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callmecallmecrazy · 2 years

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An Old Fashioned

New stuff! And a big thanks to @aardvarkia and @dumb-and-jocked for their feedback.

*****

“I hate these things,” Marcus muttered to himself as he adjusted his too-tight sport coat and surveyed the scene. He liked the symphony, no he really loved it, but he hated these fundraisers and charity events because it brought out the very worst kind of society patron. All slick, moneyed, wanna-be Rockefellers in expensive outfits purchased just for the occasion that were somehow both underdressed and overstyled. In truth, he usually wouldn’t bother coming, but one of his old buddies had really pressed for him to come only to text once he was inside saying that he had to bail. With an over dramatic sigh to himself, Marcus ambled towards the bar.

He pushed past two frat bros merrily reliving their youthful debauchery in too loud voices designed to make sure others heard. What was the point of talking about your congressman fraternity brother or who invested in what hot start-up if others couldn’t overhear and admire and feel envious? Maybe make connections with others who value the same things you do. Marcus did not have time for that. He wasn’t some socioeconomic outcast, Marcus had grown up “summering” and attended elitist schools up until middle school when his parents had divorced and his mom had decided that his father’s lifestyle was an impediment to the real world. Dad didn’t make much effort to stay in touch, so Marcus had adopted his mother’s defiant attitude despite child support payments keeping them very comfortable.

Marcus stepped up to the bar beside two blonde women squealing and hugging and talking about families and babies and what wait lists the kids were on. His overt eye roll was an external contrast to the squirming he felt in his stomach. Preppy women had never been his type anyway.

He stood waiting for the bartender, leaning on one foot and then another. A snotty, blonde man across the bar snapped just before Marcus could order and the bartender whisked off to serve the demanding man. Marcus sighed again and continued waiting to be helped.

“Rough night?” Another bartender had appeared, wearing the same black bowtie and vest as the first. He looked a bit older than most of the staff.

“Not my scene,” he shrugged. The bartender looked at him curiously and then smiled.

“I think I’ve got something for that,” he said slyly.

“Yeah, I’ll just have a…”

“No, I’ve got something,” he said as he grabbed a glass bottle filled with amber liquid and began assembling a complex cocktail before his eyes. Marcus eyed the glass curiously as the bartender handed it to him

“What’s this?”

“An Old Fashioned.” Marcus smirked.

“Seems appropriate. I’ve never had one before. The orange rind threw me off.” “They’re very strong. Sip slowly.” Marcus put the glass to his lips and immediately his nose was flooded with sweet orange and harsh alcohol. It was honestly rather tempting. He took a sip and immediately puckered.

“Oh damn, you weren’t kidding.”

“It’s basically just whiskey. Got a kick. Enjoy!” He turned away, leaving Marcus to take another sip from his robust cocktail and check his phone. After a few seconds of scrolling, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He’d already paid for the ticket, might as well try to entertain himself. He surveyed the scene, eyeing the various attendees.

The impromptu bar was set up in the atrium just outside the ballroom of the country club. Marcus had initially been impressed with the subdued class that emanated from the place, but he’d been here enough times now to barely process it. There were high top tables in their area, whereas seating filled most of the ballroom. Families tended to stay there, while the singles- and those pretending to be single- mingled out here. He laughed as a definitely married man attempted to flirt with the two gals from the bar earlier. They seemed interested, at least in the value of his watch. Marcus was interrupted by a man his age approaching.

“Hello chap,” his voice was smooth and perhaps a little high or maybe he was just drunk. “Chesterfield Winslow Devers IV, call me Ches. What’s your business?” He cracked a pearly white smile as he offered his hand.

“Marcus Bouvier,” he offered his hand, which the man proceeded to strangle like an unruly chicken.

“Frenchman? Not a lot of us here. Tends to be English and German stock.” “Uh, I guess so. I think I’m English on the other side. My family emigrated a long time ago.” “So,what’s your business?”

“Grad school? Is that a business?” “I mean, why are you here? My girlfriend drags me to these. Not that I mind the booze and the company.”

“Oh, I try to stay involved with the arts community. I know fundraising can be hard for them.”

“How very civic of you. My fraternity does a fundraiser for St. Bart’s children’s hospital each year.” “That’s a good cause.” “It’s an excuse to drink heavily and write it off as a donation. Was your fraternity more civically oriented? Mine made a show of volunteerism, but we were definitely more focused on the beer.”

“I wasn’t in a fraternity.” Ches looked shocked.

“And you still ended up among the fine company of Rolling Acres? Quite good luck.”

“Something like that,” Marcus said as he took a deep swig of his drink. The stingy burn stuck in his mouth, seemingly clawing at his tongue and throat. He ended up letting out a deep cough.

“You alright chap?” Ches inquired.

“Strong,” Marcus coughed out. The room spun around him for a moment, everything looked sharper but somehow confusing. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I believe we were comparing your philanthropic collegiate years to mine as a drunken lout.”

“I, didn’t mean…” Marcus trailed off as Ches smacked him on the shoulder.

“I’m having a jest,” he laughed, an overly boisterous laugh that echoed through the hall. Marcus thought people might turn to look, but no one did.

“I just mean, I liked a good party, too. Nothing wrong with throwing back a few with the dudes.” Marcus’ memories of his intellectual pursuits at university mingled with a thought of slinging back brewskis with a pack of over privileged rich kids. Colleges certainly were filled with them, and his had been no different. Surely, he’d had at least a few good nights of keg stands and stumbling across campus drunk with his pals? He could swear he remembered it.

“Very true,” Ches replied, offering his own drink for a small toast. Marcus smiled and obliged, taking the opportunity to down the remains of his cocktail. A sort of dopey smile crossed Marcus’ face as the pair said their goodbyes and returned to mingling. Eyeing his empty glass curiously, Marcus slipped back towards the bar.

Leaning against the cold slab countertop, Marcus admitted to himself it was a pretty swanky venue. Sure, pretentious and outdated, but it had a giant bar and a lot of space. Definitely the kind of place you could throw all kinds of parties. He sipped the dreg remains of his cocktail slyly remembering some of the bigger parties from his undergrad days. A pair of frat-tastic bros in khakis and polos requested cheap beers, as though their appearance didn’t belie their youth enough. The bartender shrugged and rolled his eyes after turning around.

“Get you another?” he asked Marcus as he cracked the cap off of two chilled bottles. Marcus nodded in assent and the bartender quickly began assembling the cocktail while handing off the beers.

The aromatic cocktail passed into Marcus’ hands as the two frat bros from the bar sauntered by. Up close, Marcus could admire how the banded sleeves of their polos were pressed high on their arms from the exaggerated biceps the pair sported. Clearly, they were frequent patrons of the bicep curl. The studs ribbed each other, not noticing Marcus, until a playful shove pushed one muscled body against Marcus. Halfway through a sip, Marcus ended up with his drink in his throat and coughing loudly.

“Oh, damn bro,” the one who didn’t hit Marcus said. “Sorry man, you alright?” The guy offered a few rough pats on the back that didn’t help with the coughing.

“S’okay,” Marcus slurred out. Up close, the pair were even more impressive. Big-bodied and broad shouldered with belts pulled taut around youthful waistlines.

“Hey bro, I’m Bryce. The troll that tagged you is Cash,” he jerked his hand towards the more lithe one.

“Marcus,” he offered a hand to the calloused mitt Bryce offered. “You guys here for the fundraiser?”

“I guess? Got an invite from Parker Parkins, the real estate dude. Wants to give us jobs.” “Oh, are you in real estate?” “No, I guess not yet,” Cash jumped in. “We graduate in the fall. Parkins is tight on our connections. Wants to have a couple of Jags on the billboards I think.” “Jags?” “We played football for the Hillberg Jags. D2 but big locally.”

“He’s a local legend,” Cash said with a smack on Bryce’s back. “Figure real estate might be real easy, too. You from around here?”

“Yes, I went to Darrish for school, though.” “Oh, big time guy, eh? Not much of a football school.” “Pretty sure we lost every game,” Marcus said.

“Did they have one of those super fancy gyms? I figure all those elite schools are stacked.” “Umm, I guess so?”

“Big guy like you probably hitting the weights all the time.” Marcus shook his head and laughed, feeling his thick neck muscles pull just a bit. It wasn’t like he’d ignored physical fitness, but he’d never really been… athletic. But when he thought of the guys he’d partied with in college, the preppy sort of men who came to socialize and maybe get a degree, there certainly were muscles to pass around. Pecs, biceps, glutes, and thighs in pastel polo shirts and a rainbow of khaki. And you didn’t hang with dudes like that without getting into a bit yourself. Marcus certainly had made the weights a habit, at least by Junior year. Maybe? It sounded correct in his head, maybe not guys the size of Bryce and Cash, but certainly fit and toned. Yeah, yeah that was right.

“I… well, I don’t mind a good bench!” Marcus lifted his drink and clinked with the beers in salute to the frat boy favorite. Marcus flashed back to events in college, keg stands with a pack of meaty bros cheering him on. Yeah, he’d definitely given it his all. He flexed his pecs and felt them straining against this dress shirt, the collar of tie suddenly uncomfortably snug.

The college boys said their goodbye and went off to chase contacts or tail, either being an acceptable end to the night. But between the generous cheer and the spill, his cup had already runneth empty.

Venturing back to the bar, Marcus found himself approaching two middle aged couples. Both men were stiff-backed in black tuxedos while the women wore gowns. Their rapturous laughter and excited demeanor suggested a type Marcus did not enjoy, drunk socialites. The louder pair introduced themselves without hesitation.

“Colin Templeton,” he offered a solid mitt and shook firmly. “And this is my lovely wife, Beverly.” Beverly replied with an overly large swanning of her arms before offering a hand for a delicate greeting.

“Your glass is empty son,” said the jovial drunk man. “What are you having?”

“Old fashioned,” Marcus slurred a touch, his rounds catching up to him.

“Classic, classic choice,” the man replied and quickly snapped to get the bartender's attention. “Two old fashioneds, and a glass of merlot for the young lady,” Colin cheesed, causing the not-young Beverly to slap her husband playfully. The bartender began assembling cocktails, leaving Marcus as the fifth wheel in the couples’ conversation.

“Marcus Bouvier,” he introduced himself, nodding to Colin and Beverly. He turned to the other couple that hadn’t spoken. The man stood upright and chest out, his square face stony and impersonal. His wife on the other hand smiled without teeth and nodded back.

“Ah,” Colin suddenly snapped into form, his body shifting a touch to mimic the other man. “This is my boss, Bob Barlow, of Barlow, Bannock, and Holmes. And his wife Betty.” After a dainty wrist offering from Betty, Marcus and the man shook hands, Bob’s iron grip caused veins to bulge on Marcus’ wrist. Betty and Beverly decided they were needed elsewhere and quickly vanished.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of your firm. Not running TV ads for worker’s comp?” Bob scowled at the suggestion.

“No, our firm specializes in mineral and land rights.” His even toned voice boasted a surprisingly deep bass that reverberated into Marcus’ ears It almost hurt to hear.

“That seems more like a mountain west kind of speciality.”

“Our international clientele has needs around the world and we strive to provide a concierge quality to their interests.” The man’s stoic face adopted a very subtle smirk as he explained exactly how exclusive and prestigious their clientele was. Marcus wished he’d just stayed quiet as the conversation continued. Colin eagerly nodded and occasionally interjected. Fortunately, the next drink had entered his hands and he took a careful sip everytime Bob “accidentally” name-dropped an important client.

“So, young man,” Bob focused intently on Marcus. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I'm in graduate school.”

“The firm is always looking for young lawyers with the drive and motivation to move up in the world.”

“Not law, I’m afraid. I’m ….” Colin and Bob both looked aghast and cut him off.

“I must admit, that is shocking. I’d expected a young man of your caliber to be concerned with his financial future.” Marcus had definitely met these people before. He took another sip of his harsh cocktail and forced a smile onto his face. Sure, half of his fraternity brothers majored in business and the more aggressively ambitious certainly turned to law, but that had never held any sway for him.

“I’m afraid if I turned to law, I’d find myself drawn straight into politics, Bob. And I can’t have that!” Bob let out a rather obnoxious barking laugh that quickly ended. Colin tried to join in, but found himself chortling into silence as his boss had already stopped.

“Good man,” Bob slapped Marcus on the shoulder. “I can always tell when a man was raised right. Not an ounce of real money in politics. And those sorts, you know. I miss the days when the club had a refined membership. They’ve become far too lax in their standards. I can tell a boy like you kept good company.” Marcus forced his eyes wide to prevent them rolling inside his skull. Bob continued into a well worn speech that bemoaned class and race without saying either, instead focusing on things like standards and manners. Stepford smile plastered on his face, Marcus nodded and said nothing, having learned that interrupting or worse, disagreeing, only prolonged an uncomfortable encounter. Once or twice, Colin attempted to get a word in, but Bob never acknowledged the meager attempts.

Except, Bob was right about some things. Marcus had certainly grown up in a world where old men valued things being a certain way. And it’s not that Bob was ill-intentioned, he just liked things a certain way and got upset when they weren’t like that. There existed a simplicity in just going along with the flow, nodding and smiling to everything Bob said. After all, he had grown up around these people, prep school boys and fraternity brothers and families generations deep in inherited social status. Unconsciously, Marcus started to mimic Bob’s posture, his spine extending up, shoulders rolling back as his chest jutted forward.

“At the last board meeting, they discussed lowering the application. Which, I have to tell you, is quite absurd. The dining room is full every weekend, tennis courts still have to be reserved in advance. And the younger generation doesn't play nearly as often as mine.”

Marcus thought about cutting him off, but something about Bob’s words struck him. Everything had rules. Classrooms, cinemas, every single sports team or club he’d ever been a part of. Some rules, like traffic signs or helmets, were for your own safety. And some, well, everybody has traditions. His high school football team bleached their hair when they made the playoffs. His fraternity required brothers to wear a suit and tie every Monday. Those standards built camaraderie and helped create social divisions, who to mingle and who to manage.

“I'll tell you what Bob,” Marcus said. “ I remember at university, the National of my fraternity made a big push about modernizing recruitment and rush procedures. And we were not having any of that.”

New memories formed in Marcus’ head. Fraternal requirements and standards. He’d been held to such exacting measures his entire life, it was only natural to continue in college. A stickler for rules, it was only natural he’d be keen on enforcing them. Ensuring pledges were following their initiation rites, shirts tucked in, hair parted, fulfilling gym time, and housing duties. Some of the new ones were wont to complain, but eventually they fell in line, happy even that such a prestigious organization admitted and molded them into upstanding gentlemen. And Marcus had overseen it with aplomb.

“Exactly, son! These things have existed for a long time for a reason! Some things just work.” Bob, Marcus, and Colin did a small toast to that.

“What fraternity were you in, Marcus?” Colin suddenly asked. The question stunned and confused him. Initially, he wanted to protest that he certainly wasn’t a frat boy. But, he was? He’d just told a story that he remembered clear as day from his fraternal past. And he could picture in his mind the cohort of clean cut, preppy boys drinking and going to football games and causing a ruckus. But, when he tried to picture the house or the letters, his brain turned to static.

“I, uh, I was… drunk? Marcus finally spat out slowly. After a moment’s hesitation, Colin and Bob burst into laughter.

“That’s how I spent my college years!” Colin replied jovially. Bob just smiled and confirmed that he too spent copious time consuming alcohol. The question about fraternal organizations soon turned towards college sports, and Marcus felt the gnawing questions in his brain diminishing. After all, he wasn’t a stranger to football or baseball or basketball or wrestling, not even mentioning the prep school sports. He’d always liked sports, so the conversation carried easily, between the hazy frat-boy fog of almost real memories and the actual experiences of his life. Several minutes later, the wives returned, noses powdered and wine glasses precariously filled.

“What did you boys talk about while we were away?” Beverly inquired curiously.

“Manly things!” Colin joked. “Isn’t that right, Bob?” Bob feigned a smile that more resembled an animal showing off its fangs. Clearly, this firm was a good place to work.

“Sports, fraternities, the club,” Marcus attempted to smooth the conversation along.

“Yes, all the changes,” Bob sighed and started up again.

“Oh, I know!” Bev agreed. “You know, my great grandfather was a member when the club opened in 1923. Obviously, you know, things were different back then. And I’m okay with that, but some level of decorum should be maintained.” Apparently, Bev and Bob shared the sentiment. She swished her arms as she spoke, causing red waves to tumble about her glass. Colin started to grind his jaw while attempting to derail Bev’s chatter. Unlike Colin, Beverly had no issue talking over Bob and dragging the conversation around. A fact which clearly annoyed Bob and drove Colin into poorly controlled conniptions.

“But dear,” Colin assuaged. “You love the new wallpapers in the bathroom!”

“Oh God, yes. Look, Colin, you know he can be a bit sensitive about this stuff. I’m friends with the Hoffman’s and my father voted to allow blacks into the club as members. I have no problem with those changes, you know? It’s just, all those little things we seem to lose along the way.” Her gesticulations grew grander, wine splashing just above the cup before dripping back in slowly.

“The tennis courts are practically unused,” Bob lamented.

“We used to host tournaments! I have a photo of my Aunt Gloria with Jimmy Connors right here at the club. The galas are all toned down and the balls! We used to throw big lavish balls.” The increasingly erratic hand gestures corresponded with wine flying even higher, though somehow still returning to the cup.

“There’s just a right way of doing some things,” Bob said.

“You know, Bob, when you’re right, you’re right. And I never think you’re right!” Beverly laughed in delight at her impertinence while Colin practically seized and Bob was clearly unamused. As she threw her head back and roared, her hands splayed forward sending the tumultuous wine sailing out of the glass and splashing across Marcus’s white shirt and trousers. For a moment, there was nothing but silence among the five.

“Goddammit Bev,” Colin burst out before blushing deeply. “I mean, honestly.” Embarrassed, he turned his attention to Bob. “Sorry about this.” The ladies scurried away to refresh faces and glasses before anyone could respond.

“Outbursts like that are unbecoming, Colin,” Bob spoke again in that molasses slow and awkwardly deep voice. It felt like someone screwed around on a synthesizer. But it was imminently commanding and Colin seemed to immediately retreat into himself at the critique. Marcus couldn’t help but notice that his predicament went uncommented on.

“I’m, uh, I guess I’ll find a bathroom.” Colin and Bob both offered a curt nod. He could tell Colin dreaded being alone with his boss after the fuss, but Marcus could feel the wine seeping through his shirt. He followed a sign for toilets away from the main area and into a side hallway.

Marcus pushed too hard on the bathroom door, causing it to swing wildly open. He giggled to himself as he saddled up to a urinal and let go. He needed to pee so bad, and it felt so good. Letting out a deep sigh as he released, Marcus focused intently on the black and white tiles of the wall to steady himself. A part of him was kind of embarrassed, he was way too drunk for a fundraiser, but it was all in good fun. Besides, he hadn’t paid for a drink yet!

He was knocked out his mental stupor by the door banging open and another guy rushing to the urinal. He leaned against the wall with one hand as he pissed, waving slightly from side to side.

“You alright, bud?” Marcus asked. The man was his age, maybe a touch younger with longish sandy blonde hair brushed up from his face and lacquered back. The man’s face was flush and he responded with a boozy smile.

“Totally, bro,” he had one of those deep, dumb voices- practically cartoony. “Just, gotta, let, it, ugh,” he squirmed as he let out a fart and kept pissing. “Shit, gotta get that out before I tap the ladies, right bro?” He attempted a fist bump, but almost stumbled releasing the wall. Marcus ended up helping him to the sink to wash his hands.

“Trip Treadwell,” he offered a calloused mitt and shook aggressively. Marcus offered his own name while meeting his handshake with impressive strength, veins bulging over wide forearms as he shook. Trip reached down to yank off the leather beatle boot from his foot. “Goddam trash. There’s a reason I only buy Allen Edmonds,” he held up the seemingly pristine boot to Marcus’ eyes. The fine leather and simple design were refined and elegant. Then he noticed the heel had completely separated from the shoe.

“Oh, is that why you were tripping?”

“I’m drunk, too,” Trip laughed. “But yeah, got these as a gift and damned things fell apart. Fortunately, I keep some back ups in the lockers. Looks like you need a change,” he pointed at the wine stains that covered Marcus’ shirt and the crotch of his pants, having faded from a wet red to dried violet mess.

“Yeah, someone spilled on me.”

“You got clothes here?”

“I, umm, I’m not a member.”

“Oh, well, you look pretty close to my size. I’ve always got some backup clothes stored away. You aren’t the only man whose white shirt has been ruined by Beverly Templeton’s gesticulations.” Marcus could only laugh as Trip patted his shoulder and led him through some hallways and into the men’s area. The whole time, Trip sang the praises of the club. How it had the right members, the right environment, the right perks for guys like them. Marcus didn’t bother to really correct him, the club was growing on him after all. There was something to the grandiose monstrosity that inspired a certain envy.

“This locker room leads to the gym, sauna, and Men’s Grill.” Trip gestured around casually.

“Men’s Grill?” “Men’s only restaurant. Business lunches. Red meat, you know, manly stuff.” He let out a deep laugh and guided Marcus through the brightly lit and well designed lockers to a spacious floor length locker in an area with a dressing room mirror and vanity.

“Now then,” Trip typed in a code. Marcus practically jumped from the loud click of the electric lock in the nearly silent room. Trip pulled out a set of white leather wingtips and sat down at a bench. He ungraciously yanked the boots off his feet and tossed them mindlessly towards a trash can, then he laced up the shoes and admired himself in the mirror.

“Normally, I think these would be better for a garden party or afternoon event, right bro? But you know what? I’m feeling this tonight.” “You look good,” Marcus surveyed honestly. Trip was bulky, the masculine musculature stretching the thin fabric of his seersucker suit to its limit. His searingly white shirt matched his teeth. The look was capped off with a blue and red bowtie. He looked like he walked out of a magazine ad. Marcus stayed silent as Trip examined himself thoroughly, making sure everything was just so before he returned to the party.

“Why are you still dressed? We need to get your new clothes.” “Oh, Trip, that’s okay, really, it’s just a stain…” “It’s a stain on your pedigree! Come on, shirt and pants, off now.” Marcus tried to dodge out, but Trip was firm and insistent. He’s controlling glare did not take ‘no’ for an answer. Resolutely, Marcus unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his bare chest to the air. He bashfully turned away from Trip as he stripped off his khakis and exposed his black boxer briefs to the world. Trip, meanwhile, had been diligently collecting items out of the locker and hanging them on a clothes rod by the mirror. Upon seeing the practically naked Marcus, Trip shook his head.

“Oh no, those will never do,” he said as he returned to the locker.

“What ‘will never do’?” “Your shorts. It’s summer, man. All I’ve got is seersucker and white. Bad breeding to show up showing off your britches.” Marcus was about to ask what he meant when a white garment was handed to him. It was a white, cotton undershirt, completely plain and simple. Slightly longer than usual, but that probably made it easier to tuck in. He slipped it on with ease, noticing how weirdly thick but also breathable the fabric seemed to be. Marcus turned back to see Trip smiling broadly and holding up a large pair of white briefs.

“I’m not wearing your fucking underwear, bro!”

“Come on, dude. They’re clean, hell, they’re ironed!” He snapped the pair tauntingly.

“You iron your tighties?”

“Briefs, dude. And fuck no, I pay people to do that shit.” “No way, sorry. I’ll just have to be in bad taste or whatever.” As Marcus babbled, Trip took a step forward and positioned himself uncomfortably close to Marcus. WIthout saying a word he smiled bigger, menacingly, and reached around and grabbed the seat of Marcus’ underwear and ripped the fabric apart.

“What the fuck?” Marcus said, stunned, as the destroyed cotton drooped off his body.

“Problem solved. Solution,” he handed the briefs to Marcus without another word. Enraged, Marcus planned to just grab his clothes and leave, only to find that Trip had moved them.

“Fuck dude, is this a joke?” “Christ bro, it’s fuckin’ underwear. Put ‘em on. I wanna get another drink.” “You’re fucking drunk.” “Not as drunk as I wanna be.” They both laughed as the joke cut the tension. Finally, Marcus shrugged and began pulling on the briefs. Surprisingly stretchy, the cotton seemed to grow in length as it climbed his legs, the waistband sat below his hip bones while the crotch bagged much lower. He pulled the bottom up tighter, causing billows of fabric to rest about his privates.

“I think you’re a bit… bigger than me? Honestly, these are huge!” Marcus laughed as Trip rolled his eyes and marched over.

“Stand still,” he commanded and Marcus obliged. Trip grabbed the fabric and pulled it tighter around the crotch and then pulled upwards, ensuring the waistband encompassed the hem of the undershirt, before letting it come to rest just above Marcus’ bellybutton.

Marcus felt embarrassed, standing with some other dude’s underwear on, hiked up like an old man, when he felt something akin to suction around the bands of the briefs. Then, a sensation of tightening, filling, and something pressed against his butt, his dick, and his brain. A warm, empty smile drifted over his face. Trip smirked back knowingly.

“I bet you feel a lot better now. Right, Marcus?” Marcus smiled and nodded. “You feel better in your white briefs. You only wear full-cut, white briefs.”

“I only wear full-cut, white briefs,” Marcus droned back. Trip smiled bigger.

“And I’m your best bro.” “You’re my best bro.” The sound of a door slamming caused Trip and Marcus to jump a little and stare. Two buff men in cutoff shirts, one in shorts, the other in leggings, horsed around as they came into the locker room. Both looked startled when they saw Trip.

“Oh, hey, bro,” they said in unison. Trip glared at the duo. The disparate clothing was the only obvious difference between the pair. Sweat matted sandy blonde hair to their big foreheads, they were both smooth-faced behemoths with protruding jaws and a casual arrogance.

“Where the fuck have you two been?” The pair kind of shrugged and looked at each other.

“Gym.” “You just fucking disappeared from the party.”

“Yeah, bro, it was boring. Plus, Rip said he could bench more than me.” “And I can!” The one called Rip performed a side chest pose which caused the other to mimic him. Trip rolled his eyes.

“Rip, Skip, get cleaned up. I want to take our new boy out drinking.” As the pair headed towards the showers, Trip called out. “Who benched the most?” Both of the lugs claimed to, which caused Trip to sneer in disgust.

“Morons,” Trip said, returning his attention to Marcus. Then he smiled. “Kind of like you, bro.” Marcus’s smile flickered.

“What?”

“Hey, Marcus,” Trip ignored Marcus’s question. “What is your full legal name?”

“Current or former?” Trip looked shocked.

“Did you change your name?”

“I took my mom’s maiden name after the divorce.” “Woah, bro, so, current name?”

“Marcus Dayton Bouvier.”

“Former?” “Marcus Dayton Chisholm the Third.”

“That is a much better name. Another Trip, huh? Too bad I’m already Trip, can’t have duplicate nicknames among bros. No, I think from now on you’ll go by “Chip.” Like, Chip off the old block. Right, Chip Chisholm?” Trip gave Marcus a devilish glare as Marcus stood, unnaturally straight, unmoving. Ever since putting on the briefs, he’d felt compelled to hold this militaristically erect position, shoulder back and chest pushed out, his stomach tightly held in, eyes forward. He felt like a soldier taking orders and Trip’s direct commands seeped into his psyche with little resistance.

“Sure, Trip,” Marcus nodded back, causing Trip to rip into a brilliant smile.

“Perfect, Chip,” the harsh enunciation when he said Chip caused Marcus to chub up in his briefs. “Fortunately, we look about the same size. Bet you were into sport at prep school, huh? Big ole meathead like you. Don’t worry, Rip and Skip have shit for brains, you’ll fit right in.”

Marcus swayed back and forth uncomfortably, this new information conflicted directly with his own version of himself. Trip noticed the discomfort. He rolled his eyes.

“What’s the problem, Chip?” he again over emphasized the name.

“I’m not stupid.”

“Bro, chill, it’s not a big deal. You were just another one of the sports obsessed dudes who got mediocre grades. No one gives a shit when you're handsome and rich.”

“I’m in grad school.” “No shit, bruh? MBA?”

“No, I’m….” “Well, that’s not gonna do,” Trip cut him off. “You’ll need to drop out. That shit bores the crap of you, Chip. You can get an MBA if you really want, but you can get a fine job in finance with connections alone. I don’t know why anyone would work so hard when you don’t have to. Especially you, Chip,” again with the harsh emphasis on Chip. “You’re the kind of guy who works for the social aspect, the connections. Bet you still ask your Father for money so you won’t have to dip into your trust fund. Am I right?”

Was Trip right? None of this sounded correct, not to Marcus at least. But Trip was his best bro. That was definitely true. He felt that strange sense of compression around his crotch and head again. Pushing… something out. A little bit of resistance, a little snag of confusion. Wouldn’t it be easier to trust Trip? Why make things harder for himself? That did...n’t sound like him. He wanted things to be easy, simple, fun. Fun, wouldn’t it be nice to just relax and have some fun? Let someone, Trip, take the lead, and just go with the flow?

Trip sensed the hesitation and sighed. “Damn dude, I thought this would be easier. Okay, you know what? Chip, I want you to imagine everything that makes you you. Like all the interests, hobbies, thoughts, whatever and put them into a big hole. The deeper stuff goes at the bottom, and the top is surface-oriented, shallow stuff. You know how it is. All that “you” stuff right at the bottom, the base of you. Got it?”

Marcus nodded slowly, thinking of his identity as a pit. It filled quickly with memories and quirks, strange habits and tics. His frequent involvement in community arts and disillusionment with other people's money sank the bottom. He had to admit that his dubious consumption of alcohol was definitely a shallow trait. New memories also filtered in, his desire to get great chest cleavage seemed pretty shallow and floated to the top. His time in the club, hell, his brand new “best bro” Trip floated up there too, since the only thing they seemed to share was a narrow waist, broad chest, and a tendency to get over inebriated at social gatherings. Which to be fair, reminded him a lot of his college buddies. The guys he kind of remembered being buddies with, partying with.

“Got that sorted?” Trip's question smacked Marcus back to reality. He stood ever rigid and unmoving, his mind feeling mushy and slow. “Great, now, we’re gonna take that hole and fit it in. Like sand, but with money, money pouring into that pit of yourself and filling it in, covering all that sweet deep empathic stuff and drowning it in cold hard cash. Cause that’s what you care about. And that cash is gonna fill up the deep parts of your personality until there’s just a nice shallow, surface oriented stuff left. Cause that’s who you are Chip. Shallow, vain, and just a little bit stupid.”

Marcus felt his brain being pummeled, crushed, under a relentless assault. His head felt so heavy, hard to think or hold on. Feeling this rush of cash just flush inside him, drowning out old traits and interests. His needs and desires filtered upwards, simpler, shallower, surface oriented. He wanted to be hot, to have fun, to party with his bros, to be rich. Dad… no, Father, would make him work a job. Riding yachts and gambling obscene amounts of cash on the daily sounded more fun, but a token career, enough to pad the bank and continue the ever important social connections wouldn’t be so bad. Something to make sure you Summered with Senators and attended bachelor parties in Tulum and Ibiza and islands common people never even heard of.

His scrunched in face in confusion as years of personality were wiped away under a staunch onslaught of mental capitalism. The hard facial flex bore into his skull, causing the edges of his face to sharpen, the jaw and chin become squarer and more prominent, while his furrowed brow stayed low and got a touch thicker. He moved down the evolutionary ladder a half step while taking a solidly cute face into outright handsome territory. His lips seemed to pull back and thin out, giving his white teeth a larger and almost carnivorous appearance.

Trip stood silently by, watching his soon to be bro’s face scrunch in confusion even as the body remained rigid. The former Marcus trembled slightly and took a long breath in before simultaneously ripping a fart and releasing an echoey belch. Trip snorted.

The heavy body that was formerly Marcus took a few seconds to process things after the release. Everything seemed simpler, his wheeling thoughts pleasantly slow and delightfully inebriated. He cautiously scratched his head and bounced his pecs.

“You alright, bro,” Trip asked. The meathead in front of him jumped.

“Holy shit, bro,” a bassy, vapid voice escaped the maw of the muscular man. “Trip, bro, fuckin’ scared me.” Trip laughed in delight at the man. “What’s so fuckin’ funny, bro?”

“Chip,” Trip said, oddly over enunciating, causing the beast to recoil slightly. “Get dressed. I want another drink.” The confused man looked down at his massive body covered in white fabric and jumped again.

“Bro,” he said absentmindedly and walked in front of the mirror. He smiled lecherously at his gargantuan form and flexed his biceps proudly. He turned around, showing off the oversized haunches and playfully flexed his glutes in the mirror, eliciting a simple giggle. The manly reflection was obviously excited too, given how the cotton pouch of his briefs filled up with virile masculinity.

Trip passed him an overly starched, searingly white dress shirt which he began pulling on. His overworked biceps and triceps filled the sleeves completely, nary an extra millimeter around. The chest buttoned perfectly, not a trace of pulling around the buttons, and not an speck of extra fabric, respectfully highlighting the well chiseled mass of muscle gracing his chest, while the trim waist scooped in around the hardened abs of his midsection. He flexed again for good measure, delighting in how the veins of his biceps strained the sleeves even further.

“Bro,” the newly christened Chip spat mid flex. “I look swole as hell.”

“All that time playing sports and building biceps instead of brains,” Trip taunted.

“Can’t deny the results,” Chip said as he flexed his thighs to the mirror, deep striations seeping across the legs as the muscles presented themselves proudly. Trip tossed him a pair of seersucker trousers with matching braces buttoned in. Chip pulled them on, his legs a bit too large for the cut. But the real trouble began at his butt. The rotund rump outmatched the trousers in size, forcing a bit of shimmy and shake to cross over. Once on, he finished pulling the seersucker high on his waist, letting them sit just below the tops of his underwear. The braces slipped on tightly, the broad expanse of his backside forced the braces to pull the trousers too high, resulting in uncomfortable pressure on the crotch and schoolyard style wedgie in the back..

“Bro,” Chip muttered as he attempted to pull at his crotch to no avail. “I think I’m bigger than you.”

“Well yeah, you got that fat ass,” Trip smacked the other man’s behind firmly as he walked over to help adjust the braces.

“You’re just jealous cause I’m bigger than you.” “You’ve always been bigger than me, Chip.” Chip nodded in affirmation as the trousers slacked a bit, releasing his crotch from the fabric crush. He turned to face the mirror again and sneered narcissistically.

“I’m so swole, bro.” “Yeah, Chip, we covered that.” Trip rolled his eyes but the wide smile on his face showed his true feelings. Chip patted his crotch, the fabric looser but still tight around his glorious package. He turned around, admiring his luscious rump with the pride of a man who just increased his max deadlift. Between the massive ass and the thin seersucker fabric, three lines clearly framed his buttocks. Anyone who admired for a moment could tell the style and color of his underwear.

“Think fast!” Trip suddenly yelled and shot Chip three items, a pair of socks came via a weak underhand throw which was followed by a shoe tossed above his head. The other shoe sailed towards his shoulder, thrown like a football. Half of Chip’s brain short circuited at the athletic demonstration. The other half snagged the socks with nary a worry, caught the first shoe without pause, before taking a step back and catching the football shoe against his chest and cradling it. He playfully juked back and forth, dodging imaginary tackles as he bounced from side to side. Chip’s body moved with a shocking agility for a man of his size. A section of his brain felt trapped in a dreamlike state, seeing itself reflected in a funhouse mirror. But a much larger and louder part enjoyed the display of gamesmanship.

Plunking his ass down on a bench, Chip hiked up his pant legs and unfurled the socks. They were baby blue with little white anchors embroidered on them. They were abnormally large and Chip tried to make up some joke, but as the fabric expanded over his inflated calves, they actually looked like normal socks. The shoes were a leather soled cap-toe oxford in walnut, the leather felt smooth and buttery on his hands as he slipped them on. As his hands laced the tawny strings tightly, Chip couldn’t help but notice his bulge. The ice blue stripes were distorted by the distinct curve of masculinity. It was so prominent, so forward. It practically forced his legs wider as he sat, carved out its own space on the bench. And it made him so very happy. And that made it happy too, since a gentle plumbing became apparent and the trousers filled out even more. He gave it a comfortable pat as he stood back up.

“Pocket,” Trip said while handing Chip a massive suit jacket in matching ice blue seersucker. A silk bow tie dangled out of the front pocket carelessly. At first, Chip thought it was just red, but as he pulled it out the fabric changed into a sterling white before swapping to a navy blue at the other end. Years of good grooming had taught him how to tie one. Facing the mirror again, he had time to admire the strong form of his face. The superhero jaw and chin were just like Father’s. A shadow of a beard had begun creeping across his face, which helped highlight the jaw even more. Thankfully Trip had the same overlarge neck as Chip, the bowtie might be a belt on a smaller man. But fortunately, it could wrap around his gargantuan neck just fine. The entwined fabric created a blue bow on the left and a red on the right, joined together by a shiny white knot. Perfectly styled but muted Americana, just how he liked it.

Slinging the jacket over one shoulder, Chip admired himself in the mirror - again. All the frippery of good grooming couldn’t hide the beast of a man underneath. Those well used muscles stretched and pulled at the fabric in the subtlest of ways, flashy but refined. He’d always been a sucker for a pattern on a suit. He could remember windowpanes at church and plaids on holidays. Nothing made him prouder than distorting a straight line with his gigantic pecs or thick moose knuckle.

Trip walked up behind him, his face failing to suppress a cocky grin. Chip hadn’t really noticed Trip’s clothing earlier, a light suit, white shirt, and around his neck a bowtie that was the mirror image of Chip’s. Trip always liked having all the boys matching, he’d implemented all sorts of crazy dress codes at the fraternity as he took over leadership roles. Serving as Trip’s Standards Chair, Chip became his diligent enforcer. Chip didn’t mind, Father had always drilled into him how every social event had a uniform, just like sports. And like sports, social events had winners and losers. And Chip was a winner.

As a newfound spirit of team based camaraderie flowed through Chip’s mind, Trip gave his rotund derriere a firm slap. The rippling muscle caused Chips' already prominent bulge to grow ever so slightly more.

“Good game” Trip teased and let out a low steady laugh. Chip’s mouth opened a new, deep chuckle burst further than matched Trips in tone and meter. Peas in a pod, bros in a fraternity, the two could pass for brothers.

“Now, where the hell are they?” Trip mused to himself. A thundering sound followed and Rip and Skip, freshly showered and shaved and covered in the same oversized briefs and undershirt as Chip, came marching into the lockers.

“Rip, Skip,” Trip paid no mind to which one he addressed as he spoke, “this is our bro, Chip. Four musketeers or some bullshit. He was at Prep with me. We all pledged Kappa Sig together, got it?” The two grunted in affirmation, their natural tendency to follow Trip overriding any doubt they had. Because that’s who they were, each of them, all of them, just good looking athletic boys of good breeding and good manners. “Alright, get dressed,” Trip directed Skip and Rip. “And you,” he pointed to Chip,” we need to fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Chip patted the fluffed part with apprehension.

“Just a touch up,” Trip dug a small jar of pomade from his own locker and rubbed some between his hands. Chip stared down at his bro, Trip’s eyes even with his chin. He barked for Chip to sit.

“Ha, I’m taller than you,” Chip said as Trip massaged the paste in, causing the hair to stiffen and tighten. The gloss made it look darker than before. Trip ran a comb over it, creating small lines through the sheen.

“Yes, you’re taller and buffer. Made you a good tight end. That and your empty head,” he gave the back of Chip’s head a swat and the pair laughed. “You know, you’d look good blond. Not like bleach, but just some highlights.”

“You think?” Chip eyed the crisp part and imagined if it were more like Trip’s, blond and tight. He’d look good. Definitely had the face for it, years of sports had left him with a brown tint of honest work, not uv light vanity.

“I’ll make an appointment with my stylist”

“Thanks bro!” “Course, bro!” The pair of handshake-hugged it out as the now dressed Skip and Rip returned.

“Alright boys,” Trip declared. “I’m sobering up and that blows. Let’s hit the bar.” A chorus of grunts assented and the herd of meatheads went searching for booze.

The quartet of bros swaggered back to the gala with entitled bravado and bodies to back it up. Chip loved how he felt, shoulder to shoulder with his best bros, feeling the strong heft of his legs carry him, the prominent bulge in his trousers brushing back and forth against the fabric of his pants. He was a stud. And he knew it. The pristine hallways of the club, lined with old photos of sporting events and members, felt like heaven. He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a night than hanging with the boys in a place worthy of them. And what could be more worthy than a society building that had seen generations of power and business develop in its hallowed halls. The subtle style of classic class mixed with the prominent display of status, just how Chip liked it.

—------

Rip and Skip were immediately distracted by pretty girls. Trip and Chip strolled to the bar, a few handshakes and pats on the shoulder offering minor delays. Leaning on the edge, Chip angled towards the bartender. He wasn’t immediately served and that annoyed him. Instinctively, he reached his right arm forward and snapped at the staff, the sound loud and prominent. The bartender turned to him and then smiled.

“Another Old Fashioned?” The man smiled serenely. “Or are we old fashioned enough?” Chip blinked a few times. His slow mind attempted to make sense of the words but found none.

“Four White Claws,” Trip interjected. Chip’s mouth hung open slightly before slamming shut and nodding in assent. The bartender suppressed a snicker and fetched four from the ice. Chip grabbed them, two in each hand and went chasing after Trip who had meandered into company.

“Parkins!” Trip shook hands with a man in a flashy, sharkskin suit with California white teeth. His longish hair was slicked back across his head and the pomade he used gave it a plastic sheen. “How’s business?” “Booming! As always,” the man looked like a cross between a sleazy preacher and a desperate C-lister trying to get noticed. Up close, Chip could tell that the man’s front teeth were veneers, expensive but a bit oversized. And his lips had obviously had some filler. He certainly wasn’t opposed to an anti-aging regime, but the boldness of his look repelled the more traditional Chip. “Pretty sure I’ve convinced these boys that they can turn their following into cold, hard cash!” He gestured to Cash and Bryce, the two football players Chip encountered earlier in the evening. They flanked Parker Parkins, dopey grins on their primal faces.

“Always love to meet some Jags,” Trip smiled happily while shaking their hands. “And this is my fraternity brother, Chip.” Trip introduced Chip to Parkins and the boys. Not a speck of recognition flickered in Bryce or Cash’s dim eyes. Chip passed Trip his drink before stashing the other two in his coat pockets and offering Parkins his hand. Parkins shook aggressively and openly sized him up.

“In the market for a house? Got some great ones out in Chester. You know the McMannerlys? Moving across the country, got that classic on the market for a steal if you get it now.”

“Chip’s not in the market right now,” Trip cut him off before he could continue, which caused Parkins to lose interest immediately. He passed Chip a card, the man’s plastic face smiling brightly on it. Chip read the card graciously and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Parkins offered handshakes again before veering off towards another mark, leaving the fraternity brothers with the football players.

“So, Bryce Matthews, I recognize you, Mr. Defensive player of the year. Not often you see a defensive end return an interception for a touchdown! Looking like a young JJ Watt out there. And you bro, sorry don’t recognize you without the helmet.” Trip knocked around introductions with ease.

“I was a free safety,” Cash replied. “You’re some swole bros. Either of you play?” Trip thumped his chest proudly in response.

“QB,” the other two feigned reverence for a moment. “And Chip was my tight end.” He slapped the others ass to emphasize. Chip straightened up his posture but stuck his butt out just a bit to emphasize his end. He admired the pair with newfound appreciation. Their bodies were pillars of dedication to sport, the kind of hard body that was made from real work. Chip’s body had been like that when he was on the team, bulky and sturdy for pushing other guys around. Nowadays he could focus on the aesthetics of it all. Bryce had the thick waist of a guy who was taking hits, but Chip’s had slimmed down remarkably with diet and focus. He puffed out his chest and twisted slightly, casually highlighting the improbable shape of his body. The kind of body lazy men swore came only with steroids and liposuction. They’d never know the pain of choking down vomit on a bulking cycle and then starving at ounces of plain chicken.

“Nice dude,” Cash nodded. “You ever try for college ball?”

“Got some offers, but you know, Father insisted on Darrish and I couldn’t drag that team to a win if I tried.” All the boys laughed. Cash and Bryce turned to Chip, the same question hanging in the air.

“Yeah bros, loved football! But this dude couldn’t live without me,” he ribbed Trip playfully. “Did a lot of intramurals in college. Kept that Panhellenic cup at Kappa Sig five years straight! Champs in football, wrestling, basketball, volleyball-”

“-we were real bad at soccer though,” Trip injected with a sigh.

“Bro, I’m built for contact sports.”

“Volleyball isn’t a contact sport!”

“Depends how hard you spike it,” Chip shrugged with a laugh.

“Shit, I forgot you gave that TKE guy a concussion.” “He didn’t get a concussion. I don’t think,” Chip trailed off. “No, you’re not a thinker,” Trip joked. Bryce, Cash, and Chip cheered to that and finished their drinks. Bryce and Cash excused themselves and headed to the bar. The frat boys searched around for their bros, spotting the two brutes chatting up a pair of college aged girls who giggled dramatically at everything the boys said.

“Mandy Garden,” he pointed to the one feeling up Rip’s bicep aggressively. “Her father, Daniel Garden, owns a few shopping centers around town. Lazy money. Not sure who her friend is, probably from college.”

“We gonna talk to ‘em?” Chip asked while sipping his beverage.

“Nah, let them get tail. We can do better anyway,” the two chortled a bit, reminiscing about various hookups and failures from the great fraternity days. Any story Trip told sept into Chip’s psyche and settled as a core memory, a bit foggy, but easily attributed to too much partying. But he never regretted a good party.

—-

“Speaking of,” Trip trailed off as he tilted his head towards a pair of young women in summer dresses, one blonde, the other brunette, giggling amongst themselves as they headed towards the men. Chip felt a bit of a rise in himself, he loved a preppy girl. “I think that would be a great end to the evening,” he winked lecherously and guided the pair in front of the ladies.

“Evening,” Trip addressed them and made quick introductions. The blonde smiled at the pair while the brunette rolled her eyes so hard she could probably diagnosed CTE.

“We’re leaving,” she said in a huff.

“Oh come on, the night is still young,” Trip smiled.

“I’m Daphne,” the blonde said, clearly enamored by Trip’s looks. “And this is Rebecca.” Though she pointed to her friend, Rebecca did not acknowledge the exchange.

“Would you ladies care for a drink?” “A free drink?” Rebecca snarked.

“Becky, be nice. They’re just chatting.”

“Yeah Becky, be nice,” Trip goaded with glee. Chip remained silent, pursing his lips and pretending to admire the architecture. He felt a pressure building up inside him. Different than before. For a moment he was worried his cock was going to explode. Then he realized he had to pee. Damn alcohol.

“Hey bro,” Chip whispered into Trip’s ear. “Gotta piss.” Trip gave him a slight chin up while still maintaining eye contact with Daphne. After a brief survey of the area, Chip hustled back to the restroom. He felt light as he walked, despite the mounds of muscle which flexed and pulsed with every movement. That was just the alcohol he thought to himself while letting out a deep giggle.

He anchored right up to a urinal, unzipped, pulled out his dick, and relaxed as a stream of liquid spurt forth. Clearly, he’d had far too much to drink. Honestly, even with his collegiate fraternity years barely behind him, he was still shocked at just how much he’d drunk tonight. At least he held himself together. Composure, while often taught, takes years to master. The perks of the right upbringing, he praised himself silently while finishing up. As he strutted to the sink to wash, Chip stopped to admire himself.

The alcohol left his face flushed, but the square jaw and steely eyes were still the most prominent features. Years- a lifetime- of being a straight up stud resulted in an air of refined arrogance he paraded around in, an invisible but ever present aura that established his status with nary a word.

Before leaving, he took a moment to survey himself. He brushed a stray bit of hair back onto his head. The trousers and braces were tugged and tested, ensuring he walked the tightest line between obscenity and ostentatious. Although he played second fiddle to Trip’s leading man, he still needed to be admired, noticed, and praised. After all, he deserved it. Deciding that his appearance pleased, he flashed himself a cocky smile while shooting finger guns at his reflection before leaving to find Trip. As he walked up, he could tell Trip was flailing.

“Tell you friend to leave us alone,” Rebecca snapped at Chip. He blinked rapidly but did not move. “Don’t you frat dudes have somewhere else to be? A hazing or something?”

“We didn’t have hazings,” both Chip and Trip lied effortlessly. The first rule of hell week, you never tell others about hell week.

“What fraternity were you in?” Daphne cooed. Trip’s face burst into a charming smile.

“We are proud Brothers of Kappa Sigma-” Rebecca cut him off.

“That’s super interesting, but like I said, we’re leaving. Now. Come on Daphne,” she grabbed her friend by the arm and dragged her away.

“Nice meeting you Trip!” The two girls walked away, leaving a sulkingTrip twisting his cufflink aggressively.

“Can’t win ‘em all” Chip shrugged. Trip huffed in response.

“Why bother anyway? I’m wearing a watch worth more than their dresses. I can do better.” Chip said nothing as his Kappa Sig Brother puffed himself up with righteous indignation. He’d seen this side of Trip before. A bit too much too drink combined with being denied something he felt he was due, led to a very angry and emotional Trip. Chip could remember one night in Tulum where cocaine blasted the whole thing up to eleven and he’d had to physically hold Trip in a cold shower to cool him down.

“Hey bro, let’s bounce. Party’s winding down anyway,” redirection and returning some measure of control to Trip usually righted things. The man’s hand wringing cooled immediately.

“Yeah… yeah. I’m over this. Fundraisers always have that problem.” Chip grabbed his buddy by the shoulder and directed him back to the bar. Aside from a few barfly’s scarfing down the vestiges of their drinks, it was practically empty.

“Sorry, gentleman,” the man said. “Unfortunately, I’m not able to pour more per the manager.”

“Nah, we’re good. Just wanting to check tabs for the night,” Chip took the lead while Trip remained the quiet one.

“Drinks are complementary, sirs,” the bartender said with a smile. “However, tips are greatly appreciated.” He gestured towards a glass filled with cash.

“How much?” Trip pulled out a tiny wallet and produced a collection of bills.

“Normal percents, pretend you had paid. How much would you tip?”

“I don’t know,” Trip got heated again. “I didn’t come here to do math.”

“Bro, chill,” Chip interjected. “I had like four old fashioneds? Fifteen bucks maybe? Then four seltzers. Surely you drank a bit before we met up? Twenty percent on a hundred is twenty, but we aren’t fucking poor are we?”

“Hell no!” Trip cheered up as they fist bumped. Chip reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a wallet, and handed the bartender a crisp hundred dollar bill.

“Have a good night,” Chip nodded to his bartender who pocketed the money with a big smile. The muscle men swaggered drunkenly out of the building, giving a few goodbyes and salutations as they went. Out front, in a reserved spot, Trip’s shiny Jaguar sat waiting. The pair swung open the doors and sat down. Trip inserted the key, causing cool air to blow on them both for a second. They sat in the car quietly for a few moments.

“I think we should call a car,” Trip said with a quiet burp.

“Yup,” Chip nodded in agreement as he stepped back out of the vehicle.

“Another round?” Trip said jokingly.

“Tomorrow night?” Chip laughed. “Actually, aww, yeah. Here we go!” he slipped the two cans originally destined for Rip and Skip out of his pocket. Passing one to Trip, the drink clinked their cans and cracked open the seltzer.

“You’re my best bro,” Trip said happily.

“You too, bro,” Chip felt it with all his being. “But seriously, we down for bars tomorrow?”

“Sunday? Sunday funday! Hell yeah!” They fist bumped again, planning a good night on the town as they waited for their ride. They may grow up, but they didn’t plan on growing older any time soon.

#preppy #callmecrazy #mental transformation #suit #nosex

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lexxlouuu · 9 months

Text

How you get the Girl

Chapter 8: Anti-Hero Part 2

Warnings: none that I can really think of at the moment

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

(For the last time)

Winning the first race of the season was not something I could have expected, even in my wildest dreams. Yes the car felt good, and was not too hard to drive. As well as it being compared to a rocket ship by not just other teams but Addie and Lucy as well. The feeling of winning this time had felt different, maybe it was because of it being a new track and new competition, but I liked it. Yes, I had won podiums in Indy Car, F3, and F2 but being a female driver in Formula 1 winning the first race of the season just hit different. Having my dad here with me to cheer me on from the RedBull garage was just indescribable emotionally. I could not help but skip everyone else and run straight to him. It’s been my dream for so long and he supported me endlessly for years. Even when it was hard with him in the states and me in Europe for F3 and F2. Having him there just helped make the haters and internet trolls disappear, as well as making the victory champagne sweeter.

Smiling to myself, I get up from the hotel bed. Checking to see if I had everything one last time before grabbing my phone, the bag filled with daisies, and luggage. Walking to the door and opening it I am greeted with the sight of my dad mid text. With a smile he asks “you ready to go kiddo?” Laughing I respond back “yeah, just a little tired and hoping I don’t have to get rid of these pretty daisies when I board the plane.” Still not knowing who had left them at my door. It had to be someone who knew what hotel room was mine. Possibly someone on the grid maybe.. That was a question I could think of later. For now it was time to get to the lobby and head to the airport.

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me)

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Hearing the elevator open dad and I step out. Making our way towards the lobby and to the desk to drop off the hotel room cards. Reaching the front desk. I reach into my jacket pocket and pulling out the key cards and laying them on the desk. Looking over my shoulder to say something to my dad I notice he’s not there with me. Glancing around the lobby trying to find him before hearing laughter. Found him, he’s surrounded by a couple guys laughing and clearing talking about something passionately. Probably cars knowing dad. With a sigh and a shake of my head I start walking over to him.

“Hey dad, all checked out and ready to go.” I tell him with a smile. Only now realizing it was Max, Lando Norris, and Charles Leclerc. Smiling at them in greeting but silently wanting to just leave so I could sleep.

“Yeah, just waiting on you kiddo.” He smiles back at me. Feeling a tap on the shoulder I look to my right seeing Max before he tells me “Hey congrats again on the win, Lily”

“Thank you, I still can’t believe it. Winning the race.” I respond back shyly

“Yeah, you were amazing out there, you deserve it” Charles pipes in. Before Lando speaks up

“I guess Addie wasn’t kidding about how good of a driver you are.”

“Gee thanks, I’ll have to tell her thanks for the compliments” telling him while laughing it off awkwardly. I hadn’t really talked to anyone else other than Max. The press conferences and drivers brief meetings didn’t really count in my book. Both Charles and Lando seemed nice, just with the combination of exhaustion of the race and just wanting to go home had me feeling a bit anti-social.

“Well, we better head out, have to catch our flight and then help set this one’s apartment up fully. It was nice meeting you boys, hope to see more of you three this season.” My dad tells them snapping me out of my internal thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s about time you get that set up Lily.” Max says laughing

“Oh hush, I’ve just been very busy” I retort back with roll of my eyes. Which Max easily baits back with“Yeah with what?” And with a grin I tell him“Oh you know, being a single cat mom.”

Earnhardt_Lily

when they let you keep the flowers 🌺

Liked by addie_stewart95, lucejohnson, and 4,500 others

addie_stewart95: 😊 pretty, is that a somewhat put together bedroom I see 🧐

Earnhardt_Lily: yeah dad helped me out when he came over for Bahrain 😆

User1: is that a PlayStation controller I spy 🧐

User2: @user1 you’d spy correctly, Lily, Addie, and Luce are really into gaming. They also have a podcast that is everything Motorsport related.

lucejohnson: elder scrolls online later ? 🥺

Earnhardt_Lily: you bet @addie_stewart95 you in?

addie_stewart95: just gotta put the boys to bed and I’m in 😎

patriciooward: @addie_stewart95 @lucejohnson @Earnhardt_Lily you guys literally have a group chat called nascar girl squad to talk to each other 🫣

lucejohnson: patriciooward your just jealous your not in it

landonorris: patriciooward we can start our own group chat called the papaya boys or something 😅

I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money

She thinks I left them in the will

The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out

"She's laughing up at us from hell"

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees

#Spotify #formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris #f1 #ln4 #lando norris x oc #f1 x oc #lando norris fic #lando norris imagines #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 imagines #f1xfemaledriver

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thxnews · 7 months

Text

American Rescue Plan Transforms Education and Workforce

Exact Transcription of Speech by First Lady Jill Biden.

Thank you, Robert. Secretary Cardona – Miguel, thank you for your tireless advocacy for our nation’s students and workers. Isn’t it great to have a public school educator as our Secretary of Education? First Gentleman Hochul, it’s always wonderful to see your passion for the people of this state. Congressman Ryan, you are an incredible champion for this community. Joe is grateful for your partnership. Executive O’Neil, and all the state and local leaders joining us, thank you for supporting this groundbreaking project. Dr. Jordan, Dutchess Community College is lucky to have your leadership. Robert, it’s students like you that are on my husband’s mind each day as he’s working to grow our economy. You’re who he’s thinking about when he meets with cabinet members like Secretary Cardona or talks with your representatives in Washington or your governor or mayor. Joe’s father used to say: a job is about a lot more than a paycheck. It’s about dignity. Joe watched his dad struggle to find good work. He saw how a job could change a family’s path. I saw it too. My dad came from a family of Italian immigrants. His father delivered furniture for a living. Thanks to the G.I. Bill, my dad was able to get a degree and carve out a good life for my four sisters and me. Joe and I understand the middle class, because we’re from the middle class. That’s why Joe’s working so hard to invest in America. Joe’s leadership has helped transform our economy, with more than 13 million jobs created, unemployment under four percent, and hundreds of billions invested in growing industries like clean energy and semiconductors. He’s creating new opportunities for hard-working families, and building our economy from the middle out and the bottom up. He and Senators Schumer and Gillibrand, along with Congressman Ryan and many others in the New York delegation fought hard to pass the CHIPS and Science Act, so the Hudson Valley can be a leader in manufacturing. He made sure federal dollars from the American Rescue Plan could go to programs like this one. Because employers need skilled workers to fill all the jobs being created. And leaders like all of you – employers, high schools, community colleges, unions, and community organizations have come together to bridge the gap between learning and earning. This new mechatronics lab will help students get the skills they need for the growing businesses here – preparing them for careers making everything from display screens to jet engines to semiconductors. As a community college professor myself, I’m so excited to see how this work changes people’s lives. Because for most people, a high school diploma alone isn’t enough to find a great career. But that doesn’t mean there’s only one path to success. Students can take college courses in high school, enroll in Registered Apprenticeships, or earn associate degrees. That’s the Biden Education Pathway. It starts with free, high-quality, universal preschool and creates a high school experience that prepares students for their next steps. It provides two years of affordable community college and opens up avenues to a four-year degree. Things like unemployment rates and jobs created aren’t just numbers to Joe and me. They represent real people – families trying to make a good life. Like Joe’s. Like mine. Maybe like yours. A job is about more than a paycheck. It’s a path – a way to build the lives we want. And everyone deserves the chance to do just that. Thank you for making that possible right here in the Hudson Valley. Joe and his Administration see all the work you’ve done and they’re grateful to partner with you today, tomorrow, and for all the days to come. Together, we can fundamentally transform what it means to make a living and make a life here in America. Thank you. Sources: THX News & The White House. Read the full article

#AmericanRescuePlan #BidenEducationPathway #CongressmanRyan #Dr.Jordan #ExecutiveO’Neil #FirstGentlemanHochul #Joe'sleadership #Mechatronicslab #Robert #SecretaryCardona

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bloodbenderz · 4 years

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Can I ask what your season 1 Lok reboot looks like?

this is about 3k words i checked lmfao dont say i didnt warn u

a key part of the whole thing is that korra gets way more perspectives and more experiences representative of like, normal people in republic city bc i think something that really defined what a good avatar aang was was how many people he met and got to know and how he didnt exclusively or even mostly associate w cops and bureaucrats and leaders. so mako and bolin. well first of all their backstories are a little more fleshed out and we get a less black and white view of the “triads” (lol) and mako and bolin’s experiences w them. cuz the show very much does the whole thing of like Criminals Bad but dont worry even tho mako and bolin did commit crimes theyre not Criminals!! so just a little more nuance on the alleged gang problem and the poverty in the city

korra does start out very naive w very black and white ideas (ex. “you guys are CRIMINALS?”) i think a really good way of developing her away from her sheltered naive worldview is putting her in whats clearly an incredibly complicated city w an absolute cesspool of political conflicts, ethnic tensions, the lasting effects of colonization, etc and having her try and understand the needs of “the people” in a more complicated way than “i have to save the good guys from the bad guys” ykwim? and i think the absolute WORST way to do that is what they did. bc we get mako and bolin who could contribute genuinely compelling thematic elements to the story: one parent who was indigenous and one who was from a colonizer background in the decades directly following the end of the war, kids who grew up in poverty apparently without any familial support, and who now are trying to be “respectable” members of society (especially mako). and then most of that is pretty much tossed aside bc asami swoops in w her capitalist dad and her piles of money and the class issue is just never talked about again.

so the way i’d fix all that is like. introducing more, like, normal people. some nonbenders, more workers, more immigrants, etc, to show what daily life is actually like for people. because. we dont know! we dont have any context about whether the nonbender oppression thing is actually an issue bc we dont KNOW any nonbenders with normal lives! and spoiler: the nonbender oppression thing is not an issue. bc it doesnt make historical sense. lok is set 7 decades after the end of the war. that is not by ANY stretch of the imagination long enough to heal from the scars of imperialism, ESPECIALLY not when lok is also set in a settler colonial state. like that fact should have featured PROMINENTLY in the political and social setting! realistically, nonbenders arent an oppressed class, earth and water nation people are, regardless of bending status! as in all settler colonial states, the colonizers and their descendants (in this case fire nation people) retain most of the financial and political capital, leaving the colonized and racialized immigrants (in this case earth kingdom and water tribe people respectively) generally impoverished and politically suppressed. like aside from the fact that theres no way toph would have become a cop, it’s so ridiculous to think that an established privileged class of fire nation colonizers would EVER accept being policed by earthbenders!

imagine how much more nuanced and interesting it would be to set republic city as a remnant of a colonial past still fraught w the violence and tension that colonialism and the associated ideology imposed?? instead of some vague ideas of criminal who wear 1920s outfits and harass shopkeepers think about why extralegal and violent groups like that might form! earth kingdom people trying to push for the reclamation of their land? ethnic groups protecting themselves against corrupt cops? ESPECIALLY w the history that the fire nation has of SPECIFICALLY jailing and killing earthbenders and waterbenders BECAUSE of the potential they have to resist against fire nation imperialism like it just makes no sense at all that earthbenders would be privileged on land that, 70 years ago, they would have been imprisoned on! like these various paramilitary groups falling along these different ideological or ethnic lines, fire nation or earth kingdom or water tribe, pro colonization or anti colonization, pro cop or anti cop, pro immigrant or anti immigrant, and then you juxtapose that w depictions of a govt thats failing to keep this all under control w tenzin trying desperately to keep it together despite the fact that it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the state has no interest in taking the conflicts seriously and would rather just point vague fingers at criminals and gangs? and THEN you bring in korra, who has no idea about any of this and thinks that all its gonna take is kicking some ass every couple days, meeting normal people who offer all kinds of different opinions abt the efficacy of the state and the different violent or nonviolent groups and ideologies clashing in the city and the way all this shit is affecting people’s lives and livelihoods and relationships w other citizens??

theres so much good shit there so many incredible things u could do w that like Where do we go after colonial atrocities? is it possible for a settler colonial state to take revolutionary or indigenous ideas seriously? is liberal reform enough in a state like this? and then all the growth that korra could do going from a simple black and white life about mastering the elements to this messy complicated sociopolitical knot of a city? and all the different kinds of characters u could introduce in this city? like why would u EVER think that the most interesting characters that this story has to offer is a police chief a congressman and a billionaire????

but anyways. that’s what the Setting of my idealized version of lok is. as for the actual plot, it is as follows

it starts out similarly as the show. republic city is MUCH more fraught w political tension and violence and korra knows this but assumes that it’s just a matter of throwing a few gang leaders and corrupt officials in jail. tenzin manages to come see them in the south pole and intends give korra real lessons while he’s there but they receive news of a terrorist attack in republic city only a few days after he gets there so his family has to pack up and leave again.

korra stows away to republic city (katara catches her leaving and gives her blessing im a SUCKER for that moment). she does have a hard time adjusting but she doesn’t do what she did in the show lol the first person she meets in the city is this older woman who works on the docks, directs her to a place where she can eat and gives her a roof to sleep under for the first night. so korra’s first exposure to republic city is just about forming connections w ordinary people like ship workers and a family owned restaurant and people practicing their bending in the park. and by the time she reaches air temple island a day or so later her head is spinning w all this new information and the way that nothing is really what she expected it to be. tenzin gives her his own perspective on everything and pema gives her her own perspective on everything and even those two seem wildly different from all the people she’s already met. and so korra starts to get a kind of outline of the conflicts plaguing the city as extremely complex and a lot more influenced by older ideas of fire nation imperialism and earth kingdom land reclamation than she had any idea about.

mako and bolin are still pro benders but not like. super famous like they are in the show. korra’s picked up a couple friends by now and one of them takes her to a gym where a lot of amateur pro bending (is that an oxymoron? lol) matches happen and thats how she meets mako and bolin and joins their pro bending team. Unfortunately for korra, this gym is run by lin beifong, and also has the distinction of being one of the most notoriously anti settler state organizations in the country. lin beifong is NOT a cop but she runs this gym (and the pro bending league) as a way to offer support to local earth kingdom/water tribe youth, teach self defense skills, a center of community organizing, and sometimes to act as a front to hide revolutionary/combat organizing against the pro fire nation paramilitaries/police force. tenzin is DISTRAUGHT that korra does this and this is where the friction btwn them comes from bc (from tenzin’s perspective) she does things like this without thinking or even fully understanding the context behind them and tenzin will have to deal w the political fallout of the avatar openly aligning herself w a very divisive figure in the community and (from korra’s perspective) tenzin is too unwilling to take sides in a conflict that’s claiming lives and when the state is clearly not taking sufficient steps to protect people well then why the hell shouldnt she align herself w lin beifong, who IS taking steps to protect and support people?

as korra more fully integrates herself into the city and learns more abt how different people think abt everything going on this is where the real exposition abt the equalists begins. they’re a paramilitary group w an ideology thats gaining increasing support among middle/upper class fire nation people, esp nonbenders. on the face theyre abt putting checks on “bender oppression” but really it’s an excuse to persecute and surveil earthbenders waterbenders and airbenders, bc fire nation people have all this leftover fear about benders who arent fire nation Rising Up Against them and these people who r using their Savage Excuse for Bending to terrorize good innocent (fire nation) people. theres all too frequent terrorist attacks that the equalists claim credit for mostly against monuments to earth/water/air nation people and earth/water nation community centers (one like it was the event that forced tenzin back to republic city) but also like the govt doesnt take a lot of these seriously or if they do only a couple people are charged without doing damage to the entire organization

this is also around the time that they meet asami and she becomes part of their friend group. asami likes pro bending but her dad HATES it so she sneaks out to watch matches at lin beifong’s gym (korra says ironically like don’t u know how ~divisive~ that is and asami answers that the only reason its Not divisive is that gyms like beifongs are the only place where nobody recognizes her). and asami alongside korra is also kind of developing a more nuanced perspective on the city that she lives in cuz obviously the only worldview she’s ever been exposed to is her father’s right? and she keeps pushing it off making excuses not to bring mako and bolin and korra around to her house or even not to be seen w them in certain neighborhoods until they call her on it and she’s like Well honestly my dad might do something awful to u! and i dont wanna risk it!

and as time goes on we see more abt asami’s home life like her father’s hyper conservative politics and asami keeps these secrets abt her hobbies and her friends from him but she’s still clearly under his influence and mako bolin and korra r getting increasingly worried abt it cuz like...asami seems to tend to make excuses for him so that she wont have to be drawn into conflict and originally they think its just her being privileged and thats def part of it but the more they find out abt it the more they realize what a tight fucking grip he has on her and the way that like. asami sneaking out once or twice a week is the Only thing she does for herself. and it really starts freaking them out how influential this billionaire is and all the information theyre getting from asami abt what a piece of shit he clearly is. and so that whole plot thing comes about and shows us how deeply embedded these “equalist” ideas are in conservative republic city politics and how much influence theyre actually having in policy making and law enforcement.

asami suffers in the aftermath of this like being forced to truly confront the harm her father is doing both to the city and to herself. and she ends up leaving home when this discovery really breaks. but bc of the deep corruption in govt and police sato isn’t really....dealt with? like this big story breaks and everyones like Oh, My God! Hiroshi Sato Is Funding An Illegal Paramilitary Group! and theres all kinds of inane political discourse about it and he’s arrested but he bails himself out immediately and his finances are examined but he maintains control over them and after a few weeks the gang (bc they Have become close among all this w much less interpersonal drama lol) has to admit that this news story hasnt done what they thought it was going to it hasn’t dealt the equalists a real hit its just given them a very high profile ally

and this is when things really start to ramp up in terms of action like up until now korra’s daily activities are mostly like hanging around in the city w her friends (which in part entails doing little avatar stuff that people dont feel comfortable going to police with, like Can you help me my ex husband wont pay child support or Please help i got robbed and i really needed that money for rent next month or Help my son keeps skipping school can you talk to him cuz im worried abt him being safe and doing well in school) and pro bending and airbending lessons (which i know ive neglected this part of the story in terms of her whole spiritual/physical conflict but it’s more of a subtle thing like it’s one of tenzin and korra’s more frequent arguments like tenzin says she needs to focus on spirituality and korra asks why she even needs to bc republic city is a sociopolitical problem not a spiritual one) but now the equalist threat seems to really be looming on every level of society like the storyline of equalists preventing pro bending matches happens here and everyones just at a total loss of what to do next. plus increasing and scary rhetoric about tenzin and his family that destroying the last airbenders is necessary to preserving the integrity of the united republic

and so theres the equalist takeover of the city. the people who are mostly resisting this are lin and ragtag group of people who have been resisting colonial rule for a long time (including suyin, who is part of a communist anti colonial community outside the city, because i said so and i think it would be fun), people who have been visiting her gym for years, members of her amateur pro bending league, plus asami and korra and tenzin. korra and tenzin have a sweet moment (bc they do genuinely care abt each other a lot even if their relationship has been marked w a lot of tension and arguing) where tenzin says like you know i think that ive lost focus on the kind of spirituality that might actually help you. korra says what do you mean? and tenzin kind of gestures to where theyre sitting with people buzzing around organizing to take care of innocents and civilians and to fight the equalists and he says this is a kind of spiritual too, isnt it?

and something something plot plot blah blah i havent decided on the details of the plot climax yet but that’s the climax of korra’s character development and what helps her connect w her spiritual side in order to protect the city: the realization that community is its own kind of spirituality. and it kind of represents the real development that i want her to have going from somebody who thinks that the world is divided into criminals and victims and she has to save the victims Into the kind of avatar who understands the people that she’s bound to serve. she becomes an avatar of the people!

and then happy ending lol korra and asami get together lin and tenzin reconcile after years of being at odds the show ends on a hopeful note that the inhabitants of republic city and the united republic as a whole Can move on from the scars of colonialism by reckoning w the remnants of fire nation colonial ideology and reparations to the earth kingdom people whose land this is and destruction of colonial systems that have maintained and enforced colonial violence all these years

#the ending of this isnt as detailed as the beginning and middle bc ive drafted the first couple chapters but i havent thought out the #logistics and details of the climax lol #asks #lok

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laurensprentiss · 3 years

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 8:

Warnings: None, really. Emily and Hotch get to know each other, Emily picks up vibes.

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“Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.” - David Richo

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You stare absently out of the window, clutching the lapels of Hotch’s blazer that he’d draped over you. Every so often, you feel the dread in your bones again, a brief moment when your stomach drops as you remember back to earlier. You inhale long and deep when you do, trying to ground yourself and the action doesn’t slip Hotch’s attention who sits next to you, gripping the steering wheel so hard, the leather might wear.

He glances at you. “It’s okay. Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Your eyes feel heavy, drooping of their own accord. You try your best to fight your exhaustion, but the exertion only serves to heighten the throbbing in your temple. You glance over at Hotch as you set your head against the cool glass of the window, the buzz of the car engine and the heater lulling you to sleep.

The sun is almost set when you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you try to adjust to the dark. You’re parked outside of your apartment building and Hotch scribbles something on a notepad next to you, using the streetlight to illuminate the page.

He clears his throat when he spots you stirring from the corner of his eye. He sits up straight. “Hey.” He whispers with a smile.

“Hey.” You inhale deeply and adjust in your seat to face him. “How long have I been out?” You ask.

He checks his watch and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “About an hour.”

He’d lost track of time himself and completely screwed protocol. He’ll pay for that later, he thinks.

“An hour?” You exclaim.

“Yeah.” He winces. “I’m sorry. You looked really peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

Truth is, he had spent the better part of that hour watching you as you’d slept when he’d parked up, the setting sun casting a golden hue on your skin. He’d debated carrying you up to your apartment but didn’t want to chance waking you, even turned his phone off. Another thing he’ll pay for later, he thinks.

Headlights appear behind you, and a car pulls up to the sidewalk at your rear. Hotch peers at the rear view mirror and squints, the lights almost blinding in the dark. You turn around in your seat to get a better view.

“Emily.” You reassure him when you see the familiar figure in the driving seat. He shoots you a puzzled look, his eyebrows furrowed. “My friend. From the restaurant.” You remind him.

You start to undo your belt and Hotch climbs out of the car, making his way around the front of his car to open your door, offering you a hand as you step out.

Emily walks towards where you stand next to Hotch, the two of them offering each other polite smiles. Hotch extends his hand to take Emily’s bags from her, as she immediately gathers you into another hug. He holds the doors open for you and Emily, waits until you guys are inside to trail behind you, giving a quick nod to the two undercovers pulling up on either side of the street.

“Wait. Why were you guys still outside, you should’ve beat me here, right?” Emily asks.

———

You reach your hands for the main light switch when you step into your apartment, Hotch setting Emily’s bags down on your sofa, turning a table side lamp on and setting his keys down as he does. Emily tracks his movements carefully.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the hallway, your makeup smudged, eyes still puffy from the tears and sleep.

You groan.“I need a shower.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Emily asks, concern etched in her face.

“Yeah, I think I can handle a shower.” You chuckle dryly.

You tell Emily and Hotch to make themselves at home while you freshen yourself up. You shrug off Hotch’s blazer, gathering the sleeves and the lapels and folding it in half, placing it back in Hotch’s arms. His face betrays his cool and collected demeanour, his eyebrows pinched and his eyes wide as he watches you move closer to him. He looks nervous, as though you’re about to break.

He wants to reach out and hold you close, brush the stray hairs off your face, wipe your eyes. He settles instead for a light brush of your fingers against his when you hand him his blazer - a ghost of a touch, really. That doesn’t stop you both from shivering a little at the contact.

Once you step into the shower, Hotch and Emily take the chance to get to know one another better. He extends his hand towards her, introducing himself.

“Agent Hotchner. Aaron.”

She takes his hand. “Emily. Prentiss.”

Hotch circles around your couch and to the kitchen, opens the fridge and helps himself to a bottle of water, Emily’s eyes stay trained on him as he does. He offers her a bottle, she declines with a quick shake of her head.

He goes on, “So, how do you guys know each other?”

“We’re friends through our parents.” She explains. “I’ve known her since she was a kid.” She stalks over the kitchen island, propping her elbows on the counter, her gaze pointedly falling to his water bottle. “I think the more important question, though, is how do you two know each other? You certainly seem comfortable.”

Hotch follows her gaze to the water bottle in his hand, stutters guiltily, but can’t really place why he feels that way.

It throws him off. “I was- I’m. The ambassador, he-” Emily raises her eyebrows challengingly. “I’m a part of the security detail assigned to her after the events of last year.”

“I thought that was the other guy.” She asks. “The older guy with the beard?”

He takes a sip of his water and nods. “That’s my partner. Agent McCall. Ben.” She nods approvingly and he relaxes a little.

“So, where are you with catching this guy?”

He updates Emily and provides her with the profile they’d worked on, a pinch of guilt when he remembers how he’d avoided you for those two weeks. He shakes it off and suggests Emily take a cognitive interview, ushering her to to take a seat, remembering that she would probably be the best witness of this afternoon.

“I’m going to need to ask you to close your eyes.” She shoots him a doubtful look. “Humour me.”

She clears her throat, closing her eyes.

He continues, “Okay. Think back to when you’re at the restaurant, what it smells like, what it sounds like, what the weather is like.”

She nods and inhales slightly, as if breathing in the smells back at the restaurant. She talks him through the warm weather, the sun shining. How she got there first and how she saw undercovers pull up before you and McCall arrived.

“How did you know they were UC’s?”

Her eyes blink open and she shrugs. “Occupational hazard, I guess.” Hotch frowns. “Well, my mother’s occupation - but, same difference.” She laughs.

“Okay, well, what about afterwards? When you guys sat down?”

“We were just talking, I don’t know?”

“Okay, focus. Go back to when you greeted her. You guys sat down? What did you guys talk about? What made her leave?”

She tells Hotch that you just caught each other up after everything you had missed since you briefly lost touch, that you'd told her about your stalker.

“Why did you guys lose touch?”

“My mother was in Rome for a year.” She shrugs. “We tried to keep up but she had school and personal stuff. We talked about her dad’s health scare, her ex-”

“-Her ex?”

Emily blinks at Hotch, gauging his expression carefully. He’s questioning her under the guise of work, but he’s not that good at concealing his microexpressions - yet. She doesn’t miss the way his face falls for a split-second, or the way he tried to nonchalantly question her about Jordan by cutting her off, the bob in his Adam’s apple as he’d swallowed.

“Yeah..” She trails off. She thinks carefully about how to proceed, still watching him carefully. “They broke up last year and I guess they reconnected recently.” She says the last part flatly, with little intonation, wants to see his real expression.

She has a sneaking suspicion that there’s something that extends further than just work for him - maybe even more than friendship, especially after she had seen the way he had held you earlier, the way he touches you like fragile glass, the way he swallows when you come too close. But she wants to be sure.

“What’s his name?” He asks, his left eyebrow arched.

His nostrils flare slightly and he sniffs nonchalantly as he pulls out a notepad and pen from his blazer pocket that’s thrown on the chair. He writes down Jordan’s name and tries his best to keep a hold on himself. He can finally put a name to the face he saw you with after you visited Quantico that day.

Reconnected?

What does that mean? Reconnected?

He takes his details from Emily and asks her some questions about him - he justifies it to himself as procedure. He’s going to have to question this person after all, why not learn a bit more about him to gain the upper hand? Emily just tells him you guys dated on and off until you broke it off for good.

“And why’s that?”

“Why’s what?” Emily asks.

“Why did she break it off?”

“I don’t know. She never really said. He’s just weird. Sleazy.”

All she really knows about him is that his father’s a congressman and works on the Hill - Ambassador Prentiss has far reaching arms, after all. She remembers seeing him at dinner parties and society balls growing up, but that’s around it.

“And what happened next?”

“After that, her mood changed? She was laughing one minute and quiet the next - I could tell something was bothering her.” She picks at her fingernails. “And then she left. After that, I don’t know what happened.” Her voice is almost a whisper, she thinks maybe if she had done something, if she had said something, reached out sooner - maybe none of this would have happened.

“I know what you’re thinking, alright. Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah.”

She hears the words, but it doesn’t alleviate the guilt she’s feeling right now. Her stomach drops suddenly as she thinks back to something she remembered feeling while at the restaurant, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

Hotch sits up straight. “You just remembered something, what is it?”

Emily’s eyes widen. “I felt like someone was watching me.” She says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought maybe I was being paranoid about the UC’s or your partner.” She trails off again. “But right before you got there, I was just browsing the menu. There was a guy. He bumped into my table but I couldn’t see his face, it was - it was sunny and he- he was wearing a hat.” She rushes out, gesticulating with her hands. “He squeezed my shoulder when he apologised as he walked past, I remember thinking it was gross, because he lingered.” She shudders.

“Okay. You’re doing really good. What else?”

“Well, when you guys left out the back, I walked back to the front to get my car. I had the feeling somebody was watching me again.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you feel somebody was watching you? Think.”

“I heard a voice. His voice.” She panicks. “Oh my God, he was talking to a cop. I remember hearing him telling the cop that the screaming was so loud. He said it sounded like someone was dying. But he wasn't looking at the cop, he was looking right at me.” She feels nauseous.

He nods. “Excuse me.” He ducks out of your apartment to make a ten minute phone call to Barnes, rattles off the information he got in his cognitive with Emily. “We need to question the staff and any cops that responded today. CCTV, too.”

He hangs up and sees three missed calls from Haley, groans when he realises the time. She’s probably asleep but he figures he can still call her, at least she’ll know he checked in. He paces the length of the hallway, the phone to his ear and he waits for the inevitable command to leave a message. He’s about to hang up when the receiver clicks, Haley’s voice coming from the other end.

“Hello?” She pants.

“Hey, it’s me.” He frowns. “Are you alright, why are you out of breath?”

“I had to run to grab the phone.” She chuckles. “What’s up?”

He’s surprised he isn’t getting the third degree, that she isn’t more mad. He figures they’re still good after their make-up high, both of them vowing to do better.

Still.

He clears his throat. “Nothing. I just wanted to check in.” He can hear rustling in the background, figures she’s probably cleaning or about to tuck in for the night. “I don’t think I’ll be home until around 1 or 2am, we had a situation.”

“Okay. That’s alright, honey. You take your time, I’ll see you when you get home, okay?” She sounds chipper.

“Yeah.” He’s caught a little off guard at how laid back she’s being but he figures he doesn’t want to jinx it and count his blessings too quickly, bids her a quick goodbye.

He’s about to make the walk back down the hallway into your apartment, when the elevator dings behind him, McCall stepping out.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours.” Hotch says patting him on the shoulders.

“Barnes told me what happened, I figured I’d come and relieve you, it’s 11 o'clock man.”

Hotch runs a hand over his face and groans. Truth is, he’s shattered and wants nothing more than to just find the closest bed and sleep undisturbed for at least 12 hours.

Inside, you’re rattling around in the kitchen, pulling pots and pans from the cupboards, setting some pasta on the hob when Hotch and McCall walk in.

“Hey! You’re out of the shower.” Hotch scratches the back of his head sheepishly when he hears his tone, and realises everybody else just heard it too.

Emily watches him with a smile and McCall just ducks his head and clears his throat, reaches to shake Emily’s hand and introduce himself.

“Yeah. I- I feel a lot better. Thanks.” You smile. “I realised none of us ate all day though, and cooking soothes me, so pasta it is.”

Emily reaches up to your cupboards for some more glasses, two already in her hand. “You guys staying?”

Please stay.

“Ben will be, but I gotta get home, sorry. Maybe next time?” Hotch offers.

Oh.

You can’t ignore the disappointment in your chest when Hotch turns to walk out, but you swallow it down and say goodbye, anyway. You weren’t quite ready to let go of him today, he was a comforting presence and you’re not really on even footing yet - for some reason he helps to centre you. The disappointment you hold in your shoulders isn’t missed by Emily who offers you a knowing smile and motions over to the sofa where Hotch’s blazer lies.

Your eyes widen as you set down the knife and circle around the island to grab the item, shooting her an awkward smile as you do. You click the door shut behind you.

“Hold the elevator!”

Hotch’s hand comes up between the two doors as they’re about to close, his eyebrows furrowed when he sees you jogging towards him. He steps out as you close the distance between you.

“You forgot your blazer!” You sigh.

“Ah.” He apologises quickly and goes to take it from you, but you open up the lapels and sleeves motioning for him to put in on instead.

“It’s cold outside.” You whisper.

You hold it out to him and he tucks his arms into the sleeves, stepping into it as you help him put it on as he bends slightly so he can meet your height. You absentmindedly brush some dust off the shoulders as he turns back to you, a small smile on his face. You’re so close to him and he can’t find it in himself to look away, his gaze flitting to your lips. He can smell your soap, feel the heat radiating off your body.

You clear your throat and step back a little.

You share a look, a dangerous, vulnerable gaze that feels like it’s stripping you both bare. It’s there in front of you, something that hangs unspoken in the air, glaringly obvious, yet you both neglect to face it.

“Well. I should-” he points to the elevator behind him. You nod when he presses the button for the elevator to return, the floor numbers appearing above the doors.

You chew on your lip, frozen in place, unable to leave but unable to do what you actually want to do. It’s only when he steps on to the elevator and is staring at his shoes that you call out to him again.

“Aaron?”

“Yes?” He says almost immediately, head whipping up.

You try to formulate the words but your head still feels jumbled, too busy and you’re beginning to have an alarming realisation that you desperately want to push to the back of your mind. You don’t know how to say what you’re feeling, panic rising - you only know that your emotions are bubbling over and you want to say something, do something to show your gratitude.

“I just.” You take a step forward. “Thank you.” You shake your head, not knowing what else to say.

Almost on instinct, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, stepping on your toes to reach him, burying your face in his neck. The air leaves his chest as you embrace him, the unexpected, but long awaited contact taking him by surprise. His warm hard body is solid against you, as he ducks down, his arms wrapping around your waist, one hand coming around to your ribs.

He squeezes gently, inhaling the scent of your hair, the two of you just sharing a brief moment, quiet in the chaos. Your arms flex around his shoulders, holding him close - close enough to make him feel what you want to say. His own hands flex and tighten, warm over your sweater, almost radiating heat as he brings you closer to himself.

He swallows thickly, his heart pounding. Absurd thoughts penetrate his mind, a realisation dawning on him that he tries like hell to push deep back down into the abyss. It doesn’t help that you’re right in front of him, warm and comforting, intoxicating.

But he can’t.

It’ll pass he thinks.

You stay in the moment for what seems like a long while, a ding breaking you out of your moment. You sniff slightly and loosen your grip on him, his arms unwinding from around your waist, the both of you bereft at the loss of contact. Your cheeks brush as you let yourself down, his coarse beard hair scratching pleasantly against your face. Your hands trail down his chest slowly over his dress shirt, the tip of his nose against your forehead. Your eyes flutter from the gentle contact as you glance up at him, his eyes hooded, one hand still on your rib. His thumb rubs gently, back and forth over your sweater, his gentle eyes staring back at you, taking you in.

You swallow thickly and force yourself away from his magnetic pull, stepping back gently, before you do something you regret. Your arms cross over your chest in an automatic act of self-preservation and unconscious comfort. He steps back into the elevator, his cheeks a little flushed, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips - but there’s something in his eyes. Something intense, that pulls at you and you daren’t let yourself hope and be carried away by it again.

You feel it. But he couldn’t possibly, you think.

He feels it. But you couldn’t possibly, he thinks.

“Goodnight.” He whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Night, Aaron.”

———

The lights are off when he gets home around 25 minutes later, only their bedroom window illuminated. He thinks maybe Haley fell asleep waiting up for him, he wasn’t supposed to be home for another few hours yet anyway. He quietly closes the door when he gets in, toes his shoes off and tip toes across the floor to get himself a drink of water before he heads up. He takes special care to remain light on his feet as he walks, he knows the worn old floorboards in their cheap rental home creak horribly, even at the lightest pressure.

Almost on cue, the floorboards creak upstairs directly above him but travel towards the end of the upstairs hallway. His ears perk up as he follows the sound, travelling back from the end of the upstairs hallway after a few moments, and down the stairs as Hotch walks out of the kitchen curiously, glass still in hand. He walks out to Haley running down the stairs, her face flushed.

“Hi! Honey! You’re home.” She pants a little.

She throws herself into his arms and he finds himself a little rigid and unable to fully return her embrace. His face contorts and he finds his mind wandering to the way you’d slotted against his body perfectly, the smell of your hair, your cheek against his.

He feels a tug at his chest.

She releases him and plants a kiss on his lips, but his eyes stay open, eyebrow quirked slightly in confusion.

“I thought you’d be asleep. I didn’t hear anything when I got in.” He tells her.

She grabs his hand and pulls him upstairs. “Well I was getting ready for bed when I heard you pull up.” She chirps.

It’s odd, he thinks, her tone of voice. Especially at this time of night, and he can’t ever remember her being so happy to see him, especially after a full day of work. She’s usually the opposite, full of biting sarcasm and jabs. She seems on edge now, teetering on the edge of hyper. The bedding is rumpled and he frowns at that, has never known Haley to unmake their bed unless it was right before bed. He can’t find it in himself to think too deeply into it, though, the sight of a bed inviting nonetheless.

He loosens his tie a little more, and finally lets out a yawn, turning to go to the main bathroom to get ready for bed.

“Where are you going?” Haley asks, eyebrows raised, a tight smile on her face.

He points out to the hallway. “To the bathroom?”

She shoots up. “No, no! The faucet. It’s uh, well I don’t know what it is, but it’s not working. Gotta call the plumber, I guess.” She rattles off in a single breath.

He concedes. “Fine.” He’s exhausted and all he wants is to sleep.

He ducks into their small not-even-a-half-bath ‘ensuite’, that consists only of a toilet and a sink. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and realises he looks even worse than he feels, he didn’t realise that was possible. He neglects brushing his teeth tonight, settles for swilling some mouthwash and changing into his shorts and calls it.

Haley isn’t there when he emerges from the bathroom, a frown on his forehead soon appears at her almost skittish behaviour. He can’t summon the energy to care too deeply, though, slipping under the covers, sleep calling out to him. She reappears moments later, telling him that they had forgotten to turn the downstairs lights off before they came up.

“Hm.” He replies, already half asleep.

He only hums as she slips in next to him, their backs to one another. He dips into an almost instant deep sleep, rest coming easy to him once the thoughts of your warm embrace surrounds him, granting him solace.

Haley on the other hand, lies perfectly rigid, her hands under her head on the pillow, her mind swimming and heart pounding as she listens for the receding footsteps in their front yard.

———

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Four Times Nathan Proposed and One Time He Meant it

Hi! This is my humble contribution to @nolypats and @hockeyboysiguess campaign for Nathan MacKinnon for Hockey Boy of the Month. Please see their blogs for more info, also just because they’re amazing writers. This is my first time trying a 4+1, I thought it would be nice to put something out before the next chapter of Flatbush & Atlantic. It was genuinely so much fun writing this, so please let me know what you think!

Wine pairing: Rotari rosé. @hockeyboysiguess and I have started to pair all of our writings with their own wine, bearing in mind that neither of us knows anything about wine. It’s all about the VIBES.

4 times Nathan proposed and 1 time he meant it

The first time (February)

Jordan knocked on the door, a glass dish balanced precariously on her hip. She and Nathan tried to have a standing date night every week, something that wasn’t grabbing lunch when they were both free or meeting for coffee before she had to head to work and he went to practice. That was, unless there was a game. Or a roadie. Or a team event. So needless to say, the two had been a little strapped for “couple time” recently, and they were both feeling it. She had an article due the next day, a co-write about the use of illegal dark money in a recently-elected congressman’s campaign. Nathan had a long practice that morning and wasn’t feeling too up to anything that would require him to move too far from his couch.

He opened the door, giving her a quick kiss. “I pulled up a few movies I thought you might be into, but didn’t want to pick anything until you got here.”

“You’re so considerate, I think I’m going to swoon,” Jordan said.

Nathan shrugged. “I’ll catch you if you fall.” Deep down, he really was a romantic, though the boys would chirp him endlessly if they knew.

Jordan padded into the kitchen, setting the dish onto the counter and opening up the cabinet right above the toaster oven, grabbing two plates. Even apart from date night, it wasn’t uncommon for them to eat in; partly due to the fact that there were few things in this world Nathan loved more than being able to fly under the radar, something that was a little bit difficult to do when you wore the A for the Colorado Avalanche, but partly because in his own way, it was letting Jordan into his life. “What movies were you looking at?”

“Depends what you’re feeling,” Nathan replied. “We’ve got...Star Wars, Captain Marvel, and 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Her ears perked up. “The one with Heath Ledger?”

“That’s the one. Sound good to you?”

Jordan had always had a penchant for movies of the late-90s and early 2000s, especially if they were romcoms, and especially if said romcoms starred Julia Stiles. As a little girl, there was definitely more than once where she had herself entirely convinced that her life would turn out exactly like The Prince and Me. Minus, of course, the fact that the beginning of Paige and Edvard’s entire relationship was built on lies. Mainly, she was just really into crowns and big poofy dresses as a little girl. “Sounds good to me!” She said brightly. “You want a brownie?”

Nate craned his neck to look at her in the kitchen, looking expectantly at him with one hand holding a spatula. “You made brownies?”

Jordan giggled. “I did. I take it that’s a yes?”

“That’s a definitely, please, my God give me one right this second or I might combust.” She slid the plate onto the side table a minute later, grabbing two napkins. “Are these normal brownies?” Nathan asked, picking one up and inspecting it with a semi-confused look on his face.

“They’re triple-layer, it’s an old recipe for slutty brownies from when I was in college. Bottom’s cookie dough, then Oreos, then fudge brownie on top of that.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Slutty brownies?”

Jordan swatted at his shoulder. “I know it’s a weird name, just give them a chance. I know you’ve been feeling a little down with the losing streak, and thought you could use a pick-me-up. They were my go-to for breakups, always seemed to help the girls feel better, so I thought it might work for you too.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but Nathan’s heart skipped a beat with Jordan’s words. “Guess I’ll have to see,” he said, taking a bite out the corner. His face melted. “This is...literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Seriously, it’s so good. So good. Oh my God, marry me.”

Jordan flushed, turning to take a sip of water so he wouldn’t see. “I’m glad you like them.”

The second time (May)

It was 11:38 on a Friday night, and Jordan and Nathan were at a bar. To be precise, Jordan, Nathan, and pretty much the whole team were at a bar, plus what seemed like the entire population of Denver. Springtime meant playoff season for the NHL, and winning a series meant going out. Jordan normally had to pass whenever the team decided to hit up a bar or club after a win; as much as she would have liked to go, she was a journalist who kept a 9-5 job, which meant that she had to at least get some modicum of sleep if she was going to be able to function in the newsroom without an injection of caffeine straight into her veins. But it was the weekend, and she’d be damned if she was going to miss out on this.

For the most part, the fans weren’t making a fuss; there was the occasional picture taken or pat on the back for winning the conference semifinals for the first time in twenty years, but nothing out of hand. Sipping her Dark & Stormy, she looked fondly over at Nate, who was having what looked to be a very animated conversation with Burky. Already two and a half drinks in, Nathan was starting to act a little tipsy; while he was normally more reserved about public displays of affection, he kissed Jordan more than one as the night went on. Not like she was complaining. Picking up a refill from the bar, she scooted back into the booth next to Nate. He planted a messy kiss on her cheek. “Where’d you go, Jo?”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Unlike some of us, I can’t just snap my fingers and have alcohol appear at will. I had to actually go to the bar for another drink,” she teased.

Nathan threw his head back laughing. “‘S’pose you’ve got a point there, babe.” He slung one arm over her shoulders. Jordan unconsciously leaned into his touch. “What’d you think of the game?” She wasn’t able to make it to every game, but was lucky that she could get down to the Pepsi Center more often than not. The Avalanche had beaten the Flames in 6, after dropping the first two games in Calgary and being pegged as another likely sweep, they had come back to win the next four and the series.

“Just trying to stroke your own ego, eh, MacKinnon?”

“Picking up some Canadian slang, eh, Murphy?”

She tilted her head. “Maybe, maybe not. But the game was amazing. You know that. You did amazing, Nate.” In the 3-1 win, Nathan had scored two points, an assist and an absolute beauty of a power-play goal that just barely squeaked into the top left corner above Rittich’s shoulder.

“Sure, maybe I do know,” Nathan admitted, “but it’s one thing hearing it from fans and the media and even my teammates. It’s another hearing it from you.” Jordan loved Nathan, but he wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings out loud. She was the first one to say “I love you, to introduce him to her parents, to take just about any step forward in their relationship. It was something he was getting better at, slowly but surely, and it meant the world to Jordan that he was trying so hard. Maybe it was the liquor, or the atmosphere, or the excitement of the night, but it meant just as much to her to hear it as it probably did for him to say it.

Half an hour and several drinks later, the last few people left were trickling out. Most had carpooled to the bar, leaving their cars back at the arena to get the next day. Jordan would have ordered Nate an Uber and then just hitched a ride with someone else back towards her apartment west of downtown, but Nate was pretty far gone. And he was a cute drunk, all things considered, but she was on her way to sobering up and felt an obligation to at least get him in bed safe. Their car pulled up, Nathan clumsily ducking in ahead of her as she shut the door behind him, buckling first his seat belt then her own. They walked through his front door fifteen minutes later, Jordan dropping him off in his bedroom to get undressed before grabbing a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. Nathan was in his boxers when she walked in, struggling to pull a t-shirt over his head. Jordan laughed, walking to his side of the bed before gently tugging it, handing him the water and two Advil. “If you take it now, it’ll help with the hangover later.” Kissing his forehead gently, she turned to leave.

“Where are you going, Jo?”

She stopped at the door. “Home?”

“I want you to stay.”

She sighed gently, smiling at him. “Okay, I’ll spend the night.”

“No,” Nathan interrupted, grabbing her wrist lightly as she turned to grab one of his old World Cup shirts to sleep in. “Forever. I want you to stay forever.”

The third time (August)

It was the middle of August, and Jordan and Nathan were in Canada. He had invited her earlier in the summer to visit for a few weeks, and as soon as she got the time off approved, she booked her flight. Getting to Springhill wasn’t the easiest — she flew to Toronto, had a layover, flew to Halifax, then got picked up by Nate for the two hour drive to his hometown. He had flown out in June, about a month after the Avs lost to the Kings in the conference finals, so the couple hadn’t seen each other in nearly two months. Jordan wasn’t about to complain about a few more hours. His parents had been so generous letting her stay for two weeks, and hadn’t batted an eye when Nathan had moved her into his old room. “Just don’t wake us up,” his mom had said, causing Nathan’s cheeks to turn scarlet.

Jordan had met them a few times before; they had flown out for the All-Star game the previous January and had gotten together during the team Moms’ and Dads’ trips. And if she was around when Nathan was FaceTiming them, she always popped in for a few minutes to say hi. But she still hadn’t quite expected the ceaseless hospitality she had been offered over the past week. Maybe Canadians really were just that nice.

Halfway through Jordan’s trip, they decided to throw a barbeque. And by they, that meant it was Nate’s idea and he roped them all into helping. Jordan had already been introduced to a few of his old friends, they had gone out for drinks to the one bar in town on her second night, but she was excited to meet everyone else. His dad Graham was keeping an eye on the grill, Nathan had filled the cooler with drinks, and Jordan was helping his mom carry out the fruit bowl and salad to the backyard. Nathan ran up to his room to change right as people started trickling in, and came back to a yard full of family and friends. He craned his neck, trying to figure out where Jordan had wandered off too, before his sister pointed to where she sat with a few of his cousins.

Nathan opened his mouth, about to ask her something, when Jordan quietly brought a finger up to her lips. “She’s sleeping,” she whispered, gesturing to her arms, where a tiny baby was nestled, eyes firmly shut.

He remembered that his cousin Rachel had had a baby not too long ago, but didn’t realize she’d be old enough to travel yet. “Is this Natalie?” he asked quietly, sitting in the chair next to Jordan. Rachel nodded. For a few moments, Nathan was lost in the scene, lost in how damn perfect Jordan looked with a baby in her arms. They had spoken about those sorts of things — future things — enough to know that marriage and kids were something they both wanted, but this was the first time it had hit him, like really hit him, that that could be them down the line. Over by the fire pit, his mom watched, a soft smile on her face.

Nathan stood in the kitchen with his mom a few hours later, drying off dishes from the party. Handing a plate to him, Kathy shot a curious glance at her son, as if a thought had just popped into her mind that hadn’t been there before. Nate looked back at her, confused. “What is it, mom?

Kathy nodded out the window, where Jordan was laughing at a joke his dad had just made, balancing the last round of dirty plates to bring in on her arm. “When are you going to put a ring on it, Nathan?

Nathan wasn’t particularly prone to blushing, but he had been doing a lot of it lately. “I—uh—” His mom rested a hand on his shoulder with a knowing smile. “Okay, I’ll admit that I’ve been thinking about it.”

Kathy was beaming. “I knew it. When?”

“When am I going to propose?” She nodded. He shrugged. “I don’t know when it’s going to happen, Mom, but it’s going to. I’m going to marry that girl.”

The fourth time (November)

Jordan grimaced, breathing in sharply as she braced her elbows on her desk. Elisa, her friend who worked in the cubicle beside her, looked over, a concerned expression on her face. “You good, hun?”

Jordan nodded mechanically, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing three with a gulp of water. “Yeah, I should be fine. I should be starting my period in the next day or two, so I’m pretty sure it’s just cramps.”

“Are they usually this bad though?” Elisa had always been a worrier.

She shook her head. “No, not since I went on birth control a few years ago, but who knows. The ibuprofen will help, and it’s probably normal anyways. I’m sure it’ll go away.”

It didn’t go away. Two hours later, when Elisa was finishing up the last paragraph of her analysis of the Broncos’ new coaching hire, Jordan suddenly shot up from her desk, running at breakneck speed towards the women’s bathroom with a queasy look on her face. Elisa followed, bursting through the door to the unmistakable sharpness of vomit. She knelt down next to Jordan, pulling her hair back with the spare scrunchie she kept on her wrist. “Jordan? Are you okay?”

Jordan shook her head. “I feel awful, El.”

Eliss touched the back of her hand to Jordan’s forehead. “You’re warm. Have the cramps gotten better.”

“Worse,” Jordan admitted, wiping at the beads of sweat that had started to accumulate on her forehead.

Elisa pulled out her phone from her back pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance. I don’t think this is cramps, Jo.”

Jordan didn’t have the strength to argue, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to anyways. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, carting Jordan off to Denver Health Medical Center. “Any chance you could be pregnant?” one EMT asked.

“I could be, but I shouldn’t. I’m on birth control and my boyfriend always uses protection,” Jordan said weakly. The EMT made a scribble on her paper. She barely registered pulling into the hospital, nurses pulling her into the ER, or a doctor wheeling in an ultrasound machine. She was conscious enough to recite her name, date of birth, and insurance number before being taken into the operating room, and then a mask was placed over her nose and her world went dark.

The first thing Jordan did when she woke up was check the clock in her room. It was 3; from what little she remembered, she had been taken to the hospital sometime a little after noon. “Oh, thank God,” she heard from her left side. She recognized that voice. It was Nathan’s voice. He grabbed her hand — the one that didn’t have an IV drip in it — and kissed it quickly, smoothing back the pieces of her hair that had come out of the hair tie. “Elisa called during practice, and she told me what happened, but she didn’t even know what happened, and then I left and drove over here, but then—”

Jordan laughed softly, feeling a dull pain in her lower abdomen. “It’s fine, Nate, I’m fine. What happened, anyways? I don’t remember anything after I went into surgery, I have no idea what it was even for.”

“You had appendicitis, your appendix was about two seconds away from bursting.”

Jordan let out a low whistle. “Glad that didn’t happen. Hey,” she added as an afterthought, “I thought visiting hours here didn’t start until 4?” Jordan had visited a college friend of hers who had had a baby a few weeks prior, and could have sworn that she wasn’t let in until later.

Nate smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, they do. I couldn’t even figure out what room you were in at first. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I told them I was your fiancé.”

“Oh, did you now?”

Nathan rubbed his thumb over her finger. Her ring finger. “I mean, it’s pretty much true. All I’ve got left to do now is ask you.”

“And get the ring,” Jordan added.

“Nope.”

+1 (January)

Family skates had quickly grown to be one of Jordan’s favorite parts of the season. She had loved the first one, but had felt just a tiny bit out of place; her and Nathan had only been dating for a little over six months, and it seemed like almost everyone else had known each other for years. But she’d forged some amazing friendships with other WAGs over the past year, trading babysitting duties for pies and meeting to watch the game while the boys were on a road trip, sharing new Spotify playlists and learning how to support each other along the way. The team had become her second family, even though her parents only lived an hour and a half away.

Jordan had been a competitive figure skater throughout high school and into college, so she was no stranger to the ice. She obviously couldn’t get out nearly as often as she had before, but her skates still fit and she could still land a triple salchow after warming up. She and Nate had been skating around for an hour or so, taking a break after some “friendly competition” where Josty had made the mistake of challenging Jordan to a race around the rink. She beat him by two seconds.

Jordan unscrewed the top of her water bottle, taking a few grateful sips before putting it back in her bag. “Babe!” Nate called from a few rows away, where some of the younger kids were gathered next to what looked like pastels. “Want to face paint?”

She smiled, raising her eyes playfully as she popped on her blade guards and walked over towards the bench. “You sure about that one, MacKinnon? I’m not much of an artist.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s okay, I bet you’ll be great!” He was so sweet for believing in her.

“Alright,” Jordan said, straddling the bench and picking up the box. “What would his highness like for the design? Bear in mind you’re working with a beginner here.”

“Butterfly!” He chirped excitedly. “There’s been a whole bird and insect theme going on here,” he pointed at the kids’ cheeks, covered in bees, ladybugs, and one demonic-looking...crow? Was it a crow? Did they even get crows at this time of year? “and I wouldn’t want to break the trend.”

“We couldn’t have that,” Jordan agreed. Ten minutes later Nathan had a very blue, barely-acceptable-looking butterfly on his right cheek, but he was beaming like the sun as soon as he pulled up his camera to look at it. “I love it, Jo. Thank you,” Nate said, giving her a quick kiss.

Activities wrapped up not too long after, and Jordan and Nathan walked out of the rink hand-in-hand towards his car. They had moved in together two months earlier, and Jordan had been more than happy to move out of her tiny studio into Nate’s giant apartment, where you could see the Rockies from the rooftop on clear days. Plus, his building allowed dogs. As Nathan drove home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tangled with hers by the center console, Jordan looked over at him, with the little blue butterfly on his cheek, and she suddenly felt so unbelievably happy. So unbelievably full. It went without saying that she loved Nate. She loved him like she had never loved anyone before, and never would again.

At the same time, Nate’s heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t surprised, but he had just realized something. He already knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jordan. Nathan had realized that months ago. And he hadn’t been lying at the hospital, he had already bought the ring. But Nathan wanted everything to be perfect when he proposed; it couldn’t be rainy outside, because what if she wanted pictures? It couldn’t be too soon after her older brother’s wedding, because then she might think that was the reason why. It couldn’t be in the summer, because then he’d go back to Nova Scotia for the summer and his mom might scalp him for leaving his fiancée in another country. But, Nathan realized as they pulled into the underground lot, there never was going to be a perfect time. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to be Jordan’s husband. There shouldn’t be anything stopping him. There wasn’t anything stopping him.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Nate said as Jordan slipped off her shoes. She nodded. Nathan went up the stairs, but past the bathroom. He walked into their bedroom, into his closet, to the shoebox that had his old atom league medals. He grabbed the velvet box, opening it and taking one last look before taking a deep breath and putting it in his pocket.

“You want to watch SVU reruns?” Jordan asked as he ambled back into the living room.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Uh—can I say something?”

Jordan looked over. “Yeah, go ahead? We can totally watch something else if you’re not feeling Law & Order, I think I saw Chopped on the Food Network, or Jurassic Park is halfway through…” She trailed off.

Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets, turning the ring box over and over. He bit his lip. “You know how much you mean to me, right?” Jordan nodded slowly. “When I met you, I wasn’t looking for anything. I had just had my heart broken by someone who I thought would be my forever, but then you came into my life and suddenly...suddenly, it all made sense. I thought I knew love, I thought I knew what it was to be in love, but I didn’t, really. Not until you. You bring me down to earth, Jordan, when I’m too far in my head. I know you’re on my team even when we’re losing, even when it seems like nothing in my life is going right I know you’ll always be there to pick me up when I fall. And I don’t ever want to take that for granted. You challenge me in the best way, you always push me to be a better partner, a better teammate, and a better man. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you.” Jordan was tearing up, starting to figure out where his whole speech was going and hoping beyond hope that she was right.

“I know I’m not always physically here, but I promise to always be there for you, Jordan. I’ll hold you when you’re crying, I’ll buy your favorite chips when we’re out, I’ll pay the utility bills because I know you’re terrible with remembering dates. It was eight months in when I realized you were the one.” Nathan bent down on one knee. One of Jordan’s hands was over her mouth, the remote having long since been abandoned on the couch. “I can’t wait to see where we go, Jordan. I can’t wait to get a nice house with a big backyard, go down to the animal shelter saying we’re only going to adopt one dog but come back with three. I can’t wait for the day you tell me you’re pregnant, and we get to hold our child for the first time and I get to see you be a mother. I can’t wait for us to start our lives together. I can’t wait for you to be Jordan MacKinnon.” He opened up the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Jordan fell on her knees, hands on both sides of Nathan’s face. “Yes.”

#hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nathan mackinnon #hockey #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl writing

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

Introduction to Ink

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Chapter Four

@starknakedsluts ;)

About this: Bucky has tattoos and sheltered!Toni wants to touch them. Fem!Tony Stark. College AU.

BUCKY.

The first time Bucky sees her, she’s sitting on one of Nat’s tasteful patio chairs with a textbook open on her knees, bent over to try to read by the fading light. Her hair falls long and dark around her face, hands tanned with thin fingers that flick through pages of her book with purpose. All around her are various acts of debauchery: water polo in the pool with Nat shouting at someone who has spilled their cocktail in the chlorinated water; music loud enough to feel like a second pulse where it resonates in the drum of his chest; the patio table beside her littered with bottles of alcohol and mixers. All this and she looks like an island, some peaceful quiet piece of frozen time. Completely out of place. Bewitching.

A warm hand clasps him on the shoulder, startling him. It’s just Steve, hair wet but body dry when he pulls Bucky in for a quick hug. “Good to see you, brother,” Steve says warmly in his ear, and yeah. Bucky will endure the chaos for this. It’s been too long since he’s seen Natasha and Steve and Sam and the others. So what if he has to swim through an ocean of obnoxious people to find them?

Islands, he thinks, eyes drawn back to the girl reading the book.

Bucky lifts his chin in her direction. “Who’s that?”

Steve glances over. “That’s Toni. She’s Nat’s roommate at uni. I guess she was homeschooled her whole life, real sheltered. Nice girl, though. Hey, go get a drink and I’ll see if I can’t get Sam away from the beer pong table. Clint’s around here, too, I think, so keep your eyes peeled for him.”

With careful, cautious steps, Bucky approaches the table. Toni doesn’t look up from her book, though she does flip the page. Her nails are short and tidy, free of polish. This close, Bucky sees that she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt with a high neck and a skirt that brushes her knees. She couldn’t be more different from the other girls at the party, and she might as well be the antithesis of Nat.

Curiosity tickles at the back of his brain. What is she reading? he wonders. A glimpse at the open pages shows complex graphs and models that offer him no hint. He’s so busy trying to look at her book out of the corner of his eye that he knocks over a bottle of Jack Daniels. Like dominos, it sends a stack of plastic cups and a cup full of decorative umbrella scattering over the table.

Cringing, he lets his eyes be drawn back to her. Toni is staring up at him, and then Bucky remembers that he’s not like anyone else at the party either. First he takes in her face: the wide, dark eyes, the straight nose and full mouth. Fuck, she’s young he thinks to himself, feeling like a pervert. Obviously of age if she’s sharing a room with Nat back at NYU, but he wouldn’t doubt that he’s got seven or eight years on her. He’s so busy looking his share and berating himself that he almost misses her expression, the way those big eyes grow round as moons, her mouth dropping open in a near comical expression of disbelief and perhaps disgust.

Right, Bucky thinks distantly. He’s not the poster boy for sheltered.

She takes in the tattoo above his left eye, the one of his sister’s name that he’d only gotten earlier in the year on the anniversary of her death. Those dark whiskey colored eyes skirt past his face down to his neck where ink protrudes from above his collar all the way to his cut jaw. He’s grateful that he’s wearing a jacket over his t-shirt, so that she can’t see the tattoos that cover his arms. It doesn’t stop her from eyeing his hands though, the letters tattooed across his knuckles, the UFO and creeping ivy (respectively) on the back of his hands.

It’s not the first time Bucky’s been stared at this way (like he’s a degenerate, like he’s got three heads) and it won’t be the last; though, he does wonder when it will stop stinging so much. He cuts his eyes away from her, unable to watch her watching him with that look on her face. He fixes the mess he made, restoring everything to its proper spot. Unwilling to turn tail and run—at least, not without a drink—he kneels to open a cooler beneath the table and finds twist-top beer. When he chances looking back up, there’s a complex series of microexpressions playing across Toni’s face, ones that Bucky can’t even begin to interpret.

At his stare, she mutely lifts her book and presses it flush to her chest as if it is a shield. As if she is afraid of him.

The cover reads An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters.

Her mouth opens and then shuts. She nods, absolving him. He takes that as permission to give her a forced smile and make a prompt exit left stage. Dark eyes burn into his back as he walks aimlessly into the sea of party-goers looking for Steve or Sam or anybody.

Nat finds him spectating the game of beer pong (instead of pulling Sam away, Steve had somehow become roped in himself, helping Sam to dig himself out of the hole he’d been slipping into). She’s a breath of fresh air, her red hair wet and dark and plaited down the back of her head, her eyes tired and her smile easy. Bucky doesn’t even mind that she gets him wet during their hug. He’s missed her.

They spend time catching up and heckling Steve and Sam.

“What’s the deal with your roommate?” Bucky asks, leaning into her so that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

Nat narrows her eyes, seeing straight through him. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder and refuses to elaborate. Sam makes a shot and a girl on the other team has to drink, so Bucky lets his eyes rest on the stranger’s bobbing throat just so he has a place to look that isn’t into Nat’s x-ray eyes.

At last, Nat hums. “She’s an engineering student. Her dad was some big Congressman—I guess he made some controversial moves because she said there were a lot of threats made against him and his family. They kept her home all the time to keep her safe.” Nat leans in, her mouth nearly touching his ear. “She said once when she was little, she was kidnapped for ransom.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky mutters.

“She’s basically been living under a rock her whole life. A very expensive, luxurious rock.”

Even at risk of saying too much and laying all his cards on the table, he says: “She looked at me like I was a freak.”

Natasha frowns, face going soft and sad. “I’m sorry, J. She’s probably just never seen someone…”

“Like me.”

“She’d be an idiot to judge you for the way you look.”

Bucky smiles a little. “Most people are idiots.”

She can’t deny that. When Steve and Sam finally crush the duo they were up against, the two losers slink away to lick their wounds and leave the end of the table free for new blood. Natasha looks up at him with a smirk. “Think you’ve still got what it takes, Barnes?”

Bucky slips his jacket off his shoulders. The only thing beneath is a white t-shirt, thin enough that the tattoos on his chest and abdomen are just visible through the fabric as dark, teasing shadows. He knows he’s pale, avoids the sun to keep his ink as fresh as possible. Leaving his jacket on a nearby chair, he says, “Only one way to find out.”

While they’re filling fresh cups with beer, his eyes are drawn to the patio chair on the porch, looking for that dark curtain of hair. Except he finds a tanned, angular face watching him, ducking back down to look at her textbook once she’s caught.

Bucky turns his eyes away and doesn’t let himself look again.

TONI.

The sun sets, and the moon turns the party-goers into hellions. A fight breaks out between two frat boys over a girl and Steve has to step in to break it up and kick both of them out. Not a half hour later, three police squad cars show up after a noise complaint from one of the other neighbors in the cul de sac. The party is shut down (to Toni’s guilty delight).

She’d moved into the house once the sun had set, unable to read by the twinkling fairy lights that she’d helped Natasha to string around the yard and patio. It was much more comfortable inside among the air conditioning and the luxury. The marble countertops of the kitchen island felt familiar to her. The outdoors with the grass that itched her ankles, the bugs that never stopped shrieking or flying in her ears, and the humidity that made her shirt stick to her bare back—that would never be familiar to her.

Toni had always been a homebody, willing or not.

Seated at the kitchen island, she is so short that her feet can’t touch the floor, ankles crossed where they sway gently in the air. Flipping through her textbook without aim, she waits for everyone to be gone so that she can help Natasha pick up and then hopefully sleep in one of the tasteful guestrooms. She’s daydreaming of the comfortable bed, the clean cool sheets against her skin when she hears the sound of the patio door sliding open.

All fantasies of cool and comfort burn up, combusted by the man who walks in. The man with the tattoos.

He towers above her even seated on the tall island chair the way she is. He’s shed the leather jacket he was wearing (and for good reason too, with the hot, humid weather). Beneath he wears simple jeans in a sinful fit with a white t-shirt that’s nearly see-through, sticking to his skin from sweat. His face is stunning: angular jaw covered in a few days’ stubble, a straight nose, eyes a stormy sea-foam with low brows that make him look intense in a way that has her legs shaking.

His conventionality ends there. Toni has never seen a man like him in her life. Above one brow is a woman’s name in elegant cursive. His ears have holes in them large enough for her to see through. On his neck are geometric lines reminiscent of honeycombes, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He’s covered from fingertip to shirt sleeve with designs, her eyes dancing across his pale skin, never able to land for longer than a moment before something else captures her attention.

He looks like a kindergarteners artwork, she can imagine Howard sneering. Scribbles all over him. Not even worth pinning to the refrigerator.

Toni has seen tattoos before. Happy, her security guard for as long as she could remember, had one on his bicep of his mother’s favorite flower, so. It’s not like Toni wasn’t aware of the things or didn’t believe in their existence. She’s just never seen someone so saturated with them. It’s a stark difference from the people she grew up knowing: stiff public figures in formal clothing who denounced youth culture and considered people with tattoos degenerates.

He’s everything her father warned her about when she insisted on going to public university under a different last name. He’s so raw.

He’s so, so beautiful.

“Sorry,” he says at the sight of her, his neutral expression dropping into something stormier.

Toni tries to smile, but judging by the way his face grimaces, it isn’t successful. She can feel the way her face begins to burn just from his sheer proximity, so she forces herself to turn back to her textbook and pretend to scan the page.

Surely he must see through her. She feels attuned to him, hyperaware of the sound of his footsteps on the tile floor, brain working to pinpoint his exact location based on how the sounds shift. When he appears in the corner of her eye, she flinches, everything in her fighting to keep her eyes on her book. Instead of pausing by her, he continues past to the kitchen cabinets, opening them as if he lives there. How does he know where the drinking glasses are, she wonders.

With his back to her, she feels safe enough to let her eyes flicker upwards, though she keeps her head angled downward for maximum deniability should he turn around without warning. The muscles of his arms are lean and powerful. Sculpted of flesh and bone instead of marble. Only reminiscent of Michaelangelo’s David, he conveys more of Barberini Faun: the impressive height and lean strength of him, the low brows hinting at torment.

Unlike Barberini Faun, there’s nothing overtly sexual about what he’s doing (filling a glass with filtered water from the refrigerator) but Toni finds her back arching in her seat, her sex looking for the blissful pressure it aches for. Toni’s experience with arousal isn’t enough to fill a post-it note with. She’s intimately familiar with erotica, books propped open on her chest with her free hand down between her legs, fingers drifting through her aching folds. At least once a week, she wakes from a hazy, half-formed dream with the urge to roll and wedge a pillow between her legs, to rut against it. There was also that squirming heat that bloomed whenever Natasha stripped her clothes off in the main room of their dorm—but that was nothing Toni was interested in confronting today.

This man is the first non-fictional person she’s ever experienced such attraction to. Her own naivete is downright sickening. Toni has always prided herself on being knowledgeable and a quick learner, but she has no idea how to make her interest known or how to try to be interesting to him in return.

Idiot, she thinks to herself, forcing her eyes back down to her textbook. To interest him would require there to be something interesting or excitable about her. All Toni has going for herself in that regard is an IQ in the 160’s. Hardly a trait to lust over.

The man is refilling his glass when the patio door opens again. Toni’s heart leaps, grateful for anyone or anything to break this invisible tension and also dreading that they might see her embarrassing ineptitude.

It’s Natasha’s boyfriend Steve, his face flushed with drunkenness. He’d been very polite and thoughtful when Natasha introduced them earlier in the day, with an aura about him that could put any person at ease. Toni found her lips quirking up into a smile just at the sight of him, even when his own smile is directed past her. With a half dozen long steps, he’s crossed the kitchen and scooped the man with the tattoos into a bone-crushing hug, water sloshing from the glass over the both of him

Toni notes that tragically it only turns the dark-haired man’s shirt more see-through. She can almost make out whatever image might be inked onto his pale skin beneath—

“Man, I’m so glad you’re back in the city for a while,” Steve says, voice loose but not slurred. He won’t let his friend go and has instead begun an awkward, drunken slow dance with him, shuffling side to side in a way that has Toni pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. The comical expression of exasperated endearment on the other man’s face makes her feel like she’s swallowed a jarful of butterflies.

He pats Steve on the back. “I missed you too, buddy. Buy me dinner though, first.”

Steve snorts. He pulls back and turns to Toni whose eyes widen fractionally at being caught watching their exchange.

“Hey Toni, have you met Bucky?”

“Not formally,” she says, heart pounding. She almost sticks out a hand as if he’s a 60 year old lifelong Senator her father has brought home for dinner. Inside one of the deeper tracks of her consciousness, his name whirs in an endless circle: Bucky Bucky Bucky.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but it is lost as more of Natasha’s closest friends enter, taking refuge in the house as the majority of the party are herded off of the property. Apparently they’re going to have a bonfire with just the inner circle left—how the hell Toni has managed to become a member of that inner circle, she has no idea. While she wishes she were tucked away in one of the guestrooms, reading, at least a party of a dozen sounds infinitely more tolerable.

Not to mention that fewer party-goers automatically raises the chances for interaction with Bucky, an idea she both anticipates and dreads. Glancing up, her eyes are drawn to his figure where he and the others have retired into the living room, only to find that he’s watching her. She can feel the flush in her face as she turns back to her book, leaning over and hoping that the curtain of her hair hides her embarrassment.

#winteriron #female!tony stark #toni stark #tattooed!bucky #sheltered!toni #cagewrites

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bangcrizpychan · 4 years

Text

Blood Is Not Always Thicker Than Water

☆Pairing: Mafia underboss!S.Coups x Reader

☆Genre: heart-sickening angst, mafia!au, pregnant!Reader au

☆Requested:Yes

☆Word count: 2.2k

⚠WARNINGS: suggestive themes, blood, violence, drug usage, death, swear words, and A MASSIVE EXPLOSION OF ANGST FROM ANGSTVILLE, *read at your own risk*

☆Summary: You were the city Mayor’s daughter, he was a Mafia underboss, a relationship that never should’ve started in the first place. Will you be able to go against all odds?

☞Note: since the request didn’t really specify whether the fic is going to be an angst or fluff, I went full blown ANGST. THIS IS 100% ANGST (╥_╥), so grab a tissue and have an angsty reading♡

You fixed your skin-tight dress and dark red lipstick then looked at your boyfriend, Seungcheol, who smirked at you and eyed you hungrily. You seductively walked towards him, every step making your heart pound with excitement. You have been dating for a year now, but the thrill of having a mafia underboss as a lover when you’re supposed to be an angel to your father’s eyes, who was the city Mayor, still exhilarates you.

You straddled Seungcheol’s lap and attacked his neck, he sighed at your touch and let his hands roam your figure. You grazed your teeth against his soft spot and it earned you a beautiful moan coming from him, oh how you loved the noises he make and you knew that you were the only one that can weaken him like this. You started to unbutton his shirt when a sharp knock interrupted your session.

Seungcheol let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples, “come in,” Jeonghan, a capo, went inside and gave a letter to Seungcheol. “It’s a VIP invitation to Congressman Han Seongsu’s 50th birthday,” Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “Why do I need to go to that old scum’s birthday?” “He is one of our loyal customer, and there will be a transaction on that day to send more of our package to Jeju.” You almost felt bad for Jeonghan, Seungcheol seems to be mean towards him like every time.

“And your it was your father’s orders to you send there,” you rubbed circles on your boyfriend’s chest to soothe him. Seungcheol’s father is the current Mafia boss and Seungcheol is his successor since he’s an only child. “Also, you need a date before going there.” Jeonghan added and shot you a look, He ‘tsked’ and sent Jeonghan away with his hand, who left without saying another word. He took a deep breath and looked at you, a smirk back on his lips.

“So, where were we?” you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, “we were starting this part,” you smashed your lips against his and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. His chest rumbled with laughter, “you seem so eager baby, don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

Your tongues played together as you discarded each other’s clothing, ending the night with passion and pleasure filling the air.

—–

You let out a shaky breath when you saw the pregnancy test; two visible lines that seemed to taunt you. You were pregnant, “No, i-it can’t be,” you were sure that you were on pill, so why was this happening?!

When you finished crying in the bathroom, you decided to call your best friend, Seungkwan, to ask for guidance. He agreed to meet you at his apartment so you got ready and headed there as quickly as you could.

When you arrived at his place, you completely broke down in his arms, he whispered comforting things and your ears and soothed your back.

“y/n, what happened?” he asked and handed you a glass of water, you took a sip and explained yourself, “I-I don’t know Seungkwan, we were careful!” you sobbed, Seungkwan knew you had a boyfriend, but he didn’t know what kind of person Seungcheol is. What would he do to you if he finds out?!

“You have to tell your boyfriend, y/n, and your family,” “I know, but I-I’m just scared.” that was a lie, you were completely terrified, you were allegedly a good girl in your family’s eyes, to them, you finished University without any boys bothering you. But most of all, you were terrified of Seungcheol, he loved you, you knew that, but you’ve seen what he was capable of. He had ended someone’s life in front of you before, what if the next person that will stand at the end of his gun is you?

Seungkwan babied you the whole time you were at his place, you watched your favorite shows together and ate a lot of sweets. Your phone beeped in the middle of the show and your blood ran cold when you saw the text.

“come home. Now,” it was from your brother, Joshua. You bid Seungkwan goodbye and went home anxiously. When you arrived at your place, you saw your brother, who was still in his uniform, and your mother sitting in the living room. “What’s going on y/n? Why did your brother drag me here and called for a ‘family meeting’” your mother asked, twirling his diamond ring, almost looking bored.

“I want to know what’s going on as well,” your brother reached out from his pocket and pulled out a plastic, “care to explain what the fuck this is, y/n?!” you flinched at your brother’s voice. He handed the plastic to your mother who then screamed when she pulled out what was inside. Your maids rushed to the living room to see what the commotion was but you stood there still, staring at the pregnancy test that was dropped on the floor.

“How could this happen, y/n??!” your mother cried, the maids brought her tea to calm her nerves but she refused and continued to sob. “what the fuck were you doing in my room?!” you demanded to your brother, tears streaming down your face.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you looking sick and barely eating anything?! You think I wouldn’t see the signs?!” he yelled at you, “Who the fuck is the asshole?!” No, he couldn’t know, he should never know. “Oppa! Please don’t, don’t tell Dad, I beg you” you dropped to your knees and begged your brother. Your mother was stopped sobbing for a second, and thought about rushing to your side but she was too weak to do so.

“Just tell me his fucking name, I can charge him with rape and I’ll cuff that motherfucker myself,” you chanted a series of nos and I’m sorrys. If you weren’t that terrified before, you are now. Your brother is a police officer and if he knew that the father of your unborn child was a mafia underboss, he would definitely kill him.

In the middle of the chaos, you decided to run away, you heard your mother call out your name but you didn’t care, you got into your car and drove as fast as you can. You called Seungcheol and he decided to meet you at the Hangang Bridge.

He lit up your cigarette that was hanging in your lips a little too long. “What happened, sweetheart?” “I got into a fight with my brother,” you sucked some smoke in and slowly blew it out. “Do you want me to take him out?” Seungcheol suggested, which you would’ve laughed at if you didn’t know he was serious, but you knew he could definitely kill your brother. You just scoffed and let the silence took over you.

“Do you love me, Seungcheol?” you asked out of the blue, Seungcheol disposed of his cigarette and took yours off from your mouth. “Of course I do baby, I love you so much,” “Well, what do you think about babies?”

He chuckled and smoked the rest of your cigar, “I mean babies are adorable, but they’re so fucking annoying to look after.” you lowered your head and muttered a single ’oh’. “why? Do you want to make little Seungcheol or little y/n to pester us?” he laughed and cupped your face.

“Because I’m definitely down with the baby-making process,” he said and crashed his lips to yours, you tasted the minty flavor of the cigar and the scene alone made you feel hot. Maybe you could tell him after tomorrow’s event.

—-

You turned a lot of heads when you entered the congressman’s manor, you were wearing a silver long gown that barely covered your breasts, and Seungcheol loved the fact that he can show off your beautiful body and let them know that you were his.

“y/n??” you stopped your conversation with the congressman’s wife and whipped your head to the direction of the voice. Your eyes widened when you saw your father together with your mother. “M-Mom, Dad? What are you doing here?” “What the hell are you doing here?! You ran away from home and now you’re attending a party?!” your father scolded.

“Guys? What’s going on?” Joshua appeared behind them and then looked at you, “y/n? What are you doing here?” he quickly shooed your parents away to talk to you. As you and your brother started to talk, Seungcheol suddenly appeared at your side.

“Hey baby, who’s this?” You couldn’t believe it, it was the most unfortunate coincidence you’ve ever experienced, your brother had to meet your lover like this. “I’m her brother and you are?” “I’m her boyfriend, it’s nice to meet you bro,” Seungcheol reached his hand out to offer a handshake but your brother only stared at him.

“I know you from somewhere,” your brother’s eyes widened with realization. He pulled you from Seungcheol’s grasp and dragged you across the room. You struggled to remove yourself from him, yelling at him to let you go.

“What the fuck, y/n?! You’re fucking dating a mafia?!” your eyes widened with fear, this cannot be happening right now. “Is he the father of your fucking child?!” he grabbed a fistful of his hair and pressed his earpiece, “I need backup right now, I caught sight of a mafia at Congressman Han’s mansion. I need backup. Now!!”

You ran off as he was yelling orders and went to find Seungcheol. You found him conversing with Congressman Han, “Seungcheol! You need to leave! Now!” you yelled and tugged at his arm, he excused himself and turned to you, “What’s going on, y/n?” “My brother, he knew you were gonna have a transaction here. He recognized you and called for backup-”

“Wait, your brother is a fucking police officer?! What the actual fuck y/n?!” he cut you off but you dragged him behind with you. “There’s no time to explain, we need to go, you’re not safe here!” you heard the police sirens and both of you made a run for it. His goons took out their guns and chaos erupted inside the mansion. A couple of officers tailed you but Seungcheol’s goons came and fought them off. However you were both caught in a crossfire and barely managed to reach the abandoned warehouse near the manor.

You helped Seungcheol drag himself to the warehouse, he got hit in so many places just to cover for you. You fell down next to the sacks and groaned in pain, blood seeped through your once silver gown but you ignored your pain and focused on Seungcheol’s wounds.

“Baby, don’t close your eyes, please. Help is on its way, I managed to contact Jeonghan before we got to this warehouse, you just have to stay with me,” you cried and applied pressure to some of his wounds.

Seungcheol coughed up blood and reached up to hold your face, “w-when you were talking a-about babies yesterday, w-were you s-saying that you were pregnant?” you cried and held his hand that was cupping your face. “Yes, I was baby. You’re going to be a Dad, so stay with us. Okay?”

“I’m g-going to be a Dad? I don’t k-know if I’m going to b-be a good one though,” he chuckled. “You are going to be the best Dad in the world, baby.” you cried and let out a small smile.

You didn’t want any of these to happen. You never wanted to be a sister of a policeman and Seungcheol never wished to be an heir to a Mafia boss. All you ever wanted was to be a normal couple that was going to be a family soon.

Seungcheol coughed and grunted in pain, he looked at you straight in the eyes, “I love you y/n, so fucking much. More than my fucking life.” “I love you too, more than anything in this world.” You cried, and pressed your lips against his.

Seungcheol nodded and smiled, then his hand went limp. Silence, aside from the sirens you hear at the distance, it was all just silence. You screamed at the top of your lungs and embraced your lover, you held him like you were holding onto life, he can’t be gone. He can’t leave you behind.

You started to feel pain so you looked down and saw a lot of blood seeping out of you. It turned out that you were hit by more than one bullet and you felt yourself cough up your own blood. Seungcheol was not going to leave you, you were going with him.

You rubbed your belly and sobbed, “I’m sorry, my baby, you didn’t even get the chance to see this world, I didn’t even get the chance to see you.” you groaned in pain as you lied down next to the corpse of your once lover.

You stared at the ceiling of the warehouse, smiling widely and scooting closer to Seungcheol. You felt your eyelids go heavy and you couldn’t hear nor feel anything, anymore. You mentally scoffed, you never thought you were going to die at a horrible place like this; but you were glad of your imminent death, because at least you died in the arms of your one true love.

☞Note: I may or may not have imagined the request too deep and created this chaotic monstrosity. Sorry, I was just feeling too angsty (╥﹏╥)

#seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #kpop angst #kpop imagines #seungcheol #choi seungchol #seungcheol x reader #s.coups #s.coups angst #s.coups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol imagines #s.coups imagines #mafia au #mafia s.coups #bangcrizpychan

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hwayoungscorpioshin · 4 years

Text

Filthy Rich, Spoilt Rotten | nine

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Summary: Seungwoo covers up corruption and you are an activist in your spare time.

Also known as Seungwoo’s life as your employer.

It’s Friday and Eunsang knows everybody loves Fridays. So, when he comes up to the girl inside his brother’s office, there’s an extra bounce in his step. After all, this isn’t just an ordinary day.

Eunsang likes to believe, that him and the girl, over the course of two months, have developed some sort of rapport. Sometimes she will leave on his desk burnt cookies that she has baked herself. Sometimes, Eunsang will drop off coffee for her which earns him a glare from his older brother but they both just laugh it off. The girl has gotten herself on his brother’s good side, he thinks. Otherwise, why would he catch his Seungwoo hyung smiling to himself from time to time?

His other older brother, Seungyoun, likes to joke, Seungwoo hyung cannot both love and be wise. Eunsang does not agree. Ever since the girl has come to be Seungwoo’s assistant, he has been nothing but efficient and decisive in every single thing that he does, not that he isn’t already that to begin with, but it seems like he is even more driven now. And at the end of the day, that is all that matters, because Seungwoo is their fortress.

If he falls, they all fall.

“Hey, cherry!”

Eunsang whips his head to the side and sees the girl walking towards him. She has her coat on her arm and her shoulder bag on the other one. It looks like she’s already about to head out.

“Hi, YN!” Eunsang greets back, “Got a minute?”

She raises an eyebrow, curious. “Sure, what’s up?”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

A slight surprise passes over her face but it’s gone almost as soon as Eunsang notices it. She collects all her hair on the other side of her shoulder and flicks it along with her hand.

“I’ll probably just laze around at home. Why?”

Well, at least she’s free, Eunsang thinks. “It’s my birthday tomorrow. We’re having a party at our house. Wanna come?”

“Let me think…” the girl teases, “Lounging at home alone versus partying with one of the coolest people on earth? Of course, I’d come!”

The smile that eases on Eunsang’s lips is relieved and excited. “Great! Text me your address. I’ll get someone to pick you up tomorrow. Oh, and don’t bring any presents, okay?”

The girl sends him an address not too far from the office. “See you tomorrow!” she says, waving him goodbye as she walks away.

“See you!” he calls back happily.

Now his plans can finally take place.

It’s Eunsang’s birthday. Everyone in their family knows that birthdays mean business. Seungwoo does not like the way his brothers do things but there’s nothing he can do if their father approves it. He’s still just the son, after all. So, when Eunsang, the birthday boy, tells their father that he wants to invite the girl to his “party”, and their father gives it the go signal, nobody else can say otherwise.

The past few months have showed him several sides of this girl he’s so smitten with in high school. He rarely talks about her at home for fear of being made fun of by his younger brothers again but she’s almost always on his mind. It’s hard not to when she’s sitting just beyond his reach in the office. Sometimes when he’s in his own thoughts, he catches himself looking over to where she is no matter where she is. He tells himself it’s nothing different from when they were in high school and that he shouldn’t feel anything deeper than a crush.

But who is he kidding…

The girl has always been beautiful but tonight, she has Seungwoo dumbstruck. There is no other way to say it, she looks gorgeous and Seungwoo would be lying if he says he doesn’t want her attention all to himself tonight. He’s tried to stifle his awe when she got out of her house earlier, but now that she’s sitting barely a foot away from him, so delicate and pristine, it makes him nervous. Seungwoo thinks he should say something but anything that comes to mind sounds awkward and forced. So, when the girl suddenly initiates conversation, he is relieved.

“Is Eunsang having a party at your actual house?” she asks, her voice a little raspy from not having said anything for a while.

Seungwoo looks over at her and grins, ignoring the butterflies crowding in his stomach when their gazes meet. “What do you mean our actual house?”

She pulls all of her hair to the side, something she normally does when she’s uncomfortable, as Seungwoo has observed. “I mean, politicians don’t normally open their homes to the public, right? Like, for safety reasons,”

“Yes, that’s right.” Seungwoo’s voice is inviting, coaxing her to speak more about it.

“So, my question is, are we going to your home?”

The car slows to a stop in response to the traffic light in front of them. “Oh, I get what you mean now,” Seungwoo starts, “and to answer your question, no and yes. The place we’re going to isn’t our main home but it is a home nevertheless. Dad doesn’t like having people over in his ‘humble abode’, as he calls it. He doesn’t like the clean up after.”

“Senator Lee could always just hire people to clean up the place, though,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Nah,” Seungwoo chuckles, “Dad doesn’t like hiring people to work at home. He likes to do the chores himself.”

The girl faces him completely just as the traffic light flashes the ‘GO’ signal. “Sir—“ she stops when Seungwoo flashes her a warning look.

“Please don’t call me ‘Sir’ in the party,” he begs.

“Okay, what do I call you then?”

“Just Seungwoo or oppa,” he laughs heartily, “but we’re the same age. So, Seungwoo would do.”

The girl puffs but that’s the least of her concerns, at least for now. “Okay...Seungwoo. Are we really talking about the same senator, though?”

This makes Seungwoo laugh even more. “Yes, my father likes to do chores. He’s weird like that.”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “I never saw Senator Lee as someone who likes to do household chores. That’s a nice surprise.”

“Yeah? Well, my father is a man full of surprises,” he comments.

The ride to the party is silent after that but it’s the comfortable silence that Seungwoo is used to in the office. When they arrive, people are already flowing in and Seungwoo can tell that Eunsang failed to tell the girl just how big of a party this is going to be. He has offered her his arm the moment they have stepped out of the car and since then, she has not let go of him even for a second. Not that Seungwoo minds her clinging to him. In fact, if he’s being honest, he even likes it.

“Say cheese!”

The camera flashes and both Seungwoo and the girl are momentarily blinded. On the other side of the camera is his younger brother, Seungyoun, with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he inspects the photo he’s just taken.

“Might as well stab us in the eye to blind us, Seungyoun,” Seungwoo cannot help but snap.

Seungyoun rolls his eyes playfully. “Easy, hyung. Don’t come growling when you haven’t even introduced me to your date yet,” he chuckles as his eyes land on the girl next to Seungwoo.

The girl starts to speak, “Oh, I’m not—“

But Seungwoo beats her to it. “This is my brother, the annoying Seungyoun.”

“Pleased to finally meet you, YN,” Seungyoun mock-bows, his cheshire smile still gritting on Seungwoo.

The girl doesn’t offer her hand to Seungyoun. Instead, she shoots a questioning glance at Seungwoo, probably wondering how he knows her name. The younger brother watches the interaction between them and decides to answer her unspoken question himself.

“It’s not everyday someone throws a shoe at our dear Seungwoo hyung here,” he says, winking and then, just as fast as he arrived, he’s gone.

Seungwoo feels the girl glaring at him and for some reason, he gets the need to explain himself further. “Well, there was an article about it after all,” he reminds her.

The girl nods, remembering somewhat embarrassingly. “Oh, right.”

“Shall we go greet the birthday boy?” Seungwoo asks, desperate to change the subject.

“Of course.”

Seungyoun has been nothing but a pain in the ass for Seungwoo tonight. So when he approaches him while he is waiting for the girl to finish doing her thing in the restroom, Seungwoo’s face only turns sour. His younger brother holds up his hands in defense, the strap of his polaroid camera haphazardly slung over his left shoulder.

“Not here to piss you off,” Seungyoun starts.

Seungwoo takes a sip from his champagne glass and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Looks like that’s been your mission since we got here.”

His brother chuckles and looks around. “Speaking of you, where’s your girlfriend?”

The glare he sends is ice cold but Seungyoun doesn’t even flinch. He leans closer and drops his voice. “Choi Byungchan really wants to speak with you,” then, he steps away to shrug mockingly, “I told him you were busy playing tonsil hockey but he’s persistent and—”

“I’m about to lose my patience with you, Seungyoun,” Seungwoo gripes as he places the glass he has just finished on the high top table next to him.

Seungyoun smirks, “Before you do that, you might want to go meet the congressman first. He and Dad are waiting for you at The Table.”

The moment his brother mentions the place, the annoyance immediately vanishes from Seungwoo’s face. He leans away from the table and sighs, resigned.

“Tell YN I’ll be right back,” he says.

The girl’s voice drifts to them before they hear her heels click. “Back from where?”

Seungyoun reacts quickly and fluidly, “Dad’s asking him to speak with a friend. He won’t be long.”

But the girl is not paying attention to the younger brother at all. Her eyes are trained on Seungwoo who, for the nth time that evening, is again speechless. Unbeknownst to all, Han Seungwoo is not someone who can lie easily. Many will assume that as a businessman and the son of a politician, lying is like his second nature, but not Seungwoo. His charm is his honesty and he uses that as efficiently as he can. Not right now, though, and Seungyoun notices that, but he does not say a thing.

“Okay,” the girl says with a soft smile, “Go where you’re needed.”

And just like magic, Seungwoo responds with a gentle smile of his own. “I’ll be right back.”

A/N: YN is gonna end up getting herself killed with the way she’s so impulsive istg

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#x1 #x1 au #han seungwoo #cho seungyoun #kim wooseok #kim yohan #lee hangyul #cha junho #son dongpyo #kang minhee #lee eunsang #song hyeongjun #nam dohyon #seungwoo fanfic #seungwoo imagine #seungwoo reaction #seungwoo au #seungwoo victon

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angelsandacceptance · 3 years

Text

Heaven and Hell

“Excuse me?” Chase demands, breaking through the silence.

“You want Anna? Why?” Sam asks.

“Out of the way,” Uriel commands, taking a step forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, I know she's wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her.”

“Don’t worry,” Uriel smiles cruelly. “I’ll kill her gently.”

“Like hell you will!” Chase says.

“You’re some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?” Dean asks.

“As a matter of fact, we are. And?” Cas says.

Chase frowns at him, brows creasing in disappointment. “What?” She whispers softly.

“And? Anna's an innocent girl,” Sam states.

“She is far from innocent,” Cas says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing. Now give us the girl.”

“Uriel, you absolute motherfucker, I am so close to-”

“Chase, enough!” Castiel says. Chase doesn’t respond, just choosing to glare at him. Cas shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

“Give her to us,” Uriel repeats.

“Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate,” Dean says.

“What’s JDate?” Harley asks.

“A Jewish dating site,” Dean responds.

“Huh,” Harley hums, before turning serious again.

“Who's gonna stop us? You three?” Uriel questions. “How about the halfbreed? Or this demon whore?”

Uriel throws Ruby against the wall, punctuating his statement. Dean, alongside Harley, goes to attack him as Cas approaches Sam and Chase.

“Cas, please,” Chase says. Cas places three fingers on Sam’s forehead, making him collapse to the floor.

Just as Cas is about to touch Chase’s forehead, her hair falling into her face, as she stands shaking her head, a bright white light fills the room.

The three conscious hunters and Ruby squint their eyes, before slowly opening them to see Uriel and Cas gone.

Chase helps Sam to his feet, and they all hear Dean in the backroom.

“Anna! Anna!” he shouts.

They all rush to the door of the backroom to see Anna, arms bloodied, with a drawn symbol on the mirror behind her. She looks at them with wide eyes, pale face displaying fear.

“Are they- are they gone?”

“Did you kill them?” Chase asks, fear evident in her voice.

“No, I sent them away. Far away.”

Chase sighs in relief.

“You want to tell us how?” Harley asks, intrigued. She sends a smirk to Chase, who shakes her head, mouthing, ‘Not now’.

Anna gestures to the symbol. “That just popped in my head. I don’t know how I did it. I just...did it.”

Harley snaps a picture of the symbol on her phone so they can memorise it later.

***

The four hunters stand away from Ruby and Anna discussing what to do next.

“So, what do we think?” Dean asks.

“I think Anna's getting more interesting by the second,” Sam says.

“Yeah, I agree. And what did they mean by ‘she's not innocent’?”

“What was that spell too? I mean that’s some serious shit,” Harley says.

“Something's going on with her. See what you can find out,” Dean says.

“What’re you gonna do?” Chase asks.

“Anna may have sent the angels to the outfield, but, sooner or later, they're gonna be back. We got to get ourselves safe now.”

“Bobby’s,” Harley and Chase chorus.

“And Ruby’s riding with us.” Harley says sternly.

***

Chase, Harley, Dean, and Anna sit in Bobby’s panic room with Ruby standing in the doorway.

“Iron walls drenched in salt. Demons can't even touch the joint.” Dean says.

“Which I find racist, by the way.” Ruby mentions.

“Write your congressman.”

“Pretty sure you mean speciesist.”

“Harley,” Chase starts. “You totally just made that up.”

“I didn’t! It is a word.”

“If you insist.”

“It is! Look it up.”

“Sure.”

“I give up.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, throwing them all hex bags.

“Hex bags?” Dean questions.

“Extra-crunchy. They'll hide us from angels, demons, all comers,” Ruby replies.

“Thanks, Ruby,” Dean says quietly before turning to Anna, “Don't lose that. So, Anna, what's playing on angel radio? Anything useful?”

“It's quiet. Dead silence,” Anna answers.

“That’s totally not worrying at all,” Harley says sarcastically.

“I don’t even know what the word worry means,” Chase adds.

“We're in trouble, huh? You guys are scared?” Anna asks.

“Psht, scared?” Chase comments.

“What’s scared?” Harley asks.

“Hey, guys!” They heard Sam yell from the other room.

“Just stay here, okay?” Dean says to Anna before addressing Ruby, “Keep an eye on her.”

***

“How’s the car?” Dean asks Sam.

“I got her. She’s fine. Where’s Bobby?”

“Uh, Dominican,” Chase answers. “He said if we break anything, we buy it.”

“He’s working a job?” Sam assumes.

“God, I sure hope so,” Dean says. “Otherwise, he's at hedonism in a banana hammock and a trucker cap.”

“And now that’s seared into my brain,” Harley sighs.

“All right. What did you find about Anna?” Chase asks.

Sam shrugs. “Nothing much. Her parents were, uh, Rich and Amy Milton -- a church deacon and a housewife.”

“Riveting,” Dean interrupts.

Chase silences him with a look.

“Yeah. But there is something here in the report. Turns out this latest psych episode wasn't her first.”

Chase tilts her head. “It’s not?”

“When she was 2 1/2, she'd get hysterical any time her dad got close. She was convinced that he wasn't her real daddy.”

“Who was?” Dean asks. “The plumber, hmm? A little snaking the pipes?”

“Dude, you’re confusing reality with porn again,” Sam says. Both Harley and Chase have to stifle laughter. Sam continues, “Look, Anna didn't say. She just kept repeating that this real father of hers was mad. Very mad -- like wanted-to-kill-her mad.”

“That’s a little heavy for a two year old,” Harley says.

“Well, she saw a kid's shrink, got better, and grew up normal.”

“Until now,” Harley adds.

“So what’s she hiding?” Dean asks.

“Why don’t you just ask me to my face?” Anna asks from behind the group. They all jump and turn to see Anna appearing from a doorway, Ruby watching from behind her in amusement.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching her?” Chase asks.

“I am watching her.”

“Touche.”

“Anna’s right. Is there anything you want to tell us?” Sam asks Anna.

Anna shakes her head. “About what?”

“The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?”

“You tell me,” Anna demands. “You tell me why my life has been leveled,” she pauses, emotion bubbling up in her voice. She forces it down. “Why my parents are dead. I don’t know. I swear, I would give anything to know.”

“Okay, so let’s find out,” Chase says, a thoughtful, serious look on her face.

“How?” Dean and Harley chorus, glancing at Chase.

Chase smiles at them knowingly.

***

“We’re here,” Chase announces, entering the room. A familiar figure walks in after her. Chase goes to stand behind Sam and Dean, closest to Harley.

“Pamela!” Sam says in surprise.

“Sam?” Pamela asks, feigning confusion.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Sam?” Pamela asks once more, a hand out, moving forward tentatively. “Is that you?”

“I’m right here.”

Sam approaches Pamela and goes to give her a hug. “Oh,” she says. “You wanna know how I knew it was you?” Sam pulls back from the hug, slightly confused. Pamela grabs a handful of his ass, causing him to jump slightly. “That perky little ass of yours. You could bounce a nickel off that thing.”

“Of course I know it's you, grumpy. I know the other three Winchesters are behind you. Same way I know that's a demon, and that poor girl's Anna and that you've been eyeing my rack.”

“I’m not a Winchester,” Harley says.

“Yet,” coughs Chase from beside her. Harley seems to be the only one to hear, leading her to nudge Chase in the ribcage; hard.

Pamela shrugs. “You might as well be.”

“Uh, uh,” Sam stutters, looking up and away from Pamela’s chest, a pink tinge on his cheeks from embarrassment.

“Don't sweat it, kiddo. I still got more senses than most.”

“Got it,” Sam nods.

“Hey, Anna. How are you? I'm Pamela.”

Anna looks at the others, confused, before looking back at Pamela. “Hi.”

“Chase told me what's been going on. I'm excited to help,” Pamela says with a smile.

“Oh, that’s nice of you.”

“Not really. Any chance I can dick over an angel, I’m taking it.”

“Why?” Anna asks hesitantly.

“They stole something from me,” Pamela responds eerily. She takes off her sunglasses, revealing white eyes. Pamela smiles as though sensing Anna’s sudden shock of fear. “Demon-y, I know. But they're just plastic. Good for business. Makes me look extra-psychic, don't you think? Now...how about you tell me what your deal is? Hmm? Don't you worry.”

Pamela begins to explain the process of what she’ll be doing to Anna to her and the group. “Nice and relaxed. Now, I'm going to count down from five to zero. When we're at zero, you'll be in a deep state of hypnosis. As I count down, just go deeper and deeper, okay? 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. Deep sleep. Deep sleep. Every muscle calm and relaxed. Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Anna responds calmly. Her eyes are shut and she seems more at peace than she has since the Winchesters, plus Harley and Ruby, had found her.

“Now, Anna, tell me... How can you hear the angels? How did you work that spell?”

“I don't know. I just did.”

“Your father... What's his name?”

“Rich Milton.”

“All right. But I want you to look further back... When you were very young... Just a couple of years old.”

“I don't want to.”

“It'll be okay. Anna, just one look - that's all we need.”

“No.”

“What's your dad's name? Your real dad. Why is he angry at you?”

“No. No! No,” Anna screams, “No!”

“Calm down.”

Anna screams again, “He's gonna kill me!”

“Anna, you're safe.”

“No!” She screams. The lights burst and glass explodes everywhere.

“Calm down.”

Again she screamed, “He’s gonna kill me!”

“It's all right, Anna.”

“Anna?” Dean calls out, walking toward her.

“Dean, don’t.” Pamela says just before he gets thrown across the room. “Wake in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Anna... Anna? You all right?”

“Thank you, Pamela. That helps a lot. I remember now.” Anna’s entire demeanor has changed. While before, she seemed timid, confused, and shy, yet sweet as honey and fiery too, she now is stoic. Her face stays blank as she peers at Pamela, no emotion on her face or in her eyes. Her voice doesn’t waver.

“Remember what?” Chase asks.

“Who I am.”

Chase raises a brow. “Well, ain’t that vague.”

“And you are?” Harley prods.

“I’m an angel. Don't be afraid, I'm not like the others.” Anna says, trying to reassure the hunters, psychic, and demon. It must be extremely easy to sense that many people immediately going on guard, a couple of hands reaching for weapons just in case.

“I don't find that very reassuring,” Ruby discloses.

“Neither do I,” Pamela agrees.

“So...Castiel, Uriel - they're the ones that came for me?” Anna asks.

“You know them?” Sam inquires.

“We were kind of in the same foxhole,” Anna says mildly.

“So, what? They were like your bosses or something?” Chase asks.

“Try the other way around.”

“Look at you,” Dean says combatively.

“So now they want to kill you?” Harley asks, hoping for some clarification.

“Orders are orders. I'm sure I have a death sentence on my head,” Anna responds smoothly, as though the thought was equal to saying she was sure the sky was blue.

“Why?” Pamela asks, suspicious.

“I disobeyed... which, for us, is about the worst thing you can do. I fell.”

“Meaning?” Dean asks.

“She fell to earth, became human,” Chase says.

“Wait a minute. I don't understand. So, angels can just become human?” Sam asks.

“It kind of hurts. Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt. I ripped out my grace.”

“Come again?” Dean asks.

“My grace. It's... energy. Hacked it out and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn't get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she was.”

“So, you just forgot that you were God's little Power Ranger?” Dean asks jokingly.

“The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah.”

“I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are,” Ruby chimes in.

Anna nods to her. “Ruby’s right. Heaven wants me dead.”

“And Hell just wants her. A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture, that bleeds. Sister, you're the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they're gonna find you.”

“I know,” Anna responds. “That’s why I’m going to get it back.”

“Get what back?”

“My grace.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks.

“If I can find it.”

“So, what, you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?” Dean asks.

“Something like that,” Anna responds, meeting Dean’s eyes. She doesn’t seem amused by all his jokes and side comments.

“Where might it be?” Chase asks. “If we can get it back, that’s the best option we got.”

“Lost track. I was falling about 10,000 miles per hour at the time.”

“Wait, you mean falling literally,” Harley realizes. “Lovely.”

“Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet, maybe, or a meteor?” Sam asks suddenly.

“Why do you ask?” Anna asks.

***

Harley, Chase, Sam and Ruby find themselves to be surrounded by old books and magazines. Dean just left to drop Pamela off at home, while Anna is doing who knows what. She’d claimed she wanted alone time, so they let her be.

Sam’s flipping through the pages of one, before he finally lands on one. “Here. In march '85, a meteorite vanished in the night sky over northwestern Ohio. It was sighted nine months before Anna was born, and she was born in that part of Ohio.”

Ruby looks Sam up and down, “You're pretty buff for a nerd.” Chase rolls her eyes at Ruby’s comment.

“Look, I think it was Anna and here, same time - another meteor over Kentucky.” Sam says ignoring Ruby.

“And that’s her grace?”

“Might be.”

“All right. That just narrows it down to an entire state.”

“At least it narrows it down,” Chase sighs.

Ruby rolls her eyes, “Sam...I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sam asks.

“For bringing you this mess. If I had known, I would have kept my trap shut.”

“Yeah, well, we'll muddle through.”

“Not this time. You do not want to get between these two armies. It's Godzilla and Mothra. If one side doesn't get us, the other one will.”

“So, what do you want to do? Dump Anna and run? Forget it. Look, I know the angels freak you out.”

“Forget the angels. It's Alastair I'm scared of.”

“Then vamoose your caboose and let us handle it,” Harley points out, earning an eye roll to match her best friend’s.

“Alastair?” Sam questions.

“You met him in the church. Practically the grand inquisitor downstairs. Picasso with a razor,” Ruby answers.

“And?” Harley asks.

“And he should pull him out and throw him back in the pit... if he weren't so out of shape.”

“Ruby…” Sam says, it’s almost a plea.

“No, your abilities - you're getting flabby.”

“Yeah, so how do I tone up?”

“You know how. You know what you got to do.”

“No, I'm not doing that anymore.”

“Sam…”

“I said no.”

“Well, then you better pray that Anna gets her groove back, or we're all dead.”

***

Sam leads Dean and Anna to the table Harley and Chase occupy. Sam is pointing at a newspaper article from several years before.

“Union, Kentucky. Found some accounts of a local miracle.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, interested.

“What kind of miracle?” Chase asks.

“I’m assuming the miracle kind,” Harley notes.

“Yeah. In '85, there was an empty field outside of town. Six months later, there was a full-grown oak. They say it looks a century old at least,” Sam says, animatedly explaining what he’d read.

“Anna, what do you think?” Dean asks, turning to the red haired girl.

“The grace. Where it hit, it could have done something like that, easy.”

“So grace ground zero -- it's not destruction. It's…” Dean trails off.

“Pure creation,” Anna confirms.

***

“So,” Chase breaks the silence as they drive along the dark road. “How long do you think before Ruby says something she isn’t supposed to?”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Harley sighs.

“What would be worse though? Dean finding out you have a crush on him or me having a crush on Cas?” Chase blanks, freezing.

“Oh my God,” Harley says.

“No-no that isn’t what I meant and you know it! Shut up, shut up right now!”

“I can’t believe you just admitted it!”

“No, that isn’t what I meant. I meant it like, it would be bad if Dean thinks I have a crush on him and like “finds out” I do,” Chase tries to defend, putting air quotes around the words ‘finds out’. “Not that I actually have a crush on Cas, because I don’t. You know?”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

Harley simply hums as they continue behind the Impala, the darkness around them growing thicker as they head to Kentucky, a short twelve hour drive.

***

“It’s beautiful,” Dean and Chase chorus, staring at the wondrous oak tree, gigantic in size.

“It’s where the grace touched down. I can feel it,” Anna says.

Chase shivers, immediately knowing what Anna’s referring to. The power resonating from the area is dull, probably from how many years it lay dormant, but still there nonetheless. It felt surreal.

“You ready to do this?” Harley asks.

Anna smiles slightly, shaking her head. “Not really.”

They all approach the tree, looking around for a sign of what and where the grace might be.

“What are we looking for?” Sam says after a few moments.

Anna, placing a hand on the tree, frowns. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Chase asks, mimicking Anna, as though she could tell what was going through her head.

Anna makes eye contact with them, slowly sweeping her gaze from one to the other, before landing on Chase, whose question still lays unanswered in the still air. “Because it’s no longer here.”

***

“We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room,” Dean says hurriedly.

“What, forever?” Ruby demands.

“I’m just thinking out loud here!”

“Oh, you call that thinking?”

“Ruby, can it!” Chase snaps.

“Oh, whatever you say, angel-lover.”

“At least I know to stay away from trash!”

“Chase, cool it,” Harley says, not bothering to hide the smile on her face.

“No! No, go on! Got anything else to say?” Ruby asks, approaching Chase. Sam grabs Ruby by the arm as Dean puts himself in front of Chase. Harley just watches in amusement.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Stop it,” Sam says.

“Anna's grace is gone. You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. One side maybe, but not both. Not at once. And your favorite angel is fighting against us as much as everyone else is, so get over it.”

“Um, guys?” Anna interrupts softly. “The angels are talking again.”

“What are they saying?” Sam asks.

“It's weird... Like a recording... a loop. It says, "Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or..."

“Or what?” Dean demands.

Anna looks up, discomfort plainly displaying itself. “Or we hurl him back into damnation.”

“Who is it?” Chase asks suddenly.

“What?” Anna asks, tilting her head.

“Who is it? Saying that. Who the hell is threatening my family?”

Anna stays silent for a moment. “Chase,” she begins.

“Tell me.”

“It’s Castiel’s voice.”

Chase takes a step back, betrayal, then anger crossing over her features. “I am going to kill that feathery, flighty, stupid, son of a bitch.” Her voice is slow and controlled - Murderous. Harley puts a comforting hand on Chase’s shoulder, but Chase shrugs her off. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. We knew they would stoop low to get Anna back.”

Sam’s eyes light up. “Chase, you’re brilliant!”

“I am. What’s your point?”

“Anna.. Do you know of any weapon that works on an angel? To what? To kill them?”

Anna sighs. “Nothing we could get to. Not right now.”

“Okay, wait, wait. I say we call Bobby. We get him back from hedonism.”

“Dean, what's he gonna tell us that we don't already know?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know,” Dean cries out. “But we’ve got to think of something!”

***

“Don't talk like that,” Dean says softly. Chase slows her footsteps. She’d been following Anna out to ask if she was okay, but “accidentally” overheard part of their conversation. She on purpose stays to hear the rest.

“I disobeyed. Lucifer disobeyed. It's our murder one, and I knew it. Maybe I got to pay.”

“Yeah, well, we've all done things we got to pay for.”

“I got to tell you something. You're not gonna like it,” Anna says.

A pause ensues. Chase curses herself for being short, because now she is awkwardly hiding behind a car, and now can’t see what is happening. “Okay,” Dean says slowly. “What?”

“About a week ago, I heard the angels talking... About you... What you did in Hell. Dean, I know. It wasn't your fault. You should forgive yourself.”

Chase frowns. ‘Excuse me?’

“Anna, I don't w-want to, uh... I don't want to... I can't talk about that.” Dean’s voice is flighty, causing Chase to frown deeper.

“I know. But when you can, you have people that want to help. You are not alone. That's all I'm trying to say.”

Another pause, longer than the previous one interrupts their conversation. “What was that for?” Dean finally asks.

‘Did Anna just kiss Dean?!’

“You know. Our last night on earth. All of that.”

“You’re stealing my best line,” Dean says jokingly. “But…”

“But?”

A short pause. Again, Chase curses her inconvenient hiding spot.

“Ah,” Anna continues. “I see.”

‘See what?’ Chase asks herself. ‘I can’t see anything!’

“Yeah,” Dean says awkwardly. “But not how you think.”

“You can’t keep running from everything, Dean.”

“I can sure as Hell try,” Dean says. He’s obviously intending for it to come across as a joke, but Chase can hear the underlying seriousness.

“She’s lucky.”

‘She?’

Dean laughs. “Not likely.”

“Give yourself more credit than that. I’m sure you’re not as alone in your intentions as you believe.”

‘Intentions? Like what? Who the hell are they talking about?’

“She could never feel the same.”

‘OH MY GOD,’ Chase thinks to herself, trying to keep from squealing. A hand is clapped over her mouth tightly, as she frantically puts the pieces together. ‘They’re talking about Harley!!! I fucking knew it!’

“Don’t be so sure,” Anna says knowingly.

“We should get inside,” Dean says. “It’s a bit cold out here.”

Chase balks, before rushing up towards the house again.

“Did you hear something?” Anna asks.

Dean’s voice fades to nothing as Chase closes the door. “Probably just an animal.”

Chase grins widely to herself, before rushing off to relay the events to Harley.

***

“I don't know, man. Where's Ruby?” Sam asks. Chase and Harley shrug.

“Hey, she's your Hell buddy,” Dean says, taking a long drink from his flask.

“Little early for that, isn't it?” Anna asks him. Dean gives her a lopsided smile.

“It’s 2 a.m. somewhere.”

“You okay?” Anna asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Yeah, of course.”

The doors rattle, distracting everyone, before they burst open. Castiel and Uriel enter. Chase subconsciously steps in front of Dean, glaring harshly at Castiel.

“Hello, Anna. It's good to see you,” Castiel says, inclining his head towards her.

“Bullshit,” Chase says, “Why are you here?”

Castiel glances at Chase with confusion in his eyes, before ignoring her, which just seems to rub salt into an unknown wound.

“How? How did you find us?” Cas and Uriel glance at Dean. Sam and everyone else looks to him in shock. “Dean?”

“I'm sorry,” Dean says to Anna.

“Why?” Harley asks.

“Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me... or kill all of you. I know how their minds work.”

Anna gives Dean a tight hug, pecking him on the cheek. “You did the best you could. I forgive you. Okay. No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready.”

Harley stiffens at Anna’s actions, but Chase just sends her a knowing smile, which confuses her enough to distract her.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says.

“No, you’re really not,” Anna replies. “You don’t know the feeling.”

“Still, we have a history. It’s just-”

“I get it. Orders are orders.” Anna sighs. “I know. Just make it quick.”

Suddenly, the barn gets colder. Alastair, Ruby, and another demon appear in the barn. Ruby is covered in blood, causing everyone to look at her in shock, some looking at her with concern.

“How dare you come in this room... you pussing sore?” Uriel asks, spitting the words to Alastair.

“That is literally the first fucking thing that you’ve said that I don’t find absolutely vile. Good job. Progress,” Chase says.

“Shut up, you repulsive-”

“Aaand, you’re back to square one,” Chase tsks.

“Turn around and walk away now,” Castiel says to Alastair and his demon cronies.

“Think I’ll take my chances,” Alastair replies.

The angels and demons begin fighting, Castiel trying to exorcise Alastair. Harley wondered why he wasn’t trying to smite him.

“Sorry, kiddo. Why don't you go run to daddy?” Alastair taunts as one of his cronies collapses because Uriel exorcises him. “Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma!”

Dean hits Alastair on the back of the head with a crowbar.

Alastair turns to Dean, “Dean, Dean, Dean... I am so disappointed. You had such promise.” He goes to attack the four hunters.

While Uriel was dealing with the other cronie Anna steals his necklace and smashes it on the ground. A glowing white light escapes and flows into Anna’s mouth.

“Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes! Shut your eyes!” Anna yells. The Winchesters and Co. do as she says, opening them after a flash of light dissipates. Alastair was gone leaving the knife. Anna poofed away, finally having gotten her grace back.

“Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared,” Dean taunts.

“This isn't over,” Uriel says almost threateningly.

“Oh, is it? Because you don’t seem to have any more moves to make,” Harley points out.

“Silence halfbreed.”

“Don’t call her that, you dick!” defends Dean.

“And why not? It’s what the abomination is.”

“She’s not an abomination. She’s my best friend.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I don’t give a shit about his opinion anyway,” Harley says, “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

Castiel and Uriel poof off to God knows where.

“But you are,” Dean says softly.

Chase and Sam seeing a potential moment make themselves scarce and head to the other side of the barn.

“I am what?” Harley asks, confusion evident in her voice.

“Worth it,” Dean says, “I know you don’t think you are, but-”

“Excuse you? I’m amazingly fabulous.”

“Don’t give me that crap. I know you. Maybe not as well as Chase, but I know you.”

“I’m not giving you crap.”

“Harley for someone who wanted to act, you're a terrible liar. I know all your bravado is bullshit. We all do.”

“So what?”

“So I want you to know you’re worth it.”

“I’m not though Dean. I’m just another monster.”

Dean begins walking toward her stopping when they’re inches away. He pulls her into a hug, and she gladly accepts.

“You’re not a monster.” Dean softly says into her ear.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I...you try to do the right thing, even if you don’t know what it is.”

“Can we just stay here for a while?”

“We can do anything you want sweetheart,” Dean says with a suggestive undertone.

Harley laughs it off thinking it’s just Dean being his flirty self. They just stand there in each other’s arms for what feels like forever and no time at all.

***

“What took you so long to get here?” Deans asks Ruby upon entering the room where she had been talking with Sam and Chase. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Sorry I'm late with the demon delivery. I was only being tortured,” she replies sarcastically.

“I got to hand it to you, Sammy. Bringing them all together all at once -- angels and demons. It was a damn good plan.”

“Yeah, well, when you got Godzilla and Mothra on your ass, best to get out of their way and let them fight.”

“Now you’re just bragging,” Chase says.

“What’s wrong with bragging?” Harley asks jokingly. “You do it all the time.”

Chase shrugs. “I’m not bragging. At that point, I’m simply stating facts.”

“That is bragging. You are literally bragging right now,” Sam laughs.

Chase waves him off. “I’m just glad Anna’s okay.”

“So, I guess she's some big-time angel now, huh? She must be happy... Wherever she is,” Sam says.

“I doubt it,” Dean adds.

They all frown at his words, letting them sink in.

***

Chase all but squeals as she starts the car. Harley shoots her an odd look, but Chase just smiles widely at her. “Oh my God, I have so much to tell you!”

“Okay? What do you have to tell me?” Harley asks, paranoid.

“Dean likes you!”

“Not this again. Every time we’re in the car.”

“Oh, hush!” Chase frowns. “That’s only cause I can’t say this in front of other people. I mean I can. I just thought you’d appreciate me being a bit more discreet about it. Anyhoo, I overheard Anna and Dean talking about it.”

“Did he actually say he likes me?”

“Well, no, but-” “So you have no proof. That what you’re telling me?”

“Wellll.” Chase sighs. “Okay, so here’s what happened. I was hiding because I overheard Anna and Dean talking and they were talking about Dean’s time in Hell. All very vague, and I’m not sure what it was about. Then Anna kisses Dean-”

“So?” Harley asks curtly.

Chase rolls her eyes. “‘So?’” she says mockingly. “Soooo. Dean is all ‘what was that for’ and Anna is all ‘last night on earth’ and Dean’s all ‘you’re stealing my best line but-’ and then Anna is like ‘But?’ and there’s this pause. I’m pretty sure Dean looked over at where we were, because Anna just goes ‘oh, I see’ and then is like ‘she’s lucky’ after telling him he can’t run from everything.”

“Did you actually see where he was looking?”

“Well, no, but- Don’t interrupt me, I’m not finished!” Chase huffs. “Anyway, as I was saying. Dean says he can certainly try and then Anna tells him that his intentions are not one sided, meaning there are intentions there and that she has noticed it being reciprocated, which mean she had to have been talking about you and Dean, and you like Dean, which means he likes you! Get it?”

“So you’re crazy. I don’t even know if I like him yet. I mean I think I might, but I’m not really sure. Besides I thought Dean was all in love with Cassie?”

“That was a fling and was years ago. Why would you think of her of all people?”

“I don’t know maybe because that’s the longest relationship Dean’s ever had?”

“Okay, fair, but like, again. Years ago. And this is something Anna has evidence of and she has no clue who Cassie is so,” Chase says in a ‘duh’ tone of voice.

“She could’ve just picked up on him liking someone and was trying to be nice.”

“Anna. Right. She was just trying to be nice. That makes complete sense,” Chase says in a heavily sarcastic tone. “You’re just being stubborn!”

“I’m always stubborn, besides she was trying to get in his pants right before that.”

“See, that’s true! Which means she simply didn’t know that Dean reciprocated feelings, but she did say she previously saw evidence of them being reciprocated. Ruby hates him, and I’m his sister so that’s an obvious “ew”, so you’re the only one left, and let’s not fool anyone here. Our argument earlier did not go unnoticed by our surrounding companions. She totally knows you got the hots for my brother.”

“I do not have the hots for him! I said I might like him that’s all. Anyway I’m not the kind of person that gets to fall in love.”

“That’s bullshit,” Chase deadpans, suddenly deadly serious. “You’re an amazing, wonderful, kind, loving, hilarious, beautiful person and I’ll be damned before I see you never get a happy ending simply because you believe it when certain dickheads tell you you don’t deserve one. Even if that dickhead is yourself.”

“Okay, that’s very sweet, but I just don’t want to risk falling in love and outliving that person by some vampire superpower.”

“Ummmm. Okay, I don’t have anything to combat that other than, we’re all gonna die one day. I can fall in love with a very humany human person and they could die the next day easily. Just because it will eventually end, you ending up immortal or not, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the time you do have. Don’t let your fear of losing Dean- or anyone, don’t look at me like that- keep you from pursuing something that’ll make you happy now. All I’m saying.”

***

Jack and Baby are parked side by side along the mostly deserted highway, a lookoff point behind them, showcasing scenery that would leave most breathless. However, the four hunters and friends who sit on the hoods of their respective cars don’t look much at scenery. Two hold beers, the boys of the group, while the girls hold water bottles, making faces at Sam and Dean to tease them. Chase and Harley clink their water bottles, mocking Sam and Dean, who’d clinked their beer bottles.

“I can’t believe we made it out of there,” Chase sighs.

“Again,” Sam adds.

Dean and Harley laugh slightly, but note the seriousness of the situation.

“I know you guys heard him,” Dean says.

The other three cast cautious glances at each other before looking to Dean. “Heard who?” Sam asks, feigning ignorance in case Dean would rather shove the topic back under the rug.

“Alastair. What he said about me. About how I have promise.”

“We heard him,” Chase confirms.

“You’re not curious?” Dean asks in surprise.

“Dean, all of us are damn curious, but we’re not gonna pry.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about Hell,” Harley gently reminds. “So why would we ask? It’d only make you upset.”

“It wasn’t four months, you know,” Dean says.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I think I know how long my brother was gone,” Chase notes.

Dean meets her eyes briefly, before looking away. “I mean, yeah, it was four months up here but. I don’t know. Down there time is different.”

“How long was it?” Harley asks cautiously.

“More like forty years.”

Chase makes a noise of hurt in her throat, and Sam lets out a small, “My God.”, but silence falls on all of them as they gaze at Dean in shock, mingled with horror. Tears shine in Dean’s eyes, further causing the three to be pained- Dean doesn’t often open himself up to vulnerability, so this is obviously difficult, traumatic, and painful for him.

Dean’s voice cracks as he tries to explain to them just a fraction of what he’d gone through. “They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing.

“And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy.” Dean meets Sam’s eyes, before glancing over at the two girls. “Guys, I just couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls.” A tear escapes, falling down Dean’s face. “The -- the things that I did to them.”

“Dean, you held out for thirty years,” Sam points out.

“That’s longer than most anyone!” Harley adds.

Chase gets up and puts a tentative, but supportive, arm around her brother, who leans in slightly to accept the comfort. “It’s okay, Dean. You did good. You held out longer than I would have, than anyone I know probably could have. You’re gonna be okay.”

“How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.” Dean finally breaks down further, more tears escaping as he begins to cry. Harley and Chase’s eyes meet over his shoulder as Chase fully hugs him. Tears are shining in both girls’ eyes.

The four hunters stay there in silence as Dean lets out a portion of his pain to let them carry. Chase, Harley, and Sam can’t help the feeling of helplessness they feel. They couldn’t truly help Dean or ever begin to understand what he went through. They could only hold him, let him speak if he wishes to speak, be silent when he wishes to be silent, and constantly remind him they were there.

1 note · View note

hazelandglasz · 4 years

Note

“I just came out of surgery and I’m convinced you’re my partner but you’re the just the long suffering (and super hot) trainee nurse” AU !! Klaine!please and thank you ! Soooo cute and funnyyyyy ! Can Kurt be super high on painkillers ??

On AO3

“Did you hear about the patient in room 21?”

Kitty seems far too enthusiastic about one of their patients for it to be normal. Blaine sighs. “No, but I’m going to hear about them, aren’t I?”

“Well, you’re on night duty, and you’ll have to be there when he wakes up, so buckle up, buttercup,” Kitty retorts, jumping up to sit on Blaine’s desk.

In response, Blaine sits back and gestures for her to go on.

“Mr. Hummel, 26, living in Bushwick, came into our care tonight because he… Drumroll, please.”

Blaine obediently drums on the desk.

“He broke his forearm against his wall, when his feet got tangled in his sheet as he tried to escape from a spider.”

Blaine’s eyes widen with every part of Kitty’s story, before he can let out a snort. “Oh my God.”

“True story.”

“That is quite an injury.”

“Dr. Chang had to operate, yes.”

They both wince at the thought, before Kitty jumps off the desk. “He’s been back in the room for 30 minutes, and Chang wants you to make sure he doesn’t get off his meds for the night.”

“Oh, special treatment.”

“Apparently, his dad is a congressman.”

Blaine nods—he remembers now. His last election in Ohio before leaving for New York was to cast a ballot for one Burt Hummel, who represented everything he hoped for his home state.

“Besides, arm injuries are really painful, so, work on your bedside manner.”

Blaine stands, straightening his scrubs. “My bedside manners are impeccable, Nurse Wilde. Don’t try to turn the table on me.”

Kitty snickers as she unbuttons her own scrubs, revealing her wrinkled t-shirt.

“My point exactly.”

Kitty’s snicker turns into a boisterous laugh as she walks out of his office. “Have fun with drugged boy!”

Blaine rolls his eyes before deciding to go to the room, just in case Mr. Hummel wakes up.

In room 21, sure enough, the man laying in bed stirs, showing every sign of the anesthesia wearing off.

Blaine is ready, a bag of painkillers in his hand ready to be attached to the I.V., when the man blinks and makes a small noise.

“Honey?”

Blaine looks around the room, but there is no one else with them. Kitty didn’t say anything about Mr. Hummel having a significant other, but you never know.

“Hum, welcome back Mr. Hummel. Is everything okay?”

The man smiles tiredly (or, more accurately, druggedly). “Oh, sweetie, Mr. Hummel is my father, you know that.”

O-okay then.

Blaine sits down, checking whether everything is, in fact, okay with his patient.

“You’re so pretty.”

Blaine blushes, his eyes looking up from Mr. Hummel’s wrist to his face and, well.

It is a nice face.

He laughs, a bit embarrassed and really glad that there is no one else in the room to record that exchange and use it to annoy him to the rest of his days in this hospital. “Well, um, thank you. I appreciate th—”

Blaine would have finished that sentence if Mr. Hummel had not tried to pet his cheek with his casted hand. Grabbing it as delicately as possible, he puts it back on Mr. Hummel’s chest.

“I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

The man has a soft smile on his face, soft enough that it tugs at Blaine’s heartstrings in a way he has not experienced in a long time.

“Don’t worry,” he says, keeping his hand on top of the cast, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“‘Course not,” Mr. Hummel says, before blowing Blaine a kiss.

“Here,” Blaine says, after clearing his throat, “drink some water.”

“Hmm, yesss.”

The man drinks from the straw, looking so young as he does that Blaine relaxes a bit.

Too much, too soon.

“I love you so much,” Mr. Hummel says between two mouthfuls of water.

“Oh. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” he replies decisively, before drinking some more. “You should love me too.”

“I should?” Blaine laughs. “Seems a bit rushed, I mean, we only meant today. I’m all for romance, but even for me that is a bit…”

“We haven’t met today,” Mr. Hummel says with a pout. “We met a long time ago, don’t you remember me?”

Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Mr. Hummel, what’s my name?”

His patient looks confused for a moment. “I can’t remember. But I just woke up. And I know one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Some day, your last name will be my last name.”

Blaine blinks. “Really?”

“Yep. At the chapel.”

“I’m not sure I like the chapel very much,” Blaine replies, considering the small hospital chapel and its lack of windows.

“Why not?!” Mr. Hummel exclaims, positively outraged.

“Now, now, I’m kidding,” Blaine says, smiling against his better judgment.

“I think we should get,” Mr. Hummel says, pausing to take a sip, “maaaaaa-rried!”

Oh wow.

“I should have recorded it all,” Blaine whispers.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Mr. Hummel beams at him, eyes closing again. “You’re so adorable,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“Maybe later,” Blaine whispers back, knowing that, if anything, that will help appease his patient back to sleep.

A frown appears between his eyebrows. “It hurts. I’m scared,” he whispers again, and Blaine goes to attach the bag of painkillers. “No!” he exclaims. “Don’t leave me!”

Blaine takes hold of Mr. Hummel’s uninjured hand as soon as he gets on the other side of the bed, attaching the bag to the I.V. one handed. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hm. Where—where are my clothes?”

Instead of calming down and falling back to sleep, Mr. Hummel seems more agitated.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. You’re in the hospital?”

“The hospital?!” Mr. Hummel exclaims, dropping Blaine’s hand and trying to sit up. “Why am I in the hospital?”

Blaine takes Mr. Hummel’s hand, squeezing his fingers until he squeezes back. “You broke your arm. You got an operation, and now you’ll be fine.”

The patient does calm down at that, rubbing his thumb along Blaine’s hand. “You’re so sweet. I love you so much.” He lets out a happy sigh. “What would I do without you?”

Blaine can only laugh.

“We are the cutest couple ever.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“And we will get married.”

“Sure.”

“In blue.”

“A blue wedding?”

“A blue wedding.”

“Okay.”

“And I want a blue wedwing.”

“A what?”

Mr. Hummel drinks some more water. “A. Blue. Wed. Ring.”

“Ah! A blue wedding ring. Okay.”

“Satyre.”

Blaine frowns. “Don’t you mean sapphire?”

Mr. Hummel frowns before beaming at Blaine, eyes closed. “See? That’s why I love you.”

Before Blaine can react, a loud snore comes out of his patient’s mouth, head lolling to the side as he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

Blaine stands, checking that everything is on track. If everything goes smoothly, Mr. Hummel should have a quiet night and wake up a bit dizzy but in full possession of his mental capacity.

As far as weird anesthesia experience go, this moment was a fairly cute one.

Blaine closes the door quietly and proceeds to move on to the next room.

After all, as cute as he may be, Mr. Hummel is not the only patient needing Blaine.

When Kurt wakes up, his mouth feels as dry as a desert, and his arm feels painful and heavy.

“Ow.”

Someone moves around the room to stand next to his bed. “Good morning, Mr. Hummel,” a male voice says cheerfully. “How are we feeling this morning?”

Kurt painstakingly opens his eyes, and either the painkillers are distorting reality to make it look more appealing, or this hospital has hired some gorgeous male nurses.

“I, um.” Kurt pauses, mouth dry now for several reasons.

“I’m sure you must be thirsty—here,” the nurse tells Kurt, sitting down next to the bed and holding a glass with a straw for him.

Kurt empties the cup before looking up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the nurse replies with a grin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Um. I, I did, thank you, Mister…?”

“I’m Blaine.”

“I’m Kurt.”

They look at each other for a moment before Blaine steps away from the chair to put the cup away.

“Do you remember what happened when you woke up?”

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s back. “What… I woke up and you were there, offering water?”

Blaine turns back, his grin wider. “Ah. So you don’t remember. It’s okay.”

“Did I do something… untoward?”

“Not exactly,” Blaine replies, coming closer to check Kurt’s vitals and jotting them down onto his file. “You were…” he pauses, before looking at Kurt with a faint blush on his cheeks, “...you were cute, drugged out of your mind.”

“Ah?” Kurt tries to jog his memory, but nothing comes back to him. Then he shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

Blaine chuckles. “I bet. How is the pain?”

Kurt looks down at the blue cast around his arm. “Manageable.”

“Good.” Blaine writes it down too, before taking a deep breath. “Well, then. I should leave you to it. My colleagues will be here in a short moment.”

“You’re leaving?”

Blaine looks startled. “Um. Yes? The day-time team is in charge now?”

“But—” Kurt starts, a fuzzy memory from the past evening coming to mind. “You said you were not going anywhere.”

Blaine’s face softens. “So you do remember.”

“Just... just that part.”

“I see.” Blaine comes to stand next to the bed and closes his fingers around Kurt’s forearm. “What I meant was that you wouldn’t be left alone. And you won’t.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you for being there when I rambled.” Kurt would very much like for Blaine to stop looking at him with that gentle smile.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Blaine says as he stands, adjusting his scrubs. “But I think you’ll be gone. I wish you good health and, um,” Blaine pauses, his lips stretched into a crooked smile, “good luck against the spider.”

Kurt lets out a disbelieving laugh as Blaine exits the room.

Holy shit, he thinks. I’m in love.

--TBC?--

#mmmmmmwhatchasayy #sometimes i write #klaine au #cw minor injury #fluff #slightly cracky i'm afraid

76 notes · View notes

k-writer1998 · 4 years

Text

Rebel Hours (3/18)

Kwon Jieun always fit her parents’ image of the “perfect” daughter… at least to their knowledge. Away from prying eyes she was like any other girl living life to the fullest doing what she wants. When a little someone named Bang Chan comes into her life priorities are changed, mistakes are made, and her life finally becomes her own.

Fluff

w.c: 1.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Both of our faces burned scarlet as if we were caught doing something we weren't supposed to. Chan cleared his throat as he took a step away, allowing me to catch my breath I didn't know I was holding before I answered my phone.

“How is it that you always have impeccable timing?”

“It’s a best friend’s intuition. I know you’re with lover-boy and all but any chance you can come back? Some of us have curfews.”

“Is it really that late?”

“It’s past midnight meaning we’re sneaking Jeongin into his dorm but you have our keys.”

“Shoot it’s already that late?”

“Yeah yeah you lost track of time blah blah please just come back before Jeongin freaks out.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

I ended the call and turned to the boy smiling beside me. This boy constantly goes from cocky to cute and it was seriously giving me whiplash. I knew one thing for sure when our eyes connected again, he wasn’t the one playing the dangerous game… I was.

“That's my fairy godfather telling me my carriage is turning to a pumpkin as we speak because we missed the clock striking midnight,” I sighed dramatically.

“Then we’ll head back,” he laughed.

As we started the walk back I stuck close to Chan, my leather jacket doing little against the night breeze. We moved in comfortable silence for a bit before Chan spoke.

“So how was the tour princess? Do I get the honor of knowing your name?”

“I mean it was seven out of ten…” I trailed off teasingly.

“Ouch, only seven?”

“It would’ve been higher if we finished what we started earlier.”

“Okay, remind me to chat with your friend later about timing.”

“Will do but I don’t think a seven out of ten is really deserving of a name.”

“C’mon, to be fair the call wasn’t on me. You gotta give me something, I don't wanna wait for the next time you come to the club to see you again.”

The sincerity in his voice melted my insides and I couldn’t deny I wanted to see more of him too. Hell, he's been on my mind 24/7 since that night so who was I to hold out? I hold my hand out to him, palm up. He tilted his head in confusion and I shook my head with a small smile.

“Your phone. Unless you don’t want my number?”

His mouth formed an O as he pulled out his phone and placed it unlocked into my palm. I punched in my number and saved the contact as “princess” before clicking save. I turned on the camera, nudged him and when he turned to look I snapped a quick photo of us. I quickly sent it to myself, to give me his number, before giving it back. He smiled down at me with an entertained gleam in his eye as a playful smile danced across my lips. We continued to chat about ourselves and at some point his hands found mine once again. Somewhere along the way our intertwined hands sat comfortably in his hoodie’s pocket and the cold didn't seem to bother me as much. We took a different route than we took earlier and before I knew it, we were already back at the club.

“How is it that it felt like hours when we left but it took so quick to get back?”

“I may have taken you on the extended scenic route to give you the full experience.”

He shyly explained as he looked away. In the dim light from the club’s sign I caught the slightest red tint burning over his ear and I squeezed his hand in reassurance as a giggle slipped past my lips. We snuck back in from the side entrance we left from, probably the performers entrance, as the noise of bustling people and loud music greeted my ears once again. We pulled away when we were back at the bar and against the roar of the music his voice was soft as he leaned in, his hot breath blowing past my ears.

“I had fun tonight, you'll hear from me soon,” he smiled.

His cockiness had come back and something in me didn't want to lose. It was like we were playing an unspoken game and the one who’s flustered in the end loses. I placed my hand on his shoulder to support myself as I leaned up to get closer to his ear.

“Thanks I had fun too. I’ll text you when I get home.”

Before I could think my body moved to kiss him on the cheek before quickly pulling away and giving him a small wave before disappearing into the crowd like the last time. I definitely will have to be calling Seunghee later for an update and much needed advice. I quickly found the boys and we bolted out of the club and into my car.

“In-ah I’m so sorry, I’ll get you back to the dorms in fifteen minutes.”

“But his dorm is at least twenty minutes away,” Hyunjin added.

I just flashed him a wicked grin and all the boys clutched their seatbelts for dear life. We successfully snuck Jeongin into his dorm building and dropped Hyunjin back at his place before Seungmin and I headed home. When I parked the car I dropped Chan a quick text telling him I got home safe before I shot Seunghee a text which got an immediate response from her. Thank god we are eight hours ahead here. Seungmin rolled his eyes and told me to tell his sister “hi” before disappearing into his room. Once I was in my room I turned on my laptop and quickly got a call from her a few moments after I signed in.

“Hello love!” She chirped excitedly.

“You live in the UK for a month and you already act like a native,” I roll my eyes with a laugh.

“Oh hush. So what’s with the SOS?”

“Well as my best friend you get first dibs on the details but remember the cute rapper we saw when we went out the night before you left?”

"Hahaha I called it! Wait a minute? DETAILS?! You went on a date with him, didn't you?!"

“I mean I don't know if you would call it a date but I guess?”

“Okay details. Now.”

With a laugh, I dove into the events that transpired a few hours earlier. The flirting, the talking, the adventures, the almost kiss, up until I kissed him goodnight. While I was retelling the story, my attention was constantly stolen by the incoming texts from Chan as we continued to talk and although I tried to hide it, Seunghee caught on easily.

“Seungmin hasn't said anything before about you going over there so hey you had more self control then I thought."

“Of course you had Seungmin update you,” I let out a small laugh before continuing, “he says hi by the way.”

“He could have waited five minutes to say hi himself when he got home,” she rolled her eyes, “but back to you. You like him don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Babe don’t play dumb, all the signs are showing. The whole out of character flirting thing you’ve been doing, smiling at your phone, and now waiting for his texts-”

“Ugh I know but can I not say it out loud?”

“Why? It’s not like the feelings aren’t mutual, what’s the problem?”

“My parents.”

“Your parents? Wait are you talking about that guy Minhyuk who your parents-”

"Nearly ruined the life of by almost losing him his audition for a renowned dance program? Yup. I can't let that happen to Chan. He not only has a soccer scholarship, I learned, but he has 3racha and god knows what my parents might do to him if I tried to get serious with him."

“Don’t take things so seriously then. Right now what we know is that you are both attracted to each other. Maybe you like him a lot right now because he is something you can’t have. Just test the waters for now.”

“I don’t know… I haven’t even told the boy my name. How would I even explain the wig and the clothes?”

“Well that’s it. If you put in a bit of effort you won’t have to explain anything. Although I still don’t understand why your parents want you to have natural hair and make you dress like a conservative prep school student but besides the point. You’ve gotten away with dying your hair silver and getting that collarbone tattoo of yours so what’s one more thing to add to the list?”

“We’ve talked about this. Dad’s stupid congressman campaign is for a “modest” family so I sadly have to look the part or risk god knows what kind of trouble I’ll get into… but okay.”

“Now how did it feel to have Hyunjin cockblock you when he wasn’t even here?”

“Oh shut up,” I laugh.

She made jokes to ease my mind and we shared a good laugh. I asked how she’s been and she launched into her wild adventures in London, the mundane college student life of drowning in exams, and a certain boy’s name kept popping up. Before I could grill her for answers, she checked the time and realized how late it was over here. I bid her goodbye with a laugh before powering down my laptop and getting ready for bed. I finally checked my phone again once I laid in bed and saw a short string of texts from Chan. When Seunghee and I started to talk about my feelings I had stopped responding and he noticed, thinking I probably fell asleep, judging from his sweet dreams message that was accented with a black heart emoji. The corners of my lips turned up as I gave the message one last look before falling asleep next to the eevee plushie.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #my writing #rebel hours

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Text

Breathless, pt 11

Part 10 here

The moon hung, heavy, waxy in the sky, as you watched Conrad check and load two weapons.

“Where did you get those?”

He smiled over at you, his gaze enigmatic. “If you know where to look, who to ask, it’s not so hard.”

The man was a master of understatement.

He offered you what looked, to your untrained eye, like the sort of handgun they used in spy films.

“This is a Glock. Do you know how to shoot?”

You took it carefully, looking at it like it might bite you. “Uh… point and pull the trigger?”

His lips curved, a little. “Aim, too.”

You chuckled; he was lifting the mood again, curling the fear out of you a little, bending it so it didn’t bite so much. “Yes, Sir.”

His gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you thought, pulse kicking up, I’ll dig a bit deeper into that if we survive whatever happens now.

You both dressed quickly, leaving surplus belongings in the room. You’d come back for them, if you were able.

Conrad pulled you in for a quick, hard kiss by the door, and you drank him in, your fingers tangling in his short, thick hair, your tongue dancing with his. You spread your arms over his back, hugging him tightly, trying to compress the feel of his lean, solid warmth into your muscle memory.

When he let you go, you saw sadness in his gaze.

“Whatever we find, we’ll still have each other?” he asked, cupping your chin.

“Always.” You had no idea how he would fit into your life, but you would make any sacrifice for it to happen. To have him would be to need little else.

You left the little hotel. All was quiet; the ferry didn’t run this time of night. Animals chattered in the darkness as you passed a fast food outlet with a few tourists milling around outside, drinking beer. The moon shone down as you crossed the bridge together, the temple illuminated by small floodlights by the pillars, likely places for tourists who came by in the evenings or early in the morning.

The steps to the temple were wide, not too steep. Conrad held up a hand, and you recognised him put on what you thought of as his game face. Eyes like a hawk, all senses alert. He crept up the steps to where the huge, heavy wooden doors, ornately painted, stood open. The darkness yawning between them like a tomb.

Your own heartbeat sounded loud in your ears as you followed Conrad up the steps. The courtyard through the huge, ornate doors waited, empty. At the right side a little gate had been left ajar. Conrad jerked his head towards it, silent. You nodded agreement. The night here was so still, like a heavy cloak, you were almost afraid to breathe out.

You both slipped through the gate. The Glock felt heavy, tucked into the waistband of the back of your jeans. You hadn’t been sure where else to put it, where it wouldn’t be completely obvious. Maybe it was, anyway, as you weren’t used to firearms.

Neither was your kid brother. Or was he?

Beyond the gate, more steps led to a smaller temple. You looked up. Conrad held up hand up, fist clenched.

“I see movement,” he whispered.

Your stomach freewheeled for a moment.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, although you had no idea what would greet you.

In the end, your worst fears both were and were not realised. In the smaller temple, Ben and Trish sat on one of three low wooden benches. Ben stood when you entered the doorway, his hair tousled. A few days’ worth of stubble hugged his jaw, and he looked so much like your dear, departed father that a sob escaped your lips.

Conrad glanced at you, concerned.

A few days ago, you’d have run into Ben’s arms, held him tight, cried for his safety. Now you stood stock still.

He looked…. Fine. Not trapped or co-erced.

Wearing a Malay tie-dye dress, Trish smiled coldly.

“Hey, sis,” Ben said, his tone flat. “You can call off your attack dog.”

Anger rose inside you at his words. “I don’t think I will, yet. Why all this cloak and dagger stuff?” you demanded.

You let your gaze trail over him in the darkness. He was still your brother, and yet… not. A stranger clothed in your brother’s body, speaking with Ben’s voice.

“Why do you think?” he asked, lazily.

You had the feeling that the rug was about to be pulled from under your feet. “I really don’t know, Ben,” you hissed, struggling for calm. “I’ve wasted a lot of money, trying-”

“Money! It’s always about money with you, isn’t it?” He exploded, eyes shooting daggers. “And control of it.”

Trish glared silently.

You opened your mouth and shut it again, speechless. Finally you asked, “What? If you needed money, I’d have given it to you.”

“Would you? I get an allowance. Like a child. You control it, and me. I’m a grown man, I don’t need to be kept like a dog on a leash by my sister,” he seethed.

What? It was late, you were tired. “I don’t..”

“Of course you don’t, you stupid bitch. Mom and Dad doted on you. The super smart, pretty first child. Left everything to you, left you in control of what I did. I had to go to Harvard to get the allowance, had to do everything by the book, while you got to run free.”

You listened, aghast. “But Dad’s will… that wasn’t anything to do with me, Ben.”

“The hell it wasn’t! You all wanted me to be the perfect image of a well mannered, polite little rich boy, without my own free will. I want to be truly free.”

You glanced at Trish. Had she orchestrated this? It was hard to say.

“Why lure me here?”

“I had to get you away from all of it.” He gestured to Trish and she slid a small laptop out of a canvas bag. “Make you see sense. I just want freedom, sis. To be myself, with Trish. Money would help.”

Trish opened the laptop and tapped a few buttons.

“Just transfer some of the Trust fund to me.”

You gaped, then shut your mouth, hearing the click of your teeth. “I…. I can’t.”

Ben glanced across at Trish.

“Of course you can,” she snapped.

“No, I really can’t.” Your hands itched to reach for the gun, but what good would it do? “What’s this about, Ben?”

He sighed dramatically. “You think it’s easy? To live in your fucking shadow? Dad’s shadow? To be told at Harvard - oh, your father would’ve known how to behave. Your father would have done it like this. I’m not my father!”

He roared the last bit, and tears burned the back of your eyes. “I miss him too, Ben. But you can’t just escape-”

“Yes, I can. Trish and I are going to have big adventures where no one cares who my father was or what my last name is. I can be free of his judgement.”

Your heart pounded. “You can’t know-”

“I know that you took over after they died. Did everything. Poor Ben, Ben is so sad, he needs help-”

“You did need help!” you shout back. “Anyone would have!” Any reservations you might have had about Conrad seeing your family drama play out had disappeared with your fears for Ben’s mental health. “Just take a step back, Ben. Please. I can help.”

“I’ve had enough of your help,” he quavered, pulling a gun from the back of his own cargo pants. Your heart just stopped. “Just do it.”

“I can’t. You can have all my money-”

“I want mine!” he snapped, the gun wavering.

“Ben,” Conrad began. “Losing loved ones is very hard on anyone, let alone losing a parent.”

“Shut up!” His hair and eyes wild, Ben shook the gun. “What do you know? You’re just a rottweiler for hire.”

Conrad stood perfectly still, not rising to the bait.

Trish took the laptop down to you, holding it out. “It’ll take seconds.”

Your heart jumped. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck. “I really can’t. I want to help you, Ben, but-”

“You’re just like Dad!” he shouted. “He wanted to help. But what happened? He left you in charge.”

“What are you not telling me?” you asked, your voice low, but carrying across the near-silent temple floor.

“I told Dad I wanted to be free. Didn’t want to go to Harvard. Wanted to explore for a few years. He said I should be more like you. Responsible. Make something of myself. But I was sick of living in your shadow.”

Your stomach sank like a stone. “Did you….”

He laughed, a hollow sound. “Did I kill them? Fuck, no. I loved them. But they didn’t understand me. I’m not a lawyer, or a congressman. I just want to be free. And then their deaths sealed my fate. I wouldn’t get any money unless I graduated.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m failing, okay? I can’t make the grade. And Dad’s lawyer came to tell me there’d be no trust fund money in three years’ time unless I graduate.”

Oh. You hadn’t known that. “You can have my money.”

Ben’s gun hand stopped shaking for a moment. “Another handout from you? Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

“No, Ben, it wouldn’t,” you sob. “I don’t have access to the funds. I really don’t.”

He lifted the gun, and you realised that he was probably having a fully fledged nervous breakdown. Did Trish know? Was she using it? Had she known all along?

“Please, don’t make me do this. If I die, you don’t get anything.”

He smiled grimly. “Surely if you die, I’m the sole heir.”

Oh, God.

You held a hand out.

“If you pull that trigger, I will put a bullet in you,” Conrad told Ben, voice eerily calm.

“It’ll be over, either way,” Ben said softly, his eyes wet.

Everything happened at once. Two shots, Ben’s body on the ground, Trish’s, too. The laptop screen shattering into a thousand shards. And Conrad shouting.

****

You came to in a stark white hospital bed, your vision blurry. When you blinked, clearing it, you saw Conrad sitting next to you. You jerked fully awake.

“Ben! Ben?”

“He’s alive,” Conrad told you softly.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fresh, sea air.

“We’re in Kuala Lumpur,” he added.

“What happened?”

“Easy. You’ve got a concussion from where you fell. You’ll hardly believe this, but it seems that Bill grew a conscience from when I saved his life. He’d had us followed. When Ben pulled the trigger, I jumped at him, pushing him in time for the shot to go wide and hit Trish. It only grazed her arm. She’s in another room. You fell back on to the stone floor. A second later, Bill and two of his…. Associates arrived in the temple, and thank Christ they did, as three of us needed medical attention.”

You breathed in deeply. “He’s not well, Conrad.”

“I quite agree. I’ve had a long chat with Trish.”

You winced on Trish’s behalf, angry with her, but knowing that a chat with Conrad would have been fairly terrifying. “And?”

“She’ s harmless. Along for the ride, and the wealth. A groupie,” he said sadly.

Your heart ached. “I think a long visit with a doctor is on the cards for Ben. Does he hate me?”

“If he does, you’ve done nothing to deserve it,” Conrad reassured

“How was Bill involved?”

“Ben promised him a big cut of whatever you transferred,” Conrad growled. “I guess in a way, following us was, in his mind, protecting an investment.”

Tears burned your eyes. “Oh, Ben. I should have paid more attention.”

Conrad soothed you, kissing your forehead. “You only loved him. What he did with that was his business.”

You lay back on the pillows. “All that’s left now is to go back and pick up the pieces of my life. I guess.”

Conrad stroked your hair back. “Our life, I rather hope?”

Love bloomed in your chest. “I don’t know how we’ll fit together, Conrad. Do you?”

He stood up from the chair and pulled something from his pocket. A little piece of card. He unfolded it to reveal a single pressed flower from the Botanical Gardens, the stem long. As you watched, confused, he took your hand and tied the long, soft stem around your ring finger. His blue eyes lit with mischief. “I don’t have all the details yet, love. But I hope you’ll let me spend a lifetime figuring them out with you.”

THE END.

Thanks to @hopelessromanticspoonie for the beta!!

And thanks to EVERYONE for coming on this journey with me. I hope the ending was OK.

Tagging: @just-the-hiddles @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @peacope @lady-loki-ren @vodka-and-some-sass @nonsensicalobsessions @amarisyousei @jessiejunebug @villainousshakespeare @arch-venus25 @myoxisbroken @xxloki81xx @wiczer

#james conrad fic #imagine james conrad

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