street from me. He was my first kiss… when we were six years old. He lost his favorite tonka truck and when I found it for him, he planted a big ol’ kiss right on my lips.

We were attached at the hip throughout middle school, always doing our homework together, going to each other's games and recitals. He and Nancy broke up, and I determined it was time to make my move.

I strolled into the library, my heart thumping so loud I swore I could hear it. I made my way to the back table, where we normally sat for study hall. He glanced up at me, one pencil between his teeth and another tucked behind his ear.

        “Hath you sthartted the scienth homork yeth?”

        “What?”

He spit out the pencil,

        “Have you started the science homework yet?” He clarified, pointing to his paper.

        “Uh, no. Not yet.”

        “We have to plot all this data.” He grumbled, going back to marking points on a graph.

He looked adorable with his brows furrowed in concentration, bringing his pencil back between his teeth.

        “I uh…” I sputtered, “Steve.”

I sat down beside him, he glanced up at me,

        “I… Uh… Can I talk to you about something?”

        “Yeah. Yeah… Of course.” He uttered through the pencil.

        “Steve… I… I really… really like you. And I have for years. And I can’t keep pretending to.”

He dropped the pencil from his teeth once again, his mouth falling open like he was about to say something.

        “Y/N…” He sighed, his expression unreadable.

        “I can’t… I don’t… I don’t…. It’s just that… I’m still… Nancy…” He babbled.

        “Oh... Okay… I… uh. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.” I stammered, collecting my books and shoving them into my backpack.

        “Y/N! Wait!” Steve called after me as I tore out of the library, tears running down my face.

My heart sank into my stomach, making me feel like I was going to vomit. I had just completely ruined a lifelong friendship because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut.

        “Do I need to punch somebody?” Billy asked, catching my arm as I tried to run past him.

“It’s stupid… Nothing” I sniffled, wiping tears from my eyes and trying to pull myself from his grip. He kept a firm hold on me,

        “Obviously it’s not nothing, princess.” He murmured.

        “Yeah… No… It’s… I mean it’s something. But I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Billy Hargrove was an unlikely friend. Especially being the best friend and neighbor of Steve Harrington. Billy and I got paired up for an English project when he first arrived in Hawkins. I went over to his place to work on it.

Moments after arriving, his father stormed in, drunk and angry. He yanked Billy up off the couch and slammed him against the wall, interrogating him about having a girl in the house.

Since then, I’ve found myself being rather protective of the boy. I always checked in with him at least once a day, invited him over for dinners when he needed to get away.

Steve was never happy about it, reminding me what Billy had done to him that night at the Byers’ house. But I knew that Billy wasn’t looking at Steve when he beat the crap out of him. No. Billy was looking at his father. Imagining his father’s face being pummeled. I refused to talk to him for two weeks until he came over with a broken nose.

He had become protective of me as well. He nearly broke the arm of some kid that cornered me at a party and was trying to feel me up.

        “Alright, come on.” Billy sighed, moving his grip from my upper arm and to my hand as he dragged me out to his car. I climbed into the passenger side, fastening my seatbelt.

I already knew where he was taking me. Bob’s Diner. It’s where we always went when one of us was down. After the owner’s suicide, the place rarely had any customers. I wasn’t sure how it stayed open, but I was glad it did.

He didn’t say a word as we drove across town to the diner. After parking the car, he ran around to my side of the car, opening the door for me. Billy escorted me in, sliding into the booth beside me and throwing his arm around my shoulder.

        “Tell me your troubles.” He sighed, giving me a reassuring pat on the arm.

        “It’s Steve.” I murmured, looking at my lap.

        “Steve is always trouble.” He scoffed.

        “Shoosh.” I scolded, “Yeah… I mean we’ve always been close… and I thought maybe after Nancy… You know he was so broken up… and I was there for him and I thought maybe… I don’t know.” I exhaled, grabbing a menu.

I didn’t need the menu. I ordered the same thing every time I came, but I just needed something else to focus on for the time being. I read the page, but none of the words stuck in my head.  

Billy didn’t respond, but I could tell he was biting his tongue to avoid saying anything negative about Nancy or Steve. The waitress came around, noticed it was us and jotted down our usual order on her notepad before delivering it to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with two milkshakes, one strawberry, and one chocolate.

        “Which I know is stupid, right? Like… I don’t know… We’ve been friends since we were diapers. If he felt the same way he would’ve made a move by know.” I stammered, catching the straw of my milkshake between my lips.

        “He’s a fucking idiot if he doesn’t wanna be with you.” Billy insulted, plucking the cherry from his milkshake and popping it in his mouth.

I rolled my eyes at him as he stuck his tongue out, revealing he had tied the stem into a knot. Usually, it would make me giggle, but I wasn’t in the mood today.

        “Seriously.” He told me, “You’re hot as hell, the smartest friend I have.”

        “Well, that’s setting a low bar, Hargrove,” I smirked, thinking of all the other useless hunks that were on the basketball team.

        “Come on, I’m trying to be nice… That’s what you tell me I should do… Be nice.”

        “Okay, shower me with compliments then.” I giggled, resting my chin on the palm of my hand.

        “You’re too nice for your own good.” He began, holding up his fingers to count how many compliments he was going to give me, “You always smell really nice, you actually give a shit about things and people. You actually know what the hell you’re doing with your life. You’re actually super fun even though you care too much about school.”

        “Okay, okay. Stop it.” I laughed, my cheeks burning. I covered my face with my hands.

        “You don’t need Harrington, okay? You’ve got so much going for you.” He reassured.

        “You’ve got a lot going for you too, Hargrove.” I grinned up at him.

        “Oh, like what?” He chortled.

        “Hmm… You’ve got a nice car… And your hair is…. Phenomenal. Muscles, wow.” I taunted, squeezing his bicep, “And you aren’t an asshole all the time… Only like… 95 percent of the time.”

He bumped his shoulders into mine playfully, wrapping his arm around me tighter so I was in a gentle headlock.

        “You know what I said about you being nice? I take it back.” He sassed, letting me go.

I let out a sigh, looking up at the boy. He had his trademark smirk plastered on his face.

        “You know you’re really important to me, right?” I told him.

His face went beet red. It was unusual that Billy got flustered. He didn’t get enough compliments. He wasn’t often enough told that he mattered, that someone cares about him.

I placed my hand on his chest, giving him a pat. I could tell he was about to say something degrading about himself. He interrupted himself, staring down at me. I realized how close we were sitting, his arm locked around my shoulder.

        “Can I kiss you?” He murmured, his face mere inches from mine.

I drew my lip between my teeth, nodding. He used his thumb to pull my lip from my teeth before leaning in to kiss me.

ONE MONTH LATER

I started to step away from Billy’s car, but he seized me by the wrist and tugged me back toward him.

        “See you later.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to my lips. Billy wasn’t one to give me a peck. He went all in every time, running his tongue along my lower lip. No matter how many times he did it, it still made me blush.

I waved goodbye to him as I made my way into class. I scanned the room for a seat to see that the only unoccupied spot was beside Steve. He and I hadn’t spoken since I told him how I felt about him. Not because we didn’t want to, but because we didn’t know what to say.

        “Hey.” He whispered, granting me a bleak smile.

        “Hi.” I returned, not looking him in the eyes as I dug out my notebook.

        “So, uh… You and Billy.” He murmured.

        “Yeah,” I acknowledged.

        “When did that happen?”

        “A month ago,” I told him.

He nodded, directing his attention back to the teacher. 

THREE MONTHS LATER

Billy had me trapped in the corner of the room, the rest of the party roaring behind us. His hands were on my waist as he kissed me, the taste of beer on his tongue. His lips trailed down my jaw and to my neck, his hair tickling my skin and making me giggle. His hands traveled from my waistline and into my back pockets.

        “Billy!” I blushed, catching his cheeks and tearing him away to look at me.

        “What, angel? Nobody’s watching.” He smirked.

Well, somebody was watching. And that somebody was Steve Harrington. He stormed over to Billy, snatching him by the shoulder and yanking him away from me.

        “What the hell, Steve!?” I hollered, all the eyes of the party suddenly were on us.

        “What are you doing with this asshole!?” He interrogated, his words slurring. He was drunk.

        “Steve, Billy is my boyfriend.” I reminded.

        “He still doesn’t get to put his hands all over you like that. Not in public!”

        “Are you jealous, Harrington?” Billy questioned, tucking me under his arm and stepping in front of me protectively. I grabbed onto his bicep, a warning to not push his limits.

        “No, I’m not jealous.” Steve retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

        “Then what the hell is your problem?” Billy chuckled, stepping towards him.

        “She’s my best friend! And you’re just… all over her. Okay, she deserves a gentleman, not a fucking…”  He trailed off, incapable to come up with a strong insult in the state he was in.

        “You gonna finish that sentence, Harrington?” Billy growled.

I increased my grip on him, pulling him back toward me.

        “Steve. You need to go home. You’re drunk.” I advised him, placing myself between the two boys.

        “I’m fine.” He insisted, “Okay, you’re… You’re the one who needs to go home… Get away from him.”

        “Steve. He’s my boyfriend.” I reiterated.

        “No. No. No… No. I should be your boyfriend.” He slurred.

        “What the hell did you just say?” Billy snarled.

I shot him a glance over my shoulder, telling him not to move another muscle.

        “Steve. I told you I liked you months ago and you rejected me.” I reminded.

        “Yeah. And I was a fucking idiot to reject you.” He blurted, “Because you’re sweet and smart and caring and kind and you deserve so much better than a dickhead like him.”

        "Dickhead!?” Billy roared, straining against the hold I had on his jacket.

        “Steve. I moved on, okay? You can’t expect me to wait around forever.”

        “You… After you told me… you moved on right away! I didn’t even have time to think about it!” He argued.

        “Steve! I had been waiting for ten years!” I exclaimed.

His face went green as he brought his hand up to his mouth. He jumped for the trash can, throwing up into the bin. I peered up at Billy who was still on edge, his chest puffed out and muscles tense.

        “Shows over, dickheads!” Billy shouted over the music, making everybody pretend that they hadn’t seen what just went on.

        “Steve. Come on. Let’s get you home.” I murmured, reaching for the sick boy and patting his back.

        “Billy, we’re giving Steve a ride,” I told him, glancing over my shoulder.

        “No. No, no no. That asshole is not getting in my car.” Billy argued, “No way in hell.”

        “Billy. Please?” I threw him the puppy dog eyes that made him melt. I could see his indignation and anger breaking down as I pouted at him.

        “Fine.” He bristled, digging his keys from his pocket.

        “Come on,” I whispered to Steve, throwing my arm around his shoulder and supporting his weight as we traveled out to Billy’s car. I grabbed a trash bag to take in the car with us in case he threw up again.

The ride home was filled with uncomfortable silence, aside from Steve occasionally hiccuping and heaving.

        “I swear to god if you puke in my car, Harrington.” Billy threatened.

I gave him a threatening glare. He let out a grunt as he tightened his grip on the wheel, speeding up. Billy parked in front of Steve's house.

        "Alright, asshole. Get out." Billy ordered. Steve looked up at me with misty eyes as he opened the door and tumbled out. Once he regained his balance, he made his way to his door. I watched him stagger up the steps and into his house.

        “Thanks for not being a total asshole.” I murmured to Billy, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

        “The last time I do anything for that shit stain.” He griped, not meeting my gaze. I could tell that something was worrying him.

        “Billy?” I questioned, resting my hand on his knee, “You okay?”

        “It’s just… You’ve been in love with him since you were kids… and now he feels the same way… and I just…”

        “Billy.” I breathed, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at me,  “You know that I love you, right?”

He nodded,

        “Nothing is going to change that. Not Steve… Not anybody.” I reassured.

He nodded again, leaning in to kiss me.

        “Still never doing anything nice for him ever again.” He proclaimed.

[gold-from-straw]

Reassembled - AT LAST!

Hey there! Remember when it was A Thing to write all the Avengers living happily together in Stark Tower? Well, I love to live in the past! In fact, anything beyond Avengers is completely ignored in this fic that’s been neglected for 9 whole months, and has finally resolved itself in my mind! I’m hoping to finish the final chapters in the next couple of weeks - and from then on, no more uploading fics unless I’ve got at least a first draft! I hope you’ll enjoy - a lot of people probably haven’t come across it before, so here’s the link to the first part, and I hope it allows you to pretend (as I regularly do) that Ultron, Civil War, and Infinity War never happen ;) For those who do know this fic, here’s the chapter below, or on AO3!

Natasha poured her second cup of coffee and added a shot of hazelnut to it before leaning back against the counter, wrapping her fingers around the porcelain. It had been a quiet week. They’d even managed to catch up on their paperwork, and Steve was talking about taking some time to travel around the country on his vintage bike.

The door hushed open and Tony walked in wearing plaid pyjama bottoms and an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Natasha smirked at his bed head. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Hey,” he yawned, and poked the coffee machine.

Natasha watched him smile at the black liquid, then smile at the sugar bowl, and at the pot of blueberry yoghurt he pulled out of the fridge. “Ha!” she said, and poked gleefully at the hickey on his collarbone. “You guys had sex.”

Tony blushed. Tony freaking Stark’s Italian complexion went tomato red to the roots of his hair and Natasha almost squealed, it was the cutest damn thing. “What?” he stuttered. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing though!”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god, Tony, you absolutely are.” She nudged him. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. So you got your shit together and talked, huh?”

He snorted. “Oh, we already did that ages ago. But... we’ve been taking it slow, you know. It’s not like... there’s no rush. I would have been fine with...” He trailed off, and she hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get redder but he did, ducking his head to drink his coffee.

“You’re so gone for him, aren’t you?”

He bit his lip. Natasha couldn’t bear it, she pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug. “That’s so fucking adorable, Tony.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I’m not kidding. You guys deserve to be happy.” She let him go and sipped her coffee again. “So... do you love him?”

His breath rushed out of him, and she could read the truth from the little smile he was trying to hide under his beard. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Uh...”

“You do,” she said, her voice much softer. “You’re allowed to, you know.”

He looked up at her, all that vulnerability he usually hid under sarcasm and a smart mouth suddenly bare for her, and she felt a weight of responsibility settle warm in her chest. It was her job to winkle this sort of stuff out of the most powerful men in the world, and Tony had been no exception. For him now to offer it up to her... she knew what a huge gesture of trust this was. She squeezed his arm. “I’m so happy for you. Have you told him?”

The red flared across his cheekbones again and he nodded down into his coffee. “A few days ago. She... she said it back too.” His shoulders were rounded, and when he looked up at her she saw the fear that mixed with the happiness. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly.  Fear he didn’t deserve it, fear he wasn’t good enough, fear that it would end. When Tony let himself love someone, it was a forever thing. She could tell he still adored Pepper, and he’d worshiped Rhodes consistently since his teenage years. Natasha got the impression that Loki was exactly the same.

The door slipped open again, and Loki himself joined them. Natasha watched Tony’s expression soften just to look at his boyfriend, how he leaned slightly towards him like a plant when he brushed his fingers up Tony’s arm and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, Natasha.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply. The sky suddenly darkened, and the tower trembled under the force of something, a great rumbling sound vibrating through their feet. “Woah, what the hell’s going on, JARV?” Tony yelled.

“We seem to have an anomalous atmospheric disturbance directly above the tower, sir,” JARVIS replied, voice raised but unflappable. “The data I’m collecting doesn’t match... ah, excuse me, no. There have been incidences before, in New Mexico.”

“The Bifrost.” Loki’s voice was soft, almost trembling. Natasha’s gaze snapped to him, narrowed. He would usually have shifted into his armour at the first sign of trouble, but now he stood, his eyes unfocused, still in his soft sleep clothes. As she watched, he took a deep breath and looked up at her, hiding his haunted expression under a cold mask, and shifted into an elaborate green and black armour, one she hadn’t seen before.

Feet thundered up the stairs, and Thor and Steve burst into the room, closely followed by the others. “Loki!” Thor shouted. His eyes were terrified, and he stopped short to see his brother dressed like that. “No, Loki, you cannot - we must flee. Steve has offered to stall them, we must go, now.”

“I will not—“

“No, Lokes, if they’re coming for you, go. We’ll be able to stop them here long enough for you guys to get to safety.”

“I will not leave you,” he said, turning a furious gaze on Tony. “I will never leave you, Tony, you cannot believe I would.”

“I need you to!” Tony said, gripping him above the elbows. “I need you to be safe, you hear?”

“And do I not need the same thing? I will not have you fight without me there to protect you.”

“Shit, let’s all run,” Clint said, running his hands through his hair. “I mean, if Norse Gods are planning on running, I’m up for the good old strategic retreat.”

“No,” said Loki, straightening his back and looking around at all of them. “To run is to be pursued, and that brings even more danger to your door. It would also leave your world less protected, and none of us will allow that. No.” He looked to Thor. “Brother, we stand.”

Thor clasped Loki’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut. “Aye, Brother. Then we stand together. To the roof.”

***

The team marched to the roof as the storm reached its peak, striking the tower and testing its foundations. Tony grumbled into his faceplate as the suit formed around him.

When the doors opened onto the helipad, Natasha kept her face perfectly controlled, only allowing the micro expressions she wanted to project to cross her lips and the skin around her eyes. A great circle of runes was burned into the concrete, matching the ones she’d seen from the files on the New Mexico event. In the centre of the runes stood a group of guards - some of whom she also recognised from the files - and a silver-haired man with an eyepatch and a great golden spear.

“Thor,” he said, and his voice, while not raised, carried clearly across the helipad. The authority in it almost physically bent her knees. She softened them to absorb the pressure, and stopped beside Clint in an at-ease stance.

Steve walked forward to meet him. “King Odin, I presume?”

Odin glanced at him with the most genteel of sneers, and looked straight past him. “Thor, my son, what is the meaning of this? You had orders to return with your brother and the Tesseract to Asgard as soon as the skirmish had ended, and yet we find you dallying with the mortals?”

“Father, we could not use the tesseract,” said Thor, and Natasha could almost see the sweat dripping off his temples. He was the world’s worst liar, but right now it looked like he was the only one with any chance. “The mortals, and the organisation SHIELD have need of it.”

Odin scoffed. “A goat has no need of a grimoire. Your time here has clearly softened you. Perhaps banishment to Muspelheim would have been a better choice in the first place.”

“Your dad’s charming,” said Tony, loudly enough for the Asgardians to hear. “I’ll cancel the tea party, don’t suppose he’d want to be entertained by goats.”

Thor looked embarrassed, glancing around at the other Avengers. “Father, the mortals have come so far since we commonly travelled to Midgard. Will you not meet with their leaders?”

“I have no interest in discussions, Thor,” he snapped. “I have come to bring the war criminal Loki to justice now that the Bifrost has been returned to its full function. Or do you wish to see him pardoned of all his crimes just because he was your playmate as a child?”

Thor’s jaw dropped. “He was no mere playmate,” he said, incredulous. “He is my brother, and always has been.”

“He is the child of a monster!” Odin roared. “Had I not taken him, he would have died, frozen on a rock. And he chooses to repay me by embarrassing Asgard in every way?” He shook his head. “It is enough. Time to end this foolish charade. It was an experiment that has failed, and must be put to rest.”

Natasha spared a quick glance for Loki, whose fingers were trembling, almost imperceptibly. He still stood as a statue, staring at his father impassively. He’d be fine, she thought, glancing at the others. It was the others who might be a problem, leaping to his defence when he could easily compartmentalise if left alone.

“Hey, if you don’t want the experiment, we’ll keep him,” Tony said, mock casually. “One man’s trash is another’s treasure and all.” Natasha suppressed a twitch of a smile. At least Tony was dealing with it better than could be expected.

Odin actually turned to look at him. “You would like to ‘keep him’, mortal? Like a pet?” He snorted and glanced at Loki. “An intractable, oversensitive cat. Perhaps that would be appropriate, but he has crimes for which to answer.”

“What crimes he committed on Earth have been officially pardoned, your highness,” said Phil, consulting his StarkPad. Natasha knew he would have Fury on speakerphone, silent but preparing for everything in real time. “We appreciate you sending Thor to assist us, we couldn’t have broken the mind control without him, and we wouldn’t have been able to stop the invasion without Loki and Thor’s help.”

“And reparations have been made to Jotunheim - Loki has been pardoned by the new king himself,” Thor added quickly.

“Crimes against Midgard and Jotunheim are nothing but crimes against a herd of beasts. I refer to those committed when he occupied the throne of Asgard. Attempted fratricide, murder, destruction of the Bifrost and treason.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” yelled Darcy from the back of the group, and Natasha almost groaned. She had less subtlety than even Tony, and wasn’t surrounded by a gold titanium alloy when baiting space gods. “Isn’t Asgard, like, an absolute monarchy? And when Loki did all those things, he was the rightful king, wasn’t he - so everything he did was within the law? Not that that’s a great system, man, I mean talk about being open to abuse.”

Odin smiled at Loki, and that was more terrifying than all his sneering and insults. “Ah, but you knew differently, did you not, boy? A Frost Giant can never sit on the throne of Asgard.” Loki’s face paled, his fingers spasming into fists, and Natasha tensed her muscles, ready to leap into action. “You are not the son of Odin. Therefore your ascension to the throne was unlawful.”

“And what of matrilineal inheritance?”

The Avengers and Asgardians all turned as one to the new voice. Even the Asgardian guards startled to see the woman in a golden dress who’d materialised among them, brushing an elegant cowl back from her hair.  “Mother!” cried Thor. She smiled at him, but turned her sharp gaze to Odin.

“What are you doing here, Frigga?” he asked, and Natasha made a mental note of how he reined his authority in to speak to her. This woman had a lot of power.

“I have come to ensure my son receives justice,” she said, and walked straight to Loki, stopping and turning in front of him as if she was planning on shielding him with her own body.

“He is no more your son than mine,” Odin scoffed. “I took him from the battlefield and—“

“And I took him into my heart,” she said coldly. “As an adoptive parent is wont to do.”

“That means nothing to the ascension of the throne. Loki took Gungnir unlawfully and used the power to commit unforgivable crimes upon our family and reputation.”

"There was nothing unlawful about it, husband,” she said with a pleasant smile. “An adoption by blood and magic is as tight a bond as that of birth.”

Odin froze almost imperceptibly for a second. He narrowed his eyes at her. “The adoption was never formalised.”

“Perhaps not by you.”

There was silence, broken only by the distant sounds of New York, and the whistling of the wind around them. Natasha didn’t even dare to move to shift a strand of hair out of her face.

“What have you done, Frigga?”

“What needed to be done,” she said just as softly. “For many years I tried to deny the evidence of my own eyes, hoping that you would love Loki just as dearly as I did. But when it became clear that not only did you have no true feeling for him, but that you never intended on finalising his lineage, I knew I would have to do so myself. Loki was indeed third in line to the throne, but only on his mother’s side. All that he did as king of Asgard was lawful, for he was, at the time, the law.”

The silence fell once more, and Natasha shifted this time, concerned at the pure fury pouring off Odin in waves. Frigga held her hand out to Tony. “Anthony Stark, would you grant us the use of a room so that my husband and I may discuss the politics of this situation? Your hospitality has been much appreciated thus far, and the continuation will be considered a great favour to me.”

“Uh… sure… your majesty? If you’d all come this way?” Natasha had never heard Tony sound so flustered, but then, meeting the parents this way wasn’t exactly ideal. Frigga inclined her head to him and turned her back on Odin, walking into the tower with her head held high. Odin, with just a flicker of tension around his good eye and a slight tightening of his fist on the spear, followed.

“You,” he said to four of the guards. “Remain with the mortals, the prince, and the accused. The rest of you, with me.”

Natasha caught Steve’s eye, returning his slight eyebrow raise. This was going to be interesting.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Resource Management, pt8

Word Count: 2798 Tags: @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @samaxraph99 @anotherotter  @outside-the-government @kingarthurscat @coyote-in-space @originalpottervengerlock @dolamrothianlady @curiositywillbethedeathofme @superheroesofbothuniverses @mtriestowrite

It was unsettling to process more death benefits. I’d hoped, naïvely, that the injured and unaccounted for would all remain injured. There weren’t a great deal more files to process, but there were enough that I felt the heavy sorrow weighing back down on me again. There were so many casualties from the HR department. I felt a little sick going through them. It was as though the main strike had been in our office. When I was finished inputting the remaining information, I did a quick search of my department. Of the thirty employees, only eight had survived the attack. Not a single one of us was in the department during the attack either. It was a troubling statistic, and I grabbed my laptop and darted into the command centre. It looked like it was just Phil, May and Ward in there, but from where I’d been sitting I couldn’t see the communications screen.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have to see this, Phil.” I plunked the laptop down on the holotable, and the windows I’d had open on the laptop flashed up holographically. I hadn’t been expecting that, and jumped back.

“This had better be important, Ellis.” I looked up at the communication screen and saw Director Fury and Agent Hill glaring at me.

“I wouldn’t have barged in here if it wasn’t, Director,” I snapped. “I’ve been rather busy processing the casualties, and it’s really need to know information anyhow, but I don’t know if you have figured out where the attack started yet.”

“We’re still investigating at this point,” Hill responded. I flicked open a file folder on the holotable, and brought up the list of HR employees.

“As I worked through the updated casualty list today, I saw something very startling to me. Human Resources employees thirty staff at the Triskelion. It’s our main office. Of the thirty staff members, only eight survived the attack on the building.”

“Most of the departments took similar hits,” Hill informed me. I nodded.

“But look at this.” I separated out the on-site staff to the casualty list. Mine was the only name to still be the bright blue of an active employee. “I’m the only person who lived who worked in HR, who was in the building. The other seven employees were at the academy for training. If the attack didn’t start in HR, HR was definitely the target.”

“How does this compare to other departments?” Fury demanded. I brought up the other departmental employee rosters quickly, and flipped them open.

“Payroll has 24 employees. 6 were at the academy. They suffered twelve casualties, so that means six survivors from on-site.” I flipped that folder closed. “R&D has 75 employees. 23 were at the academy, two had called in sick, and they had 13 casualties. Just under half the total department survived the attack. Those are the two departments located the closest to us in HR. Data Analysis had four casualties of 83 employees who were on-site. Medical had even fewer casualties, and the Armory had none. Security and Support Services are the only other departments that came close, and that is understandable, as they aren’t centred in one part of the building. They’re all over the place. But even Security and Support Services didn’t take the same hit as HR.”

“Thank you, Ellis. You did some fine analytical work there,” Fury commended me.

“Sir, I would have thought that Data Analysis or R&D would be more probably targets,” I added.

“That was the general assumption, Ellis,” Hill nodded.

“Again, sorry for the interruption. I’ll be leaving now.” I closed up the laptop and pulled it from the holotable, dropping the images. As I turned to leave, Fury cleared his throat.

“The restructuring of HR may need to be more drastic than anticipated, Ellis. Are you prepared for what may be coming?” He asked. I turned back to look at him, confused.

“Sir?” I asked.

“You will be the director of the department,” he prompted.

“I understand that. I just don’t understand where I ever had a choice in the matter. With all due respect, sir, you told me this was an order. You obviously think me competent enough to manage this restructuring project or you wouldn’t have assigned me to it. With those two things in mind, I don’t understand your question.”

Agent Hill turned away from the screen, but not before I saw her bite her lip. I glanced over at Phil and he gave me a perturbed look. Fury raised his good eyebrow.

“That was all the answer I needed. You’re dismissed,” he barked. I made a beeline from the command centre to the bar, and poured myself a drink. Skye came speeding by from the bunks and dragged me to the stairs above the lab. Before I could ask what was happening, she put her finger to her lips and pointed down. As if on cue, a startled and horrified scream came from the lab.

“Was that Simmons?” I whispered. Skye’s eyes were wide with amusement, and she shrugged. Simmons’ feminine voice floated up to us.

“What was that for, Fitz? You know I’m trying to analyze –“ Her voice trailed off. “Dear god, is that Iron Man? Is he stripping?”

“It was Fitz that screamed!” Skye’s laugh was a muffled wheeze.

“My eyes!” Fitz howled. “Good lord, those are Union flag briefs!”

I shot a look at Skye. She took a few calming breaths.

“I altered the underpants from an American flag to the Union Jack,” she dissolved into giggles again.

“SKYE! I know you’re out here somewhere!” Simmons hollered into the cargo bay. Skye pulled me away from the catwalk edge. I stumbled on the grated floor beneath my feet, and the noise reverberated through the cargo hold. Simmons came out and glared at us. She pointed at Skye and pointed into the lab. Skye had obviously done something to the holotable in the lab to make Tony’s sexy dance play on a continuous loop. We descended to the lab, both of us unable to stop giggling. I’d seen the video in full colour when Stark had sent it to me, but even that couldn’t prepare me for the 3D rendered sexy dancing Iron Man that was bopping around on the holotable. My hands flew to my mouth to stop me from screeching in amusement.

“Fix it. Skye, fix it. I’ve always said you were lovely, and kind. So you need to make this stop.” Fitz turned to us, his eyes wide with horror.

“Will the pranks and initiation garbage stop?” Skye asked, hand on her hip.

“I swear,” he nodded. Skye walked over to the holotable and flicked her hands around a little. Stripping Iron Man vanished.

“Where did that even come from?” Simmons asked.

“Apparently older men have a thing for Anna,” Skye smirked. I furrowed my brow.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Well, A.C. is really fond of you. And apparently Stark likes you enough to send you naughty emails.”

“Stark was trying to provoke me because he was going to be in my sexual harassment seminar. He doesn’t like me at all!” I exclaimed.

“Union flag knickers suggest otherwise,” Fitz deadpanned. I glared at him.

“They were an American flag in the original. Which shows how little Stark knows his audience,” I retorted.

“Does Coulson know he has competition?” Simmons teased.

“Hey! Just because you promised Skye you wouldn’t prank her anymore doesn’t mean I get to be the next target!” I protested. “Besides, I have more horrifying movies I can get Skye to hack you with, if I need them. Dancing Iron Man is just the tip of a Titanic-sinking iceberg.”

It was an empty threat, but I dangled that sword over their heads anyhow. Fitz put his hands up in surrender. Simmons crossed her arms across her chest and pouted.

“We never get to have any fun at all,” she complained.

“I thought Dancing Iron Man was lots of fun,” Skye laughed. “I would have stuffed a bill in his pants when he showed up at my seminar. Please say you did, Annie.”

“I did not. I kind of wish I had though,” I laughed. It felt good to have someone feel familiar enough to include me in the jokes. Skye probably had no idea how much calling me Annie mended my grieving heart.

“You woke up four times last night, Anna. Are you sure you’re okay?” Phil had his hands on my shoulders and was staring at me, dead serious. I met his gaze and nodded.

“I will be fine, Phil. As long as there’s a coffee maker, I will be fine,” I assured him, placing a hand on his chest and smiling.

“If these nightmares continue, or get worse, you’ll need to see someone,” he recommended. I raised an eyebrow.

“We can get couples PTSD therapy,” I replied, dripping sarcasm. Phil sighed.

“I am fine.” He was firm.

“As am I.” I stepped inside the circle of his arms, and laid my head on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. His hands dropped to my back. “I promise, Phil. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me know if there is anything you need.” He squeezed me, and pulled away. I nodded. It seemed ridiculous to be so distraught about being apart from him, but after the past few days, and the week before, it felt strange to be planning a day away from him.

“I will,” I promised.

“I’ll pick you up back here at five,” he said. I leaned back into Lola and grabbed my purse. With a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed down the block and around the corner to the building that was going to be the temporary HR headquarters. Fury was waiting at reception to tour through the new offices. He looked down at his watch.

“I was not expecting you so early,” he opened.

“Sir, lying doesn’t become you. You wouldn’t have been waiting for me if you didn’t expect me,” I retorted and breezed past him. He shook his head and mumbled something that sounded like ‘is it in the fucking job description that SHIELD women here have to be sassy?’ I turned and gave him a look, hands on my hips.

“What?” He asked.

“Peggy Carter was one of the founding members of this agency, Director Fury. Yes, sassy is part of the job description,” I snapped. He had the decency to look just a tiny bit embarrassed. He stepped ahead of me, and showed me through the offices. SHIELD had done a great job of getting the place ready. There were new desks, new computers, a few printers, a giant photocopier, and in the kitchenette, a beautiful, shiny, new chrome coffee maker. Full of fresh coffee. I pulled down a SHIELD mug (Seriously, the goddamn logo was on everything) and poured a cup.

“McKay will be in at ten, and the rest of the department will be here by noon. You have an 0900 meeting, and then you and I will start on the restructuring.” Fury poured himself a coffee as well.

“Is Erin not being considered for promotion as well?” I asked.

“We’ve moved McKay into the deputy director position, but she will not be involved in the restructuring,” he explained. We leaned against opposite counters, drinking our coffee and chatting about most insignificant issues surrounding the office for the next fifteen minutes. Office supplies delivery, timelines to be back into the Triskelion, lunch plans for the staff coming in. Apparently Fury had decided to have lunch catered for the tiny pool of survivors. We refilled our coffee cups, and he led me to my office. The front walls were frosted glass, and in clear relief was the SHIELD logo, and the words ‘Director of Human Resources’. Right below that was my name. I shivered. It was about the same size as the one I’d shared with Erin, but it was mine alone. The desk was bare except for a fancy new clear screen monitor. The bookshelf had nothing on it. It was just a bare, sterile office. I sighed and put down my coffee mug.

Fury tilted his head, and looked toward the front of the office, obviously getting a message from security on this earpiece.

“Stark is here. I’m going to follow up on those items we discussed, and we’ll continue shortly,” he excused himself and disappeared into the office that had been set aside for the new deputy director. I saw Stark brush past the security guard who was trying to lead him to my office, and head more directly toward me. He was wearing sunglasses and a scowl, but when he saw me, he pulled off the sunglasses. Kept the scowl until he was close enough to get a good look at me. He relaxed. No smile, but I saw the tension drop from his shoulders.

“Mr. Stark. Welcome to the new HR office. I hope you won’t be as frequent a visitor as you were to the old one,” I smiled. He finally smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I gestured toward the chair by my desk. He looked around, unimpressed.

“This room is sterile. Boring. It needs some decoration,” he announced. Before I could respond, he brought his arm from behind his back, and placed a Thor bobblehead on my desk. It was dirty, scratched, and Mjolnir had a chip out of the side of it. I felt my eyes fill with tears as I realized it was my Thor bobblehead. From the Triskelion. I threw my arms around Stark and felt the tears start. He rocked back, startled by my response.

“Oh my god. I can’t –“ I pulled away and dashed my tears. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. How unprofessional of me. How – where – how did you find him?”

Stark smiled and held out what looked like a shirt box. I took it and pulled the lid off. It was my Thor scrapbook.

“There’s an alarming lack of me in that scrapbook. I took the liberty of signing the one news clipping with all of the Avengers in it. I may have also added some information about Iron Man. Suit specs, favourite hockey team, you know, important fangirl information,” he commented. I sat down in the chair I’d offered him and dropped my head into my hands, unable to stem the tide of tears. I reached behind me for the box of tissues on my desk and blew my nose. I looked up at him and shook my head, wiping at the tears.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough,” my voice broke. “We lost so many people, it’s stupid to be crying over a bobblehead.”

“It’s not stupid, Ellis.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a bloodstained Captain America card. “This still makes my chest ache.”

“What’s the significance?” I asked, turning the card over. Other than the blood, it was a really nice vintage card. No real wear, no bends.

“It was Coulson’s,” he said. “We’ve suffered a similar loss, Ellis. Keeping the reminders around makes us stronger.”

He dropped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I met his eyes and saw the empathy in them. I handed him the card back, and put my scrapbook on my desk. I stood, and smoothed the front of my skirt and pulled him into another hug.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. He squeezed me in his arms, then held me at arms length and inspected me.

“Your knees are still a mess. But you’ve cleaned up alright. I just wanted to be sure. There were so many people who are yet to be accounted for. I’m glad you’re okay,” he smirked. “I would hate to have someone else finish my seminar.”

I shook my head and smiled.

“We’ll consider this one completed. I don’t want to have you back for another one, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony. I’ve saved your life. You can call me Tony now. Just try not to scream my name when you’re with your boyfriend,” he winked. “These walls need some décor. I’ll send over a painting. Pepper keeps investing in art. You like Munch? Maybe that’s too dark, considering? I’ll figure something out. It’ll be a loan, you understand, or Pepper will lose her mind, but we’ll make your office a Stark Foundation art gallery location.” He was off on one of the rambling discourses he was famous for as he headed out of my office. He peeked into the other office and waved at Fury before heading out.