#why am i so goddamn insistent on lying to myself when all he does is hurt me

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Basically all he did was make sure I actually wanted it before doin anything n I really am just totally fucking lovestruck

It's probably cause it was just the other guy for so long that the difference between em is messin up my brain but

How do I fight this?

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY 

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), smut, cursing, abandonment, infatuation, cheating/divorce, angst, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official 

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N: I’m terrible at writing summaries and I’m so sorry about that! I don’t think I would consider this a dark!fic, but it does cover a lot of themes, and topics that are darker than I usually write about- but I think that comes with the territory of writing about Lee Bodecker. I’ll make sure to update the warnings for each chapter and do not read if you are underage. I also ignored canon for this one.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! This chapter introduces some new plots and conflicts, so it jumps around a little more than the previous ones. 

I hope you all enjoy!

I also am having some writer’s block with my Obi-Wan Kenobi miniseries I was working on, so expect Part 3 sometime Sunday hopefully! So sorry for the delay on the final chapter. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN 

Part One // Part Two 

Henry Curtis was one of the most infuriating people Lee had ever met. Curtis was a writer for the Columbus newspaper and constantly pestering the Sheriff. Curtis seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever the Sheriff did anything. He was desperately trying to catch the Sheriff doing anything but so far had remained unsuccessful. Curtis was the biggest obstacle Lee faced in winning re-election. The man would show up out of nowhere, pen and pad in hand ready to find anything that would be enough to keep the Sheriff out of office.

Maybe Curtis was just doing his job, but Lee always felt like it was much more personal. It was probably just his own resentment of the man who was just doing his job. But the man didn’t have to be so goddamn invasive. When the Sheriff had devised his plan on offering to rent a room from you, he was so tied up in his own mess of divorce and his somewhat confusing feelings towards you he had completely forgotten about the press. They would have a field day with the divorce alone, but now on top of everything else, Lee knew he should be more careful.

Lee always had to be careful, especially if he was meeting Leroy Brown. Lee would make sure he drove way out of town, and always insisted they met at a different location every time. This would infuriate Brown but Lee was the only lawman he had working for him. Sometimes Lee would drive several hours out of the way, always at some deserted ghost town or some sad excuse for a diner or a bar. Always somewhere no one would recognize him.

Lee lied to you and told you he and a few of the deputies would need to drive out of town for a stakeout when he needed to meet with Brown. It was one of those nights, sitting in the cruiser with the headlights off, as he parked in an abandoned parking lot almost two hours out of town.

He had been able to put this off for a couple weeks, lying about other legitimate jobs getting in the way. Honestly, it was because he wanted to one, avoid anything that would cause suspicion from Henry Curtis hearing he was back in town and two, he was selfishly allowing himself to just spend his nights at his new home, spending all the time he could manage with you. It was like being in that little white house was a place where he could let himself be delusional, and time spent with you was what his life actually was, not this mess he was currently dealing with. He wanted out.

Lee knew he wasn’t a good man. He knew that his laundry list of offenses had tarnished his badge a long time ago. He knew what he was doing, and before he never cared. Now, he’s thinking about how his actions could affect you. You were innocent, unaware of everything he was stuck in. He knew you weren’t stupid, and he was sure the town knows some about his corruption. But now, he couldn’t rationalize away his actions for any reason when it came to you. Janie? She didn’t care and would encourage it. She’d be in on it too. She’d have no problem lying to ladies at Church or starting other rumors to keep the town talking about anyone but Lee. She was as power hungry as he was sometimes, which could be a testament as to how their loveless marriage held together for so long.

***

“Hi, I’m looking for a Ms. (Y/L/N)?” the man asked when he approached you, talking a seat at one of the barstools.

“Who’s asking for her?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“I’m Henry Curtis, I work for the Columbus Dispatch.”

“The newspaper?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why are you looking for her?”

“I’m doing a story on her mother’s marriage to Harvey Tucker.”

“She’s not here tonight. But I can let her know you were here. Do you got a card?”

The man pulled out a business card from his wallet and slide it across the bar. You picked it up and read all the information before putting it in the pocket of your apron.

“Seems weird for the Columbus paper to want to do a story on that a month and a half after it happened,” you said skeptically.

“We did cover the story when it happened,” Curtis informed you. “Doing a follow up since the story broke about his wife missing.”

“Missing?” you ask. “Do they know what happened?”

“Robbed the bastard blind and then ran apparently,” Curtis said casually looking past you at the chalkboard on the wall. “Scotch, neat.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, grabbing the bottle from the shelf. “Has anything else been found out yet?”

“Not yet, that’s why I’m here. Checking in to see if she’d come back here because I heard Ms. (Y/L/N) still lives around these parts.” He then pulled a newspaper out of the inside pocket of his coat and started flipping through the pages.

“She has another kid too, right?” you asked, playing dumb. “A boy, I think. Do you know where he is?”

“Couldn’t say,” he sounded very indifferent, “Most likely went with her but who knows? I went to the Sheriff’s office to see if they knew anything but the Sheriff wasn’t there.”

“That’s too bad,” you say. “I’m sure Sheriff Bodecker would help you help if he can.”

Your statement made Mr. Curtis chuckle, but you didn’t follow up on it. You were just focusing on getting as much information about your mother and brother as you could.

“Speaking of Mr. Bodecker,” he began, “I recently saw his wife is getting remarried. Saw the announcement of the engagement in the paper.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you respond, skeptically. You didn’t know why but you didn’t trust this man. It was something in the tone of his voice, or maybe it was just how he held himself. Very polished, a suit and a nice dress jacket. He looked very out of place in this town, and this little bar.

“You familiar with the Sheriff at all, miss?”

“Not too well,” you shrug, “Haven’t had any run-ins with the law myself.”

“Not even a speeding ticket?” He asks, only a little condescendingly.

“Can’t get a speeding ticket if you don’t have a car,” you point out.

“Touché,” he chuckles before taking a sip of his drink.

He doesn’t ask you anymore questions, and when he leaves, he gives you a five-dollar tip.

***

Lee receives his cut from Brown. There was nothing new to report on that front and his meeting went by smoothly. All Lee had to do was to turn a blind eye, and make sure the rest of the department stays unaware of the brothel’s existence. Brown always insisted on meeting with him, wanting to know what the Sheriff’s department was investigating and making sure his businesses stayed under the radar. He felt sick, and is preoccupied with the fact he has an envelope of dirty money in the cruiser’s glovebox.

It’s around midnight when he pulls up to the house. He expects that you’re already asleep, but he notices the lamp is on in the living room. He takes the money out of his glovebox and tucks it away into the inner pocket of his jacket. Coming inside, he finds you on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the business card Mr. Curtis had given you. You face is stained with dried up tears, and you still haven’t even changed out of your work clothes.

“What’s that?” he asks, the sight of you breaking his heart. He winces because he comes off a lot harsher than he meant.

“Some reporter came while I was at work wanting to talk to me,” you explain softly, you sound exhausted. “Wanted to talk to me cause he’s doing a story on my mother. Apparently, she’s on the run from the Columbus police.”

You extend your hand to give Lee the card. He feels his jaw clench when he reads the information. “What happened?” he asks, taking a deep breath and sitting down next to you.

“I pretended I wasn’t me,” you say, another tear rolling down your cheek. “He came in asking for me so I said I’d pass his card on. I didn’t want to tell him who I was because he didn’t explain why he was looking for me at first. I don’t know- just scared me. I’m more upset about the news itself than him.”

“You did the right thing,” Lee said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. He was angry, but he didn’t show it. It worried him, fucking Curtis snooping around this close to you. It made him feel protective, wanting to shield you from the whole ordeal. He had been on the receiving end of unsolicited attention from the press and he knew how ruthless they were. He knew this wouldn’t be the only time Curtis would try to get in touch with you. He’d find out where you lived, he’d continue to show up while you were working- the whole nine yards. He didn’t want you going through that.

Curtis talking to you also made him incredibly paranoid. It was his two worlds that he desperately wanted to keep apart were colliding. He knew it was impossible, but he so wanted to keep you separated from the other part of his life. It wasn’t who he wanted you to see. Hell, he hasn’t even been here for a month. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep you in the dark, at least that wasn’t entirely intentional. Actually, he wasn’t sure, maybe it was intentional. However, it wasn’t just you he wanted to hide aspects of his life from. He wanted his involvement with Brown and others hidden from every goddamn registered voter. You were no different, he tried to rationalize. But that wasn’t true. These feelings he harbored for you, were getting worse. He needed to unwrap himself from this situation, and for the sake of you finding out he was a shill, keep you away from that asshole. He didn’t want to let himself think about how the way you look at him would change.

And here he was, making the situation all about him. It was in his nature.

“He’s just going to show up again if I don’t call him,” you say, wiping your eyes. “Maybe I should just call him in the morning. Just be honest and say I don’t know anything. He can keep coming around but nothing is going to change.”

“I can take care of it,” he says. He couldn’t risk you talking to Curtis again. For all he knows, Curtis would tell you all about the story on the Sheriff he’d been trying to confirm for years. Lee knew he couldn’t let that happen. He fully intends on telling you, but how the hell do you bring that up? ‘Hey doll, I’m also on the payroll of every pimp and bootlegger in a ten-mile radius, just letting you know.’ It wasn’t going to come up, unless Curtis tells you about it. He’d be hoping to pull himself out if it, show you how you made him want to be better.

For now, he settles for comforting you, and just being there to take care of you. Make you feel better. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and lets you cry into his chest. He sighs, kissing the top of your head in a friendly way and you curl up against him. Under different circumstances, you probably wouldn’t have let yourself do this- show your vulnerability or allow anyone to comfort you like this. But it was all the events of the past month, your mother leaving, everything, just all hitting you at once, and you were happy you weren’t alone.

In the morning, you wake up on the couch with a blanket over you. You see Lee asleep in the chair, and you realize he stayed with you all night. It makes your heart flutter. You pull the blanket up over your chin and close your eyes again. You felt surprisingly well rested. The stress and worry were pushed to the back of your mind long enough to let you get some sleep. It still lingered in the back of your mind, but you reminded yourself that for now, there was nothing you could do. You had the day off, and you let yourself have a little longer time to sleep in.

You woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of sizzling on the stove. When you opened your eyes, Lee was no longer in the chair. You sat up and looked toward the kitchen, where you saw Lee with his back to you while he worked with the pans on top of the stove. The portable radio was positioned on the counter, and it was playing at a low volume, so it wouldn’t wake you up.

“Hey,” you say softly, still waking up as you walk into the kitchen.

“Morning, doll,” he says, glancing back at you for a moment. “How’re you feeling?”

“A little better,” you admit, grabbing a mug for yourself out of the cabinet. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the smell before making it how you usually take it. “Thank you for sitting with me,” you say honestly, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says with a small grin. “I just wanted to help.”

“I really appreciate it, Lee,” you reiterate your thanks, hopping up to take a seat on the counter, watching him cook breakfast. “Didn’t know you knew how to cook,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“I’m full of surprises, sweetheart,” he smirks, making you feel flushed. You take another drawn out sip of your coffee to try to distract yourself. You watch his arms, and his hands as they maneuver and flex when he cooks. You imagine how they must feel, your eyes focused on the veins. You bit your lip and it reminds you of the dream you had a little while back when he first moved in. You imagine him stepping in between your legs as your propped up on the counter, his hands gently gripping your thighs and-

“I’ll get it,” you announce hurriedly as you hear someone knock on the front door. You hop off the counter careful to not spill your coffee, and head to answer the door. Lee watches you bounce out of the room, fixing your hair as you go and you don’t catch his smile.

“Arvin,” you say surprised, stepping out onto the porch. “What are you doing here?” you ask, with a small grin. You’re confused but nonetheless happy to see him.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he observes, concern written all over his face.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say dismissively, “Just last night I was thinking about my ma and everything. Just had trouble sleeping is all.”

“The Sheriff didn’t do anything?” Arvin asked in a hushed tone, looking over your shoulder to see if Lee could hear you two.

“No, nothing, he’s been perfectly fine,” you say coming to the Sheriff’s defense. “I know you and Ms. Russell are worried, I know how it must look- but Arvin I swear he’s just my tenant. He’s been nothing but a gentleman.”

“Just making sure,” he says, letting it go for now. “Lenora asked me to bring these by for you.” He hands you the glass baking dish that you can see is filled with homemade cinnamon rolls. “She’s been practicing making all kinds of baked goods for when the Church does that bake sale and has me running all over town giving it away cause me and Uncle Earskell can’t keep up with it all.”

“Tell her thank you for me,” you say with a smile, “And I’ll bring the dish with me to Church tomorrow- give it back to her.”

“She misses you I think,” Arvin says sheepishly, pushing his hands into his front pockets. “I mean- I do- I think my whole family does- we all do. I’m sorry my grandmother hasn’t asked you over in a while…”

“I understand,” you nod. “Reputation is an important thing.”

“I just didn’t want you to think it was because of us,” he says looking down at the porch, his eyes fixed on a loose board. “You know how she is- everything no matter the context is somehow a sin. Scared to death of her own shadow…”

“I know you’re not that resentful, Arvin Russell,” you chuckle and he relaxes. “And I don’t hold any hard feelings towards anyone in your family- you all have always been good to me.”

“Well, um,” he says awkwardly, looking like he was holding back from saying more. “I got to hit a couple more houses before I head to work, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at Church?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Oh- I wanted to let you know,” he says, turning around as he’s already heading down the front steps, “The principal down at the high school is looking for secretaries- Lenora heard and thought you might be interested. It pays like $35 a week, I think. You should call Linda Carson; I think Lenora said- that’s the woman who’s in charge of hiring people, I think.”

“I’ll call the school first thing Monday morning,” you say, grin stretching from ear to ear. Arvin nods and says goodbye again. You walk back into the house like you’re on top of the world. You couldn’t contain your excitement. That job if you could get it would be a dream. You’d be making so much more than you’re already making. You were so excited.

“You’re in a much better mood than when I last saw you,” Lee jokes. He’s sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while he eats his breakfast. You notice that he made you a table setting- brought your coffee over and everything. You place the baking dish in the middle of the table and sit down.

“That was Arvin,” you say happily, and Lee feels his heart sink into his stomach.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, trying to not let on how his heart feels like it’s crushed. He knew it was only a matter of time before a boy would come around- whether it be Arvin or someone else your own age.

“Well, first he was just dropping off baked goods Lenora made,” you say gesturing to the dish on the table. “He’s going around to everybody, I guess. He mentioned the high school is looking for office secretaries- Lenora wanted me to know. Thirty-five dollars a week! I’m going to talk to Linda Carson about it Monday morning. Can you imagine? I could get a secretary job.”

Lee feels just a crash of relief wash over him. He’s so happy that you are looking at a new job. You deserve better than that bar. He knew you deserved the job just as much as any of the other candidates. You work harder than anyone he knows.

“That’s fantastic, sugar,” he replies. “You deserve it.”

“Do you think I have a chance?” you ask, feeling a little self-conscious- you knew you weren’t as experienced as other candidates would be for sure.

“Of course, I do,” he says, putting down the paper to give you his full attention. “I feel like you getting this job is a definite. There’s no doubt about it.”

“You’re just buttering me up,” you scoff, finishing up your food, making him chuckle. You may have also seen his cheeks redden, but you couldn’t say for sure. You finish off your coffee, and then bring you dishes back to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink. Lee turns his attention back to his newspaper and you head upstairs to get ready for your day.

When you head upstairs, Lee notices that you took the radio with you- and he could hear you were listening to music from upstairs. He decides before it’s too late to ring Mark Cunningham. The line rings a couple of times before Mark answers.

“Cunningham.”

“Morning, Mark. It’s Sheriff Bodecker,” he smirks.

“What can I do for you Sheriff?” he asks, the sound of shuffling paper comes through as well. Most likely flipping through the paper.

“I wanna call in that favor you owe me,” he says, casually pacing the living room, holding the receiver up to his ear and the base of the rotary phone in the other.

“Of course, Sheriff,” he says. A while back, Bodecker busted the principal making moonshine in his old barn that was at the end of his property. Lee looked the other way and was waiting for the right thing to call in a favor for.

“I want you to hire (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for the secretary job,” he says, looking to the stairs, making sure you aren’t coming. The music is still playing loudly from upstairs so he determines he’s still got time.

“That’s all?” Mark asked surprised.

“That’s all I want from you,” Lee replies. “I expect you can make that happen?”

“Without a doubt. When can she start?”

“Still have her come in for an interview. I don’t anyone else knowing I called you about this- including her.”

“Done.”

With that, Lee hangs up the phone, feeling really good about this decision. He knew how much that job meant to you- he could see it in your eyes and how excitedly you talked about it. He can’t wait to see you when you find out you get the position. He knows it’s going to make you so happy. He knows you’d be a fantastic candidate, but this just eliminates any doubt. He reasons that there isn’t much difference, since you were very likely to get it anyways. He just had to make sure.

He can picture you know, coming home from the interview- excited to tell him that you got the job. You’d be so excited you’d jump up and hug him tightly, just so overjoyed that you let your feelings take over. You’d wrap your legs and around his waist and he’d hold you up by holding the back of your thighs. You’d wrap your arms tightly around him and bury your head in the crook of his neck. You’d lift your head up to look at him, embarrassed at your actions and then he’d press his lips to yours. You’d gasp softly, but your lips would melt against his own and your arms would wrap tightly around his neck. He’d walk forward, pressing you up against the wall and he’d kiss your neck mumbling praises of congratulations against your skin as his name falls from your lips at how good he’d make you feel. It’s almost unbearable how bad he wants you.

He heads to him room to get ready for his day, but his mind is still clouded with thoughts of you. He thinks about how much he wants nothing more that to just pin you on his mattress. He wonders if you know how crazy you make him. Sometimes there’s something in your eye that makes him think you want him too, but he’s not sure. His better judgement holds him back from everything he wants to do. He thinks about how it must feel to have his head right in-between your thighs. Back in the kitchen together, he wanted to just get on his knees and worship you. The feeling of them pressing against him as he sucks on your clit and runs his tongue across your folds.

Serval hours later, he can’t shake the thoughts, even sitting in his office at the sheriff’s station- working on a Saturday yet again. He’s cooped up in his office, unable to get through any of the paperwork that has piled up on his desk. He’s thinking about you, again, but in this daydream, you’re bent over his desk- because you came by to see him on your break from work at the school. His office door locked and his blinds pulled so he can bend you over and take you right there- rough and fast, sending you back to work with a feeling of him still there between your legs well after you’re back at your own desk, still sore from the encounter.

“You got a visitor, Lee,” the intercom on his desk lights up.

“Send ‘em in,” he responds back, shaking his head to snap out of it. He needed to get a grip.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” you say, walking into his office. His eyes widen and he wonders if he’s still day dreaming. He discreetly pinches himself. You’re actually here, standing in his office, while he looks at you dumbfounded. Part of him would think he manifested it if he was a man of any faith. “You forgot this,” you say, putting his wallet on the desk. “You must have taken it out of your back pocket before falling asleep in the chair last night. It was laying on the coffee table. I figured I’d stop by with it while I was coming up this way anyways.”  

“You’re a doll,” he grins, putting his wallet in his back pocket. “What are you doing?”

“I took the bus to the library to return some books, and now I’m going shopping for something to wear when I go in for an interview since I have the day off to go,” you explain. “I’m also probably going to get lunch after that before heading back home. I just didn’t want to be home in case that reporter stopped by. I’m not ready to talk to him yet.”

“I can take care of it,” he says, “He’ll make his way over here soon enough. I can talk to him.”

“You would do that for me?” you ask, the relief evident across your whole face.

“Yeah, I can talk to him, let him know you gave a statement here,” he says. You nod. “You know as much as he does, so it doesn’t matter if I tell him you don’t know shit or if you tell him.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you sigh, so relieved thinking that you won’t have to hear from Henry Curtis again. “If he tells you anything about them… will you let me know?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you say, hurriedly walking over behind him and quickly hugging his shoulders. You then are back by the door again before he can register the gesture. “Are you going to be home tonight?” you ask, your hand on the doorknob.

“Not until late,” he says reluctantly, and he can see the disappointment on your face- unless his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Okay,” you say finally, “Um, I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye, doll,” he says when you walk out of his office.

Are you going to be home tonight? Your voice lingers in his head. It was such a harmless phrase that could’ve just been one of curiosity. Maybe you were just asking because you were thinking about what you were doing for dinner. It most likely just meant nothing. But, the look on your face when he said no makes him think otherwise. Did it mean you cared? That you wanted to spend time with him? You wanted to see him and be with him as desperately as he needed you perhaps? Just the phrasing itself makes his brain feel like putty. It’s like you’re waiting up for him. It’s like you share the house in a way that’s much more than just him renting a room from you. It’s like you’re his and he’s yours. It’s like saying our house… our home. The question was so intimate and implied so much more about how you saw him and what he was to you. He knew seeing him as how he saw you was next to impossible, but you saw him as more than the Sheriff and more than just the jerk living in your house.

Part Four

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@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01​ @rosalynshields​ @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 14 - SLUG

"Let's begin with your name."

"You already know my name." I groaned.

"Your real name."

I sighed, "You already know it. My real name is Y/N L/N."

"See? Not so bad." Natasha rolled her eyes as she tilted her head slightly to the left, a mannerism of hers that she often displayed. "Now, your age."

"Oh, that's strictly confidential." I shook my head curtly.

"Y/N..." She warned.

"All I can tell you is that I'm an adult."

She raised an eyebrow in defiance, but she didn't push further. Natasha had brought me to an interrogation room, yet again, but this time it was a different one. It didn't have the big, ugly two-way mirror attached to the wall and instead of hard, uncomfortable chairs, this one had couches. Natasha sat on the one across from me, while I had been instructed to sit on the one with it's back to the wall. The room was annoyingly comfortable, in a way that made me want to vandalise every single object in a room.

It looked like they believed my surrender after all and the change in the way they handled me showed that. For starters, I wasn't in handcuffs. But, to be fair, I guess being in the same room with Romanoff was more than enough security, maybe even more than being cuffed.

Even if I knew I could fight her well.

"I don't need to tell you twice. You lie about anything at all, the deal's off."

It was another interrogation session. Oh my god, I hate that word. I hate even just thinking about it. I've thought about it and said it at least twelve thousand times, and frankly, I've gotten tired of it. If they kept this up, S.H.I.E.L.D would have wrung me dry by the end of the week.

If I wasn't so adamant on surviving, I would've thrown myself off the side of the building by now.

"Don't you think I've been through enough interrogations?" I voiced my thoughts aloud to the redhead in front of me, picking at my nails in boredom.

"There's no such thing as enough interrogations."

"God, you people are scrutinising." That earned me a huff. "And you make me yawn."

"Better safe than sorry, that's the motto." She replied sarcastically. "Next question, how long have you been with Hydra?"

That escalated quickly.

I gulped automatically, not out of fear, but out of habit. "Ever since..." I was born. "For as long as I can remember."

I wasn't lying. But that didn't mean I had to tell the whole truth.

"And you left when?"

"As soon as I could." On my 18th birthday.

"Why?"

"There it is! The hard-hitting question. I've been waiting for that one." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Why did you leave Hydra?" Natasha repeated the question without a hitch.

"Well, I didn't like it."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean that's all? You don't like something, you leave. Common sense."

She stared at me intently. I've gotta say, she does this thing a whole lot better than Fury. I could technically see the gears in her head turning, calculating every emotion and every word. This woman knew how to play me at my own game. She didn't crack at the silence that ensued. My skin almost crawled at her stare.

Keyword, almost.

"Staring's not going to drag the answer out of my throat, you know." I leaned back on the soft, velvet couch.

They said I had to be honest for them to trust me, but honest hadn't even been in my vocabulary until 12 hours ago. What did they expect me to do? Immediately lose every sense of self-worth and start throwing every single fact about my life, every detail of the trauma that I've endured–to them?

Doing this meant saving my life, but it also meant having to give up at least a sliver of my secrets. Was it worth trading my secrets to these people for my life? Why did the price have to be so goddamn high?

I took a deep breath. "I was 10."

"Pardon?"

"When they first ordered me to kill someone."

I remember the weight of the gun in my small hands, the smell of blood in the air when I shot the man, and the sound of his body thumping on the gravel in the dead of the night.

"I don't remember who it was or why I had to kill him. But I remember enough to know that it was..." I trailed off against my will, the memory getting the best of me. As if the whole situation wasn't already pathetic.

I cleared my throat. "I remember enough to know that it wasn't right. I felt it in my bones."

Natasha stayed silent, willing me to continue. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm an angel or whatever. As I grew up I understood that I didn't want to be associated with these people. Hydra wasn't exactly a paradise, obviously. But it took me a while to understand that. And once I did, I took off."

"And they've been looking for you, ever since?"

"Yes."

"Does that explain yesterday's events?"

Him. "Unfortunately."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Have you been running from them?"

My mind went blank. How many years has it been? Time looked like one long line for me. I mentally calculated the amount of days, months, years that it took for me to hide.

"6, 7? I don't remember how long it's been." I bit down on my lower lip, hard. "No one's ever asked. I never bothered to keep count either."

She nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her legs and shaking out her hair. The redhead woman seemed to contemplate what she was about to say next. For a second there, I was curious. How unsettling could the question be to make her visibly bothered?

When the words spilled out of her mouth, I wish I never wondered. "This is an important question—are you Enhanced?"

I winced. One question, out of all the other ones, was all it took the break the dam that I've built in my head. Memories came flooding back in, in flashes, in the aches of my muscles, pouring mercilessly into the forefront of my brain.

Muffled voices, bright fluorescent lights shining into my eyes, cold-sweats...my head pounded vigorously. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying hard that I was hiding my discomposure well from her.

Was it worth it?

"You have to be honest, Y/N. We need to know if we can trust you."

Strenuous hands pulling at me, strapping me down, dilated pupils, the whirring of their monstrous machines...

"Yes, Natasha. I am."

———

SIX HOURS EARLIER

"She can't be trusted."

"She's done nothing that says so, so far."

"How do you know that, Maximoff? She's sly. She's sneaky. This could just be another game of hers."

"We could be very well falling into a trap right now."

"Send me in." Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I'll get her to tell us what we need."

"I don't doubt your interrogation skills, Nat, but do you really think it's a good idea? I mean, she's a lot like you." Clint remarked.

"That's exactly why I should go." There was an air of mystery to the way she insisted upon it.

They all looked to their Captain for his approval. Steve had both palms on the table, his head slightly bowed. He looked up to his team, eyeing every single one of them before his eyes landed on Natasha's.

"She's right." He stood up straight, mirroring Natasha's pose. "Nat, you bring her to the interrogation room. Do whatever you need to make her talk. Get all the information we need to know about her; her past, her abilities, her name for God's sake."

The redhead nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Wanda, I want you to sit in the next room. Read her mind. Make sure she's telling the truth."

"But-"

"Pietro, you go with her, make sure things don't go out of hand. And don't worry, kid. She can't hurt you, especially not when she's basically just waved the white flag."

He paused for awhile before continuing. "If it ultimately goes well...we should let her into the team."

"Are you kidding me?" Tony bit back.

"No. She's an asset. She's got useful information and skills we could put to use."

"Steve. What if she goes rogue, huh? And she decides to wake up one day and kill us all? This is a situation bound to go awry. We can't let a former Hydra agent in just like that." Tony ran a hand across his face before adding another comment. "I made the mistake of giving her the benefit of the doubt before and it only got us in trouble."

Steve pondered upon Tony's opinion for a while before nodding once and announcing his decision. "So, we put her on probation. Let her know that she's not totally off the hook, see where it'll lead."

"Rogers, are you sure about this?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"Yes." He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, in true Captain America fashion. "Let her know that she'll be pardoned if she tells the whole truth. Maybe it'll encourage her. I'll inform Fury about this whole thing."

The meeting room was silent for a while before the team began to disperse. Steve was the last one to go, but not before Natasha stopped him.

"Rogers. I need to tell you something."

———

PRESENT TIME

She looked surprised, but not as much as I thought she would be. I was expecting a little bit more than raised eyebrows. Maybe even a gasp. "What can you do?"

I chuckled dryly, "Maybe it's better to show than tell."

It was her turn to chuckle, not an ounce of humour in it. "Now's not the time for your sweet little antics. This isn't a talent show."

"Oh, really? Then what is this? I thought I was auditioning for your makeshift boyband."

"Well, maybe if you talked more and sassed less, you'd make the cut."

I shook my head again, slowly. I had to be careful with what I told them. The walls seemed to look duller and the couch I was on felt like a boulder instead of the plush heaven that it was.

"I'm an Echo."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. I echo people." My hands trembled slightly at the mention of it. "I absorb other people's powers and I amplify it."

This was as much as I've ever told anyone ever since I ran from Hydra. Genuinely? I'm a little freaked out at the fact that I just did so. But it had to be the right decision. I couldn't afford to make another wrong turn.

Besides, I was in control here. I had the choice to tell them what I wanted to tell them and what I wanted to keep from them. I figured they should know that I had that little something up my sleeve this entire time.

After all; they were my only lifeline at the moment.

"Was that how you beat us the night we caught you?"

I thought back to that night, when I ran as fast as Pietro did and broke through the barriers of the Witch's force field. I shrugged, not bothering to please her with a response.

"Tell me more about your past."

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Really, Romanov? Digging for more? I already gave you enough, don't you think?"

Natasha blinked once, but didn't back down. "I ask, you answer. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

The smile didn't reach my eyes when I jut out a grin at her. "What do you wanna know about my past?"

"The basics. Where you're from, how you're here."

"I'm half-Russian." I shrugged. "And you already know how I got here."

"No. I know how you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. We brought you here. What I need to know is how you got into this whole ordeal."

A scoff escaped me, "Is this a therapy session or an interrogation?"

"Y/N."

"No, seriously, you're asking me about things that don't matter-"

"Y/N." She repeated, more sternly.

I tucked my arms to my chest so I wouldn't flinch as I said the words that haunted me.

The ones I knew haunted her too.

"I was born into it." My tongue felt heavy. "They raised me in the Red Room."

For the first time since we started, Natasha Romanoff gasped. It was barely audible, and it wasn't the show-stopping theatre moment I'd been looking for, but it was a gasp in itself. It's funny, though. I thought I'd be more amused. But the heavy feeling that sat on my chest drained all the humour out of me.

Natasha immediately rose from her seat, staring at me with possessed eyes. Her face had gone white as sheet, her lips pale.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Romanov."

She sauntered over to me, one foot stepping in front of the other. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not." My voice was weaker than I would've liked it to be, barely above a whisper. "I was trained in the Red Room. As soon as I was old enough, they shipped me off to the hands of Hydra."

She wasn't listening as intently anymore. Her eyes were locked on mine, but I could tell she wasn't exactly in the room anymore. Her head's probably off in the same place mine was in just a few minutes ago.

"Is that enough for you?"

Just like that, something snapped within her. "Tell me more."

"I already did."

"You're hiding something!"

I stood up so I was level to her height, my eyebrows knitting in anger. "I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the truth."

"No." She shook her head. "I want the full one."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She trudged towards me, lifting up her shirt so her abdomen was exposed. "Do you know who gave this to me?"

It was a long scar on her hip, positioned slightly to the left of her belly button, the skin raised and bumpy. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I got this on one of my first missions. I was assigned to escort a nuclear scientist out of Iran." She seethed. "We were ambushed by Hydra at the rendezvous in Odessa. My tires got shot, the car ran off a cliff."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I managed to save us both. But as soon as I did, the assassin who ambushed us open fired. Killed the scientist. Straight through me. Left one hell of a scar." She let go of the hem of her shirt. "A soviet slug."

It was my turn to grow pale. There was only one person who could do that. And I was far from ready to say his name.

"You knew him didn't you? I should've known all along."

"How?" I begged, the somewhat 'calm' demeanour I've tried hard to keep was long gone.

"Does it matter?" Her gaze was threatening. "You were trained by The Winter Soldier, weren't you Y/N L/N?"

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 13

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Previous

Note: This chapter, like the last one, contains explicit content. Proceed with caution!

Read chapter 13 on AO3, or read below:

I wake up to Cardan nosing the back of my neck, murmuring my name.

My head is fuzzy. I blink my eyes open and, before I am totally aware of what I’m doing, I turn over onto my back so I can look at him. The echo ripples through me from years ago: on your back, like a good little omega. I swat it away. Not now. Plenty of time for shame later.

The light from outside is still so low that I can barely see Cardan’s face, but I know he’s close from the way his breath tickles my ear. And that’s not all I can feel. He’s hard against my thigh. I try to run through the sequence of events that probably happened while I was dozing. Round one had ended; round two is just starting. I wonder how long it had taken for his first erection to subside, or for him to get hard again. I guess I have another shot at finding out.

The insistent pang in my low belly, my constant companion these last two and a half days, throbs with urgency. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my skin prickling. We’re not out of it yet. It’s not done.

Cardan brushes my hair back from my face. “Jude?”

A question this time. Something flutters in my chest. Those words still lurk in my subconscious. Maybe I should feel ashamed now. Maybe this is all I’m good for.

But against all that, I say, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Cardan pauses. “One second.”

“What—” One of his hands brushes my thigh, and I give a full-body shudder. He starts tugging my shorts the rest of the way down my legs. We were in such a hurry that they hadn’t really come off. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at him. “What do you mean one second?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

He flashes me a grin. His teeth are so white. Without quite realizing what I’m doing, I touch the place where he bit me, wondering if I can still feel their indentations. “Trust me for the next few minutes.”

“Why—” I begin, but then he gently pushes my hand aside and presses his lips to my neck. I feel weirdly heady, but cover it up by rolling my eyes. “Fine. But you’re on thin ice.”

“Yes, Alpha,” he says dryly, and my heart gives a thud so hard I feel it in my teeth.

I am so distracted I don’t realize his hand is stealing between my legs again. This time, instead of going straight to fingering me, he just touches me, almost leisurely. It takes him no time to find my clit, which is deeply unfair. I groan as he circles his fingers, taking his goddamn time. Not fair. I wonder if he can unhook a bra on the first try, too. His mouth is on my neck, and now my shoulder, and now my collarbone. I am heating up so fast, I think I am going to spontaneously combust before we can even have sex again.

“You know,” he says, sounding infuriatingly self-satisfied as he moves himself a little lower down, “this is way better.”

The sound that comes out of my mouth is somewhere between a whimper and a moan. I don’t know what to call it and am deeply embarrassed that I made it.

At first I think he might go down on me and feel something between anticipation and panic—panic because it’s basically been a swamp down there for days and I really wouldn’t want anyone putting their mouth on me, and also because, as dumb as it might sound, I haven’t gotten to shave. But he stops with his head about level with my chest, and cups my breast in his free hand, which makes me draw a breath in anticipation, but is nothing compared to the sensation that zings through me when he puts his mouth to my nipple.

“Oh,” I whine, and slide my hand around the back of his head to root in his thick, dark curls. “Oh, god.”

And of course it’s when he has me off-balance that he slides his fingers inside of me, two of them, slowly at first. I feel them curl and look up at the ceiling, clutching his hair for dear life, and think, Huh, he does know what he’s doing. He makes a sound but doesn’t falter, not with his mouth or with his fingers, his thumb now circling my clit, the pressure in my body building—

It’s too much. It’s too much.

“Stop,” I cry. “Cardan, stop, stop.”

Right away, he stops. His hand withdraws and he picks up his head, his dark eyes wide. “What? What’s wrong?”

What is wrong? I blink and my eyelashes feel wet. “I don’t,” I begin. Oh, I’m panting. “I’m going to—”

He gives me a sideways look, confused. “Yeah, that’s the point.”

I am equally confused and, more than that, overstimulated. Short-circuiting. Why isn’t he being selfish? Alphas are selfish. “But you haven’t.”

“Oh, god.” Cardan leans forward and presses his forehead against my shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. You’ll make it up to me. Do you want to come?”

My feelings are scattershot, frayed wires sparking, but I nod, because I do. I really do.

“So let me take care of you,” he says. He pushes me back so I’m lying down, my head on the pillow, and goes back to work, paying attention to my other breast and rebuilding the rhythm he’d established with his fingers. It isn’t automatic, but eventually I let myself be overwhelmed. I let him overwhelm me. And when I clench around his fingers, when everything seems a little too much, I don’t fight it.

You know how in old movies when people are about to go to bed together they pan away to fireworks in the sky? It’s like that behind my eyelids, resonating through my whole body.

Cardan is there when I come back to myself, of course. He rests his chin on my sternum and smirks up at me. In that moment, seeing how pleased he is, I want to make him feel as vulnerable as I do. I want to take him apart. I want him.

I growl and drag him up by the shoulders, and that smirk becomes a gasp when I reach down to wrap my hand around his cock. I nearly gasp, too; his skin is hot under my fingers, and he’s so hard that it must hurt. Good, I think deliriously—I was in agony for days, after all. But my heart probably isn’t in it because I’m trying to wrap my legs around his waist and get him in me.

“Wait—here—” he says, through gritted teeth, and he lines our hips up a little better. My hand falls away so he can enter me unimpeded. It’s easier than the first time because I am warmed up, because of all of the fluid, but there is still that beautifully unbearable friction. This time, I moan openly before pressing my face to his shoulder to muffle it, and he responds in kind, quieter but clearly less self-conscious.

He seems a little more in control of himself this time, working up to a demanding pace with surety. My hands roam up and down the skin of his back, which I’m surprised to find is not smooth, like I thought it would be. Instead, my fingers run over ridges of scar tissue, raised lines striping his back, a few of them. I would ask, but it is very much not the time. I tuck the knowledge away for later and concentrate on matching the rhythm of his hips. Not that I have to work very hard. With him, it’s easy. Our bodies seem to just know what to do.

I feel his breath on my cheek and realize his face is right there. What would happen if I tried to kiss him? There’s a chance he’d turn away. Omegas are for mating, not kissing—that’s what locker room talk would have you believe, no matter what the Ghost thinks or how he says the world works outside of what I’ve seen of it. Omegas are disposable, and when they aren’t… well, my mom did run from Madoc. But Cardan likes me. He said he likes me.

Worst case, would it really be such a bad thing if I kissed him and he hated it? I definitely don’t mind making him uncomfortable. We’ve done more than kiss—we’re doing more right now—plus, kissing him is an easy way to confirm whether or not he does like me.

And if he does, I’ll know. And if I know, I can use it somehow. Because if the real power is in being wanted, then…

I tilt my head up and brush my lips against where I think his must be, and end up finding half-mouth, half-cheek. Cardan freezes, and I feel a little thrill of satisfaction at being—right? wrong?—before he turns his head and finds my mouth with his again.

It’s like I’ve stuck my finger into a wall socket after being told explicitly not to. That is, it’s electric, and also like I might die from it. For a second we’re both holding our breath, closed lips pressed together, then I open my mouth and Cardan groans, clutching my face in his hands and kissing me hard. Now we’re truly right up against each other, my mouth to his, my chest against his chest, as though we could match heartbeat if we just got a little closer. His thrusts slow, but not in a bad way; they become deeper, more deliberate, like he’s trying to draw this out.

It feels surreal. It feels the way sex looks in movies. There’s nothing embarrassing about it. I am always watching, always analyzing, always anticipating, but now I am thinking of nothing but his skin against mine.

The end of this round is much less dramatic than my first panicky orgasm in the middle. I just hold onto Cardan, my arms around his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist, and let go, just as he does, his face now in the unruly cloud of my hair, the rest of him taut and shaking. When it passes, I lie there under him, breathless and slightly stunned. He doesn’t seem much better off. His entire body goes slack against mine.

“Oh,” he says in my ear. “Oh.”

I turn my face toward his in the dark. “What is it?”

He picks up his head a little, enough that I feel his mouth brush my cheek in passing. His arm reaches across me to brace itself against the mattress, and then his face is above mine again, black eyes shining. “That’s what that’s supposed to feel like.”

“Haven’t you had sex before?” I am incredulous. “Haven’t you had sex before a lot?”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But not like that.”

I try to puzzle out what he means. I mean, in rut, with knotting, sure, and this time had gone a little smoother than the last, so that could be all. I’m pretty sure he’s been with omegas before. And I know he’s had a least one serious relationship, although that was with Nicasia, an alpha. Not that Cardan and I have a relationship of any kind, so that’s not comparable at all.

We’re stuck face to face this time, but at least he’s given me a model of what to do. To make it a little comfortable, I roll us onto our sides again, and he lets me. Then he kisses me again. We stay like that for a while, just kissing, riding out the residual tremors of climax.

I’m a little disappointed when he stops kissing me, but his wild grin more than makes up for it. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you asked me to stop.”

“I was overwhelmed!” I exclaim, blushing fiercely. I am very glad it’s still dark. “Scrambled eggs, remember?”

“Huh?”

“My brain.”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. “For real. And you’ve really never…” He trails off, trying to figure out how to phrase his question. “Like, what’s the furthest you’ve gotten?”

I raise my eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Cardan shrugs. “I don’t know. Locke implied some things.”

“Ugh, Locke.” I pull a face. “Locke barely got a hand up my shirt.”

He raises his eyebrows back at me. “Did you slap him for it?”

I shake my head. I can’t bear to tell Cardan that Locke, to his minimal credit, scaled back his advances when I seemed skittish. “I punched Valerian, though, and he technically didn’t even get that far.”

Cardan frowns. “Whatever he did, it wouldn’t have counted,” he says, surprising me. “You know that, right?”

“I’m pretty sure it would have.”

“I mean, not in the way I’m talking about. In the way that matters.”

I don’t know what to make of this at all. I have always thought of sex as something tthat would someday be done to me and not with me; it never occurred to me to differentiate between what I do or don’t want. That it makes a difference. I draw a line up and down his bicep, and before I can stop myself, I am asking, “How many of your times haven’t counted?”

“Oof.” Cardan is quiet for a second, then says, “I’d like to think they all have, but… I have done some things, shall we say, under the influence that I probably shouldn’t have. Wouldn’t have, if I had been sober. So, there’s that.”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s about what I expected him to say. I don’t want to ask him the horrible question of whether this counts, right now. Because, despite the horrible circumstances, I think it counts for me. I feel oddly brittle when I think about how it might not for him. So I ask a different question. “What about the scars on your back?”

“Aha.” Cardan puts his head down on the pillow. He was waiting for me to ask, I realize. “I fought a bear.”

“It feels like you lost.”

“Hmm.” He leans forward to tuck himself against me. My head fits perfectly under his chin. “You should see the bear.”

“I’d like to. Does he have a name?”

There is a long pause, then Cardan says, so softly I almost don’t hear him, “Yes.”

I reach around me to run my finger over one of the lines. I vaguely recognize the pattern and what might have made it, but people aren’t supposed to get flogged anymore. Instead of my angry fire, I feel fathomless sadness. The list of suspects is small, and none are good news.

I ask slowly, “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

Cardan lets out a little disbelieving laugh. “No. Thank you, but no.”

“I mean it,” I say, and am sort of surprised that I do. I had made a similar promise to the Bomb while I was delirious. Now I am much more clear-headed, although possibly a little dickmatized.

“I know. It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it?” I demand, picking up my head. “He hurts you. What else is there?”

He lifts his hand and runs it through my messy hair. “Let me put it another way,” he says, curling a lock around his finger. “If it turned out Madoc actually did plan your parents’ deaths like Vivi thinks, would you still love him?”

I open my mouth, and then I close it.

“See.” I can hear his rueful smile. “It’s complicated.”

I put my head back down. I want to call on my fire and say, Of course I wouldn’t love him. Of course I would swear to enact revenge on him for all my days. But even as I think it, I remember how he rested his hand on my shoulder when he came to retrieve us from the hospital that terrible night, how he taught me to protect myself, the pride in his eyes when he watched me graduate. And I know it is not that easy.

“I was born when my father was in his sixties,” Cardan says, resting his chin on top of my head again. “I was an alpha, at least, but I was premature, and small. Dain tried to convince my father that I was defective, that I shouldn’t inherit anything. I overheard him talking about it on the phone. He didn’t care if I knew. And that part didn’t work, of course, but some of that idea stuck with dear old dad, or maybe he was just too old to have a child underfoot. He didn’t really raise me. No one did, until I started acting out in school. Then they sent me to Balekin.”

“To make you behave?” I guess. “Or, no… to make you more alpha. To toughen you up.”

“Yeah.”

I can connect the dots from there. Cardan got bumped down to my year, and he got worse. Maybe not when teachers were looking, but worse all the same. His home being hell didn’t excuse that, but it did explain a lot. “From where I’m sitting it just made you a terror.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. And by certain philosophies, that is how to be an alpha.” He pauses, stroking my hair. “But I’m beginning to think there are other ways, too.”

---

I am on the cold floor of my own basement, the one in Madoc’s mansion, wrapped in the scratchy blanket that used to be one of the layers on the king bed in my parents’ house. I’m not naked anymore, but fully dressed in my school uniform: white, collared shirt; blue and green tartan skirt and the bicycle shorts I always wore under it; too-long socks.

Valerian is here. I know before I even see him and dread looking up. But I do, like my eyes are the camera lens in a movie, drawn unfailingly toward the source of motion and conflict. His nose is bloody, his eye blackened, and he is sneering.

I try to roll away from him, but I’m caught in the blankets, and I panic. He plants his foot on my hip. “No, you don’t,” he says. “You should have just let me do it then if you were going to let Cardan do it now.”

“Shut up!” The more I try to struggle away from him, the more tangled up I become. The thudding of my heart is so loud in my ears.

Valerian snorts derisively and wipes the blood away with his hand, smearing it over his face. “You’re a filthy animal,” he snarls. “That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

My eyes snap open.

I am back in our cell. Cardan is stretched out next to me on his stomach; we must have both been asleep when we came undone. He is completely naked, because I have stolen all of the blankets. Dawn is beginning to shine through our one tiny window. I am on my back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make my heartbeat settle, the shapes resolve themselves.

“Jude?” Cardan asks, feeling for me blindly with an outstretched hand. “Whatsit?”

“Nothing.”

He opens one dark, sleepy eye. “That’s a lie. Bad dream?”

“No.” I roll onto my side to face him, pulling the blankets over my chest. “I’m really okay.”

Cardan’s hand settles on top of the blankets, pressing gently against them, which just makes my heart race again and undoes all my hard breathing work. “Your heart’s going crazy.”

“Are you a doctor now?”

“And you smell freaked out.”

My brow furrows. “You can’t smell when I’m freaked out.”

“I can. And when you’re angry. Your scent gets all… spiky. Spicy.”

“That’s racist,” I deadpan.

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, but then he looks mildly concerned and sits up halfway, propping himself up on his side. “Wait, is it?”

I sigh. “Fine, you’re right. It was a nightmare.” I hold up my hand, tracing the outline of it against the ceiling. “But I’m fine. Dreams can’t hurt me. They’re just dreams.”

“Yeah,” says Cardan, but he sounds unconvinced.

“Aren’t you too horny for serious talk?” I ask. I can feel from the urgency of my pulse and the faint tingling in my fingers and toes that we’re not out of the woods yet. Admittedly, the nightmare did kind of dampen any urge I had to touch anyone ever again, but that’s not a problem he should be having.

“Um.” He glances down at himself. I also glance down. At that moment I am so glad I’m not a man; they can’t hide anything. His voice is strained when he says, “I mean, kind of horny, but obviously if you need to talk—”

I shove his shoulder to turn him onto his back, then crawl over to him. I’ve watched some porn, and also, you know, television, so even though I’ve never done this, I know how it’s done. I push myself up and swing my leg over him to straddle his hips. I have never gotten to be taller than Cardan before, but it’s not just the angle that changes him. He looks up at me like I am a beautiful stranger, someone he’s never seen before and might never see again, and then he tries to blink it away, but he’s too slow. I feel the breath woosh out of my chest.

“You’re trying to distract me with sex,” he accuses.

That was what I was trying to do—distract him and myself—but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I just want to have sex with him. Maybe I am choosing him just to choose him. Is that better or worse? I push my hair back over my shoulder, shaking it out. “Is it working?”

“Uh-huh, it’s—working great.” He runs a hand down my thigh. “But do you have it in you?”

“Yeah.” I nod, too, to drive the point home. The warm flush is starting to return to my body, but not as strong as before. My heat is finally, finally coming to an end. “One more time.”

“Okay.” He places his hands on my hips. “I should probably—”

Before he can tell me what he should probably do, I sink down onto him—and then gasp, because gravity is working with me this time so it happens way quicker than I thought it would. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s startling.

“Jude,” he groans. “I was going to say I should probably warm you up.”

“I’m plenty warm,” I say, moving my hips experimentally. As long as the heat lasts, I shouldn’t need too much stimulation to get going. I feel so full of him that it’s intoxicating.

I thought being on top would be more of an up-and-down motion, but it turns out grinding down on him or rocking back and forth feels just as good. I am surprised to find that I am not at all self-conscious, maybe because I have the best view of Cardan yet, and he is watching me like I’m a miracle, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off me for a second. I run my hands over his shoulders, scratch my nails a little against his chest, just to see him bite his lip. Not the fake lip-bite he’d do in front of a camera, either. One he can’t help.

“Jude,” he says again, moving up into me as I grind down on him. His hands stroke up and down my thighs. His eyelashes flutter. “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

I pause. “What?”

“Oh.” Now he looks startled. “Uh, I meant you’re—”

“You’re pretty, too,” I say, before he can take it back. A smirk is curling the edge of my lips. He is pretty, underneath me, his hair spread out on the pillow like that, his face flushed. Even the tips of his ears are red, although that’s probably from embarrassment.

Cardan blinks at me, then recovers his dopey grin. “Damn right I am,” he says, and then he shifts, coming to sit up with me in his lap. He cards his fingers through my hair again. “But you’re something else.”

I look at him, at his perfect, stupid, handsome face now nearly level with mine, and my heart aches in my chest. Soon my heat is going to break. We’ll have no reason to do this ever again. And when we’re let out of our cell, one way or another, we won’t even have a good excuse to keep in touch.

All at once, I realize how much I don’t want that. I don’t want it to be over.

I reach out to touch his cheek, and he presses his hand against mine, holding it there. “Do you trust me?” I whisper.

He watches me with those fathomless, dark eyes, and says, “Yeah, I do.”

Maybe that’s the wrong answer. Maybe he shouldn’t. But I guess he’ll find that out for himself.

I lean forward and sink my teeth into his neck.

Next

[katsidhe]

15.17 Final Thoughts (1/2)

.....part one, because I realized I wanted to talk about basically every goddamn scene. I’m dividing this roughly based on Dean-centric and Not Dean-centric thoughts. 

Who is the villain? Fighting against narrative-fate and fighting against order-fate are two similar but subtly and crucially different ideas. Chuck-as-narrative is contrary to the idea of endings in a way that Billie-as-order is not. Both agents of some definition of fate, but Chuck is a force in fundamental opposition to decay. He drags things out, he reassembles his favorite pieces over and over. Death, inasmuch as she is an agent of order, is entropic. Part of order is the chaos of natural unspooling, the inevitable unwinding of a clock.

And there was something fascinating in how s14 laid these pieces out: narrative resurrections as the villain, the peace of natural endings as the goal. To defy the God that kept Sam and Dean living past their natural years is to embrace Death. This episode pulled something like a philosophical reversal in setting up Death—and therefore both types of fate—as something which must still be defied, and I am confused and interested. Essentially, what I viewed in some ways as the fundamental meta-narrative question of s15—coming to terms with an ending when that ending has been delayed at all costs for years and years—is being fought and naysayed by Sam, of all people. I’m still noodling on this one, and I might have more to say later.

What does this even mean, to defy Death? Sam’s (weak, tbh) justification of why Billie as Supreme Ruler would be a bad thing is that her power would specifically undo certain wrinkles in the cosmic order that he and Dean have been party to. But which? How far back would this go? What kind of magics would be undone, would we have, like, a hard reset to season 2? Because that would be Bad for sure. But if Billie would simply be sending a handful of people off to overdue ends, and ensure no more demon/angel shenanigans, I don’t really see the problem with handing her the keys to the kingdom. I guess Sam’s point is that we don’t know, Billie has obviously been less than forthright, and we probably should take a second to think about who we’re giving absolute power to, and why, but. Idk.

[To be involved in the underpinnings of fate is to have some of those powers… can we discuss the Winchesters’ complicity in determining how the universe is structured?]

Part of this also feels like it slots into how Sam has moved on from the concept of martyrdom as a panacea to apocalyptic ills. He and Dean have both tried it over and over, and even when it’s accomplished something good for awhile the universe inevitably unspools further. His frustration with Jack’s willingness to sacrifice himself here reeks with the same frustration Sam had with Dean in 14.12, carrying his  coffin behind the car.

To what extent is Chuck lying about his control over the meta narrative? I’d say, a fair amount. His frustration has, in this season and in this episode, seemed very private and genuine. I think he’s adjusting most of this on the fly.

Jack successfully wins Adam’s rib by identifying that the divine is nested in every rock. Does this make anyone else uneasy at the idea of the plan to obliterate anything divine with a black hole spell? Just me?

Sam infiltrated the library of Death herself, got ambushed unexpectedly by a hostile cosmic power, and quickly discerned its  motives and knowledge while being tortured. And then he pulled the SMOOTHEST LIE of this entire damn show right out of his ass. Sam, we aren’t worthy of you.

Cas’s one contribution this episode was to compliment Sam for looking for a different solution. (I did the same thing, Cas, so I think this makes me as important as you.) But significantly, Cas does this specifically by affirming 1) Sam’s moral compass and 2) Sam’s sanity, and this is a big thing, because those two points are the accusations that Dean (and others) most frequently uses to tell Sam he’s in the wrong.

Something Cas does NOT do is intervene when Dean points a gun at Sam, even though guns don’t hurt him. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  This could be viewed as a mere issue of staging, but I prefer to slot it into the pattern of Cas finding it difficult to stand up directly to Dean in late seasons.

Jack quietly asks Sam if he’s angry or disappointed. He doesn’t bother asking Dean; he knows. Sam, with candor that Jack utterly deserves from him, tells Jack that he is impressed by Jack’s courage but that he thinks this plan is wrong. Sam doesn’t push harder than this, and he doesn’t say anything to Jack when Jack overhears Dean’s outburst: he just smiles this awful, awkward little smile, the plaster over the ways their relationship has been crumbling and unsteady with the weight of everything that has gone unsaid since 13.23. Jack understands where Sam stands so much less than he understands Dean.

Jack’s got this horrible, twisted air of maturity and gravitas this episode, as he goes to his unnecessary death. He is thoughtful and solemn; he insists he understands and accepts Dean’s condemnation. He is more placid than he was in 14.20, and even more cooperative, because he feels that he’s chosen this path for himself. I found myself comparing his attitude with Sam’s in 5.22: it’s very “I’m the least of any of you”, even though it’s tempered by Jack’s relative fearlessness (he’s going to oblivion, not torment). He’s likewise doing this out of guilt as much or more than necessity, and in service to a larger picture he doesn’t understand.

I really, really want Amara and Jack to bond over their shared status of Superpowerful Cosmic Beings Who Deserve Better.  

Amara wanted nothing more than to believe the best of Dean, and then of Chuck. When Chuck offers her equality and love and partnership, she weeps with how much she wants to believe him. Amara’s acceptance of Chuck, and Sam’s acceptance of Dean are both chilling versions of “unity”, when they have both spent so long sidelined and subordinated by their brothers.

We are in endgame, and this is the first episode that made me feel it. I’m gonna write more about this in Part Dos, but this episode felt like a SPN thesis.  

part two, dean boogaloo, coming tomorrow

[sparklingchan]

Perfect ||Yang Hongseok (Pentagon)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Hongseok

Genre : Angst,fluff.

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities and self doubt.

Word count : 1.8k+

Enjoy!

They say that actions speak louder than words but I know from experience that sometimes words cause so much damage that even actions aren't able to repair those damages.

Hongseok says I am the love of his life and that he wouldn't trade me for the world, and I believe him because if I were to list all of his good qualities, being honest would top it. Besides being honest , he was practically good at everything. Singing, dancing, sports, studies, you name it. He is perfect , and even perfect is an understatement sometimes.

"(Y/n), Did you forget to buy milk yesterday too?" my dad asks me as I am eating breakfast, phone in my hand and earphones plugged in.

I sigh , pressing my hand to my face out of guilt. Why am I so forgetful?

"No, I'm sorry, pa. I'll go and buy it right now." I say and stand, leaving my half eaten breakfast behind.

He shakes his head in disappointment.

"Leave it, I'll ask Hongseok to buy it. He's coming to meet you today right?" He asks .

I don't know why but I was disappointed to hear him say that. I should be happy that my father got along so well with my boyfriend and adored him so much but I wasn't. Not even close. I felt like a horrible person at that moment for feeling that pang of jealousy.

"It's okay, pa. Hongseok probably has other things to do too. I'll buy right now. He will be coming in the evening anyway." I say, insistent.

"We can wait until the evening. The last time I sent you to get milk ,you bought everything but milk and this time you didn't even go to buy it. It's alright honey, Hongseok is more responsible. He'll buy it. "

That's when the realisation came of not being good enough. It was a small incident , some light words my father had said in the spur of the moment that I could have easily forgotten about it, just how I forgot everything else, but I didn't. I kept replaying the words in my head 'he's more responsible'. It drilled a small crack in my ego but with time the crack became a gaping hole, waiting to swallow me.

Hongseok invited me to his parents' anniversary party that they were hosting at their residence. I was unwilling to go honestly , not because I didn't want to go but because I was afraid of embarrassing Hongseok in front of his friends and relatives.

You see, I didn't fall into the category of pretty girls. I was just average. In a room full of pretty girls, you would never expect someone to have their eyes stuck on me. I am also too hyper , too talkative, too loud. And there is a whole list of other such things that would take me forever to jot down.

Hongseok didn't say it out loud but I just know that I embarrassed him in public, a lot.

"What are you going to wear?" he asks me over call the night before the party. I stare at the three dresses on my bed(the only dresses I own) and sigh, still stressed about limited choices of dresses for a fancy evening party. I hate wearing dresses but I know I cannot show up at the party wearing a pair of jeans and my black hoodie.

"I don't know, Hong. I'm confused." I say as I flop on the bed, nuzzling my face into the pillow.

"Oh god,(y/n). You should have told me earlier. I would have taken you shopping." He says with a hint of excitement in his voice.

But I fail to reciprocate it.

My ears turn red, embarrassed at his comment. I've been very sensitive to everything he says from the past few days and many times, I even tried to ignore his texts or calls . I know he didn't mean to make me feel this way but I couldn't help it. With each passing day, I feel myself becoming more of burden to him than a girlfriend. Truth to be told, I really wanted him to find his happiness in someone who was better than me.

Not to mention that it would break me to see him with someone else , but I am ready to bear that if it means seeing him truly happy.

" It's alright. I'll wear something nice so don't worry about being embarassed because of me." I reply, the words sounding harsher than I intended.

He keeps quiet for a few seconds before talking again.

"(Y/n), is everything alright? I've been observing you since the past few days and you're acting weird. And now you snap at me like that. You wanna talk about it, huh, baby?" he says in the sweetest voice ever. He always knows what to say, doesn't he? It makes me even more angry.

"He does not deserve you. He deserves someone as perfect as him." a voice inside my head says.

"I'm sorry but I've always been weird. Sorry for the goddamned inconvenience." I yell, sarcasm dripping in my voice. But before he can reply I hang up the call.

That night I turn and toss in my bed ,debating in my head whether or not to go to the party. A part of me wants to go because it feels bad for yelling at Hongseok and genuinely loves him and another part of me hates the idea of the party and just wants to stay in the house, not be an embarrassment to anyone. Ultimately, by the time the sun starts rising and my alarm goes off, I decide to go to the party.

********

I wear a red dress that reaches a little above my knees, pencil heels and some accessories. I put on some light make up and head out for the party. I've been ignoring Hongseok's texts and calls yet again and even though I am really tempted to talk to him, I just patiently wait till I reach his house.

And When I finally reach , I find him standing at the gate, busy on his phone and looking around as if searching for something. And that something is me.

"Hongseok." I whisper loud enough for him to hear me, as I slowly walk towards him, his eyes already on me. His face breaks into a smile on seeing me and naturally,mine does too. I haven't met him in person for a long time and right now, looking at him in a tux and perfect hair and with his beautiful smile, I realise how much I missed him.

He wraps his arms around me and it makes me forget about everything else , though just for a moment.

"I missed you." he says to me , nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.

"I missed you too. " I say, placing my arms around his slim waist, " About yesterday-" I am about to complete my sentence when someone , his cousin if I recall properly , interrupts us.

"Hongseok, they're calling you inside, come on"

The party goes on smoothly . Hongseok and I are together almost throughout the whole time and for once, I didn't feel like I was embarrassing, maybe those feelings would come back but right now I am enjoying his company way too much to let negative thoughts ruin.

He would steal kisses from when I am blabbering about something or he would caresses my cheeks or hold my waist. He is all about PDA and I love it. Neither of us talked about yesterday and I know that the issue is resolved without me even having to say anything.

"I'm going to get dessert. Do you want anything?" he says, getting up from the table a little while later.

"I'll come with you." I say as I stand up too even though my feet hurt from wearing heels for too long .

We walk along the outdoor swimming pool, kids playing around and everyone else busy in their own little conversations and for once, I didn't feel out of place. Sadly ,all of that was short lived. Everything that happened next feels like a blur to me, like a video that is fast forwarded a little too much for my liking. I only vaguely remember a kid running right into me with full force, me tripping over and falling right into the swimming pool with a huge splash.

At that moment, I really wish I had stayed home.

*********

My ears are still ringing from to the splash and I feel horrible, embarrassed, sad and anxious all together. I've been holding in my tears all along and I know it isn't long before I snap, horribly. I have never felt so humiliated in my entire life and moreover, I wonder how much embarrassment Hongseok will have to go through because of me. I imagine a better scenario in my head where he is dating someone better than me, someone who'd have never caused so much humiliation. Someone who was more well behaved than me ,someone who wasn't me.

"Wear my t-shirt and pants till your clothes dry out. It shouldn't take long to dry them though." Hongseok says, handing some of his clothes to me.

I don't say anything, afraid of bursting into tears anytime.

I quickly wear his clothes .

"Are you in a mood to go downstairs for lunch or do you want me to bring our plates here? I'm fine with whatever you want, just name it" he says. He removes strands of hair from my face and tucks them behind my ears. His touch is like magic, giving me goosebumps but I force myself to swat his hand away,not being able to look him in the eye.

"I just want to go home. I can't embarrass you or your family anymore. " I say in a choked voice. I didn't want to cry right now but even before I could do anything, my eyes fill with tears.

"(Y/n)! You didn't do anything, sweetheart. Please, don't say that . You could never do that." he says, sitting beside me. He puts his hand comfortingly on my thigh but I move away .

"Why, Hongseok? Why are you lying? I know I have caused you nothing but humiliation and trouble . Stop denying it . I disappoint everyone, you, dad, my teachers, friends. You deserve better than this. Than me, " My voice breaks. "Let me go"

I say the last part in a small voice, unsure of how he'd react but he hears me, loud and clear.

"Okay, stop it now." he says in a tough tone, clearly angry. " I don't know what delusion you're under but let me make one thing clear ,you are more than what I deserve. You are smart, funny, bright, supportive, friendly, romantic, you're perfect. Other girls wish they're you. But they aren't because there can only be one (y/n). And I love her. With all her flaws and perfections. I'm not perfect either. I make mistakes and that's why we're more compatible than anyone else. Do you understand? "

Hearing these words as if breaks a wall that I'd been building from the past few days, and I feel relief wash over me. I start crying.

"You really mean it?" I ask in a small voice as his arms wrap around me. He places a kiss on my head.

"I mean it with all my heart. " He says. "Don't ever say that you're not good enough for me or that I deserve better, because I don't care. You're the one I want and I know you're more than enough for me."

And I believe him, like I always do.

[phcking-detective]

Baby I Can See Heaven in Your Eyes

Rating: E

Tags: dirty talk / voice kink, heavy petting, dry humping, delayed / denied orgasm, hair pulling, light pet play (Nines is called kitten and told to "sit"), oral fixation, crying, kissing and cuddling as (brief) aftercare before the scene continues, sexual possessiveness, fingering, sub space

TW: sexual roleplay that Gavin is Nines’s “owner” and Nines is his “companion model,” like an at-home Traci; no kink negotiation beforehand, but Gavin checks in with Nines frequently for explicit consent; Nines has a vagina (no gender play)

***

Nines cannot wait for his human to return home, so that he can test his most recent experiment. Thus far, he has tested a phallus, a vaginal component, two dildos, and a vibrator.

He is looking forward to also gathering data on Gavin's dick.

"Hello, detective," he greets the moment of the human's arrival.

Thing One and Thing Two greet him as well, One by rubbing against his legs and purring, and Two by screaming for attention. They have both been fed, and Nines plans on giving them their favorite electronic mouse to hunt as a distraction so he can have the human to himself for the evening.

"Hey, baby," Gavin says. He kneels down and pets both cats. "Hello beasties. Yes, hello. Are you lying? Have you been fed?"

"Yes, they have," Nines answers for them. "Please ignore their wails of alleged hunger."

"Dirty rotten liars," Gavin calls them affectionately.

Nines remotely deploys the mouse with a swirl of his LED. It is big enough to contain a small amount of wet food inside, and the "beasties" quickly chase it into the kitchen.

Gavin stands up with a snort. "Oh, did you want attention too? What've you been doing today?"

"Yes," Nines says shamelessly. "I spent the afternoon thoroughly masturbating myself. How was work?"

Gavin tries to hang his jacket on a coat hook that does not exist and drops it on the floor. "You—what?"

"I spent the afternoon thoroughly masturbating myself. How was work?" Nines asks.

"Not as fun as that," Gavin mutters as he picks up the jacket and tries again. "Did you … uh. Have fun?"

"Yes. I should really thank Connor," Nines says.

Gavin pulls a face. "You fucked Connor? In my—shit, OK. Well. Our apartment? Not on my bed though, right? That's still mine."

Nines rolls his eyes in return. "No, Gavin. I did not fuck Connor. He simply informed me that sex is not merely for reproduction and that it is not hyperbole when humans say they want to fuck someone."

Gavin stares at him. Nines understands. This is all very new information that seemed dubious to him as well.

"Apparently, humans really are out there 'fucking' one another," Nines explains.

"… yeah," Gavin says.

Nines analyzes him, noting his elevated heart rate. "Did you know about this, detective?"

"I—don't scan me!" Gavin snaps. "My sex life is none of your business."

"Oh." Nines feels his LED circle yellow-yellow-red. "But you are sexually attracted me, and Connor said that is not merely an annoying physical response on par with hiccups. Do you not want to have sex with me?"

"On par with …" Gavin stops and rubs his hands across his face. "Phck. We're really going to talk about this, huh? We're just gonna have a whole goddamn conversation about it."

"Yes," Nines says. "Detective."

Gavin puts his hands down to glare at him. "OK, just because I got drunk one time—"

"You get drunk fre—"

"AHT!" Gavin cuts him off with the no-noise he uses on the cats. "One time and ordered a companion android, who—"

"You did not," Nines reminds him. "You googled 'tall smexy anboid' 'want hot robo friemd' and 'am robots gay question-mark question-mark question-mark' before passing out."

"I hate you."

"You think I'm pretty."

"AUGH!"

Gavin stalks into the living room and throws himself onto the couch. Nines does not understand why his human insists on making everything so emotional and difficult and emotionally difficult.

He clearly desires android sexual companionship, given his drunken attempt to order a companion model — [confirmed].

He is sexually attracted to Nines, given that he mistook the RK900's first appearance at his apartment the next morning (entirely coincidental; Captain Fowler assigned them as partners) to be the companion model he attempted to order — [confirmed].

He did not reject the "companion model," despite all commentary from other humans (Cyberlife employees; DPD employees) indicating Nines is [creepy], [inhuman], [terrifying], et cetera, et cetera. Gavin instead labeled him a [big pretty bitch] and [all my phcking wet dreams come true, goddamn].

"You think I'm pretty," Nines repeats.

Gavin finally lifts his head out of his hands. "Yes. You're the prettiest fucking sass bot ever produced."

[confirmed]

"You find me sexually attractive as well, and it is true that humans actually act on those physical desires, yes?" Nines asks.

Gavin sighs and lets his head drop against the back of the couch. "Yeah."

"I have installed a vaginal component, and I—"

"Oh my god," Gavin whispers at the ceiling.

"—have confirmed I enjoy penetrative stimulation," Nines continues. "You are in possession of a phallus, correct?"

Gavin looks up at him. "OK, so you're bored of dildos and you want to try out my dick?"

"Is anyone other than your hand making use of it?" Nines replies.

"Phck off."

"Gladly."

Nines takes a seat on Gavin's lap. This is his [favorite] spot. Now he knows why it flusters the human so much, and also possibly why he enjoys it so much. Could he have been experiencing [sexual arousal] even without a genital component? Interesting.

"Baby," Gavin groans.

Nines relocates the human's hands to his thighs. Gavin obligingly begins rubbing them, almost reaching up high enough to cup his ass. He has sat in this spot before, firstly to mimic the cats, because they seemed to enjoy sitting on Gavin's lap and being petted. Then for [cuddling] and telling each other about their day.

Of course he had noted Gavin's reaction to this; he simply did not categorize it as relevant. The human's stomach also sometimes growled while around the cats, but that bodily reaction did not mean Gavin literally wanted to or would ever eat either one of them. Human bodies sometimes just do things.

But now Nines can recognize he is the [cause] of this particular reaction.

(And also note his new genital component's reaction to his human rubbing his thighs and calling him baby in that tone of voice.)

"Detective," Nines says in return.

Gavin huffs out a growl. "Dammit, Nines. You should—you can … go get another human. Or android, I guess. Just. Someone else."

Nines pulls back enough to ensure he can fully scan the human. Arousal — [confirmed]. No detection of [fear]. Gavin wants this and presumably is not coerced or intoxicated.

But admittedly, Nines did not have a social module pre-installed. He has learned from experience, observing humans in his new profession as a librarian, and … mimicking Gavin's cats.

(Not that he's told that last fact to Connor.)

"Clarify," Nines demands. "Do you not want this?"

Gavin, much like his cats when told to get off the counter, looks away and pretends not to hear him.

"Am I sexually assaulting you?" Nines asks.

"Wha—" Gavin finally gives him a reaction. "No! Fuck, god."

"I am requesting that you fuck me."

Gavin gives him a slow look up and down. "Closest I'm gonna get to heaven, huh?"

Nines preens under his gaze. Question answered, now reassured that his actions are not harming the human, he deploys another helpful tactic he has learned from Thing One and Thing Two.

He repeatedly butts his face into Gavin's to request attention.

"Kiss me."

"Nines, I—"

"Kiss me. Kiss me."

Gavin grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks him into a kiss. Nines ignores the notifications of a mission successfully completed as they scroll across his HUD in order to focus on the experience.

For how roughly Gavin maneuvered him into it, the [kiss] is surprisingly gentle. His lips press insistently against Nines's, drawing back slightly and then pressing again, but it is nothing like the people on TV who seem to be eating each other's faces.

It is … very nice. Warm. The human's lips aren't quite soft, due to chapping from the cold Detroit weather, but the texture is so [interesting]. And the contrast between lips and stubble and the slight pull of the hand still gripping his hair makes his internal cooling fans kick in to abate the sudden rise in temperature.

Then, just as Nines lets his guard down, Gavin bites his lip.

It does not [hurt] or cause any damage of course, but Nines still opens his mouth to ask why—and the human uses that split second to delve his tongue inside.

Analysis explodes across the android's HUD. Gavin's DNA, the hormones present in his saliva, traces of coffee. (And when was the last time he had a meal? Nines should be detecting actual food as well [reminder: my human has not yet consumed his daily caloric intake])

Gavin pulls back and separates their mouths. Unacceptable. Nines pushes forward and puts his own tongue inside the human's mouth to continue his analysis.

For some reason, Gavin pushes him away.

"No tongue until you learn how to kiss," he's told.

Nines does not pout. He presents a perfectly reasonable argument. "I was analyzing you."

"Yeah, that's why I made the rule," Gavin replies. "There's a difference between kissing and analyzing. Also, I need to breathe."

Well. The second fact does hold some merit …

"We can still make out." Gavin shifts his hand from Nines's hair to cup his face. "Just let me lead, all right baby?"

Nines nods and obediently holds still until Gavin guides his face back down. The kiss starts slow again, and the next nip at his bottom lip only tugs on it slightly before Gavin lets go and kisses him again. Nines tries to follow the pattern of when to press forward and when to tilt his—

Gavin's hands slide over the tops of his thighs and then inside them, thumbs pressed close to his groin. Nines barely has time to process this change (he is still being [kissed]) before the detective uses his grip to pull his thighs wider over his lap.

"You wanna show me what I'm working with?" Gavin asks him, his voice low and rough and … very unfair.

Nines leans forward into the human's arms, dropping his head down to rest on his shoulder. He needs less stimulus to process all of this. He restricts his audio input to ignore any sounds outside of the apartment. The mouse program gets abandoned, so the cats will likely be able to bat it out from under the fridge soon. All he needs is Gavin, Gavin, Gavin.

"Touch me," he asks.

The thumb slowly drawing circles on the inside of his left thigh lifts up to stroke over his pubic plate, currently equipped with a vaginal component. It only takes a gentle press to push the fabric of his yoga pants into the slick mess Gavin has made of him.

"Your cunt all wet for me, baby?"

The profanity shivers through him, and Nines nods against his neck. That answer apparently was not [adequate] though, because Gavin takes his thumb nearly away, resting so lightly atop the fabric Nines can only feel his human body heat.

"Need an answer, Nines."

Nines works his mouth silently for a few seconds before remembering to activate his vocal unit. "Yes, Detective."

Gavin hums and it's almost a groan. Nines presses closer and licks his neck. That is not [kissing]. This analysis of his sweat and skin should not be forbidden.

"I'm going to touch you," Gavin tells him.

Nines lifts his head to exhale a cloud of steam. It does very little to lower his rising core temperature, not when Gavin's thumb swipes up to pet across the crotch of his yoga pants until he finds his clit, grown swollen and plump. He chose a larger model, and he had very reasonable—

"Gaaav …"

—reasons. Reasonable … reasons. Yes. Many of them. Aesthetics and—and—more sensors to—

"Oh, baby," Gavin murmurs in that voice. "You need it, kitten? Look at you, you're trembling, and I'm barely even touching you."

That is an unfair assessment. Nines tries to formulate the argument but blows out steam again instead. Gavin has his voice, and the way he spread Nines's thighs so wide, he can clearly see the growing damp patch he's making.

The way that also leaves Nines's [cunt] spread wide, lips separated and hole clenching around nothing.

It feels … [filthy]

[embarrassing]

[exciting]

"So good for me." Gavin pulls Nines's face out of the crook of his neck by his hair. "Let me see you."

Nines goes with the motion. The human has a firm grip on his hair, right at the root, so the tugging doesn't actually [hurt], although the complete lack of resistance likely helps.

But he can hardly see his detective past all the error notifications crowding up his HUD.

Gavin apparently likes what he sees. "Beautiful. My pretty baby."

He doesn't stop circling his thumb around Nines's clit as he says it, and Nines whimpers. He tries to push his hips forward to get more pressure, more touching, more of anything, but Gavin takes his hand away entirely to still his hips.

"Please," Nines gasps.

Gavin gives him a stern look. "Behave."

Nines shudders all over, a full body malfunction. His core temperature has risen almost to dangerous levels. Gavin tugs his head back, forcing his chin up. Nines doesn't understand why (is he no longer allowed to view his human?) until a prompt flashes in red to exhale.

He releases a burst of steam that would have been too hot for human comfort, but Gavin has already preconstructed that. He is allowed to lower his head again once he's completed a few breathing cycles. His temperature and stress levels begin a slow descent as he settles into the knowledge that Detective Reed will take care of him.

"Please, Detective." Nines blinks several times to clear all the notifications. "I will be good."

He saves several still images of the way Gavin looks as he considers: his eyes more black than grey-green, the slight flush across his cheeks, the obvious press of his erection inside his jeans, yet he still remains in control.

(Of them both.)

Gavin lifts up the hand on his hip and offers Nines his thumb. Nines gratefully lets his mouth fall open, thumb gently pressing inside to rest heavily on top of his tongue. His eyes drift shut to focus solely on the analysis he receives.

All too soon, the thumb is withdrawn, but he doesn't have time to protest before it's pressing back into his clit again, even wetter than before, the damp fabric hardly even a barrier at all.

And then does not move.

"What do you say," Gavin asks lowly.

"Th—" Nines gasps. "Thank you, De—Detect—ohhh."

Gavin's own legs underneath him prevent him from closing his thighs around the hand between his legs, and the hand in his hair holds his head hostage so that he cannot look away. He doesn't know what to do with his hands until he realizes that at some point, he put them behind his back, an old program partially activated to stand at parade rest.

This is much better.

"You like this baby?"

Nines tries to nod against the hand in his hair and forces his LED to flash blue along the yellow and red.

"Good boy," Gavin praises. "Just gonna check when your light's been red for a while, all right?"

Nines doesn't answer this time. He just sinks down into it, the obedience of holding perfectly still, the care Gavin shows him, letting someone else have control for once. He enjoyed the way masturbation made his awareness of physical sensation temporarily overtake his thoughts, but he did not expect … this.

Except just when he feels his orgasm approaching, Gavin takes his hand away. He must make some sort of distressed noise, because his detective immediately reassures him.

"Shhh, shhh, I've still got you. You're good, so good for me, baby."

Gavin rearranges their legs as he speaks, holding both hands on Nines's sides to help support and balance him with his hands still gripping his wrists behind his back. The relocation stops with their legs staggered, Nines kneeling with one of Gavin's legs between both of his own instead of straddling his whole lap.

"You wanted to sit in my lap, didn't you kitten?" Gavin says. It is not a question. "So sit."

Nines doesn't understand, but he lowers himself back down anyway to [sit] on top of—

Oh.

Both of Gavin's hands go to his hips this time, showing him how to grind down on the thigh between his legs. The pleasure is not as [focused] as being petted with his thumb, but he finally gets pressure against his entrance as well.

"C'mere."

Nines doesn't realize he's broken posture to slump forward until Gavin pulls him in all the way, carefully nestling him to rest against his chest—although the android does still have to bend slightly to put their heads on an even level due to the height difference.

"Is this what you wanted?" Gavin turns his head to speak softly in his ear. "All those times you crawled in my lap, sat here like this, knowing how goddamn hard you get me?"

Nines whimpers and takes it, almost like a punishment, but so [good]. He only moves his hips as Gavin's hands direct them, as his leg pushes up and his hands pull him down.

"I shouldn't even be this nice to you." Gavin lets out a sigh. "But fuck it, you're cute. Go ahead and take a freebie, baby."

Nines tries to make his next whine sound a bit more questioning, to indicate he doesn't understand the meaning of that either. Luckily, Gavin pays attention. He always pays attention to Nines, in a [good] way, not afraid or gossiping about him behind his back.

"I'm going to let you come this time," he explains.

Gavin drops a kiss against his temple as Nines fixates on the very specific phrasing [this time]. Now he's the one a little scared, but not bad, not bad, it's too [good] to be [bad].

"Wh-when?" Nines manages to ask.

Gavin laughs, deep and almost mean. The not-fear shivers through him again.

He does not receive an answer.

***

Gavin knows he's a bad man. He's a very, very bad man, but goddamn if the universe hasn't rewarded him for it.

"That's it," he tells the gorgeous android rubbing off in his lap. "Next time I won't even have to show you how. Leave my hands free so I can have a smoke."

A cigarette is damn near the only thing that could make this any better. If this isn't a one-time curiosity experiment for Nines, he'll really have to try that the next time.

But for now, he focuses on the present, the absolute goddamn gift Nines is.

"Been waiting for this all day, haven't you?"

He doesn't give Nines time to answer. His thigh flexes underneath the slick cunt desperately grinding into it, and his android whimpers out static.

"How many times have you come already?" he asks.

"S-s-seven," Nines answers through a glitch.

Well. Gavin has to at least work him up to his own number, doesn't he?

"And no refractory period. Goddamn." Gavin sighs in mild envy while petting through his hair. "I could keep you here, just like this, all evening long. Keep you coming and begging for hours."

Nines lets out a grinding noise that might be the android equivalent of a sob. His hips finally lose their rhythm under Gavin's hand, just chasing his own pleasure now. He really shouldn't allow that so easily, but then again, Nines is a virgin who's never done kink before. Or anything else, actually.

So Gavin lets him have it.

But since he's a bad man, not an altruistic one, he pulls Nines's head back by his hair to see his pretty face, eyes wide and unfocused, lips slightly parted. There's a soft blue blush across his cheek's he's never seen before, and his LED practically strobes in his temple.

"Good boy, gonna make you come every time you sit this pretty little pussy in my lap."

Nines squeezes his eyes shut and whines. That's all right. He's too fucked out to make eye contact anyway, but one thing that isn't allowed …

Gavin presses his thumb inside the android's lips, pushing down on his tongue until his mouth drops open. He rubs the pad of it back and forth against the soft muscle for a moment, then down to smear the wet faux-saliva across his bottom lip.

"Keep your mouth open," he orders. "You're only allowed to come if you open that pretty mouth for me."

Nines gives a jerky nod, and Gavin sits back to enjoy the show. He pets his free hand across the android's chest and sides, feeling him up through the thin t-shirt as he rides his leg like he downloaded a Traci program to do it.

Eventually, the android starts spinning more red than yellow, hot air pushed out of his mouth with nearly even exhale, and he pushes his tongue out farther over his lips to show that his mouth is open.

And ohhh, Gavin is so bad. He rubs his thumb over that soft, pink tongue until it's nice and wet, then reaches up underneath his shirt to rub circles around one hard nipple.

Nines starts letting out shuddering sobs that Gavin lets wash over him, feeling them go straight to his dick like the android is being a good little companion and licking up his shaft. Next time, next time …

Finally, he scrounges around deep down in his soul to find some mercy.

"Come on my leg, baby."

He barely gets to "my" before Nines obeys, face dropping slack and LED pulsing a steady Yellow. Red. Yellow. Gavin gets to watch as his tongue gives the tiniest little flexes, like he's sucking cock in a dream.

If he were nice, he'd press his thumb back inside and help his orgasm along by giving Nines something to suck on.

Instead, he waits it out. Good training requires the sub to be just as desperate for it as you are, and he's going to let Nines work his way through a few orgasms with his mouth open and searching, so that when he finally presses the head of his cock into those sweet pretty lips, his android won't feel anything but gratitude.

When Nines finally slumps forward and begins crying against his neck, Gavin lets go of his hair and rubs both hands up and down his back.

"Shhh, hey, I got you," he says softly. "You were good, so good, baby. It's OK, just let it all out."

Nines sniffles, then begins studiously licking up his tears. Gavin would be a little concerned about his sub getting too deep into the headspace for their first time, except Nines licking his face, neck, and any other body part he can reach is pretty typical.

"Did that feel good?"

That gets a slow sigh of air that's just warm, not scalding hot. Gavin rubs a hand up the android's chest next, and Nines starts up a rumbling purr. Blue light spins in the corner of his eye. So he'll take all that as a yes.

"You want kisses?" he asks next.

Nines immediately butts his face against Gavin's cheek. He shouldn't have let the asshole learn how to be social from his fucking cats.

"All right, all right," he grumbles.

Gavin scoops up the lanky android in his arms as much as he can and turns them to the side so they can lay down on the couch, with himself on top of course. Nines lounges back against the cushions, black hair fanning out around his head like a dark halo. He reaches for Gavin and tugs on his shirt when he spends too long admiring the view.

Since he's already so spoiled anyway … Gavin obliges him with kisses. Nines hums and purrs throughout it, LED now a gentle baby blue.

"Did you like that?" Gavin asks quietly between the two of them.

He should have started this scene with that—some rules and a safeword at least—but he'll try to make up for it now with the aftercare.

Nines nods shyly, presenting his face for more kisses. Gavin gives them to him, but he keeps each one light and short to help them both wind down. They need to talk about if this will be an ongoing arrangement, and if Nines just wants to sub or if he wants to really dig deep and roleplay as Gavin's personal companion android.

Gavin tries to open up that conversation. "What do you want now, baby?"

Nines slowly opens his eyes and blinks up at him. His LED turns a slow, lazy yellow for a moment while he glances down.

Then he looks back up and clearly says, "Dick."

Gavin reflexively looks down at his own crotch—which is apparently where Nines was looking, not just demurely averting his gaze, the thirsty little bitch. He meets Nines's eyes again and sees the android watching him expectantly, like a pillow princess waiting to be serviced.

"Don't know how anyone mistook you for a detective," Gavin tells him. "When you're obviously such a slut."

Nines blushes and closes his eyes, but he doesn't bother to hide his preening smirk.

"But you're gonna have to earn that, baby," Gavin continues.

Nines opens his eyes to shoot him the wounded look he learned from their little beasties when being removed from the bed so Gavin can get some goddamn sleep without an eight pound cat laying on his face.

"I can be good," he promises. He glances down between them again. "I do not have a refractory period."

And then he looks up at Gavin from underneath his lashes with those big blue eyes, and all thoughts of kink negotiation and safe words take a running leap and crash through the window.

"I'm going to take off your pants and play with that pretty pussy of yours until you start crying again."

Nines nods eagerly. He even lifts his hips like a good boy to help Gavin peel the yoga pants off him, a sticky strand of lubrication stringing between his lips and the crotch for a moment before the thread breaks. That gets the android blushing and whirring again, but Gavin just chuckles.

He lifts the t-shirt too, but instead of taking it off, he tucks it behind Nines's neck. It's a pitiful restraint, especially against an RK model, but Nines obligingly tucks his arms back behind his back, then waits obediently for Gavin to begin.

And this had better be a long-term thing, because Gavin doesn't think he can ever let anyone touch his android after this. Not with how Nines is looking at him, so open and sincere, without a single doubt that whatever happens next will be good and safe.

He might be a bad man, but shit. At least he knows that. And he also knows how many losers and assholes are out there, sociopaths and abusers and people who are honestly just too dumb and selfish to notice when they hurt someone.

No, his Nines is never going to experience any of that.

"Did you think about me when you touched yourself?" Gavin asks.

He runs his hands up the insides of Nines's legs while he asks the question. That's unfair enough, but rubbing his thumbs right at the creases in his thighs as Nines tries to answer borders on mean.

"I—I, yes. Did." Nines stutters.

Gavin skirts his hands up higher, just barely resting on the outsides of his flushed lips. His clit is big enough to push out past them, a teasing little peek-a-boo that makes Gavin's mouth water. It looks just as fat and swollen with arousal as it had felt when he'd petted over it through the pants.

"Do you like having something in your cunt, baby?"

He gets even meaner when he punctuates this question by using his thumbs to gently pull his lips apart and watch the way his exposed hole clenches and flutters. Nines manages to make his moan sound something like please.

"You have to tell me if you want it," Gavin says sternly. "I'm not just gonna guess about something like that."

Nines frantically nods, his mouth working silently around gasps. He's so worked over just having his legs spread and his pussy put on display. Gavin decides to have mercy—mostly on himself.

"Shhh, OK. I'm going to play with you now."

He circles his thumb around the android's clit gently at first, just watching what kind of reaction partial stimulation to it gets him. Nines shudders out an exhale and his thighs tense.

"That's right, you need to keep your hips still," Gavin tells him.

Nines nods again, blindly, his eyes shut and mouth agape.

"Do you want it like this?"

Gavin slides his other hand up Nines's side, over his chest, to rest lightly on top of his throat. Nines slowly opens his eyes, LED sluggishly spinning yellow. Gavin times the slow circles around his clit to it.

"With rules and taking orders," Gavin explains. "Where you need to obey and behave."

"Yes," Nines breathes out.

He doesn't take that as his real answer right away. "Or do you want it more casual?"

Nines blinks hard, twice, and cocks his head.

"Where I tell you what to do, since I've got more experience. But," He lets go of the android's throat. "You can do what you want. You don't have to hold still or—"

Nines shakes his head no for the first time. "I … I want … to be … good."

"As a good boy, or my own personal companion android,"

Gavin strokes his thumb directly down the length of Nines's swollen clit for the first time.

"That I can pet,"

He keeps his thumb where it is and shifts his fingers to tease the tip of his index against the entrance clenching at it.

"And play with,"

"Yes, yes, please," Nines chants.

Gavin presses the finger inside and it goes so easy. Enough for him to believe Nines really has spent the entire afternoon doing nothing but fucking himself in Gavin's own bed.

"And fuck,"

He adds a second finger without any resistance and gets those tears he promised. He really can't stop a grin from spreading across his face at that, just as sharp and vicious as any of the RK's interrogation protocols.

"Whenever, and however …" He pulls his hand out entirely, leaving Nines gasping and wrenching his eyes back open to stare up at him in pleading confusion. "I want."

Nines sniffles and starts to shift his hips to seek out any stimulation he can. Gavin stills them with both hands, and tries to keep his voice soft and free of judgment for the next part.

"Do you still want to behave?" he asks.

He watches as Nines realizes what that really means. What he would be promising Gavin—just for this scene. They really do still need to have an actual talk before he'll accept anything as a permanent, serious answer, but he can't resist at least throwing this option out there for now.

Nines tilts his head back to release steam, but then he settles back down. His whole body eases in a way Gavin has never seen before actually—even though he rejected his programming in terms of working for either Cyberlife or the DPD, it always still shone through in his perfect posture and too-formal speech.

This is the first time he's ever seen the android look … relaxed.

Gavin waits, but he doesn't even attempt to hide the way he sweeps his gaze over Nines's body, appreciating the thick chest, pecs well-defined enough to almost give him a bust, nipples hard and begging for attention, and his legs still spread wide, showing off a perfectly manicured triangle of soft black curls right over where his cunt drools onto the couch.

He drags his eyes back up to meet Nines's soft look, utterly relaxed and blinking slowly. He already knows what the answer will be just from that, but he still waits for it.

"Yes, Detective."

***

***

this was commissioned by @gavinisqueertbh and you can find my commission info pinned to the top of my blog! subscribers to my patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics two weeks before they’re posted here and on AO3 for free ^^

[rotzaprachim]

Ok but your soc au was and is absolutely everything I need!! I saw ur draft and was instantly brought back to like 2018 but like in a good way??!? You’re so talented it’s amazing!!

i’m SO GLAD TO HEAR and not sure if this is about the Hunger Games Au or the misfit au but EITHER WAY i am always so so SO glad when people enjoy my extremely niche soc (+ even nicher soc AU) stuff it’s been one of my most consistent interests for five years now. 

ALSO! There is MORE of the SOC misfits au and i actually have so many ideas and precise plot points i am going to have to take out a notepad and try to plan this bitch out? Which i NEVER do? But here’s a scene from the opening. Hope you enjoy!

  CONTENT WARNING that while one of the biggest divergences i plan to take is that the AU will be far, FAR less sexual than Misfits as a show, taking in mind the younger general target audience and character ages of Six of Crows and respect for the characters, there is a sexual joke in this that felt appropriatedly teenage. 

“We were given these powers for a reason. We have to do something useful with them. Use them to help people.” Inej insisted.

“Given these powers by who, then? God?” 

“God wouldn’t give them to us as a reward,” Matthias said, suddenly flexing his hands nervously, as if the possibility of his newfound ability to turn things into instant popsicles had in fact been conferred by a far more demonic entity. Looking at Kaz, he thought there was something to that particular theory. 

        “Everyone shut up with making the fucking community center into some kind of fucking seminary. God’s faker than the blonde hair of the poor girl who delivers off-brand milk to this dump on thursdays, and if there’s any supernatural reason for our powers, it’s that fate decided they’d dealt me a fucked enough hand and might as well give me something with a purpose.” 

“And that is?” 

“Making myself fabulously, disgustingly rich.” 

“Which you plan to do with your ability to inflict plain in what, the fucking community center? None of us have five fucking quid to rub together, except for Posh Boy Here.” 

“I don’t have five quid either,” Wylan said quietly, getting mostly drowned up in the arguing. 

“Yeah you do,” Jesper said quietly. Wylan almost flinched, unused to being heard in the chaos. “I know the pen you have. Some kind of an old school Lamy that needs fancy ink cartridges. It’s like, ninety at least.” 

“You know about Lamy pens? From where?” 

“I got a past even the devil would flinch from, merchling. I have seen things. Horrifying things, spine tingling things, th-” 

“I’ve seen you before. On Tv i think.” 

It was Jesper’s turn to be surprised. “I-” 

“There is no fucking way you are going to do that. I’ve been trying for fucking years and I barely make rent.” 

“Are you saying you have a sharper acumen for the world of business, Nina dearest?” 

“I’m saying I didn’t get fucking arrested for eating pick-n-mix, that’s for fucking sure. Anyway,” Nina said primly. “I agree with Inej. If we have powers we should use them for something.” 

“Like what? Fighting the oppressive overarching structures of society that hold us all down?” Kaz’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“Yes.” Inej said. 

“I was thinking more like. I dunno, small things. Loads of hopeless cases around here.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can make some a little less hopeless.” 

“That’s going to be really easy, what with the dead body of our probation worker lying around premises. Yes reporter officer sir, we did help that old lady cross the road with her sunday shopping, now come take our interview and take our photos for the Sunday Supplement and yeah, sir, don’t notice the full on bloody corpse lying in the rec room.” 

“We do it in secret. Have codenames to mask our identities, like real superheroes do.” Wylan said. 

“They organise a cute little meet-and-greet with a real fucking superhero as an extracurricular at Eton, did they now? Give you have so much experience with how real superheroes operate, then.” 

           Inej’s eyes flashed. It almost looked like a warning, and he filed a mental note that she looked like she might have a little more lightening inside than he’d first judged. Kaz glanced away from her and stared at the wall where they’d hastily moved a big sign for Mommy and Me Musical Magic Monday Maraccas Momzanza!!! (6 months to three years) over what remained of the blood, which, given the deteriorating likely asbestos-ridden condition of this rattrap, would be a goddamn bitch to fully get out of all the cracks and gouges in the wall. After they dealt with the body. 

The problem was, he liked the posh twit’s idea. Liked it a lot, far more than he was willing to let on. If there was anything he’d learned in his years in the Dregs, it was that names had power. Images had power, the idea that other people had of you. If they were properly terrified, they stayed the fuck away and did what you told them too. Make something greater than yourself, and have them fear it. That was the closest you came to power in this world. 

So Kaz gingerly nodded, levelling his enthusiasm in a slightly bored town. “Yeah, eh. Let’s do that. Codenames. So they don’t know what ours are.” 

“You go first, then, genius. What’r you gonna be going as? Cazzo Brekker? Dickhead of the nth degree?” 

Kaz thought for a moment. Tapped his gloved fingers against his knee. “Dirtyhands,” he said. 

A long, sudden pause. Kaz’s brain worked fast enough to realise the disaster he’d just set off, and he was suddenly, urgently, jealous of Jesper and his powers over town. 

The silence was broken by Nina shrieking with laughter, harpy lad and almost doubled over. 

“Dirtyhands? You might as well call yourself Filthy Fingers. Or better yet, Massive Fucking Wanker.” 

“You could abbreviate that to MFW,” Jesper added helpfully. “In case Massive Fucking Wanker was too long to fit on the superhero cape or something.”

Kaz glanced around. Inej had disappeared, although rather that was using her power or because she’d always been good at doing that even before the electrical storm made them all freaks from one of Wylan’s comics, and Matthias was doing something that looked like praying fervently, hands clasped and searching strips of the grey sky through the cracks in the skylights, looking very much like a man caught in one of the lower circles of hell and searching desperately for deliverance.

“Very funny. I have a suggestion for you lot, then. It’s called D-E-A-” 

He was well into launching himself at both Nina and Jesper, certain that if a fight broke out he at the very least wouldn’t be the looser, when he rammed into something small but very solid.  

“What the-” 

Some very sharp fingernails pinched his ears. Bold move, considering his aforementioned touch-me-and-feel-excruciating-pain powers. It hurt. 

“Where-?” 

Inej didn’t rematerialise. Jesper jumped up, though, as if someone had sharply stepped on his foot. “Oww, mate.” He reached out, swatted air. Nina tipped sideways suddenly, rubbing at her scalp. “Shit, did you have to yank at my hair that hard?” 

          She was fast. Tricky, tricky. Kaz mentally reassessed his current pecking order of bullshit-powers-by-order-of-danger 

“If we don’t stop fighting, we’re all end up in prison again. Police’ll be here soon, and we need to make alibis. They’ll cross examine us and we need to make sure the stories match, because there’s no way they’ll trust any young offenders on our own. And we have to do something with the body before putrefication really sets in and the smell comes.” 

Inej didn’t rematerialise. A veiled threat of another pinch, Kaz realised. He almost had to smile. Nina and Jesper both looked a little gobsmacked, and it dawned on Kaz that that was by far the longest string of words they’d heard Inej say at once. 

“Fine.” He thought he saw a dark ripple of her hair, but it was nothing more than a mirage- a tease, he would have said, if it were Nina-” and she was gone again. “We will have veiled identities, but we will refer to each other exclusively by our true, God-given birth names. Kaz, Jes, Nina, Inej, Posh Boy, and Barry.” 

“That’s not my name,” Matthias said. 

“It’s fine, man,” Jesper says. “You can go by your middle name instead. Kaz does, which is why he’s referred to by the diminutive form of Kazzmatazz, instead of his first name, Demon.” 

The clock on the wall hit five. Nina immediately started stripping off the required orange uniform jumpsuit, giving Matthias a good look at her cleavage.

“Don’t play with the poor boy,” Nina said. “He might almost believe we’ve all been possessed. Now has anyone seen where I left my bus ticket, lipgloss, and the half a hazelnut kitkat i saved from lunch?” 

The wind, the unknowing observer would think, blew the ticket, tube of gloss, and wrapper, emptied, right back in Nina’s face.

[kkintle]

Looking for Alaska by John Green; Quotes

“Francois Rabelais. He was this poet. And his last words were 'I go to seek a Great Perhaps.' That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.”

Because you simply cannot draw these things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.

“'He'—that's Simon Bolivar—*was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. ”Damn it,“ he sighed. ”How will I ever get out of thislabyrinth!'“”

She had the kind of eyes that predisposed you to supporting her every endeavor.

Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.

(...) the most important pursuit in history: the search for meaning. What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person? How did we come to be, and what will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules of this game, and how might we best play it?"

I learned that myth doesn't mean a lie; it means a traditional story that tells you something about people and their worldview and what they hold sacred.

She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, “Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.”

(...) and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

“You've got a lifetime to mull over the Buddhist understanding of interconnectedness.” He spoke every sentence as if he'd written it down, memorized it, and was now reciting it. “But while you were looking out the window, you missed the chance to explore the equally interesting Buddhist belief in being present for every facet of your daily life, of being truly present. Be present in this class. And then, when it's over, be present out there,” he said, nodding toward the lake and beyond.

“I may die young,” she said. “But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.”

“Getting out isn't that easy,” she said seriously, her eyes on mine like I knew the way out and wouldn't tell her.

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.” “Huh?” I asked. “You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

“Sometimes I don't get you,” I said. She didn't even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, “You never get me. That's the whole point.”

“He loves me,” Alaska told me as we walked back to the dorm circle. “He loves all y'all, too. He just loves the school more. That's the thing. He thinks busting us is good for the school and good for us. It's the eternal struggle, Pudge. The Good versus the Naughty.”

“Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.”

“So Friday? Do you have plans for Friday?” And then I laughed, because the Colonel and I didn't have plans for this Friday, or for any other Friday for the rest of our lives.

And I vaguely remember Lara smiling at me from the doorway, the glittering ambiguity of a girl's smile, which seems to promise an answer to the question but never gives it. The question, the one we've all been asking since girls stopped being gross, the question that is too simple to be uncomplicated: Does she like me or like me?

“It is sad,” I repeated. “I mean, it's stupid to miss someone you didn't even get along with. But, I don't know, it was nice, you know, having someone you could always fight with.”

“Sorry. Don't worry, dude,” he said. “God will punish the wicked. And before He does, we will.”

“Hold on.” He grabbed a pencil and scrawled excitedly at the paper as if he'd just made a mathematical breakthrough and then looked back up at me. “I just did some calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're full of shit.”

“It's not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Urn, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What's wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.”

“You shall love your crooked neighbour/ With your crooked heart,”

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

“Night falls fast. Today is in the past,”

Alaska decided to go help Dolores with dinner. She said that it was sexist to leave the cooking to the women, but better to have good sexist food than crappy boy-prepared food.

“Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch.” And there was something to that, truth be told.

People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.

The Great Perhaps was upon us, and we were invincible. The plan may have had faults, but we did not.

“Prick us, we bleed. Prick him, he pops.”

I don't know. Like the way the sun is right now, with the long shadows and that kind of bright, soft light you get when the sun isn't quite setting? That's the light that makes everything better, everything prettier, and today, everything just seemed to be in that light.

I found myself thinking about President William McKinley, the third American president to be assassinated. He lived for several days after he was shot, and toward the end, his wife started crying and screaming, “I want to go, too! I want to go, too!” And with his last measure of strength, McKinley turned to her and spoke his last words: “We are all going.”

There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow—that, in short, we are all going.

“Pudge, what you must understand about me is that I ama deeply unhappy person.”

“But a lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about. Does that make sense?”

And what is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.

Straight & Fast.

How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?—A. Y.

“Because everybody who has ever lost their way in life has felt the nagging insistence of that question. At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze, (...)

I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn't think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory—recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten. I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?

“You can't just make me different and then leave,” I said out loud to her. “Because I was fine before, Alaska. I was fine with just me and last words and school friends, and you can't just make me different and then die.” For she had embodied the Great Perhaps—she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps. I could call everything the Colonel said and did “fine.” I could try to pretend that I didn't care anymore, but it could never be true again. You can't just make yourself matter and then die, Alaska, because now I am irretrievably different, and I'm sorry I let you go, yes, but you made the choice. You left me Perhapsless, stuck in your goddamned labyrinth. And now I don't even know if you chose the straight and fast way out, if you left me like this on purpose. And so I never knew you, did I? I can't remember, because I never knew.

The times that were the most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly, totally gone she was.

'Everything that comes together falls apart,'” the Old Man said. "Everything. The chair I'm sitting on. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I'm gonna fall apart, probably before this chair. And you're gonna fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you you—they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. The Buddha knew one thing science didn't prove for millennia after his death: Entropy increases. Things fall apart."

We are all going, I thought, and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks, Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

The hardest part about pranking, Alaska told me once, is not being able to confess.

I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be discovered. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I still did not know her as I wanted to, but I never could.

Did I help you toward a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I just assist in your willful self-destruction? Because they are different crimes, and I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

“After all this time, it still seems to me like straight and fast is the only way out—but I choose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.”

(...) we had to forgive to survive in the labyrinth. There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can't know better until knowing better is useless.

I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe “the afterlife” is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled.

But ultimately I do not believe that she was only matter. The rest of her must be recycled, too. I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts. If you take Alaska's genetic code and you add her life experiences and the relationships she had with people, and then you take the size and shape of her body, you do not get her. There is something else entirely. There is a part of her greater than the sum of her knowable parts. And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.

Those awful things are survivable, because we are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be. When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.

So I know she forgives me, just as I forgive her. Thomas Edison's last words were: “It's very beautiful over there.” I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.

Most loves don't last. (Whitney sure didn't. I can't even remember her last name.) But some do.

Almost by definition, last words are difficult to verify. Witnesses are emotional, time gets conflated, and the speaker isn't around to clear up any controversy.

I was born into Bolivar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

[mamawelp]

It’s been awhile since I’ve been back on tumblr, but my shits gotten so bad lately that I need something, some kind of outlet. I feel so goddamn alone and my mind feels so stretched thin that if it doesn’t just completely snap, it surely will never fully recover. I thought I was getting better for a while, but the stress of the last three years has taken a toll. My daughter is everything to me, and I feel like I started out with so much joy and energy. Little by little my energy has run down and I have no way of resting to recuperate it. I have no friends, my family is toxic, and my fiancé is in a word, awful. He’s manipulative, a gas lighter, liar, he blames, critiques, always angry, so fucking angry all of the time. He uses my limitations against me and I’m stuck with him. I’m disabled, I have zero money to my name, zero support system, and I’m afraid if I tried to leave him, I wouldn’t be able to bring my daughter with me, or more to the point, he would fight for custody and win. I can’t even trust him to watch our daughter for half an hour. He falls asleep and she gets hurt or makes just the most epic messes of all time. My executive function has gone out the window almost entirely because I am severely disabled and the only one caring for our daughter 24/7. I’m the only one worrying for her, planning for her, teaching her, dressing her, feeding her, changing her. I can’t do for myself anymore because every drop of energy goes to her and there is never a break. And yet he holds it over my head that I’m not doing enough. I am so lost in this depression and loneliness and it’s not fair to her, and meanwhile this man doesn’t even care about his daughter enough to let me have a break. If he does miraculously take her out of the house, he takes her to his moms house, so someone else will watch her. Still, it’s the only way he can be trusted with her.

I hadn’t left the house in a while. It’s hard for me to get out when there isn’t a pandemic, and the longer I stay in the worse it gets. There were more months in the year than times I went inside a public place in 2020. I went outside a few times, but it’s hard for me to even step out on my front porch, or go into my back yard. Sometimes I forget there’s a pandemic going on out there because I have simply not experienced the masks, hand sanitizers, temperature checks, and empty toilet paper aisles. If I need something, I order it or he goes out to get it. Yesterday I felt cabin fever kicking in again. I always have a low grade cabin fever, it’s been like this for 12 years, but the cabin fever has to be greater than the anxiety and mixed with a touch of mania for me to be like, “must leave now.” So I said let’s go get something to eat. I meant a drive through. When I get out of the house, I stay in the car the whole time, even before the pandemic. We were pulling away from Taco Bell and I mentioned that I thought the nacho fries were loaded because of a picture. He started asking me what loaded fries were. I know that he knows what loaded fries are. So I said loaded, like loaded fries. And he kept insisting I explain what was loaded. At that point I had no idea what he wanted from me so I had no answer that was acceptable for him and we ended up getting in a ridiculous argument over goddamn loaded fries. Turns out he wanted the precise toppings I thought were on the loaded fries, that evidently doesn’t even exist. I misinterpreted a picture. All because I misinterpreted a picture and he felt I should have memorized the menu in anticipation of him asking me what loaded fries were. It was awful and so fucking stupid. All I wanted was to leave the house for 20 minutes. We ended up arguing the whole way home and in the kitchen. By the time I started trying to calm myself down I realized that I had been completely triggered in an episode. By which I mean that time felt different. My episodic memory was skewed. There were blank spots in my memory when I had become the most frustrated and confused. Everything was coming back to me in flashes or pictures and feelings. Which screws me, because if he can trigger me to lose pieces of time, then he can control the narrative. He said that I was demeaning him and making him feel stupid for asking. That was never my intention, I legitimately didn’t understand what he was asking me. It wasn’t until I calmed down that I remembered his crack at the window when we got our food. He made sure the window was open and the lady was there to chide me on being indecisive and worrying about what other people were ordering. Like I was a child. (We always get the 12 taco box, but I got a meal this time and wanted to know if he was going to get the party box, because if he was, then I shouldn’t get the combo meal. Like not a big deal, but an important distinction if you’re not trying to waste food or money.) It was a ridiculous argument and I feel a little silly trying to go into every minutiae detail of trying to order our food, but I don’t feel like I did anything wrong and got ridiculed and then grilled over the Taco Bell menu. Anyway...

It’s hard for me to leave by myself, that requires a whole other recipe of confidence and mania. I usually feel like I need another adult as a life line. I just don’t know why I keep feeling like I can use him as a life line. He does this every time we go somewhere. In fact I stopped going to the grocery in large part because he was the only one left who would go with me and he ends up disappearing the second we’re in the door, or he criticizes me for being so slow or browsing, or not taking the most military like detailed path through the store. Because no matter what you are doing, he could do it better, and he’s going to tell you all about it. I use to shop with his brother, or my best friend, but his brother isn’t around as much anymore and my best friend/sister since kindergarten is severely disabled now as well. I have told him a million times that my senses get overloaded in the store and that I have to take it slow, that I have to stay calm and collected, or I won’t be able to continue shopping, but he doesn’t care. I think he wants me to fail.

I stopped driving us places because he constantly criticizes me. He tells me which parking place I should have taken as I pass it which always sort of deletes my brain a little and then he uses that second of confusion in me to jump in full force about what I “always do” wrong and “why don’t you” ever and when I finally get parked it “took me long enough” and what’s the difference between that spot and the spot he said. Usually the spot is closeness to the door. He will park at the very edge of the parking lot knowing I won’t want to go in if he does, while I look for a closer spot so I can easily exit the store. My entire body is exhausted by the time I leave, so I know I will need to park closer. I’ve told him this, he knows this. The parking is just an example. He uses the entire drive to somewhere to poke at me until I am a mess of anxiety and then I no longer have the energy for whatever we’re doing. I do just fine when I drive by myself or someone else. Just to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with my driving, I don’t speed, I don’t follow anyone too closely, I don’t run red lights, slam on breaks just to piss someone off, I don’t swerve through heavy traffic, I don’t roll my window down to yell at people, I don’t cut people off and yell at them for it, I don’t act like I own the road, but he does. He does all of those things. He gets so angry in the car and it makes you feel so uncomfortable and anxious you’ll melt into the seat. It’s awful. He’s awful.

When our daughter was born, I had a renewed since of confidence. I stopped saying sorry and I started just getting pissed. In a way it has backfired though, because now I’m pissed and bitter and he acts like I’m the one abusing him for calling him out on his shitty behavior. Basically he’ll pull some asshole move, I say hey that was wrong of you and he acts completely dejected and will sarcastically say, “you’re right, I’m the asshole.” He makes it impossible to argue with him. He will make shit up, twist my words to fit his narrative, describe to me MY intentions (which is never correct), he will change his story and say it’s been his story all along, he will switch sides of the argument in the middle and tell you your argument was his and his was yours the whole time so that he feels he’s come out on top, and mostly, when you prove him wrong, he will simply deny anything happened directly to my face when we both witnessed it and he will expect it to end there. If I try to say any more about something that he decides didn’t happen he will yell at me to shut up and he will put a hole in the wall or in a door to punish me.

When I try to talk about a health issue that has been plaguing me, he often will make a stupid joke, change the subject, or just interrupt me and bulldoze right over, but it doesn’t fail, within 2 weeks he will be complaining about the EXACT same thing, and if I don’t take him seriously, I am the asshole who doesn’t care and only ever wants to talk about my health.

He ruins every holiday. Without fail. The night before a party with my family, he will purposefully sabotage his sleep, get a few hours and then wake up as the grumpiest person ever. He has on multiple occasions said that if I remind him that we need to be to bed early he will have to stay up. Making it my fault that he stayed up because I presented an opportunity to rebel against someone and he has to take it. Seriously. He doesn’t do this with the same frequency or intensity for his own family parties of course. He acts completely embarrassing in front of my family. He will talk down to me, or get drunk and start lying poorly to family members trying to seem interesting.

So anyway. That’s life in a nutshell right now. And if anything, I’ve got my feelings out so I could easily recall them if I needed to for anything more ... official. It’s hard for me to compile all of my thoughts on all of the things. My memory is shot to hell and it’s easy to get caught up in “well maybe he’s right” when I can’t see the whole picture. My grammar and structure is not the greatest, but my daughter will be waking up from her nap soon, so it will have to do.

[mochilici0us]

 One New Message | jjk (3)

➳ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: angst, thriller, stalker au

➳ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Skye realizes she has to deal with a ruthless stalker when the messages she’s constantly receiving are getting more and more threatening. A stalker that makes her recall memories of the past she swore she would never rake up again

➳ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,4k

prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four

March 2013

‘‘And then he said <<I have a girlfriend but we can still meet>>” I mimic my crush’s stupid voice

'Shit, that's so bad...''

''I like him Ruby, he looked different but he's actually a piece of shit'' I take a big sip of my drink enjoying the burning sensation of the alcohol

''Thank God you didn't have sex''

''I know right'' My gaze travels on my friend noticing how she's  just fiddling with the glass. She looks unusually concerned

''Why aren't you drinking?'' I question

''I...what?'' She finally gets back to reality. Her reaction makes me chuckle

''My parents aren't home, we have no one to control us... We can drink as much as we want''

"Not today Skye..." she shakes her head

"After a long my parents are finally out and we won't take advantage of it? Don't be a party pooper" I tease her biting the black straw

''I know Skye and I'm sorry I just don't feel like drinking alcohol today''

My eyes quickly study her stiff figure ''Are you ok?''

''These days I feel kinda... off'' her asnwer worries me even though I was expecting it

''Why? Is everything ok with Carlos?''

''Yeah...we didn't fight''

''Then?''I can feel her discomfort, it brings me down too

''I don't know...'' she mumbles, her eyes never leaving her lap

''Cheer up Ruby, everything's gonna be fine''

''I'm sorry'' our eyes finally meet ''Is Susan coming?''

''No, she fought with her dad and she's not allowed to leave the house''

''I swear to God this girl...'' we both burst into laughter. It's a pleasant sight to see her laugh again. I sip my drink whereas she goes for plain water. After a few minutes of comforting silence I speak

''The sky is beautiful tonight''

Ruby nods and leans back on the armchair "It's full moon" she remarks

As I observe the breathtaking sight I notice something moving in the sky

''Ruby, Ruby look'' I yell

''What?'' Ruby jerks up

''It's a shooting star'' I can't contain my excitement. This is my first time seeing a shooting star

''Skye darling it's probably an airplane'' she leans back again and covers herself with the beige fuzzy blanket

''Don't be pessimistic'' I slap her thigh through the thick blanket and she yelps

''Make a wish''

She just growls

''Make a wish Ruby'' I order again impatiently

''Don't believe in such things Skye''

''Just do it'' I plead desperately She exhales defeated and hushes for a few seconds.

''Okay''

''You did?'' My eyes widen

''Yes''

''Me too'' I smile brightly like a kid making her crack a smile too

''Happy now?'' my face falls when I notice her irony. It's not like she did me a favor, the wish counts for her not for me. However, I choose not to reply because I don't want to upset her, she's already alarmed enough.

''You're angry?'' she asks as if she had read my thoughts.

Again, I stay silent

''I'm sorry If I offended you. It's just... your wish won't come true because of a shooting star''

''Don't lose your hope Ruby. You've been through difficult times I know but karma is watching'' I explain fondly

''It's not about karma or hope or whatever sweetheart....'' she stops trying to find the right words ''You're young and can't process what I'm saying but one day maybe you'll understand'' I can't find a proper answer so I just stay silent and glance at the woman next to me.

''One last thing. Did you make a wish? Answer honestly'' I find myself asking in soft voice

She smiles warmly ''Yes''

''Did you make a wish Skye?'' Grace's eyes look brighter than ever as this is the first time she sees a shooting star.

''I did. You?'' I gently caresss her hair as she lays in my arms. The view through the huge window in the living room is amazing especially those starry nights with full moon, Grace and I love cuddling like this gazing at the stars. Tonight though it's different, I feel like I experience moments again as the shooting star made the already similar situation even more familiar, awfully familiar. I'm experiencing a deja vu that reminds me of very dark, hard times.

''Of course but I can't tell you because it won't come true'' I laugh softly at the child's innocence.

She was right eventually. Wishes don't come true. Shooting stars is just a myth.

I can't ruin the moment so I let my sister live her dream. We must not taint childens' innocence. After a couple of minutes she's asleep. I carefully carry her to bed and tuck her in giving a goodnight kiss on the forehead.

Lying in my bed at the end of a hectic day has to be my favourite part. My bed is always so warm, so welcoming, soft, cuddly, a good sleep fills me with so much energy. This night is different now. I shake uncontrollably, memories coming back,haunting me, never leaving me to rest.

''I understand now'' I whisper as I finally calm down and smile sadly.

I close my eyes waiting for sleep to come. Surprisingly, I drift off instantly.

But the demons of the past I expected to face in my dreams after the deja vu I exprerienced previously never came. On the contrary, smiling angels with colorful wings visited my dreams flying with me and leading me on beautiful places.

After a long time, Skye had blissful dreams.

''It's my pleasure to work with you mr Park'' I extend my hand for a handshake

''The pleasure is all mine mrs Westbrook'' he captures my hand and instead of firmly shaking it he lowers his face and places a soft kiss.

His sudden intimacy catches me off guard but I choose not to show my discomfort so I plaster on a fake smile.

''We're getting started next week. I'll keep you updated''

''I appreciate it. See you next week'' he smiles at me and quickly leans his head to greet Taehyung. We greet his partner as well, a tall, good-looking yet mysterious man with sharp eyes covered by glasses.He must be the smart guy Park Jimin always carries along in order to make better negotiations.

''What do you think about our new business partner?'' I ask casually while fiddling with a pen even though I already know his answer

''I don't like him'' he mutters while walking across the room

''Why?'' I chuckle entertained

''Why? Did you see how he kissed your hand? Who does he think he is? God I hate these cocky idiots''

''Taehyung calm down. This is about our profit, I don't care about his kiss on my hand or whatever''

''He should stay in his lane or else...''

''Or else what Taehyung?'' our eyes lock ''Stop being so possesive. We spesialize in public relations we must be diplomatic, what has gotten into you?''

He breaks our eye contact breathing heavily ''You're right I'm sorry, I overreacted''

"He's a strong business partner that's why I insisted we talk about a potential cooperation. And now that he finally agrees you're mad because he kissed my goddamn hand? You're so unprofessional sometimes"

He hangs his head low without replying. He's hurt, I shouldn't have gone so hard on him. I exhale loudly as I realize my mistake ''Let's have a coffee'' I suggest but he instantly shakes his head

''No, I... I need to take a walk''

''I insist, I shouldn't have talked to you like that"

He chuckles humorlessly running his hair through his head.

''I'm sorry" my eyes search for his but never meet them. Instead of replying he turns on his heels and opens the door walking out

''Wait'' I stand up and grab my purse. I can't let him leave without apologizing properly.

''Taehyung wait'' I yell and scuttle trying to catch up with my furious friend.

My new 11cm stiletto high heels make it so difficult for me to keep up so I just walk as fast as I can and pray for my physical wholeness.

''Taehyung''I repeat before he reaches the elevator.

And just as I thought everything was fine and I had became a stiletto master I stumble and fall on the ground, the loud crack sound making it clear that it's not a simple tumble.

Well thank you Susan for your stupid heels...

The doctor will see you in a few minutes'' the anxious nurse replies

''That's what you said 15 minutes ago nurse, she's in pain'' Taehyung is pressuring the poor girl for a more specific answer.

''We have so many patients to attend and the doctor is alone today. Please bare with us'' She bows and leaves

''We should have gone to a private clinic. The treatment here sucks'' he exhales annoyed and takes a sit next to me

''It's ok Taehyung I can cope with the pain, it's not that intense anyway they gave me pain killers after I had the x-ray''

''I'm so sorry Skye'' he caresses my thigh and no matter how much he tries to hide it, he's about to cry

''Stop apologizing, it's not your fault'' I grin and he averts his glassy eyes

''Itis my fault. I should've waited for you''

''No,it's my fault because I wore these damned, sky high heels'' I grab his chin making him face me "And I'm sorry for being rude, my nerves have been bad lately"

He chews his lower lip nervously ''Skye you're not angry, are you?''

''I'm not. Don't feel guilty'' I assure him with a fond smile

''Excuse me mrs Westbrook'' the nurse finally appears ''The doctor can see you now'' once I realise what she's carrying I freeze. A wheelchair? I'm going to sit in a wheelchair? Even the thought makes me sick. I can't believe how unlucky I am..

Taehyung instantly lifts my shaking figure and helps me sit.

''Do you want me to come along?'' he asks

''No''I shake my head ''Wait here''

He nods and once the nurse makes sure our dialogue is over she pushes the wheelchair.

I suddenly feel so vulnerable, so powerless, how am I supposed to drive now? Work? Take care of my sister? I'm unable to keep up with my busy everyday routine. My thoughts overwhelm me, I suddenly feel like I'm about to pass out.

However, I swallow my tears as we finally enter the doctor's office. The empty doctor's office.

''Where's the doctor?'' I ask

''He's coming don't worry. I have to leave now, can you wait here until he come?''

''It's not like I can move anyway" I joke, mentally facepalming because of my terrible sense of humor. Thank God the nurse appreciates my humor and laughs warmly. She is sweet, at least I don't have to deal with a stupid, rude person.

She takes some files from the office and leaves. And now I'm all alone, intimidated, expecting the worst...

After a few seconds the door behind me opens

''Oh you're here? I'm sorry for the delay'' I listen a deep yet sweet voice. I'm curious to turn and have a look at the doctor but right now I can hardly move.

''It's okay I just got here''

The doctor finally walks and stands in front of me. The moment I lay my eyes on him my breath hitches in my throat. He can't be a doctor, he's so young, so.....

''Can you show me your x-ray please'' he politely asks as he takes a sit. I'd rather he keeps standing though so that I can catch a glimpse of his pretty legs again.

''Here''I hand him the x-ray avoiding eye contact, which is very unusual for me but I'm afraid that eye contact with him would make me look embarrassingly flustered.

He analyzes my x-ray silently taking notes, giving me the perfect chance to finally examine his face closer.

There's no doubt he looks youthful, flawless complexion without wrinkles or signs of aging and fatigue, chiseled jaw, strong neck, small pink lips and a pair of big, piercing eyes. Very interesting face.

''So...'' he raises his eyes just to meet my wandering ones. He just caught me checking him out. I quickly avert my gaze and keep my cool.

''Thankfully, you just sprained your ankle''

''Thankfully?''I repeat in a low voice

He chuckles revealing his cute front teeth. He chuckled? HE CHUCKLED?

''Your injury is not concerning. Your ankle will be put in a cast for 2 weeks and you'll be perfectly fine after''

''Oh..'' I'm too confused to answer properly. Only 2 weeks? I thought my injury was serious.

''I have to move you to the clinic bed'' he walks towards me and pushes the wheelchair closer to the white, leather furniture.

Clinic BED?

''Why?''I find myself asking. Shit, watch your mouth you stupid.

''To put your ankle in a cast. Excuse me'' just as I finally digest all the information he places his hands under my thighs and behind my back and carries me effortlessly towards the clinic bed.

I'm not sure whether it is because of the fact that I haven't been intimate with a man in a long time or not but right now I think I'm going to melt in the doctor's strong arms. And his musky, warm cologne makes me go even crazier. It feels like he's doing it on purpose, he's aware of how sensitive I am to smells and holds me like that, so that my head is placed right next to his neck.

Is this how he carries every patient?

He sits me in the cold clinic bed and gently rolls up my bottoms. I can't help but droole as his long fingers touch the soft material of my white crepe pants revealing my pale, thankfully shaved skin.

''Um.. Can I ask you something?'' I speak first

''Of course'' he opens a drawer searching for his tools

''Are you sure my injure is not severe? I mean.. I even heard a crack sound when I fell''

''You didn't break any bone. There's a little bit of swelling, no bruising..'' he strokes my ankle ''the pain must be mild, am I right?'' his eyes meet mine waiting for confirmation.

Even though I have hard time talking, I answer a ''yes'' without breaking the eye contact.

''There's just a minimal tearing that's why you probably heard this sound. The recovery time is very short and not painfull that's why I said you're lucky'' he wraps the cast around my ankle.

His touch is so affectionate, it resembles a caress.

Is every doctor that gentle?

''So you fell?'' he grins

''What?''his question catches me off guard

''You said you fell''

''Oh yes I'm not accustomed to wearing high heels so...'' I laugh akwardly

''You're ready'' he announces and takes a sit in the bed next to me clearing his throat.

How can a man look so attractive in tight black pants? I was never into men with tight clothes, I prefer baggy pants and shirts, a more comfy style but this dude right here made me change my mind completely, flexing his glorious thighs shamelessly.

''Some final instructions. Don't overwork your foot, your ankle is lightly injured but still injured. If you feel any pain take a painkiller, paracetamol is fine. I'm going to give you crutches, this is how you're moving for the next two weeks even though I strongly suggest you avoid walking.'' he stops and takes a quick glance at my red toe nails licking his lips.

''Last but not least, be careful when you shower. If you get your cast wet, irritation or infection of the skin could develop. You can find waterproof cast covers at pharmacies, they are really helpful. That's all you have to do these two weeks. Do you want me to repeat something?''

''No I'm okay'' I answer honestly as I repeat every single instruction in my head

''You're coming back in two weeks to remove the cast. If you have any question feel free to call. I'll probably not be able to talk but my co-workers gladly will''

''Thank you doctor'' I nod and smile sadly realising this might be the last time I see him.

''And be careful. Avoid high heels maybe'' he jokes and runs his hand through his rich, black hair. I was ready to answer when the nurse arrived

''Are you ready mrs Westbrook?''

I stare at the doctor and he nods.

The woman helps me sit in the wheelchair and opens a display rack full of crutches. I can feel the doctor's gaze on me the entire time but my eyes remain glued to my ankle. Many thoughts are running through my head right now. Sad thoughts. After a long time I finally feel attracted to someone, a man I'll probably never see again.

That's the reason I don't stare back, I don't want to give myself false hopes.

''Let me help you'' I hear his voice as he moves towards the nurse to help her carry the pair of crutches.

It's now or never, my heart whispers overpowering my mind's voice.

So before leaving the room I catch a glimpse of doctor's right side of his chest.

The nurse pushes the wheelchair. Neither the doctor greets nor I. This is how our first and last meeting ends. So impersonal, so cold, pure professionalism not a single sign of emotion.

''Jeon Jungkook'' I whisper as we're moving through the corridor.

''Do you want anything to eat?''

''No Susan I'm full''

My friend spent the entire day here cooking her speciality for me. She's very attentive but her habit of overfeeding me gets on my nerves.

''Are you sure?''

I roll my eyes fondly

''Just as you said you would start working out...boom'' she gestures at my sprained ankle giggling because she probably knows I would never go to the gym anyway.

''Don't laugh because you're the reason I'm hurt''

''I'm the reason? How? Did I push you?'' she cocks her shaped eyebrows 

''You made me buy these heels, I couldn't walk properly''

''You need practice with heels''

''I know right, I can practise perfectly now'' I slightly raise my right leg annoyed

''Calm down and stop talking nonsense''

I growl and keep studying ''It's so hard to work from home''

''Then stop working Skye. This incident is your chance to take a break these 2 weeks. Taehyung and the rest of your employees won't let you down we both know that''

I run my hair through my oily hair thinking about her suggestion ''Yeah but...''

''The doctor said you should rest. Come on Skye...'' she moans in exaggerated despair

Oof the doctor... I didn't tell her about the gorgeous doctor I met yesterday, there's no point anyway...

''Okay okay. I guess you're right'' I nod my head defeated

''I'm always right'' she pinches my cheek making me yelp ''I have to pee''

''TMI'' I yell as she walks away

My eyes wander around the room. They land on my cellphone. Head full of thoughts.... What a stupid  idea, let's do it.

Once I hear the bathroom door lock I grab my phone and log into facebook. Jeon Jungkook I type hurriedly feeling my heart beating like a drum.

I place my finger right above the ''search'' icon.

Is it worth it Skye? I hesitate Besides, if he was interested in me he would have searched for me, he can seemy name in the record of the hospital, he's a doctor so he has access to these files. And why would he be interested in me in the first place? He didn't even spare me a glance yesterday.

''Fuck it'' I throw my phone away along with my business files and lean back in my bed.

Indeed I need a break, these days I've overworked myself to the point I feel abnormally exhausted. A good, sleep would be perfect now, Taehyung's in the company, Susan is picking up the kid, I have no responsibilities.

Just relax Skye, close your eyes and relax, close your eyes and...

*Knock knock*

I open my eyes and jerk up as soon as I hear faint knocks in the front door.

''Susan'' I speak loudly

''Yes?''

''Someone's knocking the door''

She gets out of the bathroom and as much as I can hear from my bedroom she walks towards the door. ''I didn't listen anything but ok'' she yells from the living room

''You were busy extracting the urine''

''TMI'' she jokes making me crack a smile

Who's knocking the door? Probably Taehyung came to check on me. He feels so bad because of my accident, he has even convinced himself it's his fault. Well I mean it is his fault partially, he should have waited instead of running like the wind.But I would never put the blame on him for something I did.

Susan comes in my room. Alone. A puzzled expression on her face.

''Who was it?''

She gulps trying to find a proper answer ''Um.. Skye darling... Are you sure you heard someone knocking the door?''

My eyes widen ''Yeah... I heard it clearly''

''That's weird because...there's no one there''

''A-are you sure?'' I stutter

''I just checked''

''I... how is this even possible?''

''You're just tired. Please sleep'' she approaches me and covers me with a blanket

''I am not hallucinating Susan,don't act like I'm crazy. I'm 100% sure someone knocked on the door so please go and check again-''

I stop talking as soon as I hear the familiar noise.

''Is this what you heard?'' Susan asks relieved

''I think so. Why?''

''Because that's your neighbour hammering nails into the wall Skye'' Again this noise, 3 hits, 3 knocks at the door as I initially thought.

''It was just a misunderstanding.'' she clicks her tongue ''Sleep now, you need to rest.I'm picking up Grace and feeding her don't worry''

''Thanks Susan'' I smile feeling better now

Well as it seems I misunderstood things. I tend to become paranoid sometimes but that's normal isn't it? I'm a young, wealthy woman raising a little child, there are so many dangers out there. I have no private security, no bodyguards just an alarm and the hope that this neighbourhood is indeed as safe as everyone claims. I close my eyes and wait patiently till I drift off to a sweet sleep.

But no matter how hard I try to convince myself, deep inside I know that the sound of my neighbour hammering nails into the wall was completely different from what I heard and that someone was outside my apartment knocking the door.

[kyber-ghost]

bloody knuckles, healing hands

A/N: This fic describes self-harm and self-destructive behavior as a coping mechanism for grief. I am not saying that I characterize Wolffe as being a self-destructive person, but the manner in which he copes with guilt, pain, loss, is. Hitting a punching bag with no wraps can really mess up your hands. Worst-case scenario, fracture, a break. Best-case, split skin.

So, here it is. 

They are soldiers, but they are first most brothers. Doesn't matter what title they've got or what squadron they're from, they will always be there for each other, in more ways than one. The war is taking its toll from all of them, and as much as they can cope alone, doing it with others lightens the load.

Wolffe remembers when the 501st and 212th got back from Umbara. They all wore an identical haunted look on their faces that had nothing to do with their shared genealogy. Eventually, all of the clones knew what happened. It was if they all had been there, their strings pulled by a corrupted General and forced to do the unspeakable. It was worse than when Slick had knowingly spied on the Republic. He'd known what he was doing. These brothers hadn't.

When Wolffe, Cody, and Bly had walked into Rex's room with glasses and a bottle of cheap, burning alcohol, they didn't say a word. They didn't need to. The pain was already felt, the grief already shared. They barely drank anything that night, the bottle still three-quarters full by the time they left. That was alright. They hadn't meant to get drunk anyway. They all knew the alcohol wasn't the thing dulling the edges of General Krell and his betrayal. It was the sense of brotherhood they shared, the promise of staying together, grieving together. Perhaps even dying together. 

General Plo always talked about how the Force connected all living things, past and present, living and dead. Perhaps that was true, for the Jedi at least. Both the clones had their brothers. That was more real than any magic the Jedi had.

But they can only do so much for each other, spread across the galaxy with their own battles and Jedi to follow. Dealing with it after, days, perhaps weeks after the battle was lost (or won, but at such a high cost), is what they do, gathering in someone's room to pay respect to those lost. But dealing with it at the moment, hours after tragedy has struck, is always different for each clone. Wolffe knows that Rex always to the shooting range, or at least, somewhere where he can shoot mindlessly at a target. Said it was the only way to keep his mind off the battle and in the real world. Cody makes his rounds with his men, checking in on them individually or seeing to the injured. Bly told Wolffe that he's taken to meditating recently, which Wolffe knows is because of General Secura. He doesn't know how Bly does it, honestly, and Bly has admitted that he's not very good at it or does it often. But perhaps it's less about the meditation and more about the one who is teaching him to do it.

Wolffe hits things. Hard.

He never was one to talk things out. Why use words when his fists did all the talking for him? Didn't have to think, didn't have to think about all the men he'd lost, just hit the goddamn bag until his knuckles were bleeding and the pain was from his broken skin and the blood was no longer on the battlefield but on the punching bag. Until sweat dripped into his eyes and he could no longer see the faces of his brothers, armor blasted, and limbs in odd angles. There had once been a shiny lying face down on the ground, and all Wolffe could think about was the fact that he hadn't learned the man's name yet. 

Yes, hitting things was always so much easier than talking. Wolffe was never one to talk.

General Plo didn't understand that, at first. Perhaps it was the Jedi training. From Wolffe's knowledge, the Jedi believed that emotions clouded judgment, and keeping them inside let them fester like an old wound, ready to spread infection in the body. And since violence was definitely not the Jedi way, they released those emotions by just talking. And that was what the General had tried to do after a rescue mission had gone wrong, and they had lost the objective, had to hide out for nearly a week before an evac could come and get them. There had been an explosion that had collapsed mine tunnel they were hiding out in. Before Plo Koon had gotten them out, Wolffe had listened to the sound of his brothers, suffocating because of the rock lying on top of them. Their last breaths had been the last thing he'd heard before the General lifted the rock off of him. The moment he was free, he reached for his brothers, but the General kept him from moving by putting his hands on Wolffe's shoulders.

"Wolffe, don't move," Plo Koon said. "Ratchet is on his way."

"There's more," Wolffe rasped, his breaths coming shallow and raking the inside of his lungs like shards of glass. He pointed in the direction of where he'd heard his brothers dying. "General, you have to get to them."

Plo Koon's head turned towards a mass of rock in front of him. When he turned back to Wolffe, he could feel Plo Koon's claws tighten almost imperceptibly on his shoulders. "Wolffe, I'm sorry. They are with the Force now."

Wolffe tried to force the General's hands off of his shoulders, but pain shot through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the pain and growled, "You don't know that."

But he did. They both did.

After his surgery and two weeks of rest (Wolffe had insisted on just one, but then Ratchet had reminded him that though he could heal the Commander, he could easily keep him in the med bay as well), Wolffe stepped into the sparring room. At this late of an hour, there was no one there besides a small cleaning droid. One of the walls was lined with mirrors, and Wolffe stared at his face. What a cruel fate, he thought, to look in the mirror and see the ghosts of his dead brothers.

He didn't wrap his hands before going at the punching bag, and he can't remember how long he'd been there until he saw the General in the reflection of the mirrors. He took a steadying breath and turned to look at the Jedi, discretely covering the sparse bloodstains on the punching bag from his hands. "Sir."

"Commander." Plo Koon was still in his normal Jedi robes. Wolffe wondered if he'd been awake the whole night or had just woken up. "Trouble sleeping, I see," he said, making his way closer to him.

"Could say the same for you, sir," Wolffe said. Plo Koon laughed quietly.

"I tried to meditate, to see if I could put my mind to ease before our day began. But it seems I was unfortunate in this endeavor." The General stopped moving towards Wolffe, his body stilling suddenly. He was looking down at Wolffe's hands, which were cracked and bleeding onto the mat. "You're hurt," Plo Koon said, his words clipped tightly at the ends, a strange thing compared to the smooth tone he usually used with Wolffe. 

Fuck. "It's nothing, sir," Wolffe said gruffly, pulling his hands behind him. The General said nothing, and Wolffe was grateful for that. "Just forgot my wraps."

For a moment, the General was quiet. Wolffe was sure that he could see through Wolffe's lie, but something he'd learned from the General was that he valued personal space with everyone. Plo Koon never overstepped his boundaries as a Jedi or as a General. He was kind, admirable, and respected. But he never pushed when Wolffe put up walls or looked like he wanted to say Plo Koon was an idiot.

He never did, until now.

"There are other ways to make it hurt less," Plo Koon said, his gaze never wavering from Wolffe. "Believe me, inflicting pain upon yourself as a punishment will not lessen the grief."

"I'm not punishing myself," Wolffe said curtly. "It's nothing."

"Grief is not nothing, Commander," Plo Koon said. "Grief is an emotion, and emotions make you human. You have every right to grieve."

"I'm not—" Wolffe stopped himself. As much as he wanted to say that nothing was going on, that he wasn't grieving, he couldn't lie to himself. Lying to himself would get him killed in this war, in this position. Wolffe clenched his fists, and the dull ache of his knuckles flared brightly. "Then let me grieve. Let me do it my way."

"Your way," Plo Koon said, as he took a step toward Wolffe. In turn, Wolffe took a step away from Plo Koon and felt the punching bag against his back. He could easily escape, but Plo Koon's gaze pinned Wolffe to the floor as if the Jedi was holding him down with the Force. "Your way is destructive and painful. Pain does not remove pain. Nothing can do that. You may dull the edge of grief, Commander, in whatever way you see fit, but not at your expense. Not while I am your General, and you are my Commander." At this, Plo Koon reached behind Wolffe to pull his hands in his own. What he felt next was something akin to a spider walking across his hands. He looked down, but the Kel Dor's hands covered his own from his sight. When they pulled back, Wolffe's hands had healed. The only sign of the damage that had been there was the dried blood now flaking off his skin.

Plo Koon let out a soft breath, as if the process of healing his hands had exerted more energy than expected. "Wolffe." He lifted his head, and Wolffe could swear he could see the General's silver eyes staring straight through him, even without the Force to tell him. "I know I am not your brothers, and that you are unlikely to turn to me in times of grief." Plo Koon paused as if testing the next words in his mind before daring to speak them to fruition. "But should you want, should you need somewhere to turn. I will be there." 

There was a moment, as Plo let go of Wolffe's hands, where Wolffe thought he should say something. Something about the General's hands on his, the roughness of his skin that might have seemed strange or unnerving at some earlier time, now welcoming. He should've said "Thank you, General, for healing up my cut up hands, even though you didn't have to, and it was my fault, my mess. But you did it anyway. So thanks." But he didn't. Wolffe could only nod once, staring into Plo Koon's eyes, trying to understand the man that was his Jedi, was his General, but now, something else.

Plo stepped backward, and the motion of him left Wolffe feeling cold as if the Kel Dor had been the only source of warmth in the room. Say something, you idiot. Wolffe took a deep breath. "How—" Plo Koon stopped, his head tilted to the side curiously. "How did you do that?" he asked, holding up one of his hands.

"Ah." Plo Koon put his hands together in front of him as he always did. "Force healing. I'm not very good at it, I'm afraid. I have not been able to master it like others."

Others. Wolffe wondered which Jedi could do that, and to what extent. Could come in handy in a tight place. He looked at the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow at the General. "Looks pretty good to me. Sir. 

Plo Koon's face shifted in the way that Wolffe knew it did when the man smiled. "Yes, I suppose it does," he said, with a slight hint of pride in his voice. His gaze moved to Wolffe's face. "I am sorry I could not do more for you, Commander," he said quietly. 

Wolffe shifted his gaze away, his face feeling warm all of a sudden. "You did plenty," he said. "Fixed my hands. Maybe you can get started on the other things."

"There is nothing about you that needs 'fixing,' Commander," Plo told him, his voice firm with conviction and belief. Wolffe looked back at him incredulously. "You are not broken, and do not ever think you are."

Wolffe felt his face getting warm again; it moved downward and into his chest as well. "Sir, yes, sir," he said.

The General smiled again. "Get some rest, Wolffe. I will see you on the bridge." Plo turned, and as Wolffe watched him walk out of the room, he saw the Jedi's hands squeeze into fists and then flex open. Like he was holding something, or yearning to hold them again.

Wolffe looked down at his hands. He could still feel the General's hands on his. 

[admiralty-xfd]

I don't know if you'll take it but I'll try anyway...Angry kisses post "En ami", please! :)

Wow, anon, you’re in luck because I have already done exactly this! Source: Culmination. Enjoy :)

She hates that she lied to him. Absolutely hates it. The thought of any kind of wedge between them is abhorrent to her. He seems to know she had very little choice, but he is hurt, betrayed. And she understands.

“He could have done something to you, Scully. He could have killed you!”

The car ride home from the fake offices of C.G.B. Spender has been an uncomfortable one. She appreciates Mulder’s protectiveness to a point, but his belief he’d been so close to losing her has ratcheted up to anger. She rarely sees him this angry, especially with her.

Even though she believes everything she did was the right course of action, now is not the time to be defensive. Now is the time to let him be angry, to ask for forgiveness.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Did you even think about how I might have felt? When I learned you were alone with him?”

“Of course I did.”

She stares at her hands in her lap. She wants to look him right in the eye and tell him she knew what she was doing, and he doesn’t need to protect her. But she doesn’t. He needs to feel this way right now, and she wants to give him what he needs the only way she knows how.

“I wish you’d realize I didn’t have much of a choice, Mulder. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what was going on but the whole thing was on his terms. I figured we’d sit down, have a conversation like this, and you’d understand.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t understand how you could go off with him and not tell me about it. Especially after… Diana.”

She can tell he didn’t really want to say it. She feels bile rising in the back of her throat. Even from the goddamn grave, this woman will not leave them alone. She bites her tongue to keep from saying something she’ll regret.

“This is not even close to the same situation. I am not, and never have been, like her.”

Mulder stares at her, hard. “You’re right. You aren’t. I never said you were.”

He looks back at the road and grips the steering wheel. She doesn’t like the direction this conversation is going so she changes tack.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Mulder. Never. You have to know that by now.”

He doesn’t say anything. She can see his jaw moving in frustration as he grinds his teeth. She knows he’s mad but she can’t help but find it thoroughly hot.

“I would hope that after all we’ve been through, you could trust me in this type of situation,” she says. “As your partner. That you’d do the same, and know I would trust you, if you were in my position.”

“Never. I’d never trust him.”

“But you did,” she responds quietly. She regrets the words even as they leave her mouth, but she’s said them now.

He pulls the car over to the side of the road, puts it in park, and shuts off the ignition. He turns to her. “What are you talking about?”

“You did. You trusted him enough to want to go to that Air Force base. You were headed there with her. You would have been killed, burned up with the rest of them. There would have been nothing I could have done about it if you hadn’t changed your mind.”

Mulder is stunned. But she’s right, and she knows he knows it. He doesn’t know what to say. The air in the car is still, and tense.

His face looks conflicted. “Everything he said to me made sense. It was the truth. About what happened to my sister, about the deal that was struck, all of it had to be true.”

“How is that any different than how I reacted? You trusted him. You believed him. Something in what he said made you believe him.”

“It’s not the same, Scully. You should have told me about this.”

“How is it not the same?”

“Scully-”

“Why are you allowed to act alone, but I’m not? Why, Mulder?”

“Because-“ he stops himself.

“What? Because why?”

“I don’t know!” He explodes. “It’s just… it’s just different.”

“Because I’m a woman? Is that what you were going to say?”

He shakes his head. She can’t tell if he’s lying. She hates when that happens.

“I’m so mad at you right now.” It’s all he can muster. She is unimpressed.

“Really? Great. I’m getting a little pissed off at you, myself,” she retorts. Nothing like a little misogynistic bullshit to further ruin an already horrible evening.

He grips the steering wheel with his fingers again, staring straight ahead. She laughs to herself and shakes her head, this situation such a metaphor for their own relationship. Stuck in this car together, facing the right direction but never getting anywhere. As always.

“It’s not because you’re a woman.” He’s still looking straight ahead. “I can’t tell you what it is. I don’t know how.”

“Well, by all means, please try, Mulder.”

He turns to look at her. There’s a fire in his eyes she hasn’t seen before. It’s anger, but maybe also something else.

Without any warning, he throws his body over the console and his mouth is on hers, moving insistently, fiercely. She wants him so badly that her hands go instantly to the back of his neck, pulling him in even harder. Her mouth opens for him for the first time and he does not hesitate. His tongue is aggressive and crushes her own. She feels the kiss throughout her entire body.

His hand moves with intent underneath her shirt and she can’t help her body from responding but just as quickly as this happened, she decides she doesn’t like what’s happening.

No, this is wrong, all wrong.

“Mulder.” She tries to say his name while his mouth is devouring hers, but either he isn’t hearing her or he’s choosing to ignore her.

She places both hands on his chest and pushes him off her, hard. “Mulder, stop!”

He pulls back, stunned. Her lipstick is smeared across his mouth and she tries not to like it. The last thing she wants is to stop but the only thing she can think of right now is that this is definitely not the way this should begin. He’s angry and confused, just as much as she is. There’s only so much self control they can exercise anymore. Something like this was bound to happen, she just wishes it were under different circumstances.

“Please, not like this. You’re upset.”

She worries they’ve fucked everything up irrevocably and she wants to make light of this as quickly as possible but her eyes are welling up. She doesn’t want him to see her cry so she turns away from him to look out the window.

“I… I’m sorry, Scully.” She can’t see his face but she knows him well enough to know he means it.

“Just take me home, okay?”

She hears the car turn back on and they start to move. They drive in silence for awhile.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly. She still can’t bring herself to look at him. She’s not mad at him, there was nothing he did that she didn’t welcome in the moment. She’s embarrassed, and angry at the both of them for continuing to fuck this up over and over again.

“It’s fine, let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.” Like we always do, she thinks miserably.

Without any more conversation they arrive at her apartment. She’s so confused and upset and she wants him so badly she has to get out. She doesn’t want to leave things like this but she wants nothing more than to get out of this car as fast as possible. She goes to open the door and feels his hand grab her wrist gently.

“Scully.”

She turns to face him, eyes red. She hates that he’s seeing her like this. “It’s fine, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He looks at her intently, his eyes are so sad. He looks completely miserable. “That wasn’t me. I… don’t know what that was. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, okay?” She’s trying to sound kind but firm. She wants to stop talking about this. “I’ll see you later.”

The car door slams behind her and she heads up the steps and into her building, not looking back.

She has never wished more for a reset button in her life. They’d been making such progress lately, she thought some way, somehow soon things were going to finally change. Now she worries it will never happen, not after this.

Did she make a mistake? Should she have just let it happen? Should she have just let him fuck her right there in the car out of anger? Why couldn’t it have happened a different way? What the hell is wrong with them?

Loneliness is a choice.

The words she heard herself say to Philip Padgett last year in a moment of vulnerability come back now to haunt her. She’d told him she wasn’t lonely but it was a lie. She’s chosen loneliness over and over again, all her life. And Mulder is choosing it too.

Why do they keep making that choice?

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Can I prompt you for a bit of Becker and Matt? Your aftershocks piece is kind of intriguing me on your Matt/Becker pairing 🤗 (Hope you’re okay!)

Matt Anderson/Captain Becker (Primeval)

Thank you for requesting something! It was fun to write for my untalkative coat hangars! Also thank you, yes, I’m feeling a lot better now :)

This took longer than expected....and then I maybe went a bit overboard...whoops? I love them, okay? I just want the to talk and be happy

If Matt’s a little bit OOC for this point in the show, I’m going to tell you it’s because he’s been doing the do with Becker for a while already

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

In which Becker goes to the goddamn hospital after 4x04

The only sounds in the hospital room are the beeping of the heart monitor and slow breathing from the bed. A page turns as Matt lifts a hand to push his gasses back up his nose. He’s aware that lifting his head would stop his glasses from sliding down so much, but he does nothing to correct his posture. He stays slouched in the chair, his now-cold coffee still sitting on the bedside table, his half-eaten sandwich left abandoned next to it. The little table on wheels still holds abandoned hospital dinner, soup and jelly covered by plastic domes.

“Matt?” Becker’s voice is unsure and heavy with sleep. “Matt?” he asks again, more worriedly. Matt puts the book down, turning to the bed and reaching out. “Matt, what happened?”

“A Therocephalian bit you. Jess called an ambulance-”

“What happened to the kids?” Becker corrects himself.

“The boys are fine. They’re back home.” Matt hesitates for a split second before adding, “Beth’s parents have been informed.”

“What did you tell them?” Becker asks, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. From where Matt sits, it looks as if his eyes are closed, but he can’t be sure.

“A wild cat.” Matt answers. It had made the most sense at the time. There are hundreds of big-cat sightings every year after all. Cats escaped from private zoos or public zoos or labs.

“How long have I been here?”

“It’s nine o clock.”

“Why the hell am I still here then?” Becker asks, distinctly annoyed.

“They want to keep you here for a while to make sure all the venom is out of your system, and they don’t want the bite to get infected.”

“How long.”

“I dunno, they don’t have a clear answer for me.” Matt tells him. Silence stretches out longer and longer. When Becker speaks again, his voice is quiet.

“I don’t like hospitals, Matt.” he mumbles.

“I understand that-”

“No, you don’t. I want to go home. Can I discharge myself?”

“I think so, yeah, but-”

“I want to go home.” Becker says, slower and more firmly. “Take me home, Matt.” he’s starting to push himself up so he’s sitting rather than lying down. “The hell am I wearing?”

“Pyjamas. Jess reckoned you would rather them than a hospital gown so she went to fetch them from your flat. She says it’s a tip, by the way, and she wants to know why you don’t tidy.” Matt tells him as Becker bats away the hands he’d reached out in case Becker toppled. Becker, already determined, is pulling the hospital blanket off his legs and moving them to dangle off the side of the bed. There’s a lump made of bandages on his leg, covered by pyjama bottoms. There aren’t any sleeves on his shirt, and Matt is momentarily distracted by the black star inked onto Becker’s shoulder. “Alright. I’ll take you home.” Matt says as Becker’s feet hit the floor, “But you’re going to need a crutch.”

“I don’t need a bloody crutch, I’m fine.” Becker insists as he pushes himself to his feet. Just before his injured leg gives out and he topples forward. Matt catches him and pushes him back down onto the hospital bed.

“You can’t just up and leave without your things.” Matt points out, turning to pick up the things littering the room, the book and his phone and a water bottle, and shoves it all into the overnight bag Jess had brought. He pauses, and then pulls something else out of the bag. “And you’re going to need your coat.” Matt turns as he tosses the coat to Becker, “Do you want proper trousers or-”

“Just get me out of here.” Becker says. Matt’s eyebrows bounce upwards, and Becker sighs. “Please.” he adds, holding out an arm. Matt hikes the bag up his arm before taking Becker’s hand, pulling Becker’s arm over his own shoulders as he hauls him to his feet. “See, I’ve got a crutch.”

“Thank you for the demotion from your boss to inanimate object.”

“You’re practically an inanimate object anyway.” Becker tells him, half-laughing. The laugh is broken off into a wince he tries to muffle as he puts a little too much weight on his leg.

“Do you want to get out of this hospital or not?” Matt asks pointedly as he and Becker push out of the hospital room. He shifts a little to take more of Becker’s weight as they move slowly down the corridor. They’re just past the nurses’ station when a nurse realises who has hobbled past and rushes after them.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, where are you going with that patient?” she calls after them. When they don’t turn, she shuffles in front of them to block their path.

“Captain Becker, I’m discharging myself.” Becker tells her, gripping Matt’s shoulder.

“And I’m taking him home.” Matt adds in.

“And exactly who are you?” the nurse asks pointedly, eyes narrowed.

“Matt Anderson, I’m his boyfriend.” the term comes out as if Matt’s been using it forever. Becker starts, head turning to look at Matt, because he certainly hasn’t been using that term for forever. “And I am taking him home.” Matt sounds more authoritative now.

“Well, you need to fill out a form, Captain.” the nurse is speaking to Becker, but she’s still eyeing Matt suspiciously. “Over here.” she adds, turning to shuffle back to the nurses’ station to dig out the form. Reluctantly, Matt and Becker follow. Becker shifts to lean on the counter instead of Matt so he can read through the form, but Matt keeps an arm around him. It’s only while Becker mutters words as he reads them that Matt realises he’s still wearing his glasses, but as he moves to take them off and put them in his pocket Becker takes them and puts them on instead, mumbling something about the writing being too small. “I was told to contact James Lester if the captain discharged himself.” the nurse says, more to Matt this time.

“Lester won’t answer.” he tells her, “Phone Jessica Parker instead.” The nurse nods and shuffles round to the other side of the counter where the phone is. Becker’s already done with the form by the time the nurse has found his file, found Jess’ number and dialled it, and he’s already turning with Matt and going for the lift. The ride down is quiet, neither of them speaking until they’re hobbling through the reception area of the hospital. “So. You really don’t like hospitals, huh?” Matt says it as if asking why, and Becker’s shoulders inch upwards.

“No. I don’t.” is all he says, pushing himself forwards and forcing Matt to go faster. Matt frowns. There’s a story there, something that’s bothering him. But Matt knows better than to push it, so he just guides Becker to the closest bench outside of the hospital and sits him down before sitting next to him as he sets the bag on the ground. Matt rolls his shoulder to try and relieve the feeling of the bag strap digging into it before taking his own glasses off Becker’s nose and tucking them into his pocket. Neither of them knows how long they sit in silence. Becker breaks the silence first.

“Where I was, before the ARC…Out there, you get hurt, you get shot and you’re put in a hospital with hundreds of other people that are dead or dying. They’ve been shot or blown up or tortured and none of them think they’re going to make it out alive. The ones who do usually leave something behind, an arm or a leg or part of their brain or all feeling from their neck down. And it’s just…” Becker breathes out, blinking as his fingers twitch. “Hospitals don’t exactly fill me with warm, fuzzy memories.” he shakes his head a little, sniffing.

“I understand.” Matt says it quietly, not wanting to break the fragile bubble around the moment. One of the few other times Becker had sounded like this was the day Abby and Connor came home. Part of Matt wants to reach out in some way, even just hold his hand, but Matt knows that it will burst the bubble and make him uncomfortable. Becker is very much against any kind of display of affection between them in public. Or anywhere where they’re not alone. “It’s okay.” Matt says, still quiet, “It’s okay. We’re out of the hospital now, and Jess will be here to take us home soon.”

“Is she going to drop me off at my flat?”

“No. She’s taking us to mine, you’re going to stay with me.”

“Matt, there isn’t enough room, not with Emily.”

“And you can hardly walk! Emily won’t mind. She’ll probably offer you the bed, actually, and you’re going to say-”

“No.”

“-Yes.”

“Matthew Anderson.” Becker says, as if about to tell him off.

“Hilary Becker.” Matt says quickly, and Becker sighs,

“Shouldn’t have told you my name.”

“Ah, you love it.”

“Yes. So much so, I go exclusively by my surname.” Becker says, and he rolls his eyes at this, which makes Matt smile. Their heads have turned so they look at each other rather than at the road now. Becker hesitates before he speaks again. “Matt? You called yourself my boyfriend. That’s how you introduced yourself.” he says, and there’s the slightest pause. The word had just…fallen out. To Matt, it had felt like the most natural thing to say.

“We’ve been doing this song-and-dance for what, four, five months. I thought that was long enough to…but if you don’t think I should’ve said it I-” Matt doesn’t get to finish his apology. Becker’s kissing him. Kissing him. In the middle of London. As a loud group of tourists yelling in Japanese and German go past. Even as an elderly man makes a disgusted noise somewhere behind the bench. More enthusiastically then, in fact. When Matt and Becker do break apart, neither of them bothers to create any kind of distance.

“I don’t mind that you said it. Quite like the sound of it, actually.” Becker mumbles. There’s an odd little thrill there, an almost rebellious feeling. The sudden, sharp panic Matt had felt when Becker had started his question followed by the confirmation that Yes, that’s fine. Yes, that’s what this is. You haven’t overstepped. And that rebellious feeling, of Becker breaking one of his own precious rules. For Matt.

A car horn blares. Jess is here. The non-existent bubble around them is fractured, but not broken. Matt picks the bag up again, hikes it up onto his shoulder as Becker moves his arm over Matt’s shoulders so that he doesn’t topple as they stand.

“Let’s go home then.” Matt says, “We can teach Emily how to order a Chinese.” he adds, and Becker laughs, head falling back.

“A vital skill for living in our time.” Becker says, and it’s like now he’s done it once he can’t stop himself from kissing Matt again, pressing a kiss to his temple and making Matt laugh too.

[justjessame]

Silence Chapter 4

As we grew closer to the meeting point, Negan grew quieter. A blessing AND a curse.

I’d never been gifted at guessing anyone’s age. Even prior to the world aging everyone at an average of five years a fucking week, I sucked at it. The woman waiting for us could have been around my age, or she could have been closer to my mother’s age, had she survived giving me life. She doesn’t seem to take notice of me at all, which gives me time to study her and try to make some sense of her and Negan’s exchange, but that seems less than helpful.

Mostly Negan seems lacking in her esteem.

From their back and forth I gather that it took him far longer to murder/assasinate/decapitate Alpha than the woman he addressed as Carol had expected. While he had technically fulfilled his part of the deal, she wanted more time to complete hers. Instead of rushing to Alexandria, the community they were a part of, she wanted time alone to process. Since I have no background and it would appear that I gained the power of invisibility- Wait, if I was invisible, why not take advantage?

I was about to do just that when the slight movement caught my captor’s keen eye. Damn it.

“Elara,” his tone sounds pleading and my eyes close in an attempt at gaining strength. “Please.”

I go with him, again, and he tells me about Alpha’s daughter. Lydia, a name I didn’t know, but a child I vaguely recalled from the sightings of their group during my travels. He’d hidden her in another spot, to keep her safe from a mother who wanted to end her life. Together we go to the cabin, another of my haunts, one that I use sparingly and only during the harshest weather. When Negan enters first and a fist connects with his face, I’m stunned into submission. A wild, crossbow wielding man stands demanding answers, and I have to say, I’m both impressed and slightly terrified.

“Where’s Alpha?” He’s growling, and I blurt it out. That she’s dead, that her head is lodged on a pike at the border of their lands. “The hell are you?”

I’m glaring now. “Nice of you to ask that NOW.” I manage to bite out with an eye roll. “I’m no one of importance, clearly. Think of me as just an innocent pedestrian.” Innocent pedestrian who’s been taken hostage by a maniac, and then kidnapped by a redneck crossbow freak. My day gets better and better.

“She’s dead?” His eyes land on me again, and I nod. “Do you even know who she is?” the ability this man has to doubt my intelligence both impressive and irritating. Seriously.

“Yeah. Dumpy. Gross. Whispery. Hick. Creepy as FUCK?” Pointing with my thumb at Negan, I tell a secret that even I wish I wasn’t privy to. “He played ‘hide the pickle’ with her.”

I wish I had a camera and film. Something, ANYTHING to capture the looks on their faces. They were PRICELESS. And Negan’s sputtering attempts at explanations.

“Why’d you kill her?” Crossbow was lowered from my person, so now they could get down to the nitty gritty, I guessed. I relaxed marginally, pulling my pack from my back and sitting down.

Negan had recovered from the horrifying knowledge that I’d managed to get Alpha Does Negan Live and in Living Color quickly and started tossing shots about Daryl’s ‘girlfriend’ and some more back and forth that made me consider how many puddles of manly piss I was going to have to dodge before I could escape the testosterone fueled wonderland I’d wandered into.

Eventually Daryl insisted that we vacate the cabin. I started to argue, but I got fucking overruled. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a fucking wonderful good goddamn reason why I am NOT a joiner. Then he went a step further and tied up Negan for the trip.

“Bondage?” My eyebrow raised as I took in the ropes being tied around Negan’s limbs. “Kinky much?” Their heads raised, eyes locked on me as I kept my voice down from habit. “First the whipping thing in the forest, now ropes in this cabin-”

I’d done it again, I created a vacuum of awkwardness. Good. Now maybe they would let me-

“Come on, smart mouth-” the gruff roughneck muttered, pulling Negan’s bonds. “Let’s get goin’.”

We head back toward the fucking border. Negan and Daryl having more back and forth and I feel like the third wheel in the WORST version of a buddy cop/odd couple movie ever optioned. I’m tired, I’m bored, and I am very much overloaded on the too peopley button.

When we get to the border I nearly scream. Her head is fucking gone. And of course, Daryl the wonder brain thinks this means Negan is lying, and by extension he somehow has manipulated me into being his bard. Because Negan is so fucking what? Charismatic that my brain melted and I IMAGINED what I fucking witnessed. Um, OK.

“I saw what I saw,” I offered, moving forward toward the pike where I’d watched Carol pop the weird fucking prop earlier. “They’d never leave her here.” I muttered, thinking about her pack. “They’re creatures of habit. This line is for enemies. For the disgraced. For showing who has been taught a lesson and for a reminder. She was their leader, their saint. They’d never demean her and leave her here.”

“Are you saying-” Negan was watching me like he’d never seen me before, and he probably hadn’t. Not like this, not as the academic version of myself.

“Pack animals, or people who are pretending they’re pack animals, are habitual. Whereas they line their border as a warning for those who break ranks, they would never show their own loss or mourning in the same horrifying light.” I sighed, looking at each spot that was empty. “The last time these pikes were filled, they were filled with-” I looked at Daryl. “Your people?” His nod was curt. “Putting her head here, that’s an act of war and aggression, I hope she knew that.” I was talking about Carol, and I know that they both knew it. “You know that the leader role goes to-” I didn’t have a chance to finish. Men.

They argue about whether Negan enjoyed his time with Alpha, a gruesome topic so I went back to studying the pikes. The markers, the ground. One day, very soon, they’d learn who the new Alpha was, and I REALLY hoped they were both together and I got to see it. Fucking ignoring males.

Daryl gives up on waiting for the elusive Carol’s return to the pike line. He insists that I accompany him and Negan back to Alexandria, and I feel like a prisoner that Negan once mentioned being. Although to be fair, neither of us were bound when we arrived.

I was given a room in a house, and a little girl, inquisitive and cute, wearing an odd hat came to greet me.

“Hello, I’m Judith Grimes,” she was wearing a gun that was almost as long as her forearm and a katana was strapped to her back. I was impressed despite myself.

“Elara,” I held out my hand and hoped I was smiling. Negan stood beside me and she grinned up at him, which I found strange. “I think you must know this one-” I gestured to him dismissively as she shook my hand with gusto.

“Oh me and Miss Grimes are old friends,” he was close enough that his body head was bleeding into me. He didn’t say another word, but she nodded toward a building nearby and his head gave a small tilt that could mean a number of things. “Do you mind showing Elara around?”

“Course not,” her smile grew, and my tour began as Negan headed off toward the buildings nearby.

The community was impressive, but I missed the wildness of the forest. Even the shower and the bed in my temporary room wasn’t tempting enough to make me want to stay. My fingers felt around the window frame, tugging until I could open it enough to get a bit of a breeze flowing. Sighing at that tiny shred of freshness, I sat down on the soft bed and pulled my notebook out of my pack and the pen free from its pocket to fill in the blanks since my last attempt.

I was still writing when I heard the small notice go up that Carol had come back.

The first warnings come and I find it lucky that I wasn’t attached to my new digs. Moving again, this time to an abandoned hospital, a tower where we divy up the chores and tasks, something I am more than capable of aiding and abetting, regardless of how often I’ve managed to run and hide to survive.

I haven’t seen Negan since he rushed off during my tour with Judith and I hadn’t spared much thought for him. I updated my history of the times, so to speak. I managed a nap, for which I was certain to be thankful for later. I’m sent to search for Negan at some point, seemingly to make sure he’s behaving himself, much to my chagrin, and I find him with a young woman. Thinking that I could do with one less Naken Negan Fun Times scarred into my psyche, I’m about to turn and go, when I hear her tell him that most people had hoped he would have died while he was gone as well as Alpha. Oh dear.

I sigh, louder than intended and the dog with the two of them alert them. Shit. “Sorry, I was sent to do a head count.” Using an exaggerated finger point, I do so. “One, two, and puppy makes three,” I’m turning to go, when the girl brushes past me. Fuck fuck fuck. I stop and drop my head. Dear God, if you’d like to do me a serious solid, let this fucking floor swallow me right fucking now. Please. Amen.

“Elara,” quiet again, not pleading, just quiet. Tired. I turned back to see that the dog went with her. Lydia, it must have been Alpha’s daughter, cleaner than I’d ever seen her, but clearly taking her mother’s demise well. He looks beat, worse than I’ve seen him. Not that I’d seen him all that much. Christ. “Come here for a second?”

“I was sent to find you anyway, so look at me, first day on the job and already head of the curve.” I walked closer. “You can’t force it, you know that, right?”

“Who are you?” He was leaning against a wall, staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time again, always so surprised. “Seriously.”

I shook my head. “A lifelong student.” I mirrored his posture and sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Negan. Who I was, who I am? None of it matters anymore.” I shrugged. “Nuggets of knowledge, that’s all I have.”

“How do I help her?” He wanted to, it was so clear and heavy. His need to make it right. To fix it for Lydia. “How can I make her feel-”

“Better?” I was staring at him like he was crazy, because it was insane. “Negan, her mother is dead. You killed her. Her mother wanted to kill HER. There’s no easy fix for that.” I shook my head. “Lydia’s a victim and has been one since the moment she drew her first breath. Until she comes to terms with that, and the mixed up shitstorm of fucking modpodge of shit that she feels for that woman who birthed her? She can’t grieve it, she can’t let it go, she can’t fix it and feel all better.” I pushed off the wall and started for the doorway. “If she can’t, then I hate to tell you Mr. He-Man Alphamale, you haven’t got a prayer.”

I hear that the horde is coming, and calls to each post. Daryl asked that I’m found and given a position near Carol, since he noted my bow and I suspect that he chose to believe it was more than an accessory. She too is an archer, and as I move to stand beside her, I suddenly feel less invisible.

“Didn’t really get a chance to speak before,” she says, as she checks her bow one last time, and I too am doing final checks. “I’m Carol.”

“Elara,” I offer, notching an arrow and readying my first shot. “Are we aiming for walkers first, or Whispering freaks?”

The flurry of activity keeps my mind from thinking about the endings. Endings are the WORST when you become a joiner. It’s why I stay apart. It’s why I don’t introduce myself or learn names or sleep in beds or-

Cause the endings come after the battles you don’t run from and you see the girls or boys you spoke with and learned about piled high or tossed like dolls thrown aside by irate toddlers at the end of a destructive playtime. Endings ruin walls and people and destroy bodies and lives. There are always the both sides' arguments, but the truth is that there is a good side and a bad side, but when the bodies are stacked, when the limbs are entwined and the blood is splashed around, I dare you to separate it into good and bad.

Carol and Lydia lemur the horde, from what I hear later, as I’m being bandaged on wounds that I didn’t notice being given. I’m not present when Negan’s given the title I knew he’d accidentally earned with his decapitation of Lydia’s mother, for which I will FOREVER be saddened, but the look of shock on his face when he tells me about it later, much much later when we have a quiet moment alone will forever be etched in my memory banks.

When he tells me that he and Lydia have made a sort of peace, I roll my eyes.

“What? I didn’t push her.” A raised eyebrow and his smirk is my answer. “I think my charm is growing on you, Elara.”

“You mean like fungi?” I ask, trying to sit up, but he won’t allow it. “I am NOT an invalid.”

“No, but you do have a head wound, you stubborn-” and then he does something that shocks me enough to render me immobile. His lips touch mine, a slight brush, enough to stop me from moving, but not enough to make me freak completely out and hit him.

Not to be outdone, as he’s about to pull back, my hands, traitors that they are, slide through that hack job of a haircut and hold him to me. I can feel the smirk return as his lips press back against mine, but I could give a shit as my mouth opens in invitation and he takes it. His tongue touches mine and then his arms are around my back and I’m not prone anymore, but sitting on his lap wrapped around him. My teeth tease his now kiss swelling lower lip, and he groans as he pulls back.

“We shouldn’t.” That’s my cue to groan. “You have a head wound, Elara, and as much as I want to,” he shifts and I feel just how fucking much he WANTS to. “We can’t. Not yet.”

I shake my head. “Where’s pervert Negan?” I mutter, flicking my tongue against his lip and smiling as he moans. “I REALLY like pervert Negan.”

“Fuck if I don’t LOVE pervert Negan, sweetheart,” he laughed, leaning forward to lay me down on the bed again. “I promise he’ll come out to play with you as soon as you get the all clear.”

I pouted, letting him tuck me in, but feeling quite peeved that I couldn’t have more. More of him. NOW. “Can regular Negan at least hold me while I have forced celibate naptime?” I sighed. He chuckled and slid into the bed beside me. “I guess this’ll do.”

“Course it will,” he murmured into my hair. “Just make a list of all the fun things you and pervert me can get into instead of counting sheep-”

Like that was going to help my sorry ass go to sleep...

[theentiregdtime]

Are you taking prompts beacuse I would love to read about Dennis getting angsty and jelous beacuse Mac is on a date or something(bonus points if he talks to Dee about it, I live for some good ol sibling-bonding) ur writing is wonderful btw💕💕

Mac has a date tonight.

He has a date and Dennis is absolutely livid.

Not that he’s mad about the date itself- no, no, he’s madbecause Mac has been lying to him for the entirety of the past three days.

“Who are you texting?” Dennis had asked him as he typedaway furiously on his phone, completely ignoring the McTiernan film they werewatching. Mac said it was Charlie, but that was suspicious- he was sending fartoo many words for Charlie to read; they almost exclusively communicatedthrough pictures and one-liners. He let it go and ground his teeth, listeningto the maddening sound of Mac’s thumbs tap-tap-tapping against the screen forthe rest of the movie.

The next day, Dennis suggested they try that new Thai place by their apartment for their monthly dinner, and that they should makereservations in advance. He knew Mac didn’t always like to try new restaurants,considering the dinner a holy ritual and not wanting to risk its sanctity, butDennis was floored when he flat-out said he couldn’t come. He’d used thatcautious, sing-song tone, too- and avoided eye contact as he told him he had togo see his mom that night. “It’s the same night every month, Mac, can you notvisit the woman another time? I mean, she doesn’t even like you!” Mac insistedon rescheduling anyways.

And today… today was the apex of it all. Today was thefucking crescendo to the three-day shit symphony. Mac had left his phone in theback office- unattended, for once- and Dennis definitely wasn’t snooping,because he doesn’t care about what Mac gets up to in his spare time. He was simply searching the desk for a marker to prove a point to Charlie about facial symmetry when a text lit up the screen…and it just so happened to catch his eye. It was from someone named Drew with ablack heart next to her name saying their reservation was moved to 7. It allhit Dennis at once- Mac texting nonstop, cancelling their plans, insisting ontaking the night off early- he had a date. He stood up their monthly dinner,their most sacred of traditions, for a goddamn date. He’d slipped out sometime around five-thirty, without somuch as a goodbye, leaving the rest of them to tackle the evening rush understaffed.

Granted, the evening rush consists of about six downtroddenchain smokers and an older couple that frequents to sleep in the booths, butstill!

Dennis leans onto the bar and takes a swig of his beer. Hesnarls in the back of his throat, half because he’s fuming at Mac and halfbecause his drink has gone sickeningly warm.

“Dude, you gotta stop that,” Charlie whines as he cleans chewedgum from underneath the counter, stowing the remnants in his pocket for somereason, “you sound like a dying cat.”

Before he can defend himself, Dee resurfaces with a tray ofempty glasses. She has a couple of crumpled bills sticking out of her pocket,which she uses like seed money, to make it seem as if she’s tippable. It’spathetic.

“Aww,” she teases with a childish sneer on her face, “didsomeone get stood up for their little dinner date?”

Dennis lets a long, exasperated sigh through clenched teeth.“Fuck off, Dee.”

“Whoa,” she replies, still laughing, with mockingly wideeyes. “Someone’s jealous.”

Charlie cuts in. “If you’re, like, lonely or something,Frank and I could come over and watch-”

“No, goddamn it!” Dennis shrieks and throws his hands in theair. “I am not jealous, all right? I do not care with whom Macchooses to consort in his spare time! As a matter of fact, I’m happy to havethe apartment to myself for once. It’s the charades I can’t stand. Theguy comes out of the closet every third Tuesday and goes right back in, gallivantingabout with women like he’s James fucking Bond! I don’t know about you, but Ifor one, am sick and tired of it.”

“Well, maybe it’s not-”

“Why do you care?” Dee talks over Charlie. “If he’shappy straight pride paradin’ around, then I say let him do it.”

“Because it is goddamn ridiculous, Dee!” Dennis counters.He’s been dealing with this for the past twenty years and he’s about reachedhis limit- the bullshit meter is almost to the top of his head- and he has morethan earned the right to be annoyed. “He brings loose women home, flaunts themaround in front of me like I’m to be impressed by his romantic prowess,pretends to enjoy making love to them, and for what? Because he can’t commit tobeing gay? Because a nonexistent god will send lightning down upon him to smitehim? It is absolutely absurd!”

Charlie and Dee share a look, and Dennis doesn’t know what itmeans, but he does know that he wants to hit them both across the facewith one good, honest backhand slap.

“So crash the date! Steal his girl! Ya’ know, cuck him!”Frank, suddenly at the bar and hoisting himself onto a stool, says much tooloudly. Luckily, their weeknight crowd is too busy drowning themselves in theirown sorrows to take notice. “Deandra keeps track of us on her pager.”

“I do not-”

“You stalk our locations, Dee, really?” Dennis questions. “Nowthat is just pathetic.”

“How… How do you do that?” Charlie wonders, starting to patat the back of his neck. “Like, with a chip or…?”

“No, see, what Frank is implying,” he explains, “is thatSweet Dee here watches us on her phone, everywhere we go, so she can livevicariously through us and make believe she has a personal life while she watchesLifetime movies and eats a family-size cheesecake by her lonesome. It’s justsad.”

“Hey, don’t take this out on me, bitch, I’m not the one whostood you up!” Dee yelps in a voice like an irate chihuahua. “Besides, Charlie,I can never see you, anyways.”

“He keeps his phone at home,” Frank says, chewing an oliveopen-mouthed like a horse, “in a bag of rice.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped taking it to the sewers, itwouldn’t get wet,” she suggests.

“Wet? I’m trying to keep it safe! If- If my apartmentgets robbed, they’re not gonna steal a bag of jambalaya!”

“You- You keep it in cooked rice?”

“Would you all shut up?!” Dennis shouts and slams his handsdown on the counter, rattling the empty glasses. He is at his wit’s end, and ifhe has to listen to this conversation a minute longer, his migraine is going topop his eyeballs out of his head. When he speaks again, his voice is level. “Fine.Let’s do it.”

Dee raises an eyebrow. “You want to crash Mac’s date?”

“Yes. Not because I care,” he clarifies, “but becauseI can’t play this game with him anymore. I am going to put a stop to this onceand for all.” Finishing off the last of his beer, he jams a finger in Frank andCharlie’s direction. “You two: no inventions, no possums, no dinner theatre-nothing except bartending and breathing.”

Charlie raises a hand. “What about-”

“No glue-eating contests, either, buddy.”

He puts his arm down with a pout.

“Let’s go, Dee. You’re driving.”

She scoffs in offense. “What? Why am I driving? Whyam I even going?”

“Well, what if they move around? You’re the stalker, I needyou on my team.” Dennis flits a hand around the room, out over their dominionof drunken singles and slumbering elderly. “It’s not as if you’re making tips.”

Besides, he knows she enjoys crap like this. She can pretendshe doesn’t care about the rest of them all she wants, claim she simply wantsto be left alone, but Dennis knows her better than anyone and he knows she likesto be included. He knows she lives for drama.

As expected, she resigns herself with a “fine” and followshim out of the pub.

—–

“Dee, truly, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart…Your music is the goddamn worst.”

They have listened to three Hole songs in a row, all ofwhich are essentially the same song, about scorning men and rejectingthe norms of society- none of which Dee, who bases her self-worth upon ratingsand the male gaze, can relate to in any way. Besides, the guitar sounds likeit’s in a fish tank.

Dennis would have driven himself, but unfortunately, heneeds Dee as his accomplice tonight. 

Plus, it’s good that he doesn’t have to dothis alone. It’s good to have the company… not that he’ll ever say that aloud.

“I’m doing you a favor, you boner,” she replies, but there’sno malice in it. In fact, she kind of sounds like she’s enjoying herself.

Again, Dee is fond of a good revenge plot. What else wouldshe be doing right now, if not for this, anyhow? Impressions of celebrities fortips? A reality TV marathon in her bathrobe? This has to be the height of hersad, lonely, joyless night.

She’s very skilled at the whole vengeance thing, too.Sometimes her schemes shock even Dennis. It’s always been that way, ever sincethey were children. Dee would whip out a notebook and map out a meticulously-plottedrevenge plan while Dennis simply went along for the ride (and chickened out,half of the time, because he didn’t want to upset their mother or get into trouble). That’s something else he won’t tell her out loud, that he’simpressed with- and often disgusted by- her work.

“Well, are we almost there?” he complains, tapping hisfingernail against the door to the growling music and watching pedestriansthrough the window.

Dee glances at her phone. “Chill out, it’s after the nextlight.”

Wait…

Dennis raises his head, casting a suspicious glanceto the GPS, then back to the road in front of them.

“No…” he mutters to himself.

Sure enough, it is.

When they make the turn and pull up outside of therestaurant, it’s the fucking Thai place Dennis told Mac about just yesterday.He stole the idea from him! He’s having dinner, on their night, at a newrestaurant he was fully aware Dennis wanted to try, with some randomfloosy. Dennis should be the floosy! He should be drinking SangSom and eatingcoconut shrimp! He should be there, because it’s their goddamn monthlydinner, it is their night, and Mac wouldn’t have even known this place existedif not for him!

Oh, he is so furious, he could just scratch him…

“That impertinent son of a bitch!”

“Yeah, I kinda thought they’d be at, like, Taco Bell-”

“It’s not that!”

Dennis takes a moment, sighing through pursed lips, steadyinghis rage, then turns to face his sister.

“We were supposed to have dinner here! This wassupposed to be our reservation! Then this Drew woman comes along-”

“Wait, Drew-”

“And soils the entire thing! Our whole rhythm is broken. Wewon’t be able to have a proper dinner for months now, the vibe is all wrong.”

Dee scrunches her face up at him, like she does when he’snot making any sense, but he is making sense, he’s making more sensethan he’s ever made!

“Couldn’t you just do your little bros night out tomorrow?Or the next day?” 

Dennis rolls his eyes. What a ludicrous question.

“It’s not about the schedule, Dee,” he says, waving hishands around wildly, “it’s about the mood. Our dynamic is going to be off untilat least November.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, no sound in thecar but the radio blaring angry chick music.

“So… what if they go on another date?” Dee eventually asks.She looks like she knows she shouldn’t, even before the words leave her mouth.“Like, what if this is a relationship thing?”

Relationship, that’s so ridiculous. This is all alittle scheme to tick Dennis off or get revenge on him for something he’salready forgotten doing, and it’ll be over by the end of the week. He doesn’twish to wait that long, though, so he’s simply ending it tonight. Besides, heshould be the one seeking retribution. He’s the one who was robbed ofhis periodic dining experience.

“This is all a little song-and-dance for Mac to prove onceagain that he’s heterosexual, or perhaps it’s a plot against me, but what it’scertainly not is a relationship.”

Dee’s eyes drift to the crowded restaurant behind him for a beat, then settle on his face, not quite looking directly at him.

“Then why is he here without you, Dennis?”

Because…

Well, perhaps he didn’t expect Dennis to show up duringdinner, but afterwards, he would have surely brought his “date” back to theapartment and made grand theatrics of it.

“Damn it, Dee, I will get to the bottom of this if it takesall night.”

Dennis unbuckles his seatbelt and throws open his door,stomping out onto the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m leaving you in an hour, cockmunch.”

—–

Getting past the hostess is easy enough. Dee nearly attemptsto disguise herself as an employee, but that is an awful idea and an absolutewaste of time, so Dennis simply puts on the charm and insists they’re meetingsome business associates. He keeps his head up high and waltzes pastthe booth into the restaurant before the woman can stop him. It’s all about theconfidence. If you look like you know what you’re doing and where you’resupposed to be, no one is sure enough or cares enough about their job to callyou on it.

He keeps a hand on Dee’s shoulder to guide her around beforeshe ends up donning a fake mustache and sneaking in as a waiter. They have toappear as if they know where they’re going, as if they’re with one of thesegroups, so they can’t wander around too much.

Mac will likely be in a booth. Dennis himself preferstables, and always insists they get one (sketchy diners at two in the morningexcluded), but Mac likes booths because he enjoys kicking his feet up andlounging around like he’s on the damned sofa at home. He is a classless savage.

The place isn’t too big, but it’s crowded- it takes them allof six minutes to track Mac down.

And when they do…

“Oh.”

That’s all Dennis can say.

He softens all at once and his shoulders drop, handsstilling at his sides. All of the fight in him goes limp.

Mac…

Mac is on a date.

With a guy.

“Dennis…” Dee says cautiously, reaching out to place a hand onhis back. She’s tentative with him, not like she’s afraid of him or thinks he’llhave an outburst, but like she’s sure if she talks too loudly or touches himtoo solidly, he’ll shatter like breakaway glass. It’s as if she thinks he’s fragile.“I’m sorry.”

Dennis’ unblinking eyes don’t leave Mac’s table. He can’tlook away from the anxious tension in Mac’s shoulders, the playful grin onhis lips, the way his face lights up when he laughs, the way he inches his handacross the table, the way his foot bounces excitedly against the floor…

It’s like watching a horror movie play out in front of him,but instead of a topless woman getting axed in the spine, he’s powerless tostop Mac from falling victim to happiness.

“For what?” he mumbles softly. He’s not sure the words comeout at all.

“I’m sorry that it’s real.”

Real… Please.

He hardly knows this guy. Sure, they’ve been texting backand forth for a couple of days, but that’s nothing compared to twenty years.It’s nothing deserving of standing Dennis up.

It sinks in that Mac cancelled on him for an actual date,and somehow that’s worse than if he’d paid a sex worker to spend the eveningwith him. It feels like a Shakespearean betrayal and stupid Drewbreaking a spring roll in half and passing Mac the rest is the blade against Dennis’ throat.

He tries feeling nothing and it doesn’t work. He triesrage and it doesn’t quite fit, either. He settles on jealousy and it’s like a glove.

A newfound wave of determination washes over him as heremembers himself and turns to Dee.

“I can still ruin this,” he decides, knowing he can still seduceMac’s date if he has to. Oh, no one has any idea how far he’ll go for revenge.

Dee takes a good, long look at the two of them laughingabout something on a chili sauce bottle like they’ve known each other foryears.

“Okay, but… why?”

Dennis tries to find a reason, but they’re all gone now.Everything he preached earlier on how this was about denial and cowardice andstagecraft… It’s all off the table. He racks his brain for a reason why thisburns at him so hotly, why he still wants to crash this, why he still wants todestroy it for Mac right in front of him, and settles on the inconvenience ofit.

“Because it’s going to be even worse. Mac pretending tosleep with a woman for a couple of nights is one thing, but having arelationship? Bringing a date back to our apartment? Letting him use ourshower? Having to hear about this man, day and night? I will not be a part ofthat, Dee.”

“So, just to clarify, Mac is never allowed to have arelationship as long as he lives with you?”

Dennis nods. “That’s the idea.”

“Sure, that’s fine, that’s healthy. That’s a perfectlynormal way for a grown man to think. Nothing weird about that at all.”

“Just shut up and follow me.”

He starts off towards the table before Dee can protest.Thankfully, she falls into step behind him instead of making a scene andblowing the entire thing.

By the time Mac’s date has noticed him, Dennis is faking awide, friendly grin that he’s certain looks charming, and not at alllike an enraged chimp suppressing its rage.

“What a coincidence!” he exclaims, struggling to maintain hishoney-sweet cadence.

Mac jumps at the sound of his voice as if it were arattlesnake’s hiss. His fight or flight response seems to activate before heeven looks at Dennis- muscles tensing, hands squirming, eyes going wide, breathcatching. When he cranes his neck to meet Dennis’ gaze, he’s making a face likehe’s been caught stealing.

It’s fitting, he supposes. He did steal something. Hestole the pleasure of their monthly dinner right out from under Dennis, stolethe music and the dark liquor and the conversation and the rice noodles andoffered it all up to somebody else, to some absolute stranger. He shouldbe mortified.

“I…” is all that escapes his dumb, floundering mouth.

Dennis takes the liberty of explaining for Drew’s sake.

“My sister and I just happened to be having dinner with somefriends,” -he gestures to no table in particular- “and who do we see?” Claspinghis hands together, he turns to Mac with less of a smile than a warning snarl.“Won’t you introduce us, Mac?’

“This is…” -Mac clears his throat, eyes darting between thethree of them, looking for a way out but finding none- “my date.”

“Drew,”’ the man says, clearly confused but holding out hishand regardless.

Dennis takes it and squeezes tight as he shakes, really putshis shoulder into it. A handshake says a lot about a man, a lot about histrustworthiness and virility and how much power he can generate, and Dennis hassomething to prove.

He doesn’t see what all the fuss has been about, these past fewdays. The guy is nothing to text home about. Sure, he’s passable, perhaps evenconventionally attractive, but his smile is too gummy, his jawline is toodefined, his toned arms are all deltoid and no bicep, and what is he wearing? Acheckered shirt? In a Thai restaurant? Any self-respecting man would know thepatterns clash.

“Dennis Reynolds. I own the bar Mac works at, which surely,he’s told you much about.” He rests a hand on Mac’s shoulder, who startles athis touch. “I also own our apartment. And our bank account. And our car. But…”-he chuckles, humorless, and it immediately fades into a straight stare-“mostly the bar.”

“He’s my… roommate,” Mac mumbles sheepishly.

Drew squints at him for a second, then pointsin Dee’s direction. “And you are?”

“Hungry,” she jokes, snorting in laughter at herself,and Dennis boils a little inside. Before he can say anything else, her talonsare in his arm, spinning him in the opposite direction. “We should be gettingback to our meal. You guys enjoy your date, or whatever people say.”

Dennis tries to stand his ground, but Dee’s fingernails inhis flesh are so painful that it takes all of his strength to keep from screaming.She drags him into an empty booth before he can stop her.

“What the hell?” he whispers through gritted teeth. “Whatare you doing, Dee?’

“You’re being a real dick wart, Dennis,” she chastises him.“Look, I know you want to throw your little trust fund fuckboy alpha maletantrum, but you’re freaking Mac out. I mean, look at him.”

Dee gestures towards Mac, who is still watching them acrossthe restaurant, eyes like a deer in the headlights, as his date talks to theside of his head.

“Besides, I thought you were gonna do the cucking thing. Youwere acting like Mac’s husband or some shit.”

“I was not,” Dennis insists and cups his handstogether. “I told no lies. I was simply emasculating Mac in front of his date.I mean, who wants to have dinner with a man who can’t drive himself or controlhis own finances?’

Dee narrows her eyes and rolls her teeth over her lip,analyzing him like she’s not sure he’s serious.

“Um, you?”

“Wh-” He scoffs in disbelief. How incredulous of her, thoseare two completely different types of dinners. “I am not-”

Before he can say something for himself, a waitress is atthe end of their table. She looks perplexed, presumably wondering why theyhaven’t been served yet, but retains the smile on her face.

“Do you guys need anything to drink, or…?”

“Can you not see that we’re having a conversation?!” Dennissnaps.

“Yeah, bitch, we’ll get drinks when we’re good and ready!”Dee backs him up.

The waitress rolls her eyes and walks away.

“I mean, it’s fucking rude.”

“Completely unacceptable.”

“She saw us talkingand she just waltzed right up like she was part of it!”

“I’m sorry, Dee, I had no idea the service here was soterrible.”

Dee frowns and glances at the kitchen door the womandisappeared behind.

“I kinda do want a drink, though,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m pretty thirsty…”

It’s quiet for a minute. There are forks scraping and platesclattering and incessant, mindless chatter all around them, but it’s quiet attheir table. Dee picks at the finishing on the glass with her fingernail,peeling it off. Dennis watches the pieces flick onto the floor and wonders whathe’s going to do if this is a long-term situation, if he has to live inproximity to this weak-handshaked stranger all the time, has to tolerate himday in and day out. The thought of having someone digging through he and Mac’sfridge, using their bathroom, taking up space on their couch… it’s annoying.

The thought of that person sharing a bed with Mac, eatingout of the same bowl of popcorn as him, wrapping a hand thoughtlessly aroundhis waist in the kitchen while he makes coffee, kissing him on the cheek asthey cuddle under a blanket…

Annoying isn’t the right word for the way those things feel.They don’t sting at his nerves and tense his muscles like annoying things do.Instead, the mental image sits at the pit of Dennis’ stomach with everythingelse he’s buried over the course of his life. It’s a different animal entirely.It’s…

He doesn’t know why, but it feels like losing a sure handhe’s bet all his chips on.

“You want me to take you home?”

Dennis observes Mac, who still looks nervous, but has fallenback into the swing of his conversation.

“No,” he mumbles.

Dee lets out a short, resigned sigh.

“You want to be fuck up his date?” she offers.

Drew (stupid name for a guy, by the way, just commit to thefull Andrew) rests a hand on Mac’s arm and Dennis’ stomach collapses intoitself like a house of cards.

“Thought you were doing the high road thing,” he answers, “youknow, like a superior bitch.”

She huffs through her nose like a bull, but the loud, enragedresponse never comes. Instead, her voice is gentle, as if breathing on ahair trigger.

“I didn’t realize what this was about,” she says.

Dennis raises and eyebrow and turns back to her, slowlytrying to process what the hell she’s referring to. He can’t figure it out, andhe can’t think of a way to twist it into an insult, either, so he just stares.

“Don’t look at me like that, you skid mark,” Dee spits,sounding a little more like herself. “I’m not having this fight with you again.Look, here’s what you do…”

—–

Ding ding ding ding!

Dennis taps a knife against a wine glass, both of which he’sswiped from an unobservant old couple, and the tinny sound echoes through therestaurant until everyone in the room falls silent.

Mac is looking at him like he’s got a bomb strapped to hischest. The fear and embarrassment in his eyes is almost humiliating enough torectify this entire situation- almost, but not enough.

He clears his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m standing here tonight because… Imade a mistake. And I want to fix it.”

Dennis smiles at Mac, who gawks nervously at him. He putsthe sweetest, sappiest, cheesiest look on his face that he can muster, justknowing everyone in the room is going to fall for it immediately. He’s got a knackfor manipulating people.

“Mac, baby…”

Mac’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

“I know I told you I wanted to see other people, but… I’verealized something, in the last three days. I only want to see you- forthe rest of my life.”

He earns a couple of aww’s and affectionate hums fromthe restaurant patrons. Stupid, stupid, stupid people. They don’t even know himand they’re already convinced he’s in love with Mac. He’s a much better actorthan Dee is, and he would shove that in her face, if she hadn’t been the one tocome up with this plan.

“Look, I know I messed up, but… I’m not afraid anymore, Mac.I know how I feel. And I know you came here with Chad, and I know what you’regonna say, and I know I don’t have a ring…”

Mac’s got his face in his hand, and Drew looks absolutely appalled.No matter what he answers, no matter how this plays out, this date isdefinitely destroyed.

“But I’d marry you with this.”

Dennis snatches a ring-shaped onion slice from a woman’s salad,and she simply sits there and lets him, because she’s that enthralledwith his speech. He makes sure to grind it good and hard between his fingersbefore setting it back down- he’s going to need that.

“Because none of that matters.” He pretends to take amoment, burying his face in his hand and digging his oniony fingers into hiseyes. When he feels them start to tingle, feels a tear drip down his cheek, helowers his hand and sniffles. “What matters is you, man.”

A few more aww’s are whispered, and Dennis feelsquite pleased with his exceptional performance.

“Jesus Christ, Dennis.” Mac turns back to his dateand reaches out for him. “This isn’t-”

“No, you know what? Go ahead.” Drew scoots his chair backand stands to his feet, tossing the napkin from his lap onto the table. “I sawthe way you two looked at each other.”

Clearly, that statement has no basis in fact, but it worksto Dennis’ advantage, so he’ll take it. Before Mac can even stammer out a syllable, his date has abscondedand stormed out of the restaurant.

“Dennis-”

“Mac, listen…”

Dennis crouches down in front of him and takes his hands,all of the tears in his voice gone as he whispers to him.

“They’re going to give us free dessert.”

Mac stops glaring daggers at him, and the tension in hismuscles relaxes. His hands go limp under Dennis’ as he scans him over,observing the streaks of foundation he no doubt has on his cheeks.

“Fine, asshole,” he answers loudly enough for the entiredead-silent restaurant to hear.

A few scattered people begin slow clapping, unsure as towhether or not that’s a positive response. Dennis makes quick work of slickinghis thumb across his eyes and eliciting a few more crocodile tears.

“He said yes!”

The restaurant erupts in applause as Mac shoots him a deathstare so hard he might pop a blood vessel.

—–

“There’s too much coconut.”

“That’s the entire purpose of the cake, Mac. Do you claimthere’s too much chocolate in a brownie, as well?”

“I’m just saying, it’s like suntan lotion.”

Mac swallows and sets his fork down, gaze focused on thetable. He leans onto it and rests his chin in his hand.

Before Dennis can suggest they get a tub of ice cream fromthe store instead, Mac mumbles into his palm.

“I know you’re uncomfortable.”

Dennis is thrown off guard by that.

“Well, I suppose the chair could use a cushion, but otherthan that-”

“No,” he grumbles. “About the date.”

Dennis? Uncomfortable? Over something so banal as Mac datinga guy? To accuse him of that, when he has always been perfectlytolerant, and Mac has been the one pointing fingers and throwing stonesin glass houses and proclaiming his condemnation of gay relationships from the steeples-it’s downright rude.

“I am not-”

“I can tell, dude!” Mac yells, finally sitting up andlooking Dennis in the eyes like a man. “You were uncomfortable earlier and you’reuncomfortable right now.”

Right now? He is merely trying to eat his free pandan cakein peace!

“Mac, I’ve always known you’re-”

“I’m not- I was just- I was trying something outand…” He gives up on whatever moronic protest he was going to attempt and,instead, lets his head fall face-first onto the table. A childish groan bubblesup from his throat. “Why did you follow me here?”

Dennis lets out a long breath and prepares himselfto say what he’s about to say.

“Look, Mac…”

Mac’s still got his head down, but he’s adjusted hisposition to gaze up at Dennis. This would actually probably be easier if heweren’t, though.

“When you cancelled our monthly dinner, I felt like Iwasn’t-”

“Are you done yet?”

Dee’s standing at the end of their table expectantly, tappingher foot and slugging down the last of a beer. “You better be in the car in thenext five minutes or you two shit socks are walking home.”

He glances to Mac and mumbles, “She smells like asock…”

For a second, Mac smiles and snort-laughs, until heremembers he’s supposed to be upset and his face falls again.

Dee’s freakishly strong hands slam the empty bottle down,with enough pressure to put a crack in the tabletop. “You know what? Fine. I’mleaving. You two deserve each other.”

Before she gets even five steps away, Mac shouts after her.

“Yeah, go listen to your stupid music in your dumb car!”

Dennis chuckles under his breath. “Her music isstupid.”

He reminds himself to thank her later, nonetheless. She canbe a half-decent sister on occasion. Sure, he owes her an apartment cleaning inexchange for the engagement idea, but still- nice of her to accompany himtonight.

“Sorry, Dennis, what were you gonna say?”

When you cancelled our monthly dinner, I felt like Iwasn’t as important to you as your date. I felt like you threw away years oftradition for some fool you barely knew. You’ve been on your phone all the timeand movies aren’t as fun without your commentary. You’re my best friend and Ihad to share you and it really sucked. And we don’t have to talk about the gaything if you don’t want to, but if you do, we’ll go get some ice cream and we’lltalk about it.

Dennis chooses to shorten it.

“You want to go get ice cream?”

Mac shrugs and agrees to the idea, on the condition thatthere’s no coconut involved.

The walk home isn’t too long, even with the trip to theconvenience store. They don’t talk much, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Sure, theycan chat for hours if left to their own devices, but when it’s just the two ofthem… it’s perfectly comfortable to say nothing, too.

Mac wraps his coat around Dennis’ shoulders when it getscold.  He buries his hands in thepockets, where an energy bar rustles around in there. He knew Mac would never reallytake a chance on a new restaurant- the guy likes to play it safe.

He reminds himself that this is all for the best, for Mac.He needs Dennis. He relies on him for guidance and money andtransportation (present situation excluded) and basically everything in hislife. It’s good that he didn’t end up putting that pressure on somebody else.It’s good that nobody else is going to watch TV on their couch and eat straightout of their ice cream tub and dangle their legs over Mac’s lap. That wouldhave been annoying.

Yeah, Dennis reassures himself as he watches Maccarry the grocery bags and makes himself comfortable in his jacket, Macneeds him.