#have been so busy lately but had the night off and got to manically clean my apartment and i feel better now

[lustbile]

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stressed Out ~ MYG [Request]

WORD COUNT:1.4K

PAIRING: Yoongi x Stressed!Reader

GENRE: Short fic, established-relationship, fluffy yoongi, stressed out reader who snaps at him

A/N: You’re totally going to kill me when you find out I wrote this while I was supposed to be on my break but sdfghjkl; I love you 

The whole day yesterday everything that could have gone wrong...Went wrong. It felt as though the entire universe was out to get you or something. First, you were late to work because of the rain, then you spilt coffee on the floor, then the toner in the printer exploded all over you and to top it all off you ran into your boss chest first getting ink down his new suit, which you had to pay for. It seemed ridiculous in making you pay for his suit when he could quite clearly do it himself or pay someone else to clean it. 

Heading home hadn't been a walk in the park either, you'd managed to run out of gas on the motorway before blowing a tired after pulling out of a garage. It was as if the world was giving you a big, "Fuck you Y/n," right in the face and it appeared as though it wasn't over yet. Staring down at the piece of paper your eyes read the same number over and over again trying to see if you had made some kind of mistake. 

"Who the fuck spends $3K on a suit," You mumbled as you stared down at the invoice that had been given to you yesterday, it was the first time you'd opened it. The night before you'd gone home, gotten straight into bed and ignored the whole world.

It had to be some kind of joke he was making but no, the suit was really $3K. No one you knew spent that on something to wear not even the boys who were famous and went to award shows all of the time.

"Fuck," You groaned to yourself laying back down on the pillows as you stared up at the ceiling. A part of you wished that something great would happen but knowing your luck the ceiling would probably crack and fall on you. Deciding to sit up again you looked at the invoice, screaming out loud as you looked at it once again, luckily for you, the house was empty so you wouldn't have to justify having a day off or screaming the way you did to your husband. Not that Yoong would have minded, he wasn't bothered if you worked or not but you needed something to do in the day though looking back on it now you wish you didn't go yesterday.

Getting out of the car Yoongi smiled as he looked around the streets, it was sunny and warm. Not to warm to the point where he wanted to take off layers of his skin but just warm enough that it was nice out. Kicking off his shoes as he got in he was excited for a day of working from home, he was going to surprise you with dinner that night for when you came home from work. It seemed as though you'd had a bad day the day before and he hadn't been able to do anything to help. As he was about to walk into the living room he heard a loud scream of mental anguish from the bedroom. 

"Babe?!" Panicked he began rushing up the stairs to see what was wrong, it could have been anything from seeing a spider to something happening on TV. He was too busy worrying about you he hadn't stopped to think about what you were doing home at this time of day. Panting as he reached the door he frowned as he saw you holding a sheet of paper in one hand and your head in the other. 

Turning to look at the bedroom door you saw Yoongi standing there with a smile on his face, normally that would have been enough to brighten your day and wash away everything bad that had happened but apparently it wasn't working.

"Did you finish early?" He questioned as he got onto the bed behind you, putting his long legs on either side of your body and smiling even more. He appeared more smiley than usual and it was a little unsettling, he was only like this if he was hiding something about his music. But damn that smile you wanted to wipe it off his face, make him feel as bad as you did right then. How was it that even Yoongi could make you feel annoyed by standing there. Frustration was just bubbling up inside of you and all you wanted to do was be left alone. 

"Baby? What's this?" He picked up the invoice and whistled as he saw the price of the suit, even his wedding suit didn't cost that much. When you said nothing Yoongi continued to talk and talk and talk trying to get you to say something, he could sense that something was bothering you and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"Your boss sending you on shopping trips for him?" He laughed loudly which normally would make your heart skip and you could smile brightly with him, his voice alone made you feel as though you could take on the while but today...Today was different. His laugh went through you like nails on a chalkboard and the longer he spoke the more you began to grow annoyed.

"You're being so quiet, that's not like-"

"Shut up! Please just shut up!" You called out to him as he stared back at you shocked, his face turning red as he felt embarrassed. It was the first time he'd ever heard you yell like that at something other than traffic or some idiot driving like a manic on the roads. 

"Babe-" He tried to apologise but you shook your head at him, snatching the paper from his hand, 

"Leave me alone," You mumbled getting up from the bed and heading for the staircase, Yoongi waited for a couple of minutes trying to do as you had wished but it was hard knowing that his wife was clearly upset about something. Causing her to lash out at those around her, he wasn't going to hold it against you. 

As he sat there his mind wandered to what you were doing, it had been silent since you went downstairs. He was about to lay down when he heard you scream out in frustration and something clattering against the floor. 

"Y/n?! What happened?!" He practically sprinted down the stairs to find you on the floor, back against the back door with your knees pressed tightly against your chest. Sobbing into your knees as you mumbled something to him that he didn’t understand, 

"Come again?" Yoongi questioned about to walk into the room when he noticed the ice cream that was leaking down the floor, a spoon that had been the cause of the clattering. 

"I can't do anything right, I'm always spilling things, dropping things and making a mess." You sobbed uncontrollably into your knees again, taking in large breaths as you tried not to hyperventilate yourself. 

"Hey baby, shhh, shhh." Yoong stepped over the ice cream reminding himself to clean it when he'd calmed you down, all he did was sit beside you. Taking your hand in his own just to let you know that he was there. He'd seen this before and not just with you but with the boys when your mind and body had been so worn down you just broke down snapping at anything and everything around you. It would be one small insignificant thing like ice cream falling to the floor that could tip someone over the edge. 

"Come on." He grunted as he stood up, picking you up carefully so he could go and get you into bed for the day. 

"What are we doing, it's almost 11 am." You sniffled as he walked towards the staircase, he simply shook his head at you. 

"It's one of those days. We will just lay in bed together, order food...Watch movies or TV...We'll do anything except what we're supposed to be doing." He told you as he began climbing the stairs, your head resting on his shoulder as he carefully made his way to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," You mumbled as he laid you down in the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the closet to give to you. 

"It's fine. Get changed while I clean up and grab the menus...Find something for us to watch, anything you want-"

"Including Full House?!" You asked excitedly as you stared at him, sighing to himself he nodded. Despite seeing the show a total of almost 12 times he was willing to watch it again just for you. 

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @rjsmochii​ @taestannie​ @sw33tnight​ @inner​ @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​ @acciocriativity​ @mwitsmejk​ @taeechwitaa​ @justbangtanthingz​

#Bts #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts imagine #bts imagines #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #suga #suga x reader #suga imagine #suga imagines #agust d

[babbushka]

The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy! 

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

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

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.  

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.  

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.  

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. “Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

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

Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky​​ @sacklerscumrag​​ @artsymaddie​​ @bitchydecisions​​ @direnightshade​​ @reyloaddict55​​ @thembohux​​  @sunflowersinthesnow​​ @babayagakeanu​​ @safarigirlsp​​  @steeevienicks​​  @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @materialisthicc​​  @hswritingrecs​​  @han68000​​ @rosi3ba3z​​ @chapterhappygirl​​​ @loverofallthings​​​  @bxnnywriting​ @groovetoob​ 

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman fanfic #adam driver fanfic #adcu #passover #my writing #jewish!reader #flip zimmerman fluff #idk how to tag this lol

[chicgeekgirl89]

Puzzles and Limes and Family Times

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Summary: Parenting kids is tough. Growing up and parenting your parents is even harder. Luckily T.K. and Carlos have each other to help figure things out. A post-ep for 2x11 "Slow Burn." Thanks to @bluenet13 for the help with the spicy food stuff and for inspiring what will likely be a prequel. And for just generally always being a supportive friend! 

                                   XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“How about a book?” Carlos asked.

T.K. shook his head. “He has books. I want something different. Something that will really distract him.”

“I still think a couple DVD’s might do the trick,” Carlos told him. 

“He has every streaming service known to man. If he can’t find it on one of those, it’s probably not worth watching.”

“T.K. as nice as it is that you want to get your dad a gift for his surgery, maybe we should think about it a little more since you don’t seem to know what you want.”

They’d circled the aisles of Target more than once, T.K. turning down every one of Carlos’ suggestions. “I just want something that’s going to keep him busy,” T.K. said. “He’s terrible at sitting still. I’m afraid if we don’t do something he’ll try and run a half marathon three days after surgery and kill himself.”

“Babe I don’t think there’s anything in the world that’s going to keep your dad recovering the way you want,” Carlos said. “He’s kind of a strong willed guy.”

T.K. sighed and turned the cart into the next aisle. “I know. I know, I just have to at least try.” He paused and grabbed a box off the nearest shelf. “What about this?”

Carlos raised his eyebrows. “A puzzle? Your dad doesn’t strike me as someone with the patience for puzzles.”

“Exactly. Maybe this will help him learn some. And,” T.K. tapped the box for emphasis, “this one has dogs playing poker on it. He loves dogs and poker.”

“That is true,” Carlos said, keeping his tone even and his expression neutral.

T.K. shot him a look of fond exasperation. “I know you’re humoring me but I’m going to pretend that was genuine.”

“And now you can humor me by picking out new towels,” Carlos said with a grin.

T.K. groaned. “I thought we already picked new towels.”

“We picked new master bath towels. We need some to match the guest bath.” Carlos grabbed his hand, towing him along toward the home goods aisles. 

“I didn’t realize you were going to use my moving in as an excuse to redecorate the entire condo,” T.K. said.

“I want it to feel like our place.” Carlos stopped and picked up a washcloth. “How do we feel about cream?”

“I feel like towels are towels. Especially in the guest bath.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and moved further down the row. “We have guests coming next week. Everything needs to be perfect.”

“Speaking of which, are you sure you want to invite my dad to dinner with your parents?” T.K. asked as Carlos silently debated the merits of blue versus off-white towels. 

Carlos looked at him in surprise. “He’s your dad. Of course I want him there.”

“It’s just…he can be…a lot sometimes,” T.K. said. 

Carlos raised his eyebrows and T.K. held up a finger in warning. “If you say I’m also a lot sometimes I’m taking the keys and leaving you here to Uber home.”

His boyfriend smiled and turned back to the towels. “My parents want to meet him. And your dad is very charming.” He looked at T.K., eyes sparkling with mirth. “Just like you.”

Now it was T.K.’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Besides,” Carlos said, dropping the blue towels into the cart, “having your dad there will take some of the attention off of me so my mom doesn’t tell every, single embarrassing story about my childhood. Instead your dad and my dad can try to one-up each other talking about crazy calls they’ve been on.”

T.K. wasn’t convinced yet. “He’s just really not been himself lately. And I have no idea what his mood is going to be like post-surgery. I don’t want him to leave a bad impression with your parents.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, it would be good for your dad to get out of the house. Be around family.”

T.K. sighed. “I guess at least if he’s with us I’ll know he’s safe. And it will give him something to do to keep his mind off how bored he is.”

“I thought that was what the puzzle was for,” Carlos said with a teasing grin as they walked toward the checkout.

T.K. sent him a withering look. “Just let me pretend it’s going to work and not sit on a shelf in the closet until the next time he has a garage sale. It makes me feel better.”

Carlos nudged him good-naturedly. “I will let you keep your delusion.” He stopped pushing the cart and leaned against the handle. “But it’s going to cost you.”

T.K. took a step closer and bit his lip. “Oh is it?” he asked, wondering exactly how randy Carlos was going to get in the kitchen appliance aisle. 

“Yep.” Carlos grinned. “We’re having camarones a la diabla for dinner tonight.”

T.K.’s face fell. “What? No! Come on I already looked at towels with you!”

Carlos just smiled and sauntered away with the cart, leaving T.K. alone in the middle of the aisle to hurry after him. “Okay but only a little spicy all right? Not ‘accidentally almost kill T.K. spicy’ like last time?”

“That was your own fault and you know it,” Carlos called back.

T.K. huffed. “That’s exactly why we don’t need a repeat!”

Carlos stopped and let him catch up. “If we’re going to live together we have to build up your tolerance to heat. Don’t worry,” he said, patting T.K.’s cheek, “I’ll be gentle.”

T.K. eyed him warily. “Nice try Reyes. I know behind that smile is a conniving, spice loving, diabolical monster.”

“What if I promise you homemade ice cream for dessert?”

“What because I’m a five-year-old and can be bribed to eat my dinner?” T.K. asked.

Carlos cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Fine,” T.K. said grudgingly. “But I want chocolate.”

“Then chocolate it is.”

                                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

T.K. had never seen his boyfriend panicked before. Upset yes, excited for sure, but the most emotionally intense his mild mannered boyfriend typically got was moderately annoyed. Tonight however, he seemed like he might actually be about to lose his shit. And as intrigued as T.K. was to see where that might lead, a little voice in his head reminded him that Carlos losing his shit five minutes before his parents were due to arrive was probably not going to leave a favorable impression.

“Where are the tortilla chips?” Carlos asked, his voice sharp and pitched a note or two higher than usual. “I thought you picked them up on your way home today.”

“Right here,” T.K. said smoothly, opening the cupboard and pulling out the bag of homemade chips he’d purchased from a favorite restaurant down the street.

“And you told them to make the guacamole fresh right?”

“Yes, I stood there for fifteen minutes while the guy went out and hand picked the avocados,” T.K. said, trying not to let too much amusement color his tone.

Over the last few days the tension in their home seemed to have changed direction. As T.K. had grown more comfortable with the idea of his dad coming for dinner, (despite the one minor, running into a burning building incident that T.K. was trying not to think about) Carlos had gotten increasingly tense. 

The condo, always in a state of near perfect cleanliness now sparkled like something out of a magazine. And the list of instructions Carlos had left for T.K. to complete after his shift had been so detailed and exact that T.K. wondered if he’d stayed up all night writing it. Personally he thought that doing a deep clean of the refrigerator and painting over scuffs on the baseboards was a little bit of overkill, but he’d done as asked. Now, as he watched his boyfriend dart from one side of the kitchen to the other in a slightly manic state, he was wondering if he might need to intervene. 

Carlos pushed past him to take the perfectly made guacamole out and put it in a bowl. “Did you put a clean hand towel in the bathroom? The blue one?”

“Blue? I thought you said black.”

Carlos froze and glowered at him. “I’m kidding,” T.K. said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Blue towel is freshly laundered and in the bathroom. I’m not sure exactly how the color of a hand towel could ruin the evening but I certainly didn’t want to risk finding out.”

Carlos’ face dropped a bit, emotional exhaustion pulling at him. “I know I’m being crazy.”

“Oh I think we surpassed crazy about two hours ago when you were picking individual pieces of lint off the throw pillows,” T.K. said with an amused smile. “Relax. Tonight is going to be great. You’re making a damn soufflé. How could anyone not be impressed by that?”

“Maybe I should have gone with something more traditional,” Carlos said, running an agitated hand through his curls for the hundredth time that evening. “My parents are traditional people. But your dad is coming so I wanted to pull out all the stops.” He peered through the oven door at the soufflé. “Maybe I should have done the beef. I’m going to take it out just in case.”

“Carlos, Carlos whoa, hey,” T.K. stopped him by putting his hands on his shoulders. “The soufflé is going to be great. Everyone is going to love it. Do not take that beef out of the refrigerator.”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “Oh my god I forgot to put the ice trays in the freezer!”

“Whoa, hey, nope,” T.K. held on a little tighter and didn’t let him go. “You asked me to do that this morning. Let’s just go sit for a minute—“

“I need to—“

“What you need to do is take a few deep breaths and get yourself together,” T.K. told him, pushing him gently onto a bar stool.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“Babe I know. But it’s not going to be. Nothing ever is, so you need to let got of that expectation. It will be a great dinner because everyone who’s coming loves you and wants you to be happy.”

Carlos slumped a bit, mussing his curls a little more with his hands. “I’m nervous.”

“I know. But I’m going to be right beside you the whole night. And nothing your parents say is going to make me upset. Or want to leave.” T.K. leaned a little closer as Carlos deliberately avoided making eye contact. “That’s what you’re really worried about right? Not that they’ll say something to make you upset, but that they might hurt me?”

Carlos chewed at the inside of his lip and covered T.K.’s hands with his own, twining their fingers together nervously. “They just might not be as careful with their words as I want them to be. Sometimes they speak without thinking. They have old biases, things from church and the family…”

T.K. brought one of Carlos’ hands up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I know the difference between willful hate and accidental ignorance. I’m not worried.” He ran a hand through Carlos’ hair, fixing some of the damage he’d done to himself. “And nothing, not even rude parents or a fallen soufflé, would ever make me want to leave you.”

T.K. watched as some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I love you,” Carlos said quietly.

“I love you too,” T.K. said, squeezing his hand.

There was a knock on the door and Carlos sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

T.K. leaned forward so their lips met in a sweet kiss. “Absolutely.”

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Tarlos Fanfic #Post-ep #Slow Burn #2x11 #Fluff #Anxious boys #They love each other #And are also a little over the top

[gloryofluv]

Order up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 12

Hahaha. I'm actually dying over this chapter! So much going on, but soooo good as far as the banter.

Previous Chapter

The next day was a big win. She got her doctor's stuff done, ate a big breakfast, and they actually got Leviathan out of his room to help. He assisted with all of her electronics and was extremely meticulous. Of course, Alex actually couldn’t talk to him because he would blush and walk away from her.

Well, she would have to work on him slowly.

That left her with bringing over all the unneeded items to her now cleaned-out bedroom on Friday early afternoon. Then, of course, work. She was pretty tired considering her busy ass days lately. Tons of emotional sifting. Although, it seemed a lot easier with each of the brothers. Even Mammon was taking on a new role; her protector.

After Belphie explained what happened the other night, or at least she thinks he did, Mammon has been a new man. He’s been getting her water, carrying heavy things for her, even complaining about her going to work at night. Totally switched from who he was. Interesting.

Working in a cafe in the afternoon and evenings. Actually, there’s something to be said about that. The clients are different. The creative types who work long boring jobs during the day and need to feed off the energy of caffeine and others. The families that are out and about, ready for the weekend ahead.

There’s also a startling amount of mischief. Alex twice had to tell someone they couldn’t yell on their cellphone in the lobby. Gotta give it to Jess. She was ballsy enough to want to work evenings all the time.

Alex was fixing her displays near the register when she heard someone clear their throat. She turned around and blinked. Simeon was standing there and not in his usual sweater, but a tank top and jeans.

“Oh, Simeon,” Alex puffed with color-dusted cheeks.

“I wasn’t expecting you here this evening, Alex,” he beamed.

“I switched with Jess. Oh, um, did you want me to,” she stopped her stammering and smiled. “Are you drinking tea tonight?”

He nodded and watched as she walked around the counter. “I’m just out with some of the mentors,” he explained and gestured to a table.

Alex glanced over to see two men. One had flowing blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and the other had darker hair in braids with soulful chocolate eyes. Both were quite interested in watching their interaction.

“That’s nice,” Alex beamed with a bounce to her head. “Did you want to get them something as well?”

“Just three of the hibiscus ginger,” Simeon smiled.

She was preparing the cups and glanced back at him. “How are you doing? I feel like this is the first time Luke isn’t with you.”

Simeon laughed and shrugged. “We always see you after he’s done with school. I work in the mornings and evenings. Did you figure out your living situation?”

She set the bags in the cups and nodded. “Yes, Lucifer offered me a room.”

“Interesting. He’s not usually noted for his generosity,” Simeon mused as she set the cups in front of him.

Alex gestured to the pastry case, and Simeon shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know about that, but he has been pretty decent to me. All of them are helping me move my stuff. It’s been pretty,” she paused and exhaled while looking away from him.

“It’s difficult to confess to needing people in our lives, Alex. it gives us more opportunity to have rejection and abandonment. However, it fortifies our hearts,” Simeon beamed.

She bent over the POS screen and scowled. “Simeon, this whole time, I thought I was over it. This whole time and I realized I just never let myself touch it. To truly understand what was lost because then that makes me defective, undesirable, broken.”

“You’re very desirable, and not for being someone serving coffee with a magnificent smile,” Simeon said as his cheeks darkened a touch.

She pressed her lips together before she smiled. “Thank you, Simeon. You truly are divinity in human form.”

“I’d very much like it if you let me take you to dinner. I’ve wanted to ask you for months, but I only see you when small ears are lingering. Would you let me? I very much like you, Alex,” Simeon said with a hint of surprise. He wasn’t expecting to ask her?

“Oh, um, okay,” she smiled and nodded.

Simeon laughed and smiled. “Okay.”

Alex jerked to action and pulled out a sheet, writing out her number. “Now you can text me. I have a challenging time reaching out first. It causes quite a bit of anxiety for me,” she confessed and handed him the small paper.

He held it up before tucking it in his jean pocket. “I will take the first step then,” he paused and handed her his credit card.

Alex beamed and completed the transaction. “Simeon, thank you for having the courage to say something. I know that took so much.”

He chuckled and tilted his head. “Alex, you’re a very courageous woman. You’ve done many things others haven’t in their life and still are sweet and kind. Boldness isn’t about action. It’s feeling. Now, I’m going to go entertain the other mentors, but I will come to say goodbye before I leave.”

She rocked her head and smiled. “Okay, Simeon, have a wonderful time.”

“I will now,” he winked and left with the three cups in his hand.

Jordan, who was working with her, glanced over while wagging his hand. Alex skipped over, and they tucked behind the espresso machine, out of view from the trio.

“What just happened?” he whispered with a wild smile.

“He asked me out,” Alex breathed and covered her mouth.

“So you said yes, right? He’s like chocolate-covered yummy. Toothache sweet. And was that your number you gave him?” Jordan questioned in a low tone.

Alex bounced her head with a snort. “Jordan, I was so not me,” she giggled quietly.

Jordan stood and started to vogue with a beat. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, that’s my girl,” he voiced and yanked her up. “Come on, let’s go,” he snorted.

Alex groaned but started to vogue and laughed as they made faces. “You’re ridiculous,” she laughed.

“Yes, quite.”

Oh. Alex paused and spun around to see Lucifer standing at the counter. “Oh, hello, Lucifer.”

“What type of manic state were you expressing?” He questioned.

Jordan walked up to the glass and smiled. “We were doing our ‘get happy girl’ dance.”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “That seizer replication isn’t dancing.”

Alex twitched her nose at the dark roast timer and shook her head. “Lucifer, it’s going to be two minutes on fresh. This is too old to serve you with how sensitive your pallet is.”

He smirked and waved. “I have time.”

“So, doing anything special tonight, Lucifer? Seeing anyone special? Doing anything with someone?” Jordan asked.

Lucifer glared at him with a pointed incredulous expression. “Special? Jordan, what have my brothers been saying to you?”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Well, nothing. I was just asking.”

Alex put the brewer up and flicked it on before turning around with a smile. Lucifer eyed her and then wagged his index finger. “You. You know.”

Her cheeks were burning, but she walked toward the counter. “N-no.” Nice. Brilliant. Sound more like a frightened child.

Lucifer’s grin became wicked as he leaned forward. “Tell me.”

Her face was melting as she stared up into brilliant sanguine eyes. “It, well, I only heard in passing, it’s not,” she stopped dead when he touched her cheek.

“Don’t babble, darling. Just tell me,” he smirked.

“Well, I saw a picture of you and Diavolo,” she murmured.

His nose scrunched, and his fingers slithered away from her cheek. “Which of them was it? I was positive I destroyed all digital evidence of that party,” he huffed.

Alex looked down at the counter. Anywhere but his eyes.

“I’m not upset with you. My brothers, however, have been plugging this annoying concept for years since that party. Diavolo and I were drinking, a rarity and Mammon shoved Diavolo into me just as Asmodeus was taking the picture. Diavolo was attempting what Asmodeus called a duck face. I was positive I cleared out everyone’s phone, so Diavolo’s reputation wasn’t at risk, but it seems someone kept it,” Lucifer explained while shaking his head.

Alex blinked and glanced back at him. “You two?”

“Never,” Lucifer spat.

Alex covered her mouth and shook her head.

Jordan snorted. “Wow, your brothers sure love to hassle you, don’t they?”

Lucifer shook his head. “It’s unfathomable how they have so much time for it.”

“Seems Alex was under the impression you were,” Jordan noted.

Alex pivoted and began pouring the coffee. Dammit. She still was going to have to face him. Turning around, he was smiling, and his posture read, alpha man, baby.

“Were you upset at my brothers’ lies?” He asked.

She shook her head and plastered on a smile. “It was just surprising. I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. I’m single, very much available, and diligent at any role I take on,” he smirked and handed her his credit card.

Alex was so glad she was able to keep her smile as her heart was racing like a pack of marathon runners. She swiped it and handed it back. “You do appear to be quite diligent.”

Another form approached the counter, and Alex broke her vision of Lucifer. Simeon leaned and smiled. “We’re going now, Alex. It was lovely to see you this evening.”

“Simeon, I see you brought Michael and Raphael with you,” Lucifer noted as he glanced back at the mentors walking out of the cafe.

Simeon beamed and nodded. “We’re headed to the hills to watch the meteor shower.”

Lucifer rocked his head. “Have a good night.”

“You too. Alex, I will text you tomorrow,” he declared and waved.

Alex smiled and waved. “Okay, Simeon, have a wonderful evening.”

Lucifer scowled and watched Simeon leave. “You’re now texting him?”

Oh… yeah, that’s right. Alex rocked her head. “Yes.”

“They have a date this week,” Jordan pipped with a smile.

“Date?” Lucifer questioned.

Alex felt the size of a flea with how much presence Lucifer had. It wasn’t even that he displayed outward displeasure. No, it was definitely what radiated off of him as he stood straighter and his chest bolstered to pronounced masculinity.

“Yes, he just asked her before you walked inside,” Jordan laughed. By the way, he likely wasn’t going to make it through this shift. Alex was going to murder him. “I guess it makes sense. She thought you were unavailable,” Jordan shrugged. Dead. He was going to die from suffocation on the coffee grounds.

“Well, I’m clearly available. Have a good evening, Jordan. Alex, we’ll talk when you get home,” Lucifer declared and left a tip in the jar before strolling out of the cafe with the same presence he held at the counter.

“I’m going to kill you,” Alex growled and glared at Jordan.

She smacked his arm, and he pouted. “I was only doing what you haven’t done in months, honey.”

“I live with him now, you, numbskull,” she hissed and smacked his arm again.

Jordan laughed and blocked a few more of her blows. “Come on, don’t be so angry. It isn’t like a date is a commitment. I just wanted to see if he’d get jealous.”

“By the slam of his car door, I think he was,” Solomon laughed and peaked over the counter. “You alright, Alex?”

“Look away, Solomon, I don’t want you an accessory to his murder!” She snarled and hit Jordan one more time.

“Don’t murder my darling J Getlow.”

Alex exhaled and turned fully to see Asmodeus and Solomon standing together. Jordan scowled and dropped his smile altogether. Alex knew a good payback when she saw one. She skipped up to the counter with a bright smile. “Well, hello, you two, are you on a date?”

Solomon arched his eyebrow, but Asmo squealed. “Oh, it could be! We were just going to try this new fro-yo place down the street, and Solomon heard you were working.”

She eyed Solomon with a subtle nod. Click. He got it. “Oh, yes, I had to have an eclectic appetite tonight,” he chuckled.

Jordan was leaning on the glass with a deep-set frown. “Wait, Asmo, you said you were going to be busy when I got off tonight. Is that because you’re with Solomon?”

“Yes,” Solomon smirked at him. “Is there a problem?”

Asmo tilted his head but shrugged. “I guess not.”

Jordan pulled from the glass and began cleaning the machines.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Alex asked.

Jordan glared over at her. “Bitch,” he said in a whisper.

“Now, what are you both really doing tonight?” Alex smiled.

“The frozen yogurt, which I despise. However, Asmodeus was on a mission to convince me to help tomorrow. He says that you have some very private information in your father’s study and need help sorting it,” Solomon explained.

Alex pouted and put her two hands together in a heart shape. “Asmo, you just made my heart go boom. That’s so sweet that you would take time away on your Friday for me.”

“Please stop,” Solomon puffed and waved his hand. “That’s too adorable, and I can’t bear it.”

Alex laughed and leaned over the POS screen at the pair. “Seriously, I need to do something nice for both of you.”

“Get drunk tomorrow. House party. Your homecoming!” Asmo cheered.

Alex groaned and shook her head. “I doubt Lucifer would agree to any of that.”

“After the very flustered retreat, I might estimate your correctness,” Solomon chuckled.

“What happened?” Asmo questioned.

“Well, hunty,” Jordan walked up and clamped his hand on Alex’s mouth. “Simeon asked Alex out before Lucifer got here. Before that revelation, I made him pry out of her that she thought he was with someone else, which is why she hasn’t been answering his texts with little happy faces like usual. So, he just now realized she was into him, and now she’s going on a date with Simeon.”

Alex shoved him and groaned. “You’re a wicked, wicked queen.”

“It’s truly a shame one of our rules is no dating, said 'girl' in the house,” Asmo laughed and shook his head.

Solomon smiled and waved his hand. “How is it that you always seem to find the predicament of always too much but never enough.”

“I don’t know, Sol,” Alex groaned.

“Drinks tomorrow, at your old home to send off your last day actually living there,” Solomon smirked.

“That doesn’t sound like that came with a please,” Alex snorted.

“It wasn’t a request,” Solomon shook his head.

“Fine, but you’re bringing the booze, and I’m not responsible for your ride home,” Alex said.

Solomon nodded. “I have exquisite wine. You’ll enjoy it.”

“We will?” Asmo asked.

Jordan nodded.

“Fine,” Solomon chuckled. “Yes.”

Alex reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’re just a big softy under all that analysis and formulas.”

Solomon puffed and pushed her handoff. “Yes, alright. Don’t patronize my kindness.”

“What am I getting you both?” Alex beamed. Solomon rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced up at the menu. “Decaf americano, two pumps with half and half,” Alex said.

Solomon laughed and nodded. “Actually, yes, that would be appropriate.”

“Multitude of gestures, Solomon,” Alex smiled.

“It’s actually freaky that you can do that, Alex,” Asmo gasped.

“I can remember everyone’s orders, but I have to label where to put my keys. Don’t even know why,” Alex laughed and turned to grab a cup. “Decaf skinny iced vanilla with a sugar-free caramel pump, Asmo?”

Asmo clapped. “You took my evening order once, Alex! That’s so impressive! Oh, I just want to bathe you in aromatherapy and take you to bed.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Jordan glared at him.

Asmo pouted. “Fine.”

Solomon paid, and Alex smirked at the pensive man. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I was just thinking. There might be an opening in the company for public relations. I could put in a stellar word for you. It’s all research and pharmaceuticals, but you have a delightful personality, and you’re degreed.”

“Solomon, that would be awesome if you would do that for me,” Alex gasped.

He smiled and rocked his head. “Okay, I will. I’ll text you my email, and you send your resume to me.”

Jordan brought over their drinks, and Asmo left a hefty tip before blowing him a kiss. “Come over later?”

Jordan arched an eyebrow. “You’re not going to be busy?”

Asmo snorted and giggled. “No, silly, come on over. I want to have a pamper session,” he winked and sipped his drink.

Alex tried so hard to hide her blush. Wow, these two men. It’s like they were made to outdo each other.

“If you put your phone away during, then yes,” Jordan smirked.

“Fine,” Asmo pouted. “See you when you get off so I can,” Asmo laughed and flitted out the door.

“Strange creature,” Solomon chuckled.

“Says you, Doctor X,” Alex sneered.

Solomon laughed and waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.”

Jordan sighed when he left and patted her shoulder. “Guess I’m getting laid tonight. Now we need to work on you.”

Alex yanked herself away and waved a hand. “Stop that. Nope. Not doing it. We’re not having that type of discussion after the man I’m going to live with said he’s going to suck your straw.”

Jordan laughed and skipped over. “Babe, come on.”

“Time to prepare to close, boss,” she sneered at him.

Jordan grinned and winked. “We’ll work on it,” he whispered and got to work.

Alex exhaled and shook her head, but a smile crept on her lips. It was really nice to see Jordan happy. However, the thought of closing came with another issue. What the fuck did Lucifer want to talk about. The thought made her queasy.

#om! fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me fandom #obey me fluff #obey me humor #obey me au #om! lucifer #om! mammon #om! leviathan #om! satan #om! asmodeus #om! beelzebub #om! belphegor #om! solomon #om! luke #om! simeon #om! diavolo #om! barbatos #om! brothers #coffee shop au

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming​

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 1: The Restless Summer Air

The girl watched the toast pop up from the mint green Burlington toaster mere seconds after emitting the smell of the now charred breakfast. The toaster almost perfectly matched the vinyl covering on the kitchen chairs and the geometric pattern on the off-white linoleum flooring. The whole house, in fact, looked like it came straight out of a magazine, which, in all honesty, it had. Her mother had dog-eared the pages of the latest styles before they even bought the house. The kitchen, as noted, was mint and off-white themed. Clean and crisp. The living room, which flowed out from the kitchen, featured wood flooring adorned with a large ornate rug with a velvet baby pink couch and loveseat. The one piece that didn’t quite match the room was her father’s green-ish recliner. It was the sore thumb of the room that he refused to part with. The fireplace was surrounded by a brick mantle, on top of which was a wooden clock that ticked loudly. It was very nearly time for her to be on her way to school.

She sat in her usual seat at one end of the table watching her mother, who looked at the slightly charred toast with little regard and tossed it onto a plate. She watched as her mother haphazardly slathered it with strawberry jam. She was doing it wrong, again. 

Across from the girl’s place at the kitchen table was a full breakfast plate - two fried eggs, two pieces of (unburnt) toast, buttered, and three sausage links - next to a cup of coffee. The sun shining in from the living room illuminated the steam willowing out from the top of the mug like smoke from a chimney. It curved and swirled upwards, slithering almost, until it disappeared.

“Ed!” her mother called, for the fourth time, more shrill than the previous three. 

She plopped the plate of toast in front of her daughter before grabbing her “secret” pack of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer. When the girl heard the back door open and the strike of a match, she got up from her seat to grab the jar of jam and knife that were still on the counter. She dipped the knife gingerly into the jar and spread jam into the forgotten corners of the toast, but not so near the crust that her fingers would get sticky when she ate it. Then, she cut the toast diagonally. 

“Morning,” her father smiled at his daughter as he entered the kitchen. She smiled back, but her mouth was too full of toast to return his greeting. He was in one of his nicer suits today, the dark blue one, with a silk paisley tie. His coat was already swung over his arm, his hand clutching his briefcase beneath it. He blew quickly and gently on his coffee a few times before gulping some down, wincing. Still too hot. He gave up on it, and turned to leave. The girl’s smile dropped.

“What are you doing?” her mother’s voice came from behind her.

“Going to work, dear, like I do every morning,” he replied cheekily. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He paused, annoyed by the delay. His eye spied the full plate of food at his spot. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time to eat.”

He moved to leave.

“You’re supposed to bring her to school today.”

“Hun, I’ve got a meeting first thing. I really gotta go.”

“I have a hair appointment-”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kat-”

“Ed, you promised that you-”

“I hardly think your hair is-”

“That’s not the point-”

“Don’t forget who pays for your hair to look like that.”

“Here we go.”

“I’m not doing this now, end of discussion.”

He grabbed a piece of toast from his plate and shoved it into his mouth before leaving out the front door. 

Her mother slammed the back door shut. She hastily untied her apron and threw it on the counter, then rushed off to the powder room to fix her hair and put on some make up. 

The girl finished her toast in almost complete silence, but for the steady ticking of the clock.

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

The Academy basement was almost always dark when Gregg got in. Today was no exception. He enjoyed being the first one there. The more work he got done sooner, the better change he had of making it home for dinner. Granted, he didn’t always make it, but he made the effort, and that was enough for his wife. Plus, the mornings were quiet. He could get settled, organized. It was a different kind of quiet from the late nights. The morning quiet felt promising, hopeful in a way. The evening quiet was a slow drag, your thoughts muddled with too much information that had accumulated over the course of the day into a tangled ball of yarn. 

They had a coffee maker now, and an electric kettle. Some of the perks of the increased funding and attention the Behavioral Science Unit had received. Gregg would make a strong pot, stronger than he liked it. He was the odd one out in the team who preferred weaker coffee, so he would make it strong for their sake and add hot water to his mug until it was tempered to his liking. 

On this particular morning, Wendy was the next to arrive. She and Gregg exchanged silent greetings as she hung up her coat before retiring to her office. A stack of files was waiting for her on her desk, but it was only a partial set. The remaining files were in her briefcase, having been read the night before. She took them out and placed them in their own pile on her already busy desk. The “done” pile. Though not “done” as in finished with; “done” as in read and flagged with numerous Post-it Notes. 

The interviews had been behind ever since the Atlanta case, even though that was closed over a month ago. The phone had been ringing almost constantly with police from every county thinking every slightly disturbing murder was the work of a deranged psychopath. Poor Gregg was getting the brunt of the phone duty, which sucked up his time on more important work. They did get an answering machine, but between checking the tapes and the stacks of unsolicited faxes that would come through, it was becoming a full time job to sift through it all.

Wendy heard the main door open and wondered if it was Bill. She got up from her desk to check. She needed coffee, anyways. 

It was Holden. A few weeks ago, he would’ve asked her if Bill was in yet, but his late arrival was a regular occurrence by now. They exchanged their usual good morning head nod as Wendy exited to obtain her caffeine fix. 

Some papers floated off the edge of the fax machine tray, which was still spitting out pages.

“How long has this been going on?”

Gregg, fully immersed in a recording, didn’t hear Holden.

“Gregg,” he said louder.

Gregg paused the tape and removed his headphones.

“When did this start?” Holden asked, picking up the pages from the floor and stacking them, along with the rest, next to the fax machine.

“I’m not sure. It was empty when I got in this morning.”

Holden sighed as he gave a few of the pages a cursory glance. Nothing excited him.

Wendy returned armed with two cups of coffee. She gave the coat rack a scan for Bill’s coat, but it was still absent.  

“Hey,” Holden said, making his way over to Wendy. “Do you think we should’ve told him yesterday?”

“He had already gone home.”

Holden looked at the second coffee cup in Wendy’s hand, waiting for her to offer it to him. 

“Yeah, I know. But should we have called him?”

Wendy shook her head.

“He doesn’t need to be dealing with work when he’s at home.”

The hypocrisy of her advice isn’t lost on either of them. Holden’s not exactly innocent either. 

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“There’s not much we can do.”

Holden looked at the coffee again. This time Wendy noticed. 

They’re interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the hall. Moments later, Bill walked in, without a coat, looking slightly worse for wear than usual, with a manic glint in his eye.

“Morning, Bill,” Wendy said.

“Morning,” he responded reactively, not bothering to look in her direction. 

He stood at the coat rack for a moment before realizing he didn’t need to be there, then headed to his office. 

Holden and Wendy shared a look. She’s got this. Wendy followed Bill, both cups of coffee still in her hand, leaving Holden to fend for himself. 

Wendy leaned against the doorway of Bill’s office while he settled himself. She half expected the inside of his briefcase to be a slough of loose files, but he pulled out a single tidy, albeit thick, folder. 

Wendy said nothing. 

Bill sighed and finally looked up at her.

“Look, I appreciate the concern.”

“Bill-”

“I do. But what I really need right now is to not be treated like I’m a…a bird with a broken wing, or a child.”

He paused. 

“Or some other helpless thing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I know I look like shit.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

He almost smiled. 

“While Holden and I share some…concerns,” she continued. “That’s not entirely why I’m here.”

Wendy stepped inside his office, closing the door behind her, and took a seat, placing one of the coffee cups in front of Bill.

“Gunn came down here yesterday, after you left-”

“Shit.”

“He knows there’s something going on, more than whatever it is you’re telling him.”

Bill leaned his forehead into this hand, rubbing his temples. 

“He really likes playing us off each other, doesn’t he.”

“It’s actually rather smart, if you think about it,” Wendy responded wryly. “He knows by now that we talk to each other about this kind of stuff, and that Holden and I have a better chance of getting through to you than he does.”

Bill finally took note of the coffee in front of him and gulped some down. 

“What did you tell Gunn?” he asked.

“Nothing. I said I wasn’t specifically sure what was going on outside of work and assured him that we were catching up from time lost during the Atlanta case.”

“Is that true?”

“Marginally.”

He scoffed.

“But that’s not your fault,” she added.

They sat in the silence of a mutual understanding that nothing either of them could say would change the reality of the situation. 

Wendy shifted in her seat, about to stand up, when Bill interrupted her.

“Brian answered the phone this morning.”

She opened her mouth, but no words formed.

Every day since Nancy left with Brian, Bill had been calling her parents in Connecticut. There was nowhere else she could’ve gone to. She had no siblings, and had too much pride to confide in any of their friends. 

“I called this morning, expecting to leave another voice-mail, but after two rings it stops. I hear breathing. Background noise from the kitchen. Bacon sizzling.”

Each word is harder for Bill to say out loud, but he keeps his composure. Wendy can feel it, though. 

“And then I hear Nancy freak out, telling Brian to hang up the phone. Then…”

He imitated a dial-tone.

“I don’t know what to do, Wendy.”

She exhaled softly. She wasn’t sure either. 

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

That was her cue to leave. She paused in the doorway, and turned back around.

“You don’t have to tell Gunn everything. Just, something with a grain of truth. Enough that he feels you’re being honest with him and will give you some leeway.”

“I will.”

“Sooner rather than later.”

Bill nodded.

“He’s out today, yeah?” She nodded back. “I’ll tell him next week. Promise.”

Wendy left him with a sympathetic smile. 

Holden was finally settled at his desk when Gregg interrupted him.

“I’ve got an Arthur Osborn on the line. Alaska State Trooper. He’s got a case that I think it worth looking into.”

Don’t they all.

“And he asked for me specifically?”

“You or Bill, but I figured…”

“Yeah, sure, put him through.”

A moment later, Holden’s phone rang.

“Special Agent Holden Ford.”

“Agent Ford, thanks for taking my call.” Osborn’s voice was deep and had a midwest lilt. Definitely not a native Alaskan. 

“How can I help?”

“We’ve had four young women found dead in less than two years. All of them under 21. The youngest,” his voice cracked, “was eleven.”

Holden waited for him to compose himself.

“They were noted as missing before the bodies were found,” Osborn continued. “Two months ago, Lori King, 18, was reported missing. We think it was the same guy. We want to find him before she ends up like the others.”

“Of course. What condition were the bodies in when they were found?”

Osborn took a deep breath. “There was significant decomp by the time we found them.”

“Anything notable in how they were staged?”

“Staged?”

“Yes. Positioned. When you found them, were they sitting up, lying down, what were their arms and legs doing…”

“Nothing particular, really, I don’t think. We have photos.”

“Good. It’s possible this is the same unsub, but I’ll need to look at everything you’ve got on it.”

“Yes, Agent Ford.”

“Did you already fax us the files?” Holden was already dreading having to dig the related pages out of the stacks.

“What? No, no. We thought we better call first.”

“Good thinking. Send them through when you get a chance. We’ll take a look.”

“Thank you.”

Less than thirty minutes later, the fax machine started printing.

Later that afternoon, Holden gathered the rest of the team in the war room to review the Fairbanks case files. It turned out Osborn was right in his suspicion that this could be the work of the same unsub.

“Our first victim is Glinda Sodemann, 19. Newly wed and a new mother. She went missing from her home in North Pole on August 29, 1979.” 

Holden pinned a photo of Glinda onto the board.

“Her husband came home to the baby asleep in the crib and Glinda gone. There were no signs of foul play, and no indication that she would have had a reason to run away. Two months later, her decomposing body was found near Moose Creek, just over twenty miles south of Fairbanks, in a gravel pit near the highway.”

Next to the smiling black and white yearbook photo of Glinda, Holden pinned the photo from the dump site. 

“She was shot in the face with a .38 caliber. The pistol cartridge was found next to the body. There were no signs of sexual assault.”

“Did they look into the husband,” Bill interjected.

Holden nodded.

“He was their prime suspect for a while. Even failed a polygraph. But there was no evidence.”

The next photo Holden put up was of an even younger girl.

“Almost a year after Glinda disappeared, 11-year-old Doris Oehring goes missing from North Pole. Her and her older brother were riding their bikes on June 11. She had ridden ahead of him, and when he caught up to her he saw her talking to a man with a blue car. The hood was popped open as if he had engine trouble. As soon as her brother got closer, the man slammed the hood, got back in his car, and sped off. Two days later, Doris disappeared.”

“Were they able to get a description from the brother?” Gregg asked.

“They got a rough sketch,” Holden answered, adding said sketch to the board. “The brother said he thought the man was wearing a blue shirt that looked like a uniform.”

“Military?” Wendy suggested.

“Air Force.” 

“There’s a base in Fairbanks,” Bill added.

“They found Doris’ bike hidden in the bushes near her home. A witness said they saw a blue car near that area around the time of her disappearance. The driver appeared to be struggling with someone or something in the seat next to him.”

“Fuck,” Bill muttered under his breath.

“They also said it looked like he had a military haircut. Now, based on all of the descriptions of the perpetrator, the state troopers got a list of every single blue car that was registered to drive on the Eielson Air Base. Anyone want to guess how many names are on that list?”

They looked around at one another.

“One hundred?” Gregg suggested.

“550,” Holden responded. “They questioned Glinda’s husband again. This time the polygraph was inconclusive.”

The team collectively rolled their eyes at that cursed word.

“They brought a polygraph expert in after that to question him again. They said that he had an irregular heartbeat that made it impossible for him to pass a polygraph. It would always show either as failed or inconclusive. Due to lack of alternative evidence, they had to remove him as a suspect, at least for Doris’ disappearance.”

They fell silent, processing the implications of this information. How many people failed a polygraph because of a heart condition?

“The third disappearance happened January 31,” Holden continued. “Marlene Peters, the oldest victim so far at age 20. She was last seen hitchhiking from Fairbanks to Anchorage to visit her sick father. Now, initially, there wasn’t enough reason to think that her disappearance was connected to the others. Five weeks later, Wendy Wilson, 16, goes missing. She was also last seen hitchhiking, and a witness saw her get into a white pickup in Moose Creek. They found her body three days later, over thirty miles south of Fairbanks. She had been strangled and then shot in the face. Two months later, Marlene’s body was found in similar condition, not far from where Wendy’s had been. Which also happened to be very close to -”

“Eielson Air Base,” Bill finished.

“Bingo. The latest disappearance occurred a couple days after they found Marlene’s body. Lori King, 19.” Holden puts Lori’s photo on the board. “She was last seen walking alone in Fairbanks.”

“Did they ever find Doris Oehring?” Wendy asked.

“No. They’ve searched near the air base and all the areas where the other bodies were found, but no sign of Doris, or Lori.”

Holden took a step away from the board, indicating his descent into theorizing.

“He’s single. Lives alone. Definitely has issues with women.” The team all nodded in agreement. “Probably has a hard time holding a job. He has a history with the military, but I don’t think he’s part of the Air Base.” 

“Even though it’s close to the dump site of the victims,” Gregg inquired.

“It’s more notable that the bodies were dumped off the highway. It doesn’t feel like it’s about the proximity to the Air Base,” Holden replied. “So, why does he shoot them in the face?”

“To hide their identity?” Gregg suggested.

Wendy shook her head.

“It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s a relatively tight knit community. People know that these women are missing, and identifying them wouldn’t be that difficult, even after their faces had been shot. It’s more about substitution. He’s taking them and killing them in place of the person - woman - that his aggression is actually directed at. Once they’re dead, he sees that they didn’t fulfill the fantasy in the way that he wanted, so he disfigures their face to erase their identity in order to satisfy his illusion.”

Gregg nodded.

“I disagree about the military aspect, however,” she continued. “I think it’s highly likely he does work at the Air Base in some capacity.”

“Because of the haircut and the blue car?” Holden responded.

“And the uniform. The location of the bodies. The evidence we’ve accumulated from other cases. He likely has disciplinary issues, maybe even a history of abusive behavior towards women.”

“Okay.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he also had a history of institutionalization,” Bill added. “He feels tangibly unhinged.”

“Okay,” Holden repeated. “I think we’ve got a good basis for a profile.”

Holden faced the team, hands on his hips.

“Hey, we should grab a drink later. It’s been a while.”

“I got to get home to the family,” Gregg replied.

Holden gave him an understanding smile as Gregg grabbed his notebook and left the war room. He turned and looked expectantly at Bill and Wendy, his real targets.

“Come on, it’s a Friday. We’ll go to The Fern.”

“I don’t think so, Holden,” Wendy declined.

“Yeah, I’m not really feeling it tonight,” Bill added.

Holden shot Wendy a look. For Bill’s sake.

She contemplated, and gave in.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Come on, Bill. I’ll go if you do.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“My other condition,” Wendy added, “is that we find a new place.”

“What happened? I thought you liked going to The Fern?” 

She shrugged.

“It wasn’t as great as I thought it was.”

Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” was playing upon their arrival at The Velvet Arrow. It was not as full, or as dive-y, as The Fern, but it was certainly more bizarre in its decor. The walls were covered in a mix of Native American art and 1950s advertisements. The bar stools, true to the name, were covered in red velvet (and stains) that reminded one of movie theater seats. Thankfully, the booths where they chose to sit were vinyl.

“I’ve got the first round,” Holden offered. “Bill?”

“Bourbon.”

Holden turned to Wendy.

“White wine. Thanks.”

When Holden was safely out of earshot, Wendy leaned in towards Bill.

“Did you tell him about this morning?”

Bill shook his head.

“Okay.”

It was understood that the phone call with Brian stayed between them. They both agreed that Holden needs to know enough of what’s going on to not be a dick, but not so much that he gets too involved. 

“It really feels like we’re his parents sometimes,” Wendy noted.

Bill exhaled loudly through his nose.

“That kid, I tell ya.”

They shared a small laugh as Holden returned with their drinks.

“What’s so funny?”

“Wendy just told a great joke,” Bill replied.

She cut him a glare, tempered with a smirk. 

“Wendy told a joke?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” she replied, more defensively than intended.

“No, I mean -” Holden flustered. “You’re…funny.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why do I feel like I was the joke,” he added.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Bill grinned.

Wendy sipped her wine. At least it was better than whatever they had at The Fern, not that The Velvet Arrow’s was in any way exceptional. She scanned the rest of the bar. It was mostly men, military looking men at that. A few of them were here with what appear to be girlfriends, or at least hopefuls. 

Her heart stopped. A woman at the bar, a customer, back turned. Her slight frame and long straight brown hair were familiar. No. It couldn’t be. 

She gulped down more of her wine, unable to turn her eyes away, just in case the woman turned her head to get confirmation or denial. 

“How about it, Wendy?” Holden asked.

She turned to look at him.

“What?”

“Darts. Wanna play?”

“Um...”

“Come on,” Bill coaxed.

“Fine.”

While the men got up, Wendy stole a glance back at the woman. Her profile was in full view now, and it was a face she didn’t recognize. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“You coming?” Holden asked.

“Hmm? Yes.”

She anticipated how poorly she’d do. Bill and Holden assuredly had low expectations.

“Ladies first,” Bill said, handing Wendy a dart. 

She slowly shook her head at him, a slight smile on her face, and took the dart. It was heavier than she expected. It was just like archery, right? She did that once, at a summer camp. Poorly. 

Wendy stared down the dartboard. 

Square up. Shoulders to the pins.

Kay’s voice came into her head. She positioned herself.

Now, put your weight on your left foot.

She did.

Take a deep breath and just do it.

Wendy fired the dart.

It stuck two inches from the center.

Bill and Holden didn't bother to hide their surprise, nor their delight.

“40 points,” Holden exclaimed.

“Nicely done, Dr. Carr,” Bill beamed.

“Looks like we’ve got to step it up, Bill,” Holden added.

The game ended with Bill winning both rounds; Wendy and Holden earned a second and a third place ranking each. The trio walked out to the parking lot in the warm summer air. It still smelled like smoke, but it was fresher than inside the bar at least.

“See you Monday, then,” Holden said.

They waved their goodbyes and entered their respective vehicles. Wendy was about to pull out when she heard an engine struggling. 

It was Holden’s. 

She looked around and saw that Bill had already driven off. Holden looked at Wendy from across the parking lot. Their eyes met. There was no escaping now.

She got out of her car and walked over.

“Need a jump?”

Holden sighed. “I think so. Bill’s gone already?” She nodded. “Do you have cables?”

“I can check.”

Wendy looked in the back of her car and the trunk, but no luck. She returned to Holden empty handed.

“I’ll call a tow truck,” he concluded.

“At this hour?”

Holden shrugged.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” she offered. “You can deal with it in the morning.”

Holden willingly agreed.

Wendy turned on the radio, hoping it would keep Holden’s small talk at bay.

“So how do you think Bill’s doing? Like, really?” he asked.

She thought about it.

“I think he’s handling it as well as he knows how. I mean, how is someone even supposed to cope with your wife leaving with your child while you’re gone, with no contact whatsoever?”

“I offered him one of my Valiums the other day,” Holden said casually.

“You did what?”

“You know, just to maybe help take the edge off.” Wendy shook her head. “He declined, by the way.”

“You really shouldn’t be offering prescription drugs to people.” As if it needed saying.

“Well, when you phrase it like that,” he smirked. “Left up here, then I’m on the right.”

Wendy turned and pulled up to Holden’s building. He took off his seatbelt, but didn’t get out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride, Wendy.”

She smiled politely. He smiled back, still not making any move to leave.

“Do you want to come in?” he offered. “For a cup of coffee, or something?”

“Uh, no. Thank you.”

Holden wasn’t phased by the rejection, which only made Wendy more convinced he would keep trying.

“Okay.” He opened the door to leave. “Drive safe.”

She nodded. He closed the car door behind him.

Wendy saw him in her mirror standing outside, watching her drive away, before disappearing inside.

#op* #mindhunter #mindhunteredit #mindhunter fic #a tide in a city #wendy carr #bill tench #holden ford #gregg smith #ted gunn #it has been 84 years since i posted a fic

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 4

Hello again! Did ya miss me? (of course you didn’t. I haven’t gone anywhere) Please enjoy the next installment of a Simeon Sin Fest that shouldn’t be allowed. As usual, lemme know what you think!

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10] Pairing: Simeon x Reader Genre: Smut Wordcount: 5,300 ish Tags: Sex toys, smut, femdom, anal toys, cock rings, oral, face sitting, body worship Summary:  After a long night of being played with, it's only fair that you got to do the same to Simeon.

Skid

To say you had a wild night would have been an understatement. Simeon was relentless in his experiments and you were subjected to a full array of toys and techniques that you never imagined to go through. You couldn’t help but enjoy ever second of it. Even if he said it was for his book, even if it was all pretend, he lavished you with attention and you drank up every drop of it. All you asked for was a little affection and he was more than happy to give that for you in exchange for watching you cum time and time again. You had lost count of how many times you had climaxed under his watch, eventually passing out from exhaustion and begging for a break.

When you awoke, you were still on the floor but a large, soft comforter had been wrapped around you, tucking you in neatly into a bundle on the ground. The sun streaming past the curtains gave you a vague idea of just how late you had slept in. Rubbing your eyes and looking around, you found Simeon sleeping soundly on the couch nearby. He had put his sweater back on and a small throw was carelessly draped across his abdomen. He must have been in the middle of doing something when he finally fell asleep considering how he still had his glasses on.

Your whole body hurt both from sleeping on the hard ground and also from all the activities of the night before. Stretching a bit, you worked the soreness out of your body bit by bit as you went through the motions of waking up. You tried to keep the noises to a minimum considering Simeon was right there, but it was difficult to hide a groan of pain or two from escaping when it came to stretching your back and arms.

Surprisingly enough, he stayed asleep through everything and you carefully waddled over to him with the comforter wadded up in your arms, fully intent on covering him properly to prevent him from catching a cold. Just as you were about to spread the comforter over him, your caught a glimpse of the notebook in his hand. Curiosity got the better of you and you were immediately distracted by what he had scribbled in that little book. Carefully putting the blanket down, you peeled the book from his grasp. He mumbled slightly in his sleep, stirring a bit, but didn’t wake. You breathed a sigh of relief and went right into flipping through the pages.

You thought he had gone through all the ideas in his head; however, the chapter outlines in his notebook told you a completely different story. Just glancing at the few words he had scribbled down for each scene had your cheeks and ears flushing hot with embarrassment and a fair amount of desire. You didn’t think he was capable of such scenarios, yet the proof was staring right at you. You blinked, noticing the next thing he had underlined and smiled to yourself. The premise would be perfect payback for everything he had put you though.

Putting your little scheme into motion, you tucked him in properly, took his glasses off his face and let him rest for as long as he needed to. If he could spend a whole night tormenting you to climax over and over again; you had found the perfect opportunity to do the same to him. You needed him to be well rested and ready for that. Anyway, he looked too angelic while sleeping for you to wake him up without warning.

Simeon eventually came to about an hour later. He groaned, looking around and noticing not only the comforter around him, but his glasses and notebook tucked neatly to the side. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him when he saw the empty spot on the floor. He swallowed, wondering if you had enough of him and left. He carefully got up, checking his surroundings and heaved a sigh of relief when he noticed your overnight bag was still where he had left it.

He was drawn to sounds in the kitchen and when he approached he was greeted with the most domestic scene that warmed his heart.

You had found one of his over-sized sweaters to wear. It almost came down to your knees and because of its size, you thought it would be perfect to just not wear pants. He watched you as you padded around the kitchen making breakfast out of leftovers. You hummed softly to yourself, completely unaware of him watching you until you turned and saw him at the doorway. Startled, you nearly dropped the bowl of fried rice you just finished making. “Oh, I didn’t notice you had woken up. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed a few things.” You smiled sheepishly at your attire.

“Oh no, it suits you.” He said softly, coming over and taking the bowl from your hands. His fingers brushed against yours momentarily and you felt your heart flutter. There was so much kindness in his eyes and a gentleness to all his motions, you wondered if the manic, sex driven god you saw last night was a dream. The ache between your legs told you it had definitely been your reality.

He went about as if nothing happened, helping you out with breakfast and brewing some tea to go with the meal. He had to be careful, he already had a sampling of going right to the edge with you and it was so addicting, his whole body was itching to do it again. Seeing you wearing his clothes also did something to him he didn’t expect. There was a surge of pride, and arousal, that came about when he saw how well you wore his sweater. When he stood close to you, pressed against you to get some dishes, he could smell the cloying scent of his laundry detergent mixed with your unique scent. It was a heady mixture that shot hormones straight to his groin and he had to steel himself from lewd thoughts to keep himself decent. It was much too early in the morning to deal with this.

All he wanted was a peaceful meal with you; but it seemed his mind had other plans. He kept replaying every moment you came undone and screamed his name. The way you moaned for him was so alluring and he nearly lost himself more than once. For as ancient as he was, Simeon thought he had perfect control over his emotions and his desires; but you were showing him that wasn’t the case at all. Every little thing you did seemed to give him more ideas and more ways to ravish you without experiencing a fall. The fire he played with was hot, but the reward was worth it in the end.

He struggled through eating breakfast and you could tell his mind was in the gutter. It was so adorable how hard he tried to hide it from you. He wasn’t being subtle at all, fidgeting and half paying attention to the conversation at hand. It only made you want to pounce on him even more, but you had to be patient. There was a time and place for everything and breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I used your shower while you were sleeping.” You nonchalantly said while cleaning up the last of the rice.

“Oh… Oh not at all,” he stuttered, feeling the tips of his ears burning when the image of your wet body in his shower flashed across his mind’s eye. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. “So, is there anything that you’d like to do today? I feel like after uhm… what happened last night, I should let you choose how you would like to spend the rest of your time here.”

You couldn’t get enough of how he switched between adorably innocent and intensely sexy. If only you could figure out what made him tick, it would be a gold mine. You wanted to press all his buttons at once to see him come apart at the seams. He had broken you down to your base needs so easily, it only seemed fair that you did the same to him. As if the gods of fortune were smiling down upon you, he even offered to do whatever it was you wanted. You show just how excited you were when he put such a lovely gift in your lap. “I have a few ideas…” you replied, leaving a fair bit of vagueness in your answer. “But let’s get dishes done before we get too busy.”

The innuendos in your words had him thinking of scenario after scenario all which involved you being in a compromising position. He wanted to act upon those base instincts of his to simply take what he wanted; but he had already resigned control of the day to you and he would be good about it. He was an angel after all, doing the bare minimum and showing some control over his desires was the least he could do to slow his inevitable descent into the dark world of carnal pleasures. “Let me take care of that, you did the cooking. I asked you over to relax and celebrate your time with me, not cook and work.”

Perfect. You almost felt bad for taking advantage of his innately kind disposition.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I had so much fun, it didn’t even feel like work,” you chirped but didn’t stop him from going to the sink and doing the dishes as he said he would. “Well, I’ll come up with something to do while you’re doing chores then,” you were nearly singing in excitement and it took every bit of self control you had to not skip out of the kitchen and put your devious plan in full swing.

By the time Simeon was done, the house was eerily quiet. He hadn’t heard you rustling about at all while he was cleaning. He had expected you to choose a movie to watch or maybe even suggest a stroll through his gardens. But, you were no where to be found which was concerning. Honestly, he was a little anxious to find out what you had planned for him. Stepping back out into the living room, he looked around and didn’t see you there at all. An irrational wave of panic set in and he wondered if you had somehow packed up and left him.

Using his confusion to your advantage, you sneaked up behind him from your hiding spot and grabbed his arms, quickly pulling them behind him and securing them with a pair of thick leather cuffs you had found in his giant trunk of sex paraphernalia. The bewildered look he gave you as the cuffs clicked into place was so cute and you almost felt sorry for springing the surprise on him. “What.. what are you doing?” He asked, pulling against the bindings. You had purposefully kept them loose. If he wanted to leave, he was free to do so at any time. They weren’t there to keep him restrained, they were there to remind him you were in control.

You stalked around him, and he was drawn to the sound of heels clicking against the floor. Looking down, he noticed the tall platforms you had put on while he wasn’t looking. You were still wearing nothing else except for his sweater and he couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder of lust that ran down his spine to rest at his crotch. He hoped you didn’t notice; but with the way you were watching his every reaction, he knew you had seen it.

The smile on your face was full of mischief and a bit feral. Something about losing all control of the situation had Simeon’s mind blanking out and he was equal parts terrified of what you were capable of as well as quickly becoming aroused in anticipation of what you had planned. You lead him to the couch and made him sit on the edge of the cushion, all the while exuding every bit of confidence you could get out of being in control for the day. “So, I went through some of your notes...”

He audibly swallowed, breaking out in a cold sweat when he realized you had found the darkest depths of his desires. The chill that washed over him was replaced with shame as he tried to explain himself. As soon as he opened his mouth, you put a finger on his lips to hush him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” you drawled. You paced back and forth slowly, the clack of your heels against the floor echoing in the room “What I want to know, is how you expect this interrogation scene to work with me.”

You picked up the notebook and flipped through the pages, ignoring most of what he had already written until you landed on the page you were referring to. “You see, it clearly states that the main character’s partner gets caught and then interrogated… Last time I checked, I’m your stand in for the main character. Which means...” You smirked, dragging a finger down his cheek. “You get all the fun of all the scenes involving the partner, the husband… and maybe even the boss, right?”

Simeon nodded dumbly at your analysis; unable to argue with you. He had considered using you as a stand-in for those scenes as well, but he had no idea how to approach you about it. The solution you came up with was both brilliant and dangerous. Without being in control, who knew just how much further he would slip into the darkness to just be with you. It was a risk he was willing to take though. The cuffs that kept his arms bound behind him kept him firmly in place despite being loose. In the short time he had known human pleasure, he had already put his full trust in you.

“Okay… well, we’ve got the whole handcuffed part down. Next… we get a little spicy.” To see Simeon so docile and willing to participate in your little play made it all the more exciting to you. You made a show of rifling through his trunk of toys, bending over so he could get a good look at the lacy underthings you put on under his sweater. You mumbled to yourself as you went through all the options you had in front of you. Your fingers brushed across a few lengths of ropes, considering them for a moment before you left them be for the time being. Today would be a test of how far he would let you go, ropes could always wait until later.

For now, you had much more important matters to attend to. The most pressing matter being the fact that Simeon had too many clothes on. Setting aside the toys you had chosen, you stalked back over to him, making sure to keep your selection out of his direct line of sight. “First thing’s first, let’s see what I get to work with, shall we?” You asked, pressing a knee between his thighs to spread his legs apart. Leaning in, you kissed him deeply, breathed in his scent and started the scene you had schemed about since the morning into action.

You couldn’t get enough of how soft his lips were, or how wonderful he sounded whenever he let out a soft, breathy moan. Pulling away after a heated make out session, you were rather happy to see the slightest tinge of read on his cheeks and a glassy haze over his eyes. “Adorable.” You purred leaning in again to pepper his skin with more kisses along his jaw and his neck. You could feel his body tense as you explored it, but he didn’t deny you or stop you with his safe word. You figured he could take notes on how to write a sexy interrogation scene without actually being interrogated. You really weren’t in the right mindset to come up with some cheesy dialog which could throw the mood off.

Since you were going to focus on the experience, it meant that you were free to lavish his skin with kisses and light love bites until he was a shivering mess. You knew no matter how much affection you gave him, nothing would come from it. It was the nature of your relationship with him. But, you hoped you could at least convey your feelings for him while you had him at your mercy. So you poured every bit of your adoration you had for him into every kiss and every caress, hoping he would get the message.

Your fingers played at the hem of his sweater, teasing the skin of his abdomen with feather light touches while you kissed what skin was exposed. When you were sure you had given every inch attention, you peeled the sweater over his head to give you a new expanse of skin to work with. You couldn’t help but grin wickedly, watching him shiver as the sweater was pulled over his head. It dropped down his arms, stopping right at the cuffs, framing his body. If you squinted in the early daylight, it almost looked like a pair of fluffy white wings coming from him.

“My precious angel...” You murmured softly, looking at him fondly. “You’re so cute.”

You shifted so that you straddled him properly and pushed him back to rest against the cushions of the couch. In his new half-laying position, you had much more access to the skin you just revealed and you were more than happy to shower him with more kisses; worshiping his body and everything he was willing to give you.

It was so beautiful to hear him moan and shudder under you. His lithe body tensed and relaxed in time with what you did to him. You quickly learned what drew out the best sounds from him and made sure to revisit the spots that brought out the most delicious moans. His nipples were especially sensitive and every touch sent him keening. You could feel his cock twitch under you as you teased his body to the peaks of arousal without giving him what he undoubtedly wanted.

You hummed, grinding yourself against his growing hard on while you continued to give his torso more attention. Curious, you wrapped your lips around a nipple and sucked, licking the tender skin there and the scream that came from him was absolutely heavenly. You quickly became addicted to that sound and redoubled your efforts in eliciting that noise from him. He strained against his bindings but remained careful not to break them. You being on top of him was doing things to his mind he never thought were possible and he was quickly losing himself to all the sensations you were giving him.

“Please…” He begged after you had given his nipple ample attention. “I need something mo-- Ahhh” You ignored his pleas as you simply switched to his neglected nipple. Your lips made sure to give it the same attention as its partner while your fingers traced the waistband of his pants. You would give him more on your own terms, and right now you were very busy getting him to scream your name while you teased him.

He wasn’t sure just how much more teasing he could take from you and futilely rolled his up to you in an attempt to get your attention. Much to your dismay, you only ground down on him harder to keep his hips still. You bit his chest hard, enough to make him gasp and leave little teeth marks on his skin. “You’ll get more once you behave.” you explained simply before going back to caressing and kissing him.

Simeon felt delirious by the time you were finally ready to get off his lap and help him out of his pants. He was very sure they had gotten soiled with how much his cock was leaking with need. As soon as you peeled his pants off of him, he sighed in relief, no longer having anything restricting his aching cock. “Ooh… someone’s so excited.” You drawled, dragging a finger up and down his shaft. He gasped, heaving deep breaths as a new onslaught of sensations washed over him.  

You wanted nothing more than to sink your pussy down on his length and feel it stretch you out; but you needed to remain respectful of his wishes. Anyway, you had many more plans for him. You were acting out an ‘interrogation’ scene after all. What was an interrogation without some torture? You smiled softly at him while your finger swirled around the tip of his cock. “Ah… now for the fun part.” you said softly, leaning down and giving his dribbling member a chaste kiss.

You walked over to the coffee table where you had set aside the toys for the session and wrapped your fingers around the cock ring you had chosen. You made sure he was well aware of every one of your actions and forced him to watch as you slipped the ring down his length until it rested right at the juncture between the shaft of his cock and his balls. He let out a soft whimper as he felt the pressure on his cock. His expression was full of pleading when he looked up at you, begging you with his eyes to release him.

“Now now, my precious angel...” You cooed, tilting his head up to keep his eyes on you. “I can’t have you cum until I think you’ve done a good job. You can do a good job, right?”

Simeon looked at you blankly, nodding vigorously to whatever terms you were going to give him. He had been so close to climax as soon as you had taken his pants off of him and now, you had forbidden him from the release he craved. He was willing to do whatever it took to get to that high again.

“Good boy...” You praised before helping him up and repositioning him to bend over the arm of the couch with his legs spread and his ass up in the air for you. The sight of his cock hanging between his legs was so tantalizing, you couldn’t help but give it a few loving strokes which rewarded you with a shaky moan from Simeon.

You smirked, running your hand across the swell of his ass and spent a good few moments caressing his cock and balls, pulling a few more needy moans from him before you moved to the next thing you had in mind. “Let me know if this hurts now...” you said, lubing up your fingers and teasing his ass crack. “I don’t want to break you so early.” You dribbled a liberal amount of lube in between his cheeks to make the next part as smooth as possible.

When you pressed your first finger in him, he let out a strangled gasp, struggling wildly against his restraints and you waited for him to stop you. But he didn’t. Simeon simply looked like he was reeling in the experience and eventually calmed down enough for you to start sliding your finger in and out of him. The surprised gasps soon turned into pleasured moans and you felt confident enough to continue stretching him out more.

The process was gruelingly slow, but it was worth it to see his blissed out face in the end when you managed to fit three fingers in and he was a mewling mess against the couch cushions. “Good boy… Time for you reward.” you purred and reached for the glittering plug you had set aside.

You carefully removed your fingers and he whimpered when he was fully empty. Oh, he’s going to regret sounding like that soon… You thought wickedly as you spread the lube on the plug. Slowly, oh so slowly, you started easing it into him and watched as his expression changed from bliss to shock and then back to pure pleasure. The plug glittered so beautifully in the sun once it was inside of him you couldn’t help but give his ass a satisfied smack, making him jump a little.

“How’s that feel?”

“G-good...” He said breathlessly. He didn’t realize just how tense his body had become during the whole process until the toy was snugly inside of him. Now that the weight of it sat inside and the base stretched him out just so, he was in a world of nothing but pleasure. Your hand idly stroking his aching cock only added to the sensations and he was sure he would faint soon if he wasn’t allowed to cum.

“Good. You did so well, my precious angel…” you cooed. There really wasn’t any better pet name for him, you decided. He was just everything you ever expected out of an angel and it felt right to call him that while he was in your care. “Are you ready for your reward?”

He nodded, barely comprehending your words. You guided him to lounge back on the couch to give his legs a rest. The shift in positioning meant the plug only went deeper into him and pressed against a spot inside that made him see stars as soon as he sat down. You waited patiently for him to ride out the wave of sensations before you finally gave his cock the attention it deserved.

You wrapped your lips around the tip of his dick, giving it a good suck and swirled your tongue around it which caused Simeon’s hips to nearly levitate right off the couch. You firmly pressed him back down, keeping your hands on his thighs to prevent him from squirming too much. His breaths came out in shallow pants as you took his cock into your mouth inch by inch until your teeth caught on the ring at the base. Careful to not hurt him, you slowly pulled the ring off his cock one agonizing inch at a time.

Looking up at him with the toy in your mouth, you were greeted by the most angelic image of an absolutely debauched Simeon. His hair a mess and his eyes glazed over, he almost didn’t seem all present until he heard the toy drop from your mouth and onto the ground. Then, only then did he scream your name as you gave him the blissful release he had craved when your hot mouth was once again over his cock.

You let him squirm and thrust his hips into your mouth, accepting everything he was giving you as best you could. Urging him on by moaning into his dick as you sucked him off, it took almost no time at all for him to cum gratefully down your throat. The load was large enough to leave a bit of if dribbling down the corner of your mouth as you struggled to swallow it all. Pulling off his cock with a lewd pop, you looked over at him and pouted. “Ahh… it looks like someone had fun...” you drawled.

“I… yes...” He breathed, still breathless from finally climaxing. The sun glistened off of his sweaty skin as he took deep breaths to bring himself back to earth.

“So I get my turn now, as fair payment, right?”

“I… What?”

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” You let out a soft giggle, getting up from between his legs and moved him so you he was laying down across the cushions of the couch. “I still need release.”

He had no idea what you were about to do until you positioned yourself to straddle his head. He got a clear view of your dripping wet pussy and just the sight alone was mind blowing. “So, why don’t you show me what that pretty tongue of yours can do?” You asked, moving your panties to the side and sinking down onto his face.

He was surrounded by your scent, your heat and the taste of you. Simeon was more than eager to flick his tongue out and trace your soaking slit, savoring the feast you were giving him. He could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter to him. He eagerly tilted his head up to meet you and licked at everything you offered him. His lips eventually found your clit and he latched onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The moment you felt his tongue and lips on your clit, you knew it would be the end for you. You had already been holding off your arousal for so long in your quest to conquer him that when you finally got stimulation it was absolutely wonderful. You didn’t hold back your praises as you urged him to keep going. Your moans filled the room alongside the lewd sounds of his licking and lapping at your folds. You could get used to his anti-pussy fucking demands if it meant that his talented tongue could work you to orgasm over and over again instead of a cold toy.

“Oh… Oh fuck, Simeon...” you whined as you crested over the edge and came all over his face. You felt him greedily lap up everything he had access to, sending shivers all over your body until you were a shuddering, overstimulated mess.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from him, finally giving him the space to take an unhindered breath. You settled on his chest, watching him gasp for air. The lower half of his face was covered in your slick and it was such an arousing sight, you couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him, tasting the remnants of yourself on his lips as you did so. “You did so well…” you praised once the kiss broke.

You stroked his hair gently and let him come down from whatever highs he was feeling. Taking the cuffs off of him, he examined his wrists for any marks and was rather satisfied to see that there were none. It would have been a shame if his beautiful skin was marred by a toy and not your teeth or nails. In the moments that scene ended, all tension in his body seemed to leave at once and he was a limp noodle in your arms.

You went to go get some water to sip on and helped clean off the worst of the fluids between the two of you. Reaching around him, you started to remove the plug still inside of him and he stopped you. “I… Let me wear it a little longer.”

“Alright.” you conceded and settled yourself next to him, letting him rest his head on your bosom and ride out everything. “You did so well...” you murmured, meditatively stroking his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll make a great chapter out of this.” He reassured, partially dozing off and clinging to your borrowed sweater. “I promise I’ll make you proud.”

“You already do.”  You said softly, pulling a nearby throw over and covering him with it. “Rest, you’ve worked hard today, my precious angel.”

He mumbled something unintelligible as a reply before snuggling up closer to you, quickly falling asleep from exhaustion. You let yourself slip into a light sleep as well, knowing your calves would hate you for being in such high heels for so long. It was worth it, though.

What you didn’t know was Simeon was now far from being a precious angel now that he had a taste of sin and temptation.

#Obey me #obey me simeon #Obey me fanfiction #Obey me smut #Simeon x Reader #Obey me AU #My writing #Wow this is so much sin #I almost feel bad #I still hate every word I write right now #but hey it's getting the job done #I am not subtle with the heaven jabs

[c-swirlz]

A Party and Quality Time | Sanders Sides Oneshot (Virgil ‘Birthday’ Special)

Summary: Virgil has never had a party. Remus is determined to change that.

Pairing(s): Platonic Dukexiety

Content/trigger warning(s): Innuendos, swearing/profanity, nudity mention, food mentions, Christmas mentions

[AO3 link]

|| I’m a day late with a ‘birthday’ special again, but eh. Happy Birthday, Virgil! ||

When Virgil was younger, he had yearned for a party. Every year, on the 19th of December, he would go about his day hoping to turn a corner and find the Others waiting around it to surprise him with a cake and decorations strung on the ceiling.

That never happened.

Every year, on Virgil’s ‘birthday’, all he would get were a few mutters of, “Happy birthday,” as he made his way around the Others’ sector of the Mindscape, nothing else. It wasn’t that they didn’t care enough to throw a party -- most of them were just preoccupied with messing with the Cores’ Christmas preparations -- without them knowing, of course -- around that time of year.

After a while, Virgil stopped yearning. He accepted that he would never be thrown a birthday party. Even after he became a Core Side, the other three were always too busy with Christmas preparations (oddly enough, the Others stopped messing with them after Virgil joined them), though Patton would apologise profusely every year. Virgil would simply shrug it off and act as if it wasn’t a big deal.

It was, but Virgil would never say that aloud.

Then came Remus’ debut. Virgil had always felt unsettled by Remus’ presence, but the two of them had been the best of friends, once. Years ago, Remus had said that if Virgil ever wanted to hang out, he’d be there, though Virgil doubted that offer still stood.

So, come December 19th after Remus’ debut, the last thing Virgil was expecting was to be visited by the Side in question.

“What the hell do you want?”

Remus flashed his acquaintance a manic grin, and Virgil couldn’t help but notice that the other’s teeth were remarkably clean compared to other times he’d seen them. Since when did Remus care about personal hygiene?

“Now now, Emo, is that any way to greet a friend who just wants to show you a good time?”

Remus wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Virgil gagged, glancing over his shoulder and looking at literally anything else for a moment before getting the courage to face Remus again.

“Just answer the question.”

Remus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest with a pout. “Jeez, Virgil, you’re still such a party pooper. Speaking of parties -- and to answer your question, I simply want to show you a little something I put together for your special day.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “What?”

Remus lunged forward and grabbed Virgil’s wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip as the anxious Side struggled, attempting to pull away.

Remus sunk down, taking Virgil with him.

~---~

Virgil opened his mouth to scream a string of profanities at Remus as the two of them reappeared, but the words died in his throat as he caught a glimpse of the sight in front of him. He was so busy gawking that he almost failed to realise they were in Remus’ half of the Imagination.

Black and purple streamers were strung up in the trees, and balloons shaped like the logo sewn onto his jacket were floating around. Sitting centre stage was a folding table, and sitting atop it was a single present and... ingredients?

“What... is all this?”

“A party, duh! It may not seem like much right now, but we’ll get to the juicy stuff soon enough. The Core bores are always so busy with preparations for Bitchmas, so I rightfully assumed you would need a valiant hero to swoop in and finally throw you your first ever ‘birthday’ celebration.

Virgil stared at the decorations around him in awe. “Whoa...”

The anxious Side couldn’t help but allow his gaze to drift towards the ingredients, which Remus noticed.

“Ah, almost forgot about those!” Remus shot Virgil a grin. “I can’t cook for shit, so you’re helping make the cake.”

Virgil crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘helping’, I’m assuming I’m gonna be doing all the work while you provide ‘moral support’?”

Remus cackled and nodded. “Yep!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, his lips curling up into a microscopic smile. “Goddammit. C’mon man, why do I have to do all the work? Like you said, it’s my ‘special day’ -- at least give me some help.”

Catching on, Remus gazed up at nothing in mock thought before looking back at Virgil with a smirk on his face. “Oh, alright. I suppose I could actually help you, Virgin -- just this once.”

Virgil smiled, gathering the ingredients. “Cool.”

~---~

The process of making the cake was, for lack of a better word... eventful. Remus had conjured a kitchen (it was really just kitchen appliances dropped into the environment, but Virgil refrained from mentioning that) and the pair had prepared all the ingredients, but then Remus ‘accidentally’ dirtied Virgil’s jacket with flour, which led into a flour fight which lasted about ten minutes. Afterwards, the two of them were in stiches, making it difficult to resume cooking, but they somehow managed.

In the end, the cake was -- to put it simply -- a colossal failure. Virgil didn’t mind, but appreciated Remus’ conjuring of a simple cupcake for him. “Screw the sentiment!” Remus had cheered.

Then, the real party began.

Music blared from speakers Virgil hadn’t seen initially, and Remus’ creations danced around without a care in the world. Amongst all the light-hearted chaos, Virgil allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. He snorted as Remus let out a whoop while spinning in circles, only to crash into a tree trunk and fall onto the dying grass. Virgil had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from going into hysterics when he heard the distant, “Still alive, bitches!” as Remus leapt to his feet and pumped his fists into the air.

Not bad for my first party, Virgil thought as Remus darted over and dragged him to the folding table so he could open his present.

~---~

Virgil thought the party’s conclusion would be the end of it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Late that night, as he was finally settling into bed, he sensed another presence in the room. He tensed up, his fight-or-flight reflexes kicking in, but then he heard the quiet, manic giggle he knew all too well and the fear drained away as he huffed.

“Jesus, Remus -- warn a dude next time!”

Remus emerged from the shadows, his hair somehow worse than it normally was and his typical outfit replaced with... something that resembled sleepwear.

Well, at least he wasn’t naked.

Remus held out a hand, and Virgil had a feeling he knew what was coming. Roman had done that same thing many times, to the point when the rest of the Cores had agreed to ban him from watching Aladdin until he stopped. The prince had whined for hours, but he soon got over it. He was allowed to watch it again just a few days later.

“Do you trust me?”

Oh God.

“I dunno, do I?”

Remus puffed his cheeks, the expression just as admittedly adorable as it had been when he was younger.

“C’mon, Virge, take this seriously! Just play along and I’ll leave you alone for... a month!”

Virgil smiled slyly. “Only a month?”

Remus threw his head back and groaned. Loudly. Virgil silently thanked Roman for soundproofing the room.

“Fine, two months -- just take my hand!”

Virgil grabbed his portable Bluetooth speaker (a ‘birthday’ gift -- he had a feeling he’d need it) and tucked it under his arm before taking Remus’ hand. Remus smiled -- a genuine smile -- and sunk down, taking Virgil with him a second time.

~---~

When the pair reappeared, Virgil was silent. Him and Remus were standing on a rooftop overlooking the Imagination, the peaceful silence broken only by the occasional murmur of the creatures that thrived.

Remus sat, inviting Virgil to do the same. While Remus allowed his legs to dangle off the edge, Virgil crossed his, placing his Bluetooth speaker beside him and connecting his phone. He opened Spotify and went to his personal playlist. Sunrise, Sunset began playing, the speaker’s volume set to low.

“The Core bores gave you stuff too, right?”

Virgil glanced over at Remus and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course they did.”

Remus nodded, looking down beyond where his feet were dangling. “Ah, okay. Cool.”

There was silence.

“Just because they couldn’t throw me a party doesn’t mean they didn’t still care, Dukey.”

More silence.

Virgil nudged Remus.

Remus looked at Virgil.

“Hey, for the record, I liked your present the most,” Virgil said, gesturing to the Bluetooth speaker. “Don’t tell the others I said that, though.” He looked back at Remus and smirked. “Whaddya say we plant it in Princey’s room tomorrow and disturb his millionth Disney marathon?”

Remus grinned slyly. “What a marvellously devious plan, Virgil. I love it.”

“So you’re in?”

“What a ridiculous question -- of course I am.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides oneshot #virgil sanders #ts virgil #sanders sides virgil #remus sanders #ts remus #sanders sides remus #platonic dukexiety #virgil sanders birthday #tw innuendos #tw swearing #tw profanity #tw nudity mention #tw food mentions #christmas mentions #swirlz scrawls

[allandoflimbo]

Take It Back (Chapter 19)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  About five years ago, a one night stand with Y/N tore Bucky’s life apart. It was also the night before his wedding. Now he’s married to her sister and she needs a place to stay.

Chapter Warnings: Language.

A/N: Over my manic episode lol, now back to work. :) Here you guys go. Sorry it took so long to get my shit together. I love you. ALSO, i know a lot of you guys caught up with it on AO3, so just let me know if you no longer wanna be tagged in this. :) 

MASTERPAGE |

It had become routinary.

Like an immortal soul or a person without any malice and without non-malice intent, you’d carry on and on.

You’d wake up at five-thirty am, take a hot shower, go for a run, take another shower, get dressed for work, stop by your choice of restaurant that week, pick up cat food, feed Pebbles, clean the house, take another shower, put on your PJs, and binge-watch American Horror Story until it was too late to decide if it was actually too late to go to bed.

It took exactly one week into your emotional break down for you to realize that your life had to be this way in order for you to succeed. It was the only way you could keep yourself distracted from the other thoughts of guilt that would lead to ultimate heartbreak.

You had left Ashlyn’s life in a way that you didn’t see yourself doing.

At first, you felt wrong for it.

She was your only sister and the only closest family member you had left. You especially thought it was wrong for leaving without any explanation. But eventually, after much-considered thought, you decided that even though it was wrong, it was the best choice. It was something you had to do.

You had to do it because it would be wrong of you to hang out with her or have some kind of association with her without her knowing the evil thing that you had done behind her back.

It didn’t sit well with you.

You also realized that if you stuck around, you would probably develop some kind of hate for her that would be beyond your control; hate made out of jealousy and envy.

You wouldn’t be able to see them together ever again, you would not bring yourself to.

You had texted her a few days after your decision, explaining to her that new opportunities had arisen in your life and that you might be seeing less of her because of it.

Though you still reassured her that you would continue to stick around if she needed anything and she reciprocated vice versa.

As much as you disliked her, as much as you didn’t like the choices she’s made, or person that she had become, at the end of the day she was always your big sister. That was a kind of bond you couldn’t break.

After she’d wished you good look and good wishes, you wondered if you should contact Bucky.

You wondered if he would tell her.

That was the first time the thought entered your mind and it scared the shit out of you. You prayed that he wouldn’t say a thing.

You thought about Steve as well. You knew he wasn’t dumb but you were thankful that he never mentioned anything both that night. But for some reason, you couldn’t get that damn look he had on his face. You couldn’t forget the way he looked at you at the wedding.

He had chased you, and he looked hurt by you.

Like he knew.

Sometimes you wonder if maybe if it had been Bucky that had run after you if you would have stayed.

But it wasn’t.

After that conclusion, you begged yourself to move on.

That was when the routines began- it kept you busy and distracted.

It had been five months and two days since you walked out of his life.

After much time, it was going a lot better than how you thought it would. You started by distracting yourself with your own life.

You even picked up extra hours at work and spent endless nights learning new recipes.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you ended up watching way too much of the news. Maybe it was the adult in your trying to peak out, or maybe you were just that desperate to get away from your own issues.

You and pebbles sat on your couch as you both mocked Trump’s face on CNN, softly caressing Pebble’s little black head.

Your sat on your legs, your little throw blanket thrown over your lap and Pebbles next to your feet on the couch.

You shook your head in dismay as yet another scandal unfolded itself.

“What a dumbass, Peb.”

Meow.

You gasp.

“What do you mean you would have voted for him?”

Meow. Prrrr.

You huff.

“That’s what I thought, you little nugget.”

Everything during the day got easier as time went by, including life.

Slowly, you had cut yourself out of everyone’s lives.

You didn’t want to, but you felt like it was the best choice in such a predicament.

You didn’t answer Steve’s calls.  

Bucky never even attempted to reach out to you except for one night about a week ago.

You had stared at your phone in a trance, completely puzzled at first, before tossing it on your couch.

You went back to sliding on your sneakers for your daily run.

No.

You ran your emotions away until the sweat mingled in with your tears.

You didn’t even realize it started pouring until you had to stop on the side of the road, breathing hard as you attempted to catch your breath.

You let your head fall down as your hands rested on the knees of your bent legs. You sobbed relentlessly as the thunder clashed in the skies above you.

The overwhelming guilt consumed you.

You had done good, you did everything you could to distract yourself and to not think about him.

But during the nights it was the hardest.

Simply put: you were lonely.

You missed your friends, Steve, and Nat. You wanted to make peace with Steve, you wanted to tell Nat how sorry you were for being a coward, and most importantly, you missed him.

You’d wake up the next day and repeat it all again.

It was the only thing that helped.

_

The beginning months of their marriage had been rocky.

It had gone in any way you would’ve expected for a man who had just cheated on his wife.

Their wedding night had been a disaster.

When they returned to their room that night, in a mix of tight hand-holding and severe lack of eye contact, Bucky had allowed Ashlyn to go into their suite before him.

While inside, he sat on the bed, back faced to her, and he had been silent as he unbuttoned his dress shirt.

Ashlyn had stared at him, even though he couldn’t see her.

The silence had been unbearable.

She felt pain-filled tears in her eyes at his cold demeanor.

He was treating her not how a husband should, especially on their wedding night.

He was treating her like something was very wrong.

She didn’t understand why.

Their ceremony had been everything she had ever dreamed of, but during the reception, he had barely stared into her eyes. He didn’t look at her during their dance, and only once or twice after that.

They made brief eye contact once when his eyes had been cold and soulless. In an instance, a part of her heart hurt badly within her chest.

What’s wrong?  She had wanted to say.

She wasn’t too oblivious. She knew that months ago something had happened with him and someone else, especially after she had been gone for so long on her work trips. She knew that they had gone through a big bump in the road.

And the guilt of that had eaten her alive and she promised to put it behind her, so she continued to strive for them - to make this work. Ashlyn wasn’t sure exactly what Bucky had done, but like a silent mutual agreement, neither touched the subject any further.

For some time, she had even believed maybe she was wrong because they started doing so well again.

But their wedding day and their wedding night went anything but well.

She had gone into their bathroom and slowly taken off her jewelry and dress. Soft tears ran down her face as she took the hundreds of bobby pins out of her hair, laying them down on the sink with shaky fingers.

She had refused to look at herself in the mirror, knowing that she’d start crying right away.

She slid on a pair of matching pink silk PJ shorts and a tank top.

Neither said a word as she slid up next to him on the bed.

It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t even make love to her that night.

It took time, but eventually, he had gathered her in his arms, caressing the sides of her waist as she breathed against him.

Her lingerie was tucked away and left untouched in her suitcase.

They didn’t talk about it, and Ashlyn swallowed back heavy tears as he laid motionless without saying a word.

It took them hours to fall asleep that night.

Early that morning they took their flight out to Mykonos.

He held her hand the entire flight, occasionally giving her a small smile that never reached his pretty blue eyes.

A pair of eyes that ones use to shy but were now a pit of no emotions.

Ashlyn tried to hold back more tears as he laid his head against the window, staring down at the puffy clouds and not at her.

She regretted it- the nightly escapades -what she had done with men on her work trips, what she had sacrificed to give them.

Their future was now filled with materialist fortune because of her filthy mistakes, and she most importantly regretted what she had done with his father.

She wanted them to be okay.

She wanted him to love her the way he used to.

She sniffed slightly as her throat grew tight. She laid her head on his shoulder.

The heavyweight of her head made Bucky look down at his lap, closing his eyes tightly together.

He felt awful.

Sure, he didn’t want Ashlyn anymore, but something just didn’t sit well with him knowing what he did and Ashlyn knowing damn well that he was acting strange.

On their honeymoon, when they did talk they argued.

They had gone to a little restaurant in a bay area but barely spoke a word to each other.

The air was tense and his kisses only lingered like a tangent poison on her lips.

Every night he had woken up shaking and sweating. He always dreamed of you and your gorgeous smile.

He could hear you saying his name in his dreams, and he could feel the bones of your hips on his hands as he guided you to move above him.

Then, he would hear you tell him you loved him and he would start crying in his sleep.

They were never loud enough to wake Ashlyn up, but it was strong enough to make him stir and awaken.

They didn’t make love until the night before they flew out.

It had been spontaneous and Bucky had done it more out of anger and stress after he had seen something in a gift shop that reminded him of you.

He had whimpered against Ashlyn's mouth as he held her against the wall of their little bedroom. It was a small room, about thirty by forty feet because they had wanted the trip to be as authentic as possible.

His hands helped to wrap her legs around his waist and he grabbed her harshly, forcing his tongue down her throat.

He shoved her beneath him onto their bed as they ripped each other’s clothes off.

Next, he had taken her brutally against the mattress.

Afterward, Ashlyn had been stunned.

He had never fucked her that way before. It had been purely carnal, dirty.

She laid shaking that entire night.

He woke up again that dawn, having dreamed of you again.

He knew he needed help, he knew that the guilt was eating him alive and so was the sadness of losing you.

Four five months, their marriage has been silently suffering and grew complicated. The other wondered how long it would be before one of them said something to make or break it.

They moved into Bucky’s father’s penthouse shortly after.

It was beautiful. It wasn’t as big as Ashlyn would have expected, and Bucky also had sworn it used to be bigger when he used to live with his parents. It had an average size foyer that would lead into the living room. The wood flooring was light and contrasted beautifully with the white walls. To the right was a large window that occupied most of the wall, and to the far side was a decent sized kitchen with dark brown cabinetry. Down the hall was a guest bedroom and a powder room.

On the left side was a dining room and then to the corner glass stairs that led up to the upstairs area where there were three other bedrooms, one full bathroom and a master bathroom that connected to the master bedroom.

The mere thought that Bucky was now sleeping in the same bedroom that his now-dead parents used, made something creep up his spine - a cold and chilling feeling.

It didn’t help their marriage and it certain didn’t help with the other emotions he had felt.

They would eat dinner in silence and then they would have silent meaningless sex on their dinner table in a tangle of confusion and unspoken declarations.

It got to the point where Ashlyn had left for work every morning without even waiting for him anymore.

She would feel used and empty, the bruises on her hips nagging and mocking her for the rest of the day.

Ashlyn considered just asking Bucky what was going on.

She wanted to, but she was afraid.

It had been going on for five months.

It’s a Tuesday morning when Bucky was having breakfast by himself in the kitchen. He hears a knock on his door.

He looked up from his phone, where he had been reading today’s news.

He perks a brow, not expecting anyone to have been at his home at this time. He hadn’t even seen Steve since his wedding day, their little awkward encounter not yet having been addressed.

It was evident neither wanted to.

“Come in.” He said loudly through a mouth full of honey nut cheerios.

The big white door swung open.

Bucky was slightly scared at who the intruder was until he saw a big head of red pop out from behind the door.

A long sigh escapes his lips.

The beauty spins her head around and gives him a bright smile, closing the door behind her.

She perks a brow.

“You didn’t comb your hair today, I see.”

Bucky runs a quick hand through his hair as he swallows down the cereal.

“What gives? My house, I can do I want.” He mumbles swirling his spoon in his milk.

He peaks a teasing eye up at Nat and smirks.

“Yeah, I can see that.” She laughs.

“What’s up?”

“How are things with you and Ashlyn?”

Bucky stalls for a moment, swirling his milk one more time, before responding.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, I’ve just noticed that you’ve been a bit different the last few months,” Nat states simply.

Bucky sighs, looking out towards the kitchen window and out into the city.

He gives into himself and sighs.

“It’s been better, Nat. Marriage isn’t as easy as we’d hope I guess.” He mumbles the end as he takes the bowl off the island and turns around to put it in the sink.

Nat sighs, “Yeah, I can imagine. Why do you think I haven’t gotten married yet?”

Bucky chuckles, “You’re right. You’re smart.”

There’s a small smile on his face when he says it as he spins back around, but Nat senses the pleading tone in his voice and both of them are quiet.

Nat eyes him up and down before she reaches into her bag.

Bucky narrows his eyes at her.

“Just know that if there’s anything you need, you can just ask me. If you need a friend, advice, anything. If you guys need any help-”

“Thanks, but we’re fine.” He cuts off curtly but not in a rude manner.

Nat ignores him and pulls out a white card and slides it across the table.

“Please don’t take this as an insult or me trying to pry or anything like that, because it’s none of my business. But I think this might help you both.”

Bucky takes the card.

Couple’s Therapist

Bruce Banner

34 6th Street

New York, NY

(212)***-****

Bucky looks at it for a second.

He contemplates it, really contemplates it, and he finds the gesture comforting and surprisingly sweet.

He bends the edge of it as he reads the name of the doctor repeatedly- over and over again.

“Thanks.”

Bucky could care less any longer about salvaging his wedding with Ashlyn. He should’ve known it was all an evil scheme for her since the beginning, so he was doing this for his own selfish needs.

Bucky wants nothing more than to rip his hand out of hers as they sit next to each other on the dark brown leather chairs. He hopes the good doctor doesn’t see right through his phony act.

Dr. Banner was soft-spoken and wore small glasses on the peak of his nose. He gave off a sweet soul that automatically piqued Bucky’s interest. From his first firm handshake, he knew that Banner would be someone he could trust.

Bruce gave the beautiful couple a small smile before sitting down directly in front of him.

The room smelled of aloe and mint, calming Ashlyn for the first time in a long time.

“Mr. And Mrs. Barnes please sit.”

“Thanks.” Both Bucky and Ashlyn said.

Bruce takes off his glasses and eyes the couple curiously.

“So let’s start by introducing ourselves. You just got married five months ago?”

“Yes. Sir.”

He lays his glasses down on the table in front of him.

“That’s very recent. I’m surprised.”

Ashlyn gives Bucky a side glance as Bucky continues to hold steady eye contact with Banner.

“Yes, we’ve had some issues in the past.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

Bruce notes this.

“Well, we’re going to discuss possible issues that maybe could’ve arisen and insecurities between the both of you. This will be a long process, but I will do in my best ability to help you both. We’re going to put all our walls down for this, do you understand? No secrets from me.”

Bucky swallows while Ashlyn nods. She looks once more at him and Bucky is still facing forward, jaw tight and tense.

“You see? He can’t even look at me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Do you not love me anymore?”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“Do you want a divorce? We’ve been married for five months. You didn’t even have sex with me on our wedding night.”

Banner raises a comical brow at this.

“I can’t leave you.”

Bucky says fiercely. The silence that follows it is tense and questioning.

“So we need to make this work,” Ashlyn says, quickly letting go of his hand.

Their first session with Banner was an hour and five minutes long. It was the most the couple had talked to each other since their wedding day, and it solved absolutely nothing.

Dr. Banner sighed as he watched them walk away, not really knowing what the hell he was going to do with them.

He was just thankful that they were done screaming so he could take his small coffee break and read a bit.

Of course, that was cut short when he heard a small knock coming from his door.

“Yes?”

Bucky walks in slowly, a mischievous look in his eyes as he slowly closing the door behind him.

Banner raises a surprised brow at him.

“James? Something wrong?”

Bucky licks his lips nervously.

“N-no sir, I just…”

Well, this was interesting, Banner had to admit. He sits down on his desk, still keeping one foot on the floor.

He notices how upset and nervous Bucky is and it’s the first sign of emotion he had shown aside from anger all day. It intrigues the doctor.

“You can tell me.”

“If I ask to see you privately, as my therapist, would what me and you talk about be confidential?”

Bruce is silent for a second as he connects the dots. He notes Bucky’s fidgeting hands and his pleading eyes.

Something was killing the poor kid.

“Is there something you don’t want Ashlyn to know?”

“Yes.” It comes out in a whimper. His tone, begging.

“James, if whatever this has to do with your marriage, you should tell your wife. You're here to fix your relationship with her, but yet you want my help to help keep something hidden from her.”

Bucky is silent as he looks away, defeated. This stuns the doctor.

“You’re not here for your marriage.” Bruce says it like it’s not questionable, “you’re here for you.”

Bucky’s stance and tone become pleading as he steps closer to Banner.

“It has more to do with my health though. Look, I know it doesn’t make sense but I need help, please. I’ll pay you twice or ever three times as much. As much as you want. Please, doctor Banner.”

Bruce didn’t like this, but for some reason, he figured that maybe if he helped Bucky with his private issue, it could eventually fix the problem he had with his wife.

Maybe.

He regrets it a bit after he says it, but he does.

“Alright, I’ll help you.”

You had another episode last night and it was worse than usual.

You swore you could feel his soft hands on your hips as you moved on top of him.

You felt the whispers of his voice against your ears as he kept telling you he loved you, and it felt so real.

You were a ghost when you woke up, and your body robotic. The sun wasn’t up yet so you turned on your side lamp on your nightstand since it wasn’t too bright and wouldn’t hurt your eyes.

It took you a bit for you to come to your senses and for you to notice that you had gathered your personal belongings on your bed and that you were throwing things out.

Things that reminded you of Ashlyn. Pictures of when you were kids, T-shirts, gifts she had given you - everything.

Tears ran down your face as you skim your finger over one specific picture of you and your sister with your parents.

You sobbed and your sadness became anger as you continued to stare at her in the picture.

How dare she get the loving man, how dare he love her more than you…you were angry.

And you wanted to move on.

In a fury, you rip the pictures into tiny pieces until they’re scattered all over your bed.

Your breathing is shallow and heavy as you look at the mess you’ve made.

With a different kind of pain that you hadn’t felt in a long time, you bury your face in your hands and cry silently.

Everything around you was silent. The house was silent and so was the world outside.

You were alone.

Fifteen miles away sat Steve in his work office at Barnes Enterprises.

He had just put his two-week notice in and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He couldn’t stand to work for Bucky right now, not after the wedding night and not knowing anything about what was happening.

It distracted him too much and it made him upset.

He’d gotten a new job at a new company five blocks down. Steve had requested two weeks from his top guy so he didn’t even have to talk to Bucky directly to let him know he was leaving.

He was almost entirely packed except for some things that he still had to finish before he left.

It was early morning and he was finishing up one of his files when the image of you clouded his mind.

The image of you running out of his best friend’s wedding and crying haunted him.

He needed to find you.

That’s when he had stopped doing what he was doing and he pulled out his phone.

He found your name without thinking and clicked the little phone icon under your name.

Steve lets out a heavy breath as he brings his phone to his ear. With his other hand, he runs it through his hair and pulls slightly at the top.

ring.

ring.

Come on. Come on.  He says in his head as he bounces his left leg up and down. What was he even going to say?

The ring cuts off and he sucks in a breath-

“I’m sorry but the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

His heart falls into the pit of his stomach.

In your room, you had somehow fallen asleep through all your crying, and your phone laid silent and untouched on your nightstand.

__

Chapter 20 |

@wxntersoldxer16​ @void-imaginations​ @heykarsyn​ @avashroom​ @sarcastic-and-cool​ @lunaticbarnes​ @benhardygalileo​ @wildmavs​ @runaway-escape​ @stevieboyharrington​ @kimvmarvel​ 

#Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky barnes x reader #Marvel fanfiction #Captain America Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes drabbles #Bucky Barnes Imagines #Bucky Barnes x You Fanficion #Bucky barnes fanfic #MCU fanfiction #Bucky x you #Bucky x y/n #Bucky Barnes smut #Bucky Barnes Angst

[editorialsonlife]

Welp, this week has been an exhausted, overthinking, crying mess, culminating in crying in the shower this morning and phoning off work for the day coz I actually couldn't face having to deal with people. The need to just have eight hours to not need to be anything to anyone was strong and I'm so glad I took the day off.

The annoying thing is there hasn't really been any major trigger. Its just been a stupid combo of things that have all kicked in and like, eg. On so many fronts. Just realised I haven't even recapped the wedding yet, oops. Need to do that. My bad.

I guess the wedding is a good place to start because work was freaking hectic when I went on leave, and its not like any work got done while I was away so came back to the same amount of work plus a weeks worth of revisions and edits which was tough. The wedding itself, like all weddings, was ridiculously social and we were both so peopled out by the end of it man. We had a great week on Waiheke away just the two of us and genuinely felt like maybe the suckballsness of 2019 and 2020 might be almost behind us at that point. HA HA HA HA HA YOU OPTIMISTIC CREATURES YOU.

Both of us walked back into jobs which no one had done anything, I walked back into a particularly argumentative coworker (who is about to become the boss but that's a whole separate issue) and then we spent the weekend over the hill in martinborough for a friend's wedding which was organised in three weeks because we found out she has terminal cancer and has been given 6 months to live. So the emotional rollercoaster just freaking continued because that was so bittersweet and hard to watch and she is so unwell.

In addition, we agreed to stay with a couple of friends (married) who were going through mad drama. I'll honestly be surprised if they're still together by the end of the year. But on top of dealing with the wedding friends and that heartbreak, we were then dealing with these friends and it literally became a weekend of couples counselling and trying to look after them. straight back into another manic week at work trying to pull together this workshop which happened on Monday. So hectic. I am not a professional facilitator and while i can do an ok job, I still was dealing with the messiness of getting through the wedding and I have event organising fatigue following that one and just.... argumentative coworker was being an absolute dick about things that was just unnecessary.

We had a weekend at home not seeing anyone or with any plans which was great. Larissa came over and we've booked a girls weekend in Nelson for August which will be fab but she's going through a whole flatting sitch which is nightmarish, super glad she's moving out on Sunday so that was a lot of emotional labour for her. On Friday night we went to Jess and Rob's because their house is finally finished and they moved in and we got into a bunch of discussion about their wedding which is still too soon for my liking but at least she respected not dealing with it during mine so thats a bonus.

Then Monday was a 5am start to actually run this workshop which was just a freaking nightmare. Govt clients are such. hard. work. and this group was a lot to deal with. plus argumentative coworker. I don't think I slept more than four hours any night this week.

it's just been such a busy freaking month, and there's been so much on. Oh yeah. Lynaire moved away in the middle of all of this, Erin leaves in three weeks. I just want a week with no major life changes happening, honestly.

And this week? has just been such hard work mentally. I'm so tired, I'm not feeling at all resilient, and my brain has helpfully spent the week adding up all the different ways I am not good enough or not measuring up and everything I've done wrong and all the ways in which I am inadequate. So that's just been a real good time overall. hence crying in the shower at half past six this morning.

It's been a good day though. I read a book in bed til it warmed up a bit. Went for a good walk down to the river and back. Went and got lunch and watched some gilmore girls and tidied my room and cleaned it and remade the bed with all our winter bedding (thank you 0 degree mornings) and tidied the house and did all the dishes etc. It was very nice not to have to be anything to anyone for a while and just stay home.

There's just so many things in life I just can't even face dealing with right now that I need to. So much stuff that I was like, after the wedding! and now we're here and the pile is huge and overwhelming and I don't know where to start. I need to find a good routine again and get back into looking after myself again. I had hoped I was done with the day to day levels of self management I was doing when I was obnoxiously anxious but I guess the answer to that was a big fat nope. Which sucks but anyway. here we are.

Famous last words, hopefully life will be a bit more chill after this weekend and I can at least get back to yoga once a week again. god I miss it. I need to figure out how to exist in my body again for a while and shut my brain off. I also signed up for yin yoga this weekend with an old yoga teacher who I love so hopefully thats lovely and lush and restorative with any luck.

God I'm exhausted. I feel like I need a break, like I didn't just have a whole week off less than a month ago. Goodness knows it doesn't feel like I did though.

Anyway, that's the friday night update for you. #life man. She's been a lot lately.

When I get the wedding photos back I'll try and do a decent recap.

[kiwi-stan]

Crave

Description: AU Harry’s a struggling songwriter until a song about being in lofe with his best friend puts him on the map. My contribution to the pick your poison challenge that @oh-honey-styles​ @for-fucks-sake-h​ and @andwhenshesays​ organized. I haven’t written in so long but this has been a fun way to get back into it now that I have more downtime!

Warnings: None aside from me taking liberties with the process of how writing a song actually works 

Harry’s family had thought he was insane for dropping out of university and moving to LA to try songwriting professionally. And a few years in, he was starting to think that they were right. He hadn’t expected to start working with big names right away, but after two years, he had been hoping to move beyond indie artists who had about a thousand monthly listeners on Spotify. Songwriting was his dream. He loved music, loved creating it, but didn’t want the fame. The inability to step outside without being recognized, the scrutiny, the media attention. He wanted to stay behind the scenes. But he was beginning to think about packing it up, moving back home, and finishing his college degree and getting some boring office job. Until you called and announced that you had found a job in LA after graduating and would be moving. 

You’d been Harry’s best friend since you were both small, when some little boy knocked you off the monkey bars at the park and Harry’s protective instincts-already sharp even back then-had rushed over to check if you were okay. There had been a few awkward years in middle school, when he’d been teased by friends for having a girl friend who wasn’t a girlfriend, but that had resolved itself during a very awkward party where you’d played seven minutes together and had mutually agreed that kissing each other was too weird. Aside from that, your friendship had been solid all throughout school, and had even weathered Harry moving to LA. In fact, you were one of the few people from his hometown that he’d kept in contact with. His parents had cut off contact (and financial support) when he’d dropped out of school without warning, and his emails with his sister were infrequent as she was trying to keep up a positive relationship with their parents. He didn’t really have any LA friends either, a few casual acquaintances but no one who he felt like he could really talk to. 

On the day that you arrived, Harry drove to the airport to pick you up. By the time he navigated traffic and dealt with the nightmare of parking at LAX, it was nearly an hour after your flight had landed and half an hour after you’d sent a text saying that you’d claimed your bags. As he entered the terminal, he was worried that you would be angry about him being late. You never were the type to get annoyed about little things like that and from your video chats you didn’t seem to have changed all that much, but two years was a long time and it could bring about a lot of change in a person. He glanced around the room, full of happy reunions and stressed out men in suits setting out on business trips, when he finally spotted you, nestled in a corner and perched on your suitcase. It was like something out of a movie, how you looked up from your phone just as he spotted you, the two of you locked eyes, and you sprang to your feet and ran toward him, throwing your arms around him in an enthusiastic hug and squealing “Harry”. 

“Sorry I’m late.” There were so many things he wanted to say to you, how much he missed you, how happy he was that you were moving, stories he hadn’t wanted to tell over FaceTime. But for some reason, an apology was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. “Traffic was horrible then I had to park…” 

You pulled away from him to wave a hand, dismissing his apology and Harry got his first real look at you. He’d noticed from your Facetime chats that you’d changed your hair to a shorter style and that you’d started wearing more makeup, both choices that were probably seen as “more professional”. Otherwise, you looked about the same, but seeing you in person he noticed that there was a difference in the way you carried yourself. You seemed older, more mature, with the kind of confidence that he assumed came from graduating college and moving across the country on your own. He wondered if he had the same aura around him. “I missed you.” You said, picking up your suitcase and dragging Harry away from his thoughts. “And I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay with you.” You’d explained over FaceTime that the job you’d been offered had wanted you to start right away, not even considering that you would need time to deal with the logistics of moving or finding a place to live. Lucky for you, Harry had stepped in. 

“I missed you too,” Harry took your suitcase from you, dragging it behind him and tugging it toward the exit. “And don’t say that until you see my place.” 

******* 

You’d been worried that things with Harry would have changed in the two years that he’d been gone. But as he took the long drive back to his apartment, you slipped right back into your old friendship, joking and swapping stories. You updated him about what all of your old high school friends were up to and he told you stories about all the weird LA types that he’d met. You’d never admit this, but you’d been worried that he might have turned into one of them since he left, burning sage and displaying an unhealthy obsession posting to Instagram. He seemed like his old self in texts and on your video chats, but you had thought he might be hiding that part of him. You were relieved to see that Harry was still his old self. However, a new set of worries about Harry sprouted as he turned into his neighborhood. 

Harry had alluded to money troubles while you’d been apart, so you had known that he wasn’t living in Beverly Hills. However, you also weren’t really expecting dark streets, abandoned buildings, and liquor stores with bars over the windows. Harry parked outside a seedy looking building and led you up to his apartment, which was the size of a shoebox and overwhelmed with cardboard boxes full of your things. He’d been nice enough to tell you to ship some of your things to his address, though he hadn’t mentioned how tiny his apartment was. By the time Harry had cleared everything off the futon so you could sleep, you’d seen three roaches scurry across the floor and you’d made your mind up. 

“Once I find a place you’re moving in with me.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but you held firm. “Don’t argue. Why didn’t you tell me you were living in a shithole?” You glanced around the small space and another problem occurred to you. “Where exactly are you planning to sleep?” 

“The floor I guess,” He said, gesturing to the sliver of space near the lone window that wasn’t occupied by furniture or boxes. 

You shook your head, thinking back to the roaches you’d seen and the shag carpet that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s. “No way. You’re sleeping with me. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” It might feel a little strange after your time apart, but back before he dropped out Harry had slept in your tiny twin bed in your dorm room tons of times, sometimes because he’d had a fight with his roommate, sometimes because he was drunk and your room was closer, and sometimes just because he was lonely. You couldn’t even count the number of times you and Harry had slept together platonically. However, a few hours later, when you finally nestled under the covers together-with Harry’s body pressed up against yours, he was big on cuddling (and the small bed didn’t leave you much room to spread out anyway)-you found yourself wondering why something felt different. 

***********

Harry started writing a song that night, about being in love with your best friend. He didn’t have the whole thing right away, which wasn’t usually how he wrote. Usually inspiration came fast, and he could write a whole song in the burst of manic energy he got when it struck. The chorus came that first night when you slept together, about you pressed up against him in a city full of dark alleys. 

The rest came to him slowly over the next few months, as you started your job and found a slightly better apartment to live in. With your entry level salary it wasn’t anything fancy, but it was in an area that made you feel safer and had two bedrooms, though Harry found that he slept worse without you near him and spent many nights tossing and turning before finally falling into a fitful sleep around 3 AM. 

Though you’d been basically joined at the hip since you were young, you and Harry hadn’t shared space like this before. The apartment was still small, which meant that you and Harry were still constantly tripping over each other. Harry had thought it might be annoying, and had even worried that it would fracture your friendship, but it hadn’t. Living together seemed almost natural for the two of you. It meant that he could hear you singing when you came home from work, which meant that you had a good day and would be in the mood to cook something elaborate for dinner, or when you slammed the front door and he knew that you’d had a bad day and that he should order your favorite take out. He found your bobby pins all over the bathroom floor, he sat and watched The Bachelor with you on Monday nights, and he stole your fuzzy socks as the nights started getting cooler. Harry worked on his song while you were at work when he wasn’t at writing sessions for other people, and by the time he finished he felt that it was the best thing he’d ever written. 

Harry knew exactly why the song (currently cryptically titled with an anagram of your name) was the best of anything he’d written so far. Typically he used a lot of creative license when he wrote, writing about things that happened to him long ago, about things that happened to friends of his, about completely made up scenarios, or anything that inspired him really. But he never really wrote about his own life. This was the first time, and it was his first song to really come from the heart. 

After finally perfecting the song, Harry recorded a quick demo on his phone, then sent it off to Jeff, a big-name record producer he’d met a few months back. They’d met during a recording session for some pink-haired indie singer. Though Jeff hadn’t really liked the indie girl and her bananies-and-avacadies voice as he’d joked to Harry, he’d liked Harry’s writing style a lot. He’d slipped Harry his phone number and had told him to send along some of his strongest work. Harry had come close to sending a few things before, but had chickened out at the last minute. Nothing he’d done before was his strongest work, and he knew that. The song about you, he felt good enough to send. 

Harry finally worked up the courage to press the send button during one of his sleepless nights. He hoped that Jeff hadn’t deleted his number, or if he had that he would be willing to listen to a voice message from a random stranger. Since it was nearly 1 am, he was surprised to get a message back almost immediately. Love it Harry. Let’s talk.  Followed by a meeting time and location. 

******* 

A few weeks later, you arrived home (you had been surprised at how quickly you came to think of your new apartment in a new city as “home”, but you came to the conclusion that it was all because Harry was there) to Harry humming a song you didn’t recognize as he cleaned the apartment. He looked up when he saw you, dropping the broom and drawing you into a hug. “Hey!” He swayed you back and forth a few times as he held you. You had forgotten that little tic of his, but the motion reminded you of how much you loved it. It always made you feel safe and comforted, probably because it replicated the motion of a mother rocking a baby. And it was something Harry only did when he was really happy. 

“What happened?” You asked once he let you go. Harry hadn’t seemed sad exactly, but you’d had the feeling that being isolated from his family and under almost constant money and career stress were starting to get to him. You hadn’t seen him happy like this since you were in college together and he aced a difficult Music Theory final. 

“I think we should go out tonight. Somewhere nice-ish.” 

This piqued your interest even more. Even combining your incomes, you still weren’t really on a going-out-regularly-in-LA budget. Something had happened. Something big. “Harry, tell me what’s going on.” 

“I wrote a song a few weeks ago and The Heartbreakers want it.” 

Your jaw dropped at the mention of the group who had shot to fame almost overnight a few years ago after one of their songs went viral on SoundCloud. Unlike some other indie groups that had scored mainstream hits and had faded to irrelevancy after a few weeks, The Heartbreakers had hired a good management team and were able to capitalize on the hit to become one of the biggest groups on the planet. “Harry, that’s amazing!” You threw your arms around him again. “But how? What? I didn’t even think you knew them? And I thought they wrote all their own stuff?” 

Harry pulled back enough to look at you and gave a little laugh at all of your questions. His hands stayed around your waist, your arms around his neck. “That’s what they say. They use ghostwriters basically. I had to sign an NDA and got an advance that’s basically hush money.” You frowned, not really liking the thought that Harry wasn’t going to get any credit for his work. “Hey no, that’s just how it works sometimes,” He added, noticing your facial expression. “The music industry isn’t pretty. I knew that going in and I kind of expected it. Producers and other writers have their own kind of underworld. The important people will know that I wrote it. This will lead to more big stuff for me. I know. I wouldn’t have given the song away if I didn’t.” 

Noticing that you still didn’t look happy, Harry was quick to change the subject. “As for how, I don’t know them. At all. It all went through this producer, Jeff, that I met a few months back. He wanted to hear some of my stuff, but nothing ever seemed good enough until I wrote this song. I sent it to him, he loved it and thought it would work with their sound. He took it to them and they wanted it. I’ve never even met them.” 

“Will you get to?” You said, thinking that you would at least want to shake someone’s hand before handing off a piece of art that you created to them and letting them act like it was theirs. 

Harry nodded. “I have to go in for a writing session and be there while they record in case they want to make any tweaks. Which they probably will. Change a word, get a third and all that.” Your frown returned at the mention of the unfair way that royalties were distributed. Harry noticed. “But this will still be really big for me. It’s the right move. I know.” 

You studied him for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation. “I trust you.” Realizing that you’d been holding each other for an awkward amount of time, and that it felt surprisingly good to have your best friend holding you, his big hands solid at your waist and your fingers toying with the curls at the back of his neck, you stepped away. “I’d love to hear it. Do you have a recording yet?” Harry looked alarmed. “What? Has the NDA got you scared?” You teased. Harry could be shy about sharing his work, but he’d always been open about it with you. He called you his guinea pig, you were often the first one to hear new songs. 

“I just wrote it a few weeks ago. I got really inspired seeing you again, I guess.” Harry said, suddenly seeming shy. 

“Harry that’s so sweet.” You asked, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. No one had ever written or created anything for you before, and as far as you knew you hadn’t inspired anything either (aside from some crude messages in the boy’s locker room back in high school that Harry had taken a Sharpie to almost immediately after they popped up). 

“But I can’t play it for you. I don’t own it anymore. I already signed it over.” 

“Harry, we’re alone in our apartment. No one’s gonna know.” 

“I know, I know.” Harry picked up his broom and went back to his sweeping, obviously nervous. “It’s a little unpolished though.” 

“That never stopped you before.” Harry had played you things that were completely unfinished before, sometimes even when he just had a few chords together or two lines of lyrics. 

“I really think the Heartbreakers will do it better than me. I think the first time you hear it, it should be their version.” 

“At least tell me what it’s called.” 

“It doesn’t have a name,” Harry said a little too fast. “Or at least right now. When it actually gets released they’ll find something marketable, I’m sure. Do you want to go to a club tonight, or just dinner?” 

You accepted Harry’s abrupt change of subject and decided not to push it, but you spent the entire evening (both dinner and a club, Harry wanted to splurge since he knew his so-called hush money would be kicking in soon) wondering why Harry didn’t want you to hear the song. 

*********

“So,” Jeff began as the final recording session for the song, which had been renamed “Crave” wrapped up. The Heartbreakers had left for the day, and Harry and Jeff had hung back to do some final mixing. Harry didn’t really need to be there either, but Jeff wanted his approval on the final version of the song and he seemed happy for the company. “You never told me who this song is about.” 

“Who says it's about anyone?” Harry asked, trying not to sound harsh. Despite the fact that they’d been working closely together on Crave, they weren’t good enough friends where they could be quite so honest with each other. 

“Every song is about someone. Especially ones this heartfelt.” Jeff let the song play once through. The Heartbreakers had changed very little lyrically, adding a lyric to the chorus about craving the person the song was addressed to (which was where they’d drawn the title from). They’d changed a bit more when it came to the music itself, switching from the indie playing-in-a-coffeshop vibe that Harry had intended, to a rockier sound. Harry thought it sounded much better that way, it was something that he wouldn’t have tried with such a sweet song, and he knew that he’d made the right decision in signing the song away. As the final songs of the song drifted away, Jeff turned to Harry again. “So I’m guessing it’s a lady friend of yours from back in school and who you once played seven minutes in heaven with,” Jeff began, referencing the first verse of the song where Harry had written about first meeting you when you were kids. “Who you now find yourself in love with because she sings like a lark when she’s happy, leaves bobby pins all over the place, and makes you chocolate milkshakes when you’re sad.” 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up as Jeff named more details from elsewhere in the song, all things that pointed directly to your friendship with him. “My best friend from back in school. She just moved out here and we’ve been living together and...I don’t even really know what it is, if it was the time apart or if it’s different now that we’re older or because we’re living together. But yeah, I love her.” It was the first time Harry had said it out loud and it felt like a weight off his shoulders. 

“Have you told her yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m worried about ruining the friendship.” 

“Do you think she feels the same way?” 

Harry considered it, how you had let him hold you for far too long the night he first told you about selling the song, how you always made spinach for him as a side when you cooked even though you hated it, how much your hands brushed when he took you on tours of his favorite places in LA, if those were all just friendly gestures or if it meant something more. “Maybe? But she’s probably thinking the same thing about ruining the friendship.” Harry knew you well enough to know that you were a little too pragmatic sometimes when it came to relationships. 

“You should tell her.” Jeff regarded Harry with a serious look. “The second she hears the song she’s going to figure it out. The Heartbreaker’s last single was number one on the Billboard chart for six weeks and played on KIIS once an hour every day for a month after its release. You don’t want her finding out that her best friend is in love with her when she hears the song in Trader Joe’s. It’ll mean way more coming directly from you.” 

******* 

“Does this look okay? What do you even wear to a listening party anyway?” You asked, stepping in front of Harry and twirling around, letting him examine your dress. 

Harry gave you a quick once over. “What you’ve got on is fine. You look great.” 

The simple compliment sent a little rush of excitement through you, the saw way you felt when previous boyfriends had complimented you before you set out on a date. With you in your dress and Harry also dressed up, the two of you looked a bit like you were setting out on a proper date, but you stopped yourself from going down that line of thinking. There was no way to know if he felt the same way. You studied Harry instead, drinking in his slicked back hair, black shirt with the little white hearts on it, and black pants. Realizing that you were staring, you changed the subject. 

“You’re sure it’s okay if I come?” A listening party seemed like something so secret, something that only music industry people got to attend, like the parties the cool kids threw in high school. But Harry had seemed excited when he invited you along, even though he’d had to present you with an NDA at the same time and had told you not to bring your phone or it would be confiscated at the door. The listening party was for people from the label and was being held a few weeks before the official release of the single, and preventing leaks was essential, Harry had explained. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna be real small. Just the band, some people from the label, me, and Jeff. All people who are already aware that they don’t write their own music.” Harry looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but instead he just pulled on his sport coat. “Ready?” 

Harry was quiet for the drive to the private club where the party was being held, letting one of his Spotify playlists play as he navigated LA’s busy streets. He didn’t speak until he found parking at the club. You reached for the door to exit the car, but froze when Harry said, “Wait.” You waited. Harry took a deep breath before speaking. “I just want you to know that the song is about you. I just want you to hear it, knowing that, and tell me what you think after.” 

You wanted to press for more information. That was incredibly vague, and if anything it just left you with more questions. But Harry was nervous enough, you could tell from the way he’d adjusted his hair several times during the drive and the fact that he was avoiding eye contact with you now. Not wanting to stress him out anymore, you decided not to push it. You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring how natural it felt. Maybe it was just the dim lighting from the streets lights, but you could have sworn that Harry was blushing. “I’m sure I’ll love it. I mean, writing a song about me is already nicer than anything any of my ex-boyfriend have done.” You realized a few seconds too late that maybe comparing your best friend to your exes wasn’t the best move. “And everything else you’ve written has taken my breath away. I’m sure this won’t be any different.” You added, trying to cover the awkward moment. 

Harry turned to you, looking happier and more confident now. “Let’s go.” He walked around to your side of the car and opened the door for you, even taking your hand to help you out of the car. Because no LA party could really start without time for networking first, you spent the first part of the party following Harry around like a baby duckling as he made his rounds to talk to the band and the industry executives. You’d been a little worried that you would feel like a fish out of water, or worse that Harry would leave you by the bar and make the rounds on his own. Harry had never been the type to social climb, but you were fully aware of the fact that this was his biggest career opportunity yet, so you weren’t sure how he would react. But you were worried for nothing, because Harry kept you by his side the entire night, introduced you to everyone by name, and tried hard to include you in the conversation, even though you were so starstruck most of the night that you ended up feeling tongue tied. 

As someone from the label raised his voice to announce that they would be playing the song soon, Harry pulled you to a table and introduced you to Jeff. 

“Ah, the famous muse,” Jeff shook your hand before giving Harry a knowing look. “Harry’s told you about the song?” 

“Just that it’s about me. I haven’t heard it yet.” 

“You’re in for a treat.” He told you with a smile, shooting Harry another look. Before you had time to further ponder what was going on, a label executive's voice at the front of the room drew your attention as he introduced “Crave”. 

As the song played, you were blown away. Harry had written a beautiful song, and though you’d initially been worried about him giving the song away you had to admit that The Heartbreakers had done it justice. But what surprised you the most was that it was a love song, and every single word of the song pointed to you, to things you had Harry had done together or to your little idiosyncrasies. Harry loved you, and had for a while. 

As the final notes of the song faded away, Harry grabbed your hand and pulled you outside the club, clearly wanting whatever happened next to be just between the two of you. You stood bathed beneath a streetlight, with drunks exiting nearby clubs stumbling past you. “So, what’d you think?” Harry asked, smiling shyly at you. 

“Harry, I loved it. I love you.” You said, throwing your arms around him. Saying it felt so right, so natural, even though it was the first time you’d said those words to Harry. 

Harry slid his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. “I love you.” He said quietly, before he pressed his lips to yours for a kiss that had been a long time coming. 

#pypfc #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #i literally can't remember the last time i wrote something i hope this is okay #i just read another friends to lovers fic earlier that was so good and its got me a lil stressed about posting this #also me posting this at 3 am is very on brand for me

[5lazarus]

Anders in Autumn, Ch.7

inspired by @cozy-autumn-prompts! Chapter Seven, First Frost: After Varric’s party at the Hanged Man, Anders wakes up hungover and freezing in Fenris’ home. They talk around what’s actually bothering. He sobers up. Read the rest of it here.

Anders woke up shivering and feeling hungover. Someone had thrown his shawl over him and taken off his boots, and tucked a pillow under his head. Alas, the fireplace was unlit, and dusty besides. He winced and pulled himself into a sitting position. Hopefully he hadn’t embarrassed himself too badly the night before. Alcohol and embrium hit him harder since Justice had found a space. He thought, there was to be a spell to magic hangovers away. He felt the echo of smugness from Justice that meant that there was, and that Justice had no intention of teaching him. Mealy-mouthed and parched, Anders left the room and began to wander Danarius’s mansion. At least Fenris had finally disposed of the corpses. He found the elf stirring a pot of oats over the fireplace of the main hall. Fenris growled, “Mage.” Anders winced. He hadn’t thought the wisp was going to indulge all three of them, he had not intentionally invoked it, and he had gotten perhaps too comfortable with spirits since Justice tended to scare the demons away. Anders decided to play it safe. “Thanks for not killing me in my sleep, Mage-Killer,” he said. Fenris grunted. “I’m sure you considered it.” Fenris grunted again. Anders shivered again, and rubbed his hands. If Fenris were less unreasonable--that is not fair, Justice twinged at him, look at the lyrium-brands--if Fenris were less uncomfortable with casual magic, he’d spit a little fire into his hands to warm them up. He said, “Mind if I take a seat?” Before Fenris could tell him no, Anders grabbed a stool and sat next to him at the fireplace. He huddled in his shawl and inhaled deeply: nothing quite like gruel in the morning, after a good party. Was it a good party? He had a moment of grace, so that was good. Fenris stirred the pot, then added a dollop of honey, and then kept pouring. Anders watched with growing amusement as he emptied an entire jar into the pot, and then cinnamon. “Get that for me,” Fenris said, indicating with his chin. Anders turned around and found another jar sitting on the floor: sliced walnuts. He handed it to him. “If you want to be useful, you could slice a few apples. There’s a sack downstairs.” “Oh no, I much prefer being ornamental,” Anders responded. Fenris snorted, but kept stirring. Anders wandered down the grand staircase. He really was living like shit, squatting in his own home. He may have finally removed the corpses, but the mansion still stunk of death, and there were scorch marks everywhere from the party he had thrown in the beginning of the month. The Veil was particularly thin in the cellar. A thin scream stretched across the stone floor. Justice thought, I came too late. Anders blinked and he was holding a knife in one hand, an apple in the other. It was a good apple, solid, smooth, red. He hoped it would be good enough for the gruel. He headed upstairs and announced, “Your cellar’s haunted, you know.” Fenris said, “I live in a mansion formerly owned by a blood mage. Yes. I know.” Anders sliced the apples and added them to the pot. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He’d had tenser breakfasts in the Circle, after one of the apprentices disappeared or an enchanter attacked. This felt a little too similar. He drew closer to the fire. The first frost was settling in, and Fenris’ mansion was freezing. When the apples softened, Fenris ladelled the gruel into two bowls, offering him one. They ate in silence, sitting on stools before a magnificent fireplace in a magnificent hall, that Fenris had turned into a kitchen. Anders kept trying to catch Fenris’ eye, but he wouldn’t look at him. “So,” he said into the chill. “You cleaned up the corpses.” Fenris grunted. He tried again, “The gruel’s good. Thanks for taking me home last night, embrium oil’s hit me harder since Justice moved in.” Fenris paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He put it back in the bowl and set it aside. “‘Moved in.’ Like a bad roommate, who occasionally urges you to murder people.” “Well, it’s not like he pays rent, but he does give good advice sometimes,” Anders said. “It’s not all doom and gloom. Justice is very healing, you know. Transformative. Catharsis is not an inherently violent process.” He smirked. He was particularly proud of that line. The other Liberati in the Circle  would parrot it back at the aequitarians, when they would accuse them all of being fear-mongering extremists. It is not violence if it’s self-defense: but tell your oppressor that. Anders sniffed. Fenris said, “You’re possessed by a demon who pays rent by giving you occasionally good advice. You’re worse than Merrill.” “Hey!” Anders was indignant. “Spirit, not demon. I’m not a blood mage. Merrill deals with demons. Justice is as unbroken as he can be, living in the waking world for so long. It’s hard but we’re trying.” Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated. “Both of you say there’s a difference in the work you do but I see no evidence to the contrary. That demon Merrill’s been dealing with has her running manic around Kirkwall. You, you’ve been getting more reckless too. Letting the trade unionists host meetings in your clinic--what are you going to do when Varric finds out? Because he will find out. I told him I’d keep an eye on you, but how could you be so reckless?” “Wow, I didn’t know you cared so much,” Anders snapped back. “I’m not turning patients away. I can take care of Varric. I know how to be discreet.” Fenris lifted a single eyebrow. “You look like a molting bird in that shawl. You occasionally have long conversations with yourself. Your eyes glow.” “Your body glows!” Anders cast the bowl aside. “You’re squatting in a mansion in Hightown and regularly let Isabela start bonfires! You are the last person to call me--unsubtle.” Fenris let a short gust of wind out through his nostrils, like an annoyed horse. “I don’t mean--I do not want Varric to catch wind of the dockworkers’ strike. He has people watching you, for your own protection, but he will not risk losing face with the Carta by allowing the Merchants’ Guild to negotiate with them. And the Lavellan are known troublemakers. They don’t have her wanted poster up in Kirkwall, not yet at least, but I know the Carta--” “They’re planning a strike,” Anders said blankly. “You don’t mean they’ve already organized a union. They’ve already organized? I thought yesterday was the first meeting!” Fenris looked abashed. “I should not have said that,” he said stiffly. “It is better you know as little as possible. This isn’t your fight, mage.” “It isn’t yours either, elf,” Anders said. “Half the men working the docks are shem. And Ferelden, too. So don’t give me that excuse. Mages don’t make shit but still have to work and sell for the Templars and the Chantry. The Tranquil do most of the enchanting topside and they’re just kept as mindless--” “Slaves,” Fenris said. “Yes. I’ve thought of the comparison.” Anders flushed. He never felt comfortable talking about Fenris’ past. Not only was it not his business, but the elf was so prickly, and he always felt he was blundering into saying exactly the wrong thing. The Circle was a kind of slavery: mages were not paid for their labor, but at least they were not chattel. They were not possessions, though of course they could always be possessed. “Fine. But I strongly advise you do not let them have any conversation about anything pertaining to the strike in your clinic. You need to steer clear of this. Varric’s sympathy only runs so far. I’ve told him I’d keep an eye on you, that I suspected Justice was gaining a stronger hold on you. So he no longer needs to send guards. But the less you know, the better.” Anders looked at him, hard. Who did he think he was? He ran the fucking Mage Underground--but of course he was not going to tell him that. Aveline was good at looking the other way on her rounds. Donnic was good about vacuously gossipping about templar drama, overheard in the Viscount’s Keep. But Fenris had no sympathy for any mage accused of blood magic, and little interest in hearing what may have driven them there. “Fine. But why do you know? How are you involved?” Fenris shrugged. “Elves talk. I don’t spend my entire time skulking up here, you know.” A smile played at the edges of Fenris’ lips. Anders had the sudden, irrational desire to trace the edges of his mouth: down, boy, he told himself. He kills mages. He’ll kill you if he thinks you’ll lose control. And these days, with so much injustice, how easy it would be, to let it wreck, to let the spirit take the streets and give them a show Kirkwall would never forget. In the cold Anders left and shivered in the first frost of the year, drawing the feathered shawl Mahariel had given him around his shoulders, and wished for the warmth of the hearth. He kept his head down as he walked through Hightown, eyes darting at shadows as the wind rustled the few manicured trees the aristocracy let grow in the public square. Lowtown was bustling as always, and as he passed by the entrance of the Alienage on his way down to Darktown, he noticed that Dalish woman at the gate, speaking to Merrill. When they noticed him they turned away, and he kept walking into the wind, into the gray autumn morning, wishing he had said something better, said something right, because the joy of last night seemed an entire age away. When he got to the clinic there was already a line: three sick babies, a retired miner with a chronic cough, a weaver with arthritis, and too many people who just needed to eat. He did not have enough hot food to last them through the day. He had so little left to give, to get through the first frost, and Justice said: there is more that you can do. Find a better way.

#co-zautumn #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age 2 #da2 #fenris #anders #justice #fenris/anders #anders/fenris #first frost #anders in autumn #fanfic #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 19

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Nik has managed to arrange a private flight; a jet owned by a high-profile business big wig she's provided previous -and successful- services for. He has all the toys and all the connections: his own gulf stream, no checking of passports and baggage through either the small municipal airport in Telluride or the much larger one in Belfast,  a flight manifesto with all fictitious names, and absolutely no contact with the general public.  Normally Yaz would fly them in and out of extractions, but with many unknowns and the need for him to run point on the tech side of things in Ireland, a private flight had been the best and safest choice.

 Tyler had taken the seat at the very back of the jet; preferring to space himself out from the other two passengers and the small flight crew.  He'd needed a chance to clear his head; a stampede of thoughts surging through his already weary brain.  Unable to get Millie's meltdown out of his mind, the way she'd become a child possessed and he'd had to physically restrain her. Heart still aching over the words she'd said: “I hate you”, “Don't come back. EVER.” Stunned by the vehemence and hostility that had just spewed from such a tiny, innocent body. The look of the utmost betrayal written all over her face.

 And his wife. That heartbroken, lost, and haunted look in her eyes when she'd kissed him goodbye. The way she'd clung to him when the made love for the last time; her hands slowly moving over his body, as if committing every inch of him to memory. Of their desire to have another baby: the first and last. And how he hopes and prays that the news doesn't come while he's away.

 His eyes are closed, arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out under the seat in front of him when he feels someone slip into the seat beside him. And he cracks open one eye just as McCann, a glass of whiskey in his hand, plops down next to him.  Part of him wants to tell the guy to fuck off; after all, he's the main reason behind Millie's meltdown and harsh words and Esme's heartbreak. But his more logical and humane side reminds him that this is a man who genuinely needs someone to prop him up Who is going through quite possibly the worst shit a husband and a father could ever deal with.

 “It's always hard saying goodbye,” McCann says, as he sips his drink.

 Tyler nods. “My wife takes it pretty bad. She's been struggling with some things. Since Dhaka.”

 “PTSD?”

 “Undiagnosed. But yeah, I think so.”

 He'd been so caught up dealing with his own issues and getting Ovi the help he needed, that her struggles had bee pushed to the back burner. And they've spent so much time, effort, and energy during their five years of marriage having a babies and raising them, that he's never really pressed the issue of her getting some kind of help. But he sees it. Every day. The way she struggles with her up and down moods; hyper and manic one moment, horrifically down and depressed the next. Her battle with self confidence since having Declan and being unable to lose the last ten pounds she is always obsessing about. The sleep issues.  The days when she can't even get out of bed because the weight of the world is just wearing her down.

 “How about your kids?” McCann asked. “How do they handle it?”

 “The baby's too young to understand anything. The twins handled it pretty well.  They're just disappointed that we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would when I got back last week. My daughter...” he sighs, leaning his head back against the seat.  “...she didn't take it too well.”  He leaves it at that. It's too painful to relive, and the man sitting beside him doesn't need to know every detail of what goes on behind closed doors.

 “She's a daddy's girl?”

 Tyler nods. “Well, she was. I'm not so sure about now.”

 “Kids are resilient,” the other man reasons. “By tomorrow she'll have bounced back and all will be forgiven.”

 “I hope so. She's a stubborn little thing. Like her mother. She doesn't forgive and forget easily. If at all. I've been on my wife's shit list a few times and the past and it felt like I was never getting off of it.  She's amazing though,” he smiles. “She's put up with a lot. Keeps putting up with a lot. I haven't always been the best husband for her. I'm not an easy person to live with. Yet she keeps hanging in there and giving me chance after chance.”

While infidelity has never been an issue, his own struggles with mental health problems  and substance abuse has caused a lot of angst within the last few years, as has  his often volatile temper and his need for control and issues with seeing her as a possession instead of an actual person. But they've battled through it; a lot of fights, counselling, even a trial separation when the twins were only two.

  They latter they'd kept a secret from everyone they knew.   Friends and family alike.  It had been the wake up call that he'd needed; living in a shitty hotel, relegated to seeing his kids once every two weeks, wanting so badly to beg and plead with her to just take him back yet his pride never actually allowing him to do it. For six months they'd lived like that. Barely speaking except for him he'd stop by to grab the kids or when he took them home. Never actually setting foot in the house, instead having to carry on awkward and tension filled conversations with her on the front porch. Until one night she'd called him and said she missed him.  That she wanted him to come home.

 After that he'd made it his mission to make up for all the bullshit he'd put her through.

 “You're lucky,” McCann says. “That you found someone like that. Not many in the game manage to, you know. It's hard finding someone that gets it. That understands why we do what we do.  It's a hard life. Not just for us, but for them too. Having to put up with us gone all the time, taking care of a house and a family all on their own. It's why so many people in this job never get married. Or if they do, it never lasts long.”

 Tyler thinks about G. Finally meeting the love of his life and settling down, only to never get the chance to grow old and gray with his bride.  

 “Drink?” McCann offers. “I can wave the stewardess over.”

 “I'm fine, mate. Thanks. I'm trying to stay clean for a couple of weeks. I've been going a little overboard lately and I need to slow down. For my family.”

 “Battles with the bottle?”

 Tyler hesitates on using the word 'alcoholic'. He's never felt that things have been that out of control. At least not within the past five years.

 “I struggle from time to time,” he admits. “It's my weakness.  I try not to let it beat me.”

 “Must be hard. Seeing what you see. Doing the things you do.”

 “It has it's moments,” he agrees.

 “You know,” McCann downs the remains of his drink, the motions to the stewardess that he'd like another. “You didn't have to stay in a hotel. I've got enough room at my place. Why waste the money?”

 “I'm not actually paying for anything. Nik takes care of all that. I appreciate the offer, but I work better on my own. When I have my own space and my own little bubble. I focus a lot better.  Besides, the last time I stayed under the same roof as someone while doing a job, I ended up marrying them. And no offence, but you're just not my type.”

 McCann laughs at that. “None taken. I can definitely understand why you'd prefer to stay under the same roof with her.   I hear Nik has a little project she's working on. Starting up the business in North America.”

 Tyler nods.

 “She said she asked you to run it. You given it much thought?”

 “If I had to give my answer now, it would be yes. But ask me in two weeks. It all depends on how things go while we're in Ireland. Things go nice and smooth, then I go for it. Things go to shit, then I just go home and keep doing what I'm doing now. I've already told Nik this is my last year. That I'd give her twelve months and than I was walking away. My family needs me. They deserve to have me home. And we're trying to have another baby, so...”

 “Another one? Five all together? You're mighty brave. Both of you. Why not go for two? Make it an even half dozen?”

 “I don't think my wife would go for that. Unless this one ends up being twins too.  If I do take the offer from Nik, I'd be home more. Not so much time out in the field. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. My mind may say yes, but my body is very much telling me no.  I don't know how much more I can put it through before it just gives out entirely.”

 “I keep telling myself...and my wife...that I'm going to give it up,” the other man muses. “I've been saying it every year for the last six. But something always comes up and I just keep hanging in there. My wife's a lot like yours. Stubborn as all hell. Fiery temper. Likes to hold a grudge from time to time. But she keeps me around. Lord knows why. I've put her through a lot. Because of the job,”

 “I guess we're both lucky then,” Tyler reasons. “We both managed to find that balance. Between the job and a real life. It's not easy. Far from it. But it's worth it. Every time she smiles at me. Every time my kids hug me or tell me they love me. It makes all the bullshit worth it.”

 McMann nods in agreement, slowly sipping his drink. Contemplative now. Eyes dark. Lips set in a thin, firm line.

 “We'll find them, mate,” Tyler assures him. “We'll find them, and we'll bring them home.”

 “I've been thinking about what you said the other day. When you talked about why you didn't want to be the one to get the kids. About not wanting to have to choose between the two of them. If you knew you could only get one or the other.”

 “I never should have said that. I was way out of line. I never...”

 “You made a very valid point. As much as it hurt to hear you say it. What if you couldn't get both out at once? What if you knew there'd be no chance of going back to get the other? How would you decide? If you had to pick between your two sons. Your twins. Which one would you pick?”

 “I wouldn't,” Tyler's answer comes easily. With absolutely no hesitation. There isn't a scenario that he hasn't run through his mind at least once or twice.  A solution that he hasn't come up with. “If it came down to that, I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. If something like that were to happen, it would mean that whoever it is, is after me. They don't want my kids. Not really. They just know that taking my kids will bring me to them.   I'd give them what they want. Me. As long as it means they let go of my kids.”

 “And if they won't? Let them go?”

 “Then they better make sure the first bullet is the one that kills me. Because I won't go down easily. I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. Or my wife. So they better make sure they put me down permanently the first time because I'm going to just keep getting back up.”

 McMann nods slowly, considering the words as he swirls the ice within his glass.

 “If you're not willing to do that, what the hell are we even doing here, mate? If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself for your kids, so they can live and get home to their mother, why are you even bothering with all of this? You know it's you that they want.  They're just using your family to get to you. If it comes down to it, are you willing to give yourself up so your kids will get back to their mom?”

 “They have to have a mom to get back to you. That's your job.”

 “And I'll do my job. I'll find your wife. I'll get her out of there.  But I'm not worried about my end of things. I've got my shit under control.  But if you're not willing to give up your life for your kids, this is all for nothing.  You don't offer yourself up, they'll kill all of you. You pick one kid over the other and you'll kill yourself in the end. Because you'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.  You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. So you better be ready for that, mate. To make that choice. Yourself or them. Because it's a damn good possibility that that's going to happen.”

 McCann finishes his drink in one large gulp. Coughing as the whisky burns his throat. “And what if you've got a choice to make? When you find my wife? If they want your life for hers? What decision are you making?”

 “It's simple,” Tyler says.  “I'm going home to my family. And it's not going to be in a body bag.”

 The other man blinks at the brutal honesty.

 “Let's get one thing straight. I'm here to help you. I'm not here to die for you. For any of you. If it comes down between me and your wife, I'm being a selfish bastard and choosing me. Because I've got my own wife at home. I've got four kids. And I made a promise to all of them that I was coming home. Alive. And no one is going to stop that from happening.”

 “Your family gets the money,” McCann reminds him. “If you don't make it, they still get the money. As long as my wife gets out of there.”

 “I don't give a shit about the money.  Five and a half years ago, when I had a death wish, I would have gladly gone in there and offered myself up for a complete stranger. Back then I wouldn't have given a shit. I was close to putting a bullet in my own head, so it wouldn't have mattered if someone did it for me.  But now? I have way too much to lose. People that count on me. Depend on me. And as big of a dick as I sound for saying it, your wife's life is not worth more than mine.”

 “I'm counting on you, Rake. I'm counting on you to get her out of there. To make those bastards pay. Don't fuck me over just because all of a sudden you can't take the heat or because you get a little squeamish.”

 “I can take the heat. And I don't get squeamish. We're not buddies. We're not partners. So you better watch who you threaten. I'm not scared of you. Or your buddies in the IRA.  You asked for my help. I could have easily just told you to fuck off and leave me alone.  But I'm here. I'm on your side. And if you're the one that's planning to fuck me over, you better start thinking twice right about now.”

 “You don't trust me?”

 “I don't trust anyone. It isn't personal. If I find out there's any hidden agenda or something you're not telling me, you better run and hide.  Run far. Find the darkest, deepest hidden place you can. I will come for you.  If I get to Belfast and this was all some kind of bullshit to get me away from my family...to make me vulnerable...there isn't going to be a place I can't find you.”

 McCann smirks.  “Now you're threatening me?”

 “That's not a threat. That's a promise.  Don't fuck me over. I'm warning you right now. Because if I come for you, you better have a goddamn army to help you out.  All those stories you've heard? The things I've done? The people I've killed. They're all true.  Bigger and better than you have tried to put me down. And I'm still here. So if this is some kind of game...”

 “This is all true. Every word of it. The videos you saw. All real.  This isn't some kind of ploy to get you into a strange place and catch you off guard. This is exactly what it is. A job. I need your help.  No games. No bullshit.”

 “Fair enough,” Tyler says, once more leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

 “You just do your job, Rake.  You get my wife out of there and you make those bastards pay. In whatever way you have to. I need you to give me your word. That you won't leave her there. That you won't just drop her off in the middle of nowhere or leave her in the street.  At least give me that. At least give me your word that you'll do whatever it takes. That you'll make them pay.”

 He sighs and opens his eyes, seeing the hand that is being offered.

 “You have my word,” he says, and they shake on it.

 *****

 While not exactly five star, the hotel in Belfast is a far cry from the one he’d stayed at in Dhaka.   Clean. Spacious enough for two queen sized beds. Fresh carpet and paint; no unusual or concerning stains lingering on the walls.  No weird smells.  No obnoxious noise from the street below. Running water -hot water at that- and a normal shower and tub. A toilet that flushes.

 There’s two closets. The first one he uses to stash his clothes and personal effects. The second he uses for the ruck sack filled with weapons; using an abnormally large and powerful combination lock looped through the handles on the doubles door to keep it safe and secure.  He removes the holster from his right hip; setting both it and the Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand that separates the two beds.

 He hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the hotel room door, then sets both the locks; deadbolt and flimsy chain. Toes his boots off and leaves them in front of the closet that holds the weapons.  The SAT phone he uses to send a message to Nik that he’s arrived and to expect a call soon from her brother, then he places it in the drawer next to the Glock.  There’s an unlocked mini bar in the far corner; next to the dresser and the wall mounted TV.  Locating the remote, he turns the latter on and selects a local news channel, volume on low as he grabs a travel bottle of scotch from the bar and cracks open the seal. He doesn’t even consider grabbing a glass from the small kitchenette, taking a long pull straight from the bottle as he stands in front of the sliding glass door that leads out onto the small balcony.  The room overlooks the downtown area, much cleaner than the market area in Dhaka. Less populated. White mini lights strung up in the trees that line the curbs, shops with illuminated closed signs, flashing neon advertising which bars and restaurants are open to patrons.

 His stomach growls. Prompting him to make a mental note to order room service.

 Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he places the bottle of scotch on the floor and his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his weary face, then clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Contemplating his first moves when the new day breaks. He has to wait for Yaz to get some information; even the smallest tidbit that will send him in the right possible direction.  Wandering aimlessly through town will only draw unnecessary attention. People will find who he is and what he’s there for when the time is right.

 He opens his eyes, meeting his own reflection in the glass.  His beard needs a trim. He already needs to take the clippers to the shortest parts of his hair.  

 He’ll do that in the morning.

 Taking another swig of scotch, he stands up; wincing as his knees crack noisily.  He finds his cell phone in the inside pocket of the flack jacket that he’d worn from the airport and now hangs in the unlocked hall closet.  Hitting the second number on speed dial as he slides open the patio door and steps outside.  The air is crisp and fresh; an unusually cool evening for summer in Ireland, he’d been told by the desk clerk. And he takes a seat on one of the patio chairs just as the call reaches the fourth ring and someone finally answers.

 “Hey,” he greets, his heart immediately feeling a hundred pounds lighter at the familiar sounds of his ‘normal’ life in the background; the dog barking, the kids squabbling, the baby giggling and attempting speech.

 “Hey,” he can hear the relief in her voice. He knows she’s smiling. “Did you just get in?”

 “About half an hour ago.”

 “What time is it there?”

 “Eight thirty. PM.”  He does the math in his head.  He’s seven hours ahead. Making it one thirty, her time.

 “How was the flight?”

 “Long. No issues though. I don’t know who this guy is that Nik knows or what she has on him that he’s so willing to cough up his private jet, but I’m not going to complain.”

 ‘Maybe they’re friends. Special friends. If you catch my drift.”

 He grins. “Maybe. I’m sure she has a lot of special friends.”

 “You sound tired.”

 “I am. Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

 “Well make sure you eat. I know how you get when you start throwing yourself into something. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re trying to run on an empty tank.”

 He smirks. “Worrying about me from even thousands of miles away, huh?”

 “It’s what I do, Tyler. I worry. I try to take care of you.  It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” he picks the bottle of scotch up off the ground and takes a swig. “You okay?”

 “I guess. As good as I can be. The first couple of days are the worst. But I manage.”

 “The kids?”

 “They’re doing okay.  They get sad and weepy every now and then. Tyler is grumpy as all hell. He is so much like you. He even has the same facial expressions when he’s mad or irritated. I see so much of you in him. Tanner is really stepping in to help him through things.  He’s an old soul, that one. He’s just so sensitive and so intuitive. Such a big heart in such a tiny body.”

 “Like his mom. All the best stuff he got from you.”

 “Oh I don’t know about that. He got some pretty amazing things from you, too.”

 He smiles at that. “And Millie?”  

 “She’s pretty bitchy. I’ve had to send her to her room twice already today.  She’s just snapping at everything and taking it out on her brothers. She’s stronger than she looks. She almost beat the living shit out of Tyler because he looked at her the wrong way. And you know how strong and tough he is.  Your daughter does not take shit from anyone. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, at least we know she’ll be able to handle herself when she gets older if some asshole tries anything with her. But at the same time, she should not be beating the crap out of her brothers. She even goes after the baby. And all he’s doing is baby things.”

 “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If she’ll talk to me, that is.”

 “She’ll be fine, Tyler. She’ll be happy to hear your voice. She’s already asked about you. Three times. If you’d gotten to Ireland yet and if you’d called to say you were okay.  I know she feels bad. For what she said to you. Please don’t let it bother you. She’s a little girl. She just worries about you and misses you. She didn’t mean what she said. Don’t hold it against her.”

 “I don’t. I just thought I had a lot of years to go before she said something like that. Like when I started scaring potential boyfriends off. I swear to God, if she brings home some guy with weird hair and tattoos…”

 “You basically just described yourself,” his wife laughs.

 “You like my hair.”

 “I love your hair.  You know she’s going to bring someone home that you just despise, right?”

 “I’m going to despise all of them. Not just one of them. All of them. None of them will be good enough for her. Not a single damn one.”

 “I’m sure someone will come along that you like. Maybe someone like you. A military guy.”

 “Uh, yeah, no. That’s definitely not what I want for her.”

 “I don’t know, you’re a pretty good catch. And you’re ex military. So…”

 “Ex. You hit the nail on the head. Ex. Look what I do now. Is that really what you want for our daughter? This kind of life?”

 “I think you’re overreaching. There’s a big difference between her finding a military guy and her finding a mercenary. And where would she ever find one of those?”

 “You found me,” he points out.

 “Only because I was already in the job. Our paths would never have crossed if I hadn’t had been. I doubt that is going to be a lifestyle that she choice.  She’s beautiful and smart and…”

 “So are you.”

 “…and we’ll do our best to get her on a different path. That’s years away, Tyler. Why stress about it now? And why talk as if this is the worst possible life to have? It isn’t. I know you get down on yourself and you think you’re a failure as a husband and a father. You think that I hate you and that I hate this life.  But I’ve never once hated you. Ever. And I don’t hate this life. It’s not my most favourite thing and it’s hard. But I walked into this. Willingly. I fell in love with you.  I chose you. And I don’t regret that. So please don’t ever think I do.”

 Silence falls between them as he considers her words; the power of them both comforting and overwhelming. And he closes his eyes against the hot, bitter tears that threaten.

 “Tyler?”

 He clears his throat noisily. “Yeah?”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her.  “I miss you.”

 “Already?” he can practically hear the grin on her face. “That was quick.”

 “I missed you the second I got on the plane,” he admits.

 “I miss you too, baby. It was hard this morning. Waking up and not having you there. With your messy hair and your sleepy little grin.  The way you kiss me awake. And the way you do other things to wake me up.”

 He grins at that.

 “Most of all, I just miss you. I miss your smell. The sound of your voice.  Your smile. The way it crinkles the corners of your eyes. I miss all those things.”

 He can hear the emotion in her voice; the way it chokes at her. And he can’t hold back the tears any longer; allowing them to flow freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose.

 “Please be safe,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because if anything happens to you…”

 “I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.  “You know how you said you didn’t trust McCann? That something about him just doesn’t feel right? And I said you were probably just on edge? Well I’m starting to think you’re right.”

 The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “What’s happened?”

 “Just a conversation we had on the plane. The other day when we first met, he wanted me to be the one that goes for the kids. I told him that I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. That I didn’t feel confident that I’d be able to safely get three of us out. One kid was enough in Dhaka. And he was a teenager. Not a little one. I told him that he should be the one to get his kids. That I’d deal with the wife.”

 “Makes sense. I mean, they might panic if they saw you. A complete stranger all dressed up like he’s going to war.  That would just make things worse if they got scared and freaked out. They won’t do that if it’s their dad.”

 “Exactly what I thought. It just makes more sense. I brought up what would happen if I could only get myself and one of them out of there. How would I make that kind of decision? About which kid lives or dies?”

 “Tyler…” she sighs. “…don’t do this…”

 “He threw it back in my face on the plane. He asked me how I would choose. If it came down to the twins. If I knew I could only get one of them out alive. Which one would I pick?”

 “Tyler…”

 “I told him I wouldn’t. That I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. It’s me someone would want. Not them. They’d just be using the kids to get to me.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Esme?”

 “I’m here,” the sadness hangs heavily in her voice. “Tyler, why are you…?”

 “I would do it. In a heartbeat. Offer myself up for them. For any of my kids. For you.”

 “I know. But…”

 “It was weird. How he responded to that. Like he wasn’t on the same page. What father wouldn’t do that for their kids? Especially when he knows that he’s the one they want? What father wouldn’t give himself up to save his children? I can’t wrap my head around that. Then he asked me I’d do if it came down to saving myself or his wife.”

 “And you said…”

 “I told him that her life isn’t worth more than mine. That I have my own wife and my own family and I’m going home to them. And it’s not going to be in a body bag. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a selfish prick now.”

 “It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s self preservation.”

 “There’s something not quite right about this guy. I didn’t like the way he acted when I talked about how he might have to sacrifice himself for his kids. He was reluctant. He wasn’t willing to make that choice. And that’s fucked up. To me, anyways. It should be an easy decision to make. At least in my eyes.”

 “Be careful, Tyler. Watch your back. Even more so than you usually do. Something isn’t right here. And I think you’re beginning to think that way too.”

 “Yeah…” he finishes off the scotch. “…I am. I miss you,” he says once more. “I miss you so fucking much.”

 “I miss you too.  Be safe, okay? Come home in one piece.”

 “I will. I promise.”

 “Go and get something to eat. And try to get some sleep. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. I’m proud of you, just so you know. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For doing the things you do. For other people. I know it’s not easy on you. But you still do it. You still put people ahead of yourself. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing the ending might be horrible. You’re the strongest person I know. And the bravest. Whether you want to hear that or not. Whether you want to admit it. Ovi was right. When he said you were brave for rescuing people. You are.”

 “I love you,” he manages through another wave of tears.  “Just know that I love you. That I always have, I always will.”

 “Please don’t talk like that. It sounds so…final.”

 “I just want you to hear it. I just want you to remember it. Just in case.”

 “I love you too. I’ve loved you right from the beginning.  I meant it. When I said it to you on that bridge. I know it was way too soon. It shouldn’t have made any sense. But I meant it. I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home. Please be careful.”

 “I will. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hug and kiss the kids for me. Tell them I love them. That I miss them. That I’ll be home soon.”

 “I will,” she promises. “And eat, Tyler. Get something in your stomach. And then get some sleep. Or try to at least.”

 “I love you,” he says one last time.

 “I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.”  And with that, she disconnects the call.

 Sighing, he places his cell phone on the ground beside the empty bottle of scotch and runs his hands over his face.  Unable to shake the feeling that he’s walking straight into hell.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (7/18)

Chapter 7: Romantic as a Pair of Handcuffs

It has been a busy month for the Valentine Detective Agency—Madelyn, Nick and Piper regroup to go over all the evidence in the case against Eddie Winter. Marty Bulfinch arrives with a lead and an invitation to an event perfect for “Charmer” and Deacon. After having her partnership with the Railroad spy questioned a second time by Piper, Madelyn confides in the most unlikely of people. Later, at the Third Rail, it’s showtime for two undercover agents.

“Well, you’re about as romantic as a pair of handcuffs.” - Debby Marsh as played by Gloria Grahame (The Big Heat, 1953)

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost]

April 8th, 1958

The first signs of spring arrived in Boston not a moment too soon, alleviating the city from a harsh winter—weather wise, at least. Piper couldn’t resist using the change in seasons as a clever headline for the latest edition of Publick Occurrences— “Winter is over, but Eddie Winter isn’t.” It had been a busy month for the mob boss, who had all but taken control of all the major crime families in the city. With the exception of a few holdouts, his men had wormed their way across the criminal underground and begun to infiltrate once reputable businesses. Nowhere in Boston was safe.

Madelyn had kept herself just as occupied, juggling her work with the agency and the Railroad. Most days she would investigate leads with Nick, tracking down the necessary proof to pin Winter for his crimes. In her spare time she was partnered up with Deacon, fielding the work from Desdemona or Doctor Carrington, and the few odd job from Tinker Tom (maybe odd was putting it lightly). The two had caught a break and made contact with a surviving safehouse—Randolph—and worked to bring them back into the fold, strengthening the organization numbers. It was still slow going as the data from the Switchboard was decrypted, but she was glad to have given the group—and Deacon—a second chance.

Meanwhile, the agency had been successful in collecting the evidence that had been disappearing from police custody through their own unscrupulous means—but if there was sabotage within the precincts, their options were extremely limited. MacCready’s lead on recordings had so far been a dead end, as promising as it sounded. Nick had followed up on the rumor with his old friend Marty Bulfinch at Precinct 8 but finding physical proof of Eddie Winter’s crimes was like trying to capture lightning in a bottle. Winter’s corruption had spread through the entire government—from law enforcement to the mayor’s office—with anyone from beat cops to prosecutors offered bribes. Nobody could be trusted.

Madelyn was carefully inspecting the handwriting of a newly obtained letter, comparing the messy scrawl to the copies on hand, trying to determine if the note MacCready snatched off a drunken police detective belonged to their set. She read over the lines of text again, wishing that more than a few words in a sentence were intelligible. The most she could make out were the words sir, head, and artist. Whatever that meant. At least she could say the scribbles belonged to the same hand who wrote the other letters. Even though none had been signed, there was enough inference to say Eddie Winter had penned them all.

“He’s done it again!”

A Boston Bugle newspaper slammed down right atop of Madelyn’s work, causing her to snap up in alarm. Nick was fuming, pacing in front of her desk as a waft of cigarette smoke trailed behind his head like a halo. This wasn’t a surprising mood to find him in as of late—as they ramped up their investigation, the detective had become more stressed than ever, bordering on manic—relentless in his endeavor to stop Eddie Winter’s takeover of Boston. Late nights in the office had left his jaw shadowed, in need of a shave, and his light green eyes were dull with sleep deprivation.  

Madelyn glanced down to read over the newspaper print, frowning when she saw the bolded typeface—Boston mob leader Ron Trevio found dead. Nick paused in his footsteps and approached, reaching down to tap his finger against the article in question.

“What they don’t say is that Winter had him assassinated,” he muttered, reaching up to grab at the nearly burnt out cigarette. Madelyn scooted the ashtray she kept in her office specifically for him closer so he could snuff the smoke out. “Whoever he got to do the job blew his head clean right off, destroying the bullet in the process.”

She grimaced at the thought, swallowing down the sickly feeling that crept up her throat. Not that she doubted Nick, but she questioned what made him so confident. Trevio was a mid-level player on the mob-scene but had stayed out of Winter’s way—rumor was that he was even making plans to head east to New York. For him to wind up dead and deposed of in such a gruesome way seemed unbefitting of even Eddie Winter.

“Are you sure?” Madelyn asked, watching as Nick ran a hand through his dark hair, distraught. “We both know he’s unhinged but this…this seems brazen.”

Her partner gestured to the newspaper again. “He knows he can get away with it. He has this entire city in his palm, and this is a warning to anyone who dares to go against him.”

She considered his words, wondering if he had thought about what Eddie Winter would do if he knew about the depth of their investigation. It was likely no secret to the crime-family organization that the Valentine Detective Agency was after them, but Nick had always been considered a joke to the city—something that used to bring him shame, he was now using to his advantage to keep their work under wraps. Still, Madelyn was on edge. If Winter and his men knew how much they had discovered, how close they were to finding a smoking gun, her and Nick were as sure as dead.

“Hey doll,” her partner called her from her thoughts, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his eyes. “You alright?”

This was what she signed up for, wasn’t it? When she first came to the agency all those years ago, he didn’t just need a legal assistant, but somebody who would help him in the pursuit of justice. After Nate’s death, she wound up relying on him for similar reasons. Nick was more than her partner, but her friend and somebody she trusted with her life. She was more than ready to see the Eddie Winter case to the very end with him, even if it killed her.

She put forth a smile. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Before Nick could protest, quick footsteps echoed though the lobby and the two could hear Ellie correcting their guest to the right office.  

“Oh so we’re in here for a change,” Piper joked sarcastically, taking a second glance at Madelyn’s name on the door before entering. She had a copy of the Boston Bugle and her own newspaper tucked under her arm, her bright red coat thrown over the other. As she threw herself into one of the cushioned armchairs, she let out a large sigh. “You saw the news?”

“Yes,” Nick and Madelyn answered simultaneously.

Piper regarded them both, grumbling under her breath. She tossed the papers haphazardly towards the desk, and Madelyn had to fumble to catch the copy of Publick Occurrences. The front page lacked any information on the Trevio murder, instead focusing on Mayor McDonough and his finances—sources were able to track donations to the McDonough reelection campaign back to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—

“This wasn’t the first time a murder has occurred and we’re the last to hear about it,” she sneered, interrupting Madelyn’s reading. “Talk about a media cover-up. Police corruption is one thing, but now Winter is messing with the freedom of the press!”

Nick choked over a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course they’d have a mole at the Bugle. Control the flow of information to the public. Spread fear through lies.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Madelyn warned, reading over her friend’s newspaper again.

Ever since the agency had begun collecting hard evidence against Eddie Winter, Piper had been itching to blow the whistle, promising to site the two as anonymous sources. As convincing as she made it sound, and as safe as her previous unidentified informants remained, Nick vehemently denied her request. The agency and Publick Occurrences were cut from the same cloth, and it wasn’t because they shared the same building. If Piper shared any information, she’d be painting a target on her back too.

“I know Blue, I know,” she relented, looking more defeated than before. “We’re so close.”

Nick nodded, pulling a new cigarette from the pack in the breast pocket of his shirt. “We are,” he nodded towards Madelyn as he flicked at his lighter. “Let’s go over the list again.”

She shuffled through the small pile on her desk until she found her steno notebook, lined with the details of the case. With a pen, she started at the top, suppressing the memories the name conjured. “Johnny Montrano, Jr.”

Nick and Piper nodded in agreement that they could still find a way to pin Montrano’s murder on Winter, even without a witness. Based on the information she had learned from Henry, the casefile and street rumors, they could corroborate that Eddie’s old hitman Robert Cooper had been hired for the job.

“Mac said Winter’s boys have been trying to keep that one quiet from Johnny’s pop,” Piper quipped. “Maybe he’s afraid of somebody after all.”

Madelyn shrugged, continuing down the list. “Arlington Green three,” she paused. The bodies had been discovered in the sand-trap just before Thanksgiving while Eddie Winter was still incarcerated at Cedar Junction. “Doesn’t Boston P.D. want to pin this on one of the O’Malley brothers?”

“Doesn’t mean the order wasn’t given down the chain of command,” Nick said, tapping his smoke over the ashtray. “Did they ever identify the victims?”

She solemnly shook her head. “The theory is they were low-level members of the Irish crime families.”

“They also could’ve been innocent bystanders for all we know,” Piper argued. She waved her hand, encouraging Madelyn to read on.

“Arthur Black,” she spoke. “Murdered a waiter in Winter’s presence. His girlfriend was there too.”

“Claire Pozinski, what a piece of work,” Nick scoffed. “What she sees in him—”

“Money, probably,” Piper interjected. “That, or she’s got a few screws lose in the head.”

“That’s besides the point,” Madelyn brought them to attention, dragging her unclicked pen down the paper. “Black was found dead, multiple stab wounds outside one of Winter’s clubs.”

“He was a liability. Leaving him out in the open was a warning to the others,” Nick reminded, harkening her back to their earlier conversation.

She nodded, blood running cold at the next item. “Danvers.”

None of them said a word, silently nodding in agreement. Just over Christmas, right after Eddie Winter had been released from prison, there had been a shooting in a speakeasy in the small town north of Boston. Two rival gangs had encroached on neutral territory and it didn’t take long for guns to go blazing. When the dust settled, each side had their fair share of casualties, but civilians had also perished. The prevailing rumor was that Winter had sparked the confrontation, sending his men to provoke the fight. Police had closed the investigation with all responsible parties arrested, even if their leaders still walked the streets.

“Alice Lansky,” Madelyn voiced after a moment of silence. “The missing safety inspector that was found…” she shook her head, unable to form the words. The poor woman had been stuffed into a barrel, remained dissolved in hydrochloric acid. Out of all of the victims linked back to Eddie Winter’s crime family, her death had been the most grotesque.  

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around why they needed to off a safety inspector,” Nick mused, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw. “How does she fit into this?”

“Maybe she stumbled across something she wasn’t meant to see,” Piper suggested, lips falling into a straight line the moment she said the words. As if Madelyn hadn’t already been worried about meeting an untimely end at the hands of Winter’s men, now she was imagining being crammed into a metal barrel, never to be discovered again. She did her best to hide the shiver that ran down her spine.

“Other than the numerous unexplained disappearances, robberies and drug running that have been occurring,” Madelyn sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “That’s what we have so far.”

“I know we’ve been over this before but,” Piper started. “Are you sure there isn’t anybody you trust within Boston P.D. with this information? Other than Marty, that is.”

Nick smiled, shaking his head. “You must think I’m real thick if you believe I trust that snake in a blue suit, Piper.”

The reporter laughed along with him, though Madelyn held back her amusement as she noticed Ellie leading a guest towards the open office door. She straightened in her seat. “Speak of the devil.”

Marty Bulfinch stood in the doorway with a sly grin, hands poised midair as he surveyed the room. He looked disheveled as always—even the expensive, navy pinstriped suit he wore didn’t do much to hide his less-desirable features. “Nicky, you talking trash in here?”

“You can’t walk around Boston with ducks on your ties and expect people not to say something, Marty,” Nick joked, deflecting what they had been actually been speaking about masterfully.

The other man rubbed at his necktie self-consciously. “Hey now, the other guys think its hilarious.”

Madelyn grimaced, wondering when, or how Nick would’ve ever been friends with such a slimeball. Even if her partner kept him on a short leash, she had her doubts about having the police detective as an informant—it was too risky, for all parties involved.

“What brings you here, Mr. Bulfinch?” she finally questioned, motioning for him to sit in the other armchair. Madelyn knew that her politeness always seemed to unnerve him and fairly quickly his expression shifted, eyes fixating on her as he moved from the doorway to the empty seat. He looked like a nervous child, come to the principal’s office for a punishment—that is, until he flicked his gaze back to Nick.

“You know those recordings you’ve been asking about?” he said, hand disappearing into his jacket pocket before revealing a holotape—technology only used by police, the government and a few lucky hospitals—the others in the office were taken aback by its appearance. “Now, I couldn’t well smuggle a holotape reader out of the office, but, I have it on good authority that this tape has Winter’s voice on it. With some self-incriminating information.”

“You don’t know what it says?” Piper asked directly. “Is there a transcript?”

Marty glared at her, tired eyes unblinking. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he slowly handed it over to Nick, who carefully inspected the foreign piece of data in his palm before passing it over to Madelyn. Marty shifted in his seat. “You’ll have to find your own way to listen to it.”

She had her own ideas, thinking about all of the various gadgets and inventions Tinker Tom had built and tucked away beneath the Old North Church. Of course, she wasn’t about to make the suggestion in front of their guest—for all he knew, the Railroad was a fairytale.

“I also have a lead on where ol’ Eddie might strike next,” Marty continued, fidgeting with his tie again. “Tensions between Winter and Skinny Malone have reached a fever pitch and he’s ready to have him offed.”

“That frosty, huh?” Piper chimed in, eyeing the rest of the room’s occupants. “Last we heard, Winter was allowing Skinny and his Triggermen to operate the speakeasies downtown, as long as they got a cut.”

“Skinny Malone doesn’t want to share anymore,” Marty explained, flatly. “And that made Eddie flip his lid.”

“Any idea on when the hit is supposed to take place?” Nick asked, extinguishing his cigarette. He leaned against the front of the desk, staring his former partner down. “The whole scene has been brimming with activity lately, it could be any day now.”

Marty nodded in agreement. “Skinny Malone is throwing a bash at his joint this Friday to celebrate his broad’s birthday,” he tilted his head side-to-side. “Ya’ know, the Third Rail? It’s been pulling in customers from Scollay Square ever since it opened.”

“That has Eddie Winter written all over it,” Piper remarked, leaning forward eagerly. “There’s no way he’ll make an appearance himself, though, right?”

“I doubt it,” Nick grumbled, considering the information. “Is Boston P.D. working on this? Are they going put Skinny Malone into protective services?”

Marty shrugged. “A few of us are being sent to the Third Rail undercover just in case we have to intercept,” he explained. “That’s when the offer will be made. We don’t expect Malone to come in quietly unless he feels his life is truly in danger.”

“Speaking of,” the investigator spoke, pointing to Nick. “Say the word and I can get you on the short list and inside that club.”

Nick was dumbfounded by the offer for a split second before smirking. “Undercover work isn’t really my schtick, Marty,” he said, raising his right hand to emphasize the prosthetic he wore. “Kind of hard to blend in. And don’t get me wrong but working with a precinct of cops that already hate me seems…risky.”

“I could always fill your shoes,” Piper grinned, fanning her fingers through her hair. Almost immediately the others were shaking their heads.

Madelyn softly chuckled at her friend. “Everybody in town knows about Public Occurrences, Piper. Even if you dyed your hair blonde and wore Nick’s trench-coat, you’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

The reporter slumped, defeated. That’s when Marty reluctantly flicked his gaze to where Madelyn was sitting behind the desk. He cleared his throat. “What about the dame?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, irritated that he was still going on about calling her that. “Madelyn?” When he realized what Marty was implying, he made to argue. “Marty, if you think for a second I’m sending Madelyn in with the wolves, you’re outta your damn mind!”

The danger was very real, and while Nick had every right to be upset and defensive, she couldn’t help but feel offended. It brought her back to that night in the agency, after the destruction of Ticonderoga, when he and Deacon almost came to blows. If the last month proved anything, she did her best work not cooped up in the office or behind a desk, but in action.  

“Nick,” she said his name calmly, gaining his attention. The moment he met her gaze, he knew she had made up her mind. But she could ease his worries, if only slightly. “I don’t have to go alone.”

Piper caught on to what she was inferring immediately, a disgruntled expression pulling at her lips as she sank further into her armchair. Nick remained stoic, but eventually relented as he nodded, looking back to Marty.

“You can get her in?” he asked. “Plus one?”

The Boston police detective looked unsure, meeting her gaze for a long moment. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled, before quirking his mouth up in a smile. “You better come with one hell of a disguise, ya dame.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes, and Nick took the cue, politely gesturing to Marty that it was time for him to leave. “Come on, you oaf, you better get back to the pen before they start searching the gutters for you.”

Marty let out a hearty laugh, slapping Nick on the back as he brought him into a handshake. “Don’t be shy around the precinct, Nicky. They don’t hate you—that much.”

The three were silent as he exited the room, listening to Ellie wish him farewell.

“You’re seriously going to take whatshisname to the Third Rail?” Piper wasted no time in questioning Madelyn as soon as the agency door slammed shut.

“He has a name,” Madelyn replied with a sigh. “If I can’t take you or Nick, what’s the harm in taking Deacon? Undercover work is what he’s best at.”

“Are you sure about that?” Piper mumbled, crossing her arms.

Madelyn frowned. Her friend had been upset ever since she had first met the man and learned of the deception it took to keep the Railroad a secret. The strain hadn’t eased, even as she continued to work with the organization and as his partner. It seemed the reporter couldn’t get past the fact Deacon wasn’t willing to divulge much of the truth—at least with her.

“What do you have against him?” Madelyn asked, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m just saying Blue,” Piper’s tone softened. “You seem to trust this guy a lot, but you barely know him. How long has it been? A few months? And he’s come in here and—whew—swept you off your feet like it’s damn Roman Holiday!”

Madelyn was stunned into silence, a warmth settling in her chest. She couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, or excitement at having the relationship she had with Deacon described in such a way. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how whirlwind it had been. Since their first meeting in the Memory Den, she had been chasing that feeling back and forth all through winter. There was an unspoken intimacy between the two, lingering touches and close calls where she was sure either one of them could’ve closed the gap and just kissed. And yet, there was also a silent boundary, an invisible line keeping them apart—she had always assumed it was her guilt, the weight of the wedding ring she still wore on her finger, the specter of a dead husband lingering above watching her every move—but now, she wondered if there was something more.

“I mean, what’s with the codenames?” Piper sighed. “Do you even know his real name?”

“I—” Madelyn choked on her words, at a loss. Her friend was right, and she was suddenly second-guessing every one of her emotions all over again.

Nick had been silent through the entire exchange, but finally spoke, reading her mind in the process. “Maybe Piper is right,” he mused with a little shrug. “But damnit if this isn’t the happiest I’ve seen you in months.”

Madelyn was flattered, especially when she noticed the way Nick was smiling at her, considering she knew how there was still tension between the two men whenever they happened to interact. But her chest felt heavy—the doubt had already started to creep its way in. Piper seemed ready to continue her verbal pestering when Nick sharply shook his head in warning.

“Don’t let it get to you,” he assured—a little too late. Still, Madelyn put forth a small smile and nodded. “We should plan for Friday.”

They had work to do.

The conversation with Piper and Nick continued to replay in Madelyn’s head the remainder of the day and into the evening. Even on the carbide home (on which she insisted on, so that Nick could make it home at a reasonable hour for once), her mind was clouded with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t deny that she had felt livelier, more like her true self in recent months—but didn’t want to base that happiness on lies or deception. A part of her understood it was the way the Railroad operated, outside the fringes of society where dishonesty was a necessity.

“Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?” she asked.

“Especially me.”  

Months later, he would put an addendum to his well-spoken phrase, holding her hand as he told her he was in her corner, and always had been. As the memory came to her, all she felt was confusion. Madelyn wanted to see him, but she wasn’t sure what she would do or say, or how her feelings would shift—for better or worse? What was stopping her from acting on impulse like she had been as of late? What if Codsworth had never walked in on them that cold March evening? Would she have kissed him and sealed the deal right then? She shook her head, breaking herself free of her delusions, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to dream of what-ifs. Instead, she needed to focus on the future and what she really wanted—if only she could figure that out.

As Madelyn walked into the lobby of her apartment building, she noticed Drummer Boy at the mailboxes, sifting through various envelopes. He regarded her with a polite smile, moving to join her in the trek up the staircase.

“Have a good day at the agency?” he asked.

She sighed, trying not to sound too disgruntled. When he shot her a concerned look, she forced a smile. “It’s been very…busy. With the Winter case, that is.”

“Right,” Drummer Boy replied, letting her half-assed excuse slide. It was difficult to bluff when she was emotionally compromised, and exhausted after a long day—and hauling herself up seven flights of stairs. “I have a note for you, from Deacon.”

Madelyn swallowed down the tightness in her chest at the mention of his name. “Isn’t he in DC?”

He had been put on a special assignment by Desdemona to make contact with the southern branch—something about helping set up a new safehouse for the newfound agents and assisting with their first round of assignments. As much as Madelyn wished she could’ve joined, her obligation to the agency and the Eddie Winter investigation kept her in Boston.

Drummer Boy nodded, handing over a folded note. “I thought it was a serious correspondence, so uh,” his cheeks became red in color, which made her feel equally flustered. “I shouldn’t have read it.”

The two paused on the third story landing if only so she could scramble to read the letter, which was hardly filled with anything important, or relevant. Rather, it was incredibly lewd, and even a modern woman such as herself was turned flushed by the contents. Of course, she realized fairly quickly as the note rambled on and became more grandiose that it couldn’t possibly be real. Oddly enough, it sparked a wave of relief as she was unable to contain her laughter.

“You know he did this on purpose to get a rise out of you, right?” she chuckled, trying to give it back to Drummer Boy who waved it away, still red in the face.

“His idea of jokes sure are…elaborate,” he sighed, lifting his blue cap to run his hand through his hair. “Too much time on his hands, even hundreds of miles away.”

Madelyn regarded his words. “Do you think he’s bored?”

“No,” he answered as they continued walking up the stairs. “The opportunity to set up a new safehouse is right up Deacon’s alley. Not that he doesn’t have the experience, but to do it all on his own is a big deal.”

“He helped with HQ, right?” Madelyn clarified. She eyed Drummer Boy carefully. “After…”

He looked solemn but held back any grief. “After the Switchboard, yes.”

“Deacon’s been a big help to Dez even before the move, he does a lot more than is asked of a regular agent or heavy,” Drummer Boy mused. “You’d think he was the second in command, or the head honcho but…”

She stole another glance when he paused, seemingly in thought. “You know our history, right?”

Madelyn shrugged, taking a reprieve on the fifth story landing. “Tom once rambled off a lot of codenames to me in-between telling me how the air was going to poison me while I slept and that I needed to take the immunization shot he invented to protect myself against ‘invisible bugs’”

Drummer Boy softly laughed, nodding along. “Well, before Dez, there was Pinky Thompson. She only became leader because of a string of organizational failures under Pinky’s watch.”

“Are you suggesting that somebody might be vying for Desdemona’s position?” Madelyn questioned. “As in, Deacon?”

“No, not really,” he replied. “Deacon would never stage a coup like that. Carrington maybe, but never Deacon,” he smirked. “He’s been around…well, before my time. He was around when Wyatt and John D. ran the show, building the Railroad into the organization into what we know today.”

She found herself amused. “I always thought he was lying when he said he helped create the Railroad. Sounded too boastful, even for him.”

“Well, depending on who you believe or what you make of the records,” Drummer Boy flashed an impish grin. “Some of the agents like to think Deacon and John D. are one in the same.”

The confusion from earlier settled back into her mind, but this time, she wasn’t sure what to make of the information. This was just more conjecture—a rumor—Railroad gossip that had been passed down from agent to agent. Deacon himself had even fanned the flames, relishing in the spotlight. If anything, it only fueled the argument set forth by Piper that Madelyn truly didn’t know anything about him—about his past, about his present…about their future. Rather than anger, she felt despair—whatever had been built between them had to end, and when it did, it wasn’t going to be easy.

On the seventh floor, the two separated to their doors across the hall from one another. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back to him, motioning to her ajar door. “I prepared a pot-roast this morning, if you’d like to join me for dinner,” she offered, feeling more awkward than she meant. Even he looked perplexed. “As my neighbor, Robby. No Railroad business. Otherwise, most of it is going to Dogmeat.”

After a beat, he laughed. “Pot-roast sounds great, Hardy.”

April 11th, 1958

Madelyn hardly recognized the woman staring back at her in the reflection of her vanity mirror as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup, searching her drawers for the perfect red hue of lipstick. Her natural golden hair had been tucked back and hidden beneath a long, wavy dark brunette wig, the soft barrels falling over one shoulder and resting across the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Gown—she could hear Jenny correcting—Madelyn reminded herself she would need to be extra careful with the borrowed garment. It would not end up in the box of ruined clothes she had ripped or stained while running around the city investigating with the agency and Railroad.

Outside her bedroom, she could hear Dogmeat happily barking, Codsworth murmuring something while a third voice laughed along. Deacon—fresh from his trip to the nation’s capital, he had wasted no time in agreeing to an undercover operation and promised a show. She hadn’t seen him since he departed—communicating through dead drops to confirm their ‘assignment’—and could feel the anxiety bubbling to the surface over her conflicted feelings for him. But that night, more than ever, she would need to suppress her emotions for the sake of the investigation and stay focused.  

She slipped her feet into a pair of strappy black heels as she stood, reviewing her appearance in the full-length mirror. The strapless gown was black, with a sheen to it that sparkled under the right light. The fabric hugged her curves (and then some), loose around her legs with a slit along one slide that was almost too high for her tastes. It was unlike anything Madelyn had in her closet, and not something she would’ve expected her partner’s fiancé to own either, until it was offered as the perfect outfit for the evening’s festivities. The only problem was that she and Jenny weren’t exactly the same size—she stretched to reach the zipper again, struggling to get the right angle to make it budge.

“Miss Madelyn,” Codsworth buzzed outside in the hallway. “Mr. Deacon is inquiring about your presence. Is everything alright?”

With a defeated sigh, she opened her bedroom door for the robot, laughing at the way his mechanical eyes widened as he inspected her appearance. “Can you work a zipper?”

“Pardon, mum?”

She gave his metal chassis an affectionate pat as she walked past him, awkwardly holding the dress to her body as she walked the short distance to the main room of her apartment where Deacon was sitting at the kitchen counter, turned towards the hallway as if he had been waiting for her appearance. Or at least she thought it was Deacon—if it weren’t for his ever-present reflective shades, she wouldn’t have recognized him. The black pompadour (which High Rise had strongly hinted wasn’t natural to begin with) was gone, replaced with a short, wavy style instead, a warm ginger in color—it matched his eyebrows. He wore a different, well-tailored black suit than he had before, black wingtip shoes looking like he hadn’t been walked a step in. Handsome was an understatement—Madelyn wasn’t sure what to make of the not-so-subtle transformation—reminding herself to remain on task.

“Need some help there, Charmer?” he asked, breaking the silence. He gestured to her dress and beckoned for her to come closer.

Madelyn approached with a small nod, finding that her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth to speak. She turned her back to him, breathing in deep and straightening slightly when she felt his fingers brush across her skin for the zipper of the dress. What should’ve been a simple and quick movement had turned into another spark between the two, his touch lingering far longer than necessary, thumb sweeping across her spine. But she didn’t move away.

“You look downright sinful.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t sense how nervous she was, how her skin had turned burning hot at his words. She focused on his hair, and curiosity got the better of her.

“Is that your natural hair?”

He smirked, one eyebrow arching up like he expected something a little more flirtatious from her. “Maybe.”

Madelyn twisted around to face him, resting one hand along the kitchen counter to balance herself. As Deacon pulled his hands back to himself, she noted the glimmer on his left hand and a new tightness formed in her chest at the sight of the golden band. Why was he wearing a wedding ring? At her confusion, he gestured to her own wedding band, causing her to clamp her right hand around the diamonds to hide the jewelry.

“I knew you weren’t going to take it off, even for the sake of an undercover persona,” he explained. “Figured we’d go for the easiest play in the book. Better to blend in than stand out.”

As uncomfortable as she suddenly felt, a new wave of emotions taking over her body and mind, Deacon was right. He was also far more of an expert at espionage than she was—he knew what he was doing, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed to trust him.

“We’ll need a good cover story,” she offered, nodding in agreement. Still, she anxiously twisted at the ring Nate had given her almost twelve years prior, burning against her skin. More than ever, she could feel the weight of his presence around her, the guilt compounding as she agreed to this charade—even for one night.

“What do you suggest?”

Madelyn deliberated, fidgeting with the slit of the dress before thinking of who had leant it to her in the first place. Her mother had always taught her that when in doubt, use what you know.

“I’m a nurse at Medford Memorial Hospital and you’re a retired army vet. We met when you ended up in my ward after a training exercise went wrong and I had to nurse you back to health. Sparks flew, our parents disagreed, and we had to elope. Thanksgiving weekend, 1954 in Manhattan.”

She thought about the rest of the specifics. “Catherine,” she said. Her mother’s name—not that Deacon needed to know that. “My name is Catherine. Kitty for short.”

Deacon looked stunned. “Did you just come up with all that right now?”

She softly chuckled. “Thank Nick and Jenny, give or take…the rest of the details.”  

“How romantic,” he mused. “I’d say you’re better at this than you think. A natural.”

He stood, signaling to the clock on the wall that they needed to catch a cab across town, or they would be more than fashionably late to the party. Feeling more confident than she had earlier, she smiled at him. “So husband, what should I call you?”

Deacon grinned as he laced their hands. “Dollface, you can call me Johnny.”

The Third Rail was classier than Madelyn expected for a speakeasy, built into one of the abandoned subway tunnels downtown. Even if Skinny Malone and his gang of Triggermen—as he dubbed them—were gangsters, she had to give it up to them for the ingenuity of the idea. There was a certain kind of ambience to the place—low lighting and dark linens spread across the tables—seedy characters lining the walls with leery expressions, it was enough to make anybody fearful. Yet Madelyn felt strangely at ease, and it had everything to do with the way Deacon’s hand was resting along her waist.

For an hour now, they had been seated at a candlelit table, chairs pushed close to ensure their cover as husband and wife remained intact. Despite her comfort, her mind had been running wild, filled with questions about Johnny. Was that supposed to be an allusion to John D.? As Madelyn took a sip from her glass of champagne, she took a side eyed glance at him, fixating on his hair. She wondered if this was his way of shedding his Railroad persona and if for a little while, he could be himself without anyone knowing. The mystery of not knowing frustrated her even more—this wasn’t exactly the place to confront him for the truth. Instead she continued to sip at her drink, allowing herself one brief moment to think about brushing her fingers through the ginger waves before looking away.

A gorgeous woman adorned in a sparkling red dress crooned a slow song about love from the lit stage, her small band of jazz musicians accompanying her like they had rehearsed the melody a hundred times. Skinny Malone had introduced her as Magnolia—a starlet in her own right among Boston nightclubs, there as a special treat for his beloved girlfriend on her birthday. So far the evening had been as calm as one could expect when in a room full of drunken mobsters, with no sign of anyone suspicious, even as she sighted a few men so green they had to belong to the Boston police force.

“Kitty darling,” Deacon leaned to murmur in her ear. “We’ve got eyes on us.”

She nonchalantly glanced to find a man at the bar taking too many looks at them over their shoulder. In spite of his disguise, his fidgeting and whiskey gave him away. Marty Bulfinch. With a small smile she shook her head. “That’s a friend.”

Deacon nodded, though his lips twisted into a thin line. “Looks familiar.”

“Hmm?” she was genuinely curious, wondering how their paths could’ve crossed.

He frowned, quickly dismissing the topic. “Not now. Later.”

Madelyn continued to survey the crowd as she drank her champagne, giggling on cue when Deacon would provide her with information from the conversations he was eavesdropping on, under the guise of saying something nonsensical into her ear.

“You didn’t happen to sneak a weapon past the guards, did you?” he asked, fingers tightening along her waist as he took a long sip of his brandy.

She brushed her foot against his ankle, catching his attention so he’d glance down to wear she was hiking up the slit of her skirt ever so slightly to reveal the holster attached to her garter belt—a trick Piper had taught her after watching too many detective movies. Madelyn didn’t realize how practical it would become, the .22 cold against her skin. Deacon made a low sound, somewhere between a hum and a growl and it caused a warmth to bloom in her chest.

“If all else fails, there’s the hairpin in my curls,” she added, adjusting her dress and flashing him a knowing look.

He held her gaze, the candlelight flickering in the reflection of his sunglasses. “We both know how deadly you are with that.”

As Magnolia dedicated the next song to Skinny Malone and his gal, Deacon shifted out his seat and extended his arm to her. “Come on Kitty Cat, let’s dance.”

Madelyn took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, her heart racing with excitement and skin tingling alive with goosebumps. Almost immediately she was transported to that first dance at the Memory Den—the electric feeling that had engulfed her body and soul. Maybe she should’ve known then that she would be enraptured by his enigmatic nature. It was inescapable, no matter how hard she tried to deny herself the truth. But what was the truth?

Deacon tugged her close as they swayed to the slow song, dipping his head so his lips were angled near her ear. “What do you think?”

She blinked, struggling to remind herself what he was referring to. Her eyes danced around their environment, looking from the pairs of dancing couples to the patrons that sat at the surrounding tables. As far as she could tell, the only people present were Skinny Malone’s Triggermen and the people Marty Bulfinch had brought from the precinct. If any of Eddie Winter’s men were in the building, they had yet to make themselves known. She didn’t want to assume they wouldn’t take the opportunity to strike, not when the iron was hot.

“Something isn’t right,” she muttered, unsure. Madelyn focused on the bar where Marty was sitting earlier, only to find he had disappeared. In an effort not to panic, she steadied her breathing, looking towards where Skinny Malone was standing, entertaining some guests near the stage. A waitress came by with a new round of drinks, just in time for the birthday toast.

Madelyn tried to lead him closer, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Easy now, kitten,” Deacon assured, the hand at her waist tightening a little. “We have an audience.”

She flicked her gaze over his shoulder to the two Triggermen on the edge of the dancefloor, muttering to themselves as they gestured to where they were dancing. With one steady breath, she slinked herself closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “We need a distraction.”

“I like the way you think.”

Madelyn looked up at him through her lashes, and felt his fingers trail up to her shoulder and then her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. Cupping the side of her face, she could feel the cool metal band of the wedding ring he wore, reminding her of the charade they were meant to be playing. He wasn’t Deacon, but Johnny—not her Railroad partner, but her husband. If she wanted to, she could kiss him, and blame it all on the undercover assignment. It didn’t matter what her real feelings were—she could face them later—or live in this fantasy and sin for as long as she wanted.

He noticed her hesitation. “I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to.”

She didn’t say anything, tilting her chin a fraction closer just as Magnolia finished her song. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of clinging glasses and the echoing sounds of cheers! It faded away as Deacon’s lips ghosted over hers, and she didn’t even care if the Triggermen were watching. Madelyn fluttered her eyes closed and could feel herself drifting—

A loud crash resonated through the entire club and on impulse she pulled herself away, inhaling a sharp breath as she focused her vision. For the split second she settled on Deacon’s face it was difficult to discern his expression—was he disappointed? It quickly melted away as they both diverted their attention towards the stage where Skinny Malone had collapsed, the table knocked over and glasses shattered. Madelyn was disoriented as she rushed over through the crowd of people—there hadn’t been a gunshot—what had happened?

A stocky man in a well-made, pinstriped suit was inspecting the tray of drinks that had been discarded on the floor. “Boss’ been slipped sumthin’!”

Poison? Madelyn felt the dread settle in her chest—this was unlike Winter—he always liked to take a direct approach when killing off his competition. But she had no time to question his methods when as of late, his crimes had become unpredictable.

“Move away!” she yelled over the crowd of frantic Triggermen. “I’m a nurse, maybe I can help!”

In the chaos, nobody made to stop her as she knelt over Skinny Malone’s crumpled body, pressing her fingers to his throat to check for a pulse. Frosty white foam was sputtering from his mouth and his eyes were wide, bulging. His hands were scrambling at the carpet for purchase, but a moment later they switched to yank at his jacket and tie. It was all in vein as he lie there suffocating, choking on his own tongue—there wasn’t anything Madelyn could do, even if she was a real medical professional. She gave him a sympathetic look, before noticing the thick pocketbook in the seam of his blazer. Without a second thought she snatched it, tucking it as well as she could in the front of her dress.

Skinny Malone began to struggle, gripping the arm of his nearest Triggerman. Madelyn was swept up at that time, Deacon’s hands tight around her waist as he led her away as calmly as possible.

“Time to hit the road,” he said through gritted teeth, suppressing his distress that they would be stopped in the confusion as they made their exit.

As they left the Third Rail, Madelyn felt as though their undercover assignment was a failure. Eddie Winter had gotten what he wanted with Skinny Malone’s death and was one step further in his complete take over of Boston.

It was time to play their hand.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #marty bullfinch #drummer boy #the john d. theory persists even in noir okay #piper has valid concerns #who called for undercover lovers?! #AND GINGER DEACON!? #👀👀👀 #i am so sorry this is 7k+

[yellowdistress]

Can you do another one of those scenes where Tony helps Peter fight addiction?? I just think it’s a really interesting plot and you portrait it so well!

Anonymous: Your addiction au is my favorite thing ever! Can you maybe do a prompt where Peter relapses/overdoses? You are amazing at angst. So talented! Thank you!

Okay, here we go…This one felt really like…hurtful to write, even for me. But yeah, here we go. Just warning, of course, because it deals with addiction. Please be safe when reading. There’s no overdose, but an almost relapse.

Peter’s dad had stopped keeping the pain pills in the house.

With good reason.

The past several weeks had pieced Peter into this puzzle, and he wasn’t sure where he fit inside of it. An oddball piece, left out until the very end, he guessed, but the end felt too far away to see. It felt too out of reach and he was struggling to imagine what life would be like, if things ever got better. If he was ever okay again. It was hard, and even though the withdraws had slipped away, there was this little monster underneath. A whole different being than Peter was. A separate entity. A part that was not him. Not Peter. That was what his father told him on the bad nights. The nights when Peter would sit at the foot of his dad’s bed just to talk about how he needed something, and his dad would say he understood…Which he did, but Peter still felt so alone in this silent struggle that followed him to school in the morning, on patrol, in therapy, at his doctor’s appointments.

It was a fucking parasite.

It was a Tuesday, a random one. That day was sunny, there was nothing wrong, school had been okay, he had actually done really well on his history test. Life was going okay, things were being put together, Peter had been stitched little piece by little piece. After nights of sleeping on his father’s floor, just so he wouldn’t be alone when those late night pains arose, when he’d have those thoughts. And his dad would roll over, peer over the edge of the mattress and question in the darkness, “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The answer varied, depending on how bad the cravings were.

And sometimes it was better. Sometimes Peter didn’t want anything. Sometimes he felt normal. But then the bad nights would come, he would make a pile of blankets on his father’s floor, his father would watch him. 

But that Tuesday after school was different. His dad wasn’t home. It was just Peter.

There weren’t supposed to be pills in the house anymore.

But Peter had gone looking for them. Had dug through all of his father’s belonging, had shredded his room apart, had taken stuff out…Clothes scattered on the floor, as if his father would be dumb enough to keep pills in a house with a recovering addict, but Peter had hoped. Had formed a bit of faith out of fairy dust. Eventually the digging, the digging with no shovel and no trigger, just on a whim, it had gone manic. Pillows, blankets, everything, he didn’t care about the mess he was making. He didn’t care about getting caught, he just wanted to find what he was looking for. And then that searching turned to frantic tears, and sobbing, alone in an empty penthouse by himself and Peter didn’t know why it felt like he was about to lose his insides.

He hadn’t noticed when his father had come home. He had only kept digging and digging, and he was throwing the clean laundry across the room when his dad had come in, he was gasping for air when his dad had grabbed his arms. Had shaken him. Peter was fifteen and filled to the brim with a muscle ache that wasn’t human and his dad wouldn’t let go. Instead he was forced to sit on the foot of the bed, the man kneeling in front of him.

“Did you take anything? Did you take anything?” 

And no he hadn’t but not because he hadn’t wanted to.

Peter looked away, eyes bloodshot and teary and his father’s grip was too tight. He grabbed both side of Peter’s face, forcing him to look, and the horror was behind those brown irises that his grandfather had given his father, and then had been given to Peter. Maybe a shade lighter. 

“Did you?”

“I didn’t,” Peter whispered, chest shaking, “But I wanted to.”

Did that make it worse or better? 

Maybe better, because his father breathed out deeply, nodding. He didn’t seem as panicked after that. Peter was shivering, as if he was cold, but he thought maybe he had some kind of panic attack trying to find pills. But his father put a throw blanket around his shoulders anyway. Had wrapped him in a tight hug to his chest and sat beside him on the foot of the bed. 

Peter woke later, and it had to have been a few hours. Several…because the sun had gone down. There was a soft hue from the orange lamp, but Peter’s back was turned from the side of the bed it was on. He felt the warmth of his father’s side behind him. The television on the wall was set to a low murmur, and his dad must have been on the phone, and Peter stared at the wall as he listened to the man speak…

“I’ll have to take him with me…if I go, Rhodey. I can’t leave the states if he’s not with me.”

There was a pause. Peter figured Uncle Rhodey was replying.

“I’m not admitting him. Don’t suggest it again, I’ll kick your ass.”

A sigh, then, “Maybe I can home school him. I’m not a bad teacher - shut up, I graduated high school when I was fourteen, I can teach him basic English I’m sure.”

Peter’s stomach churned at the thought of being pent up all day. Trapped. But if his father had to bring him on every business trip, that would pose an issue. He couldn’t go to school and be dragged around the world. Peter took a deep breath and slowly rolled over to his back. His head was buried slightly in the pillow, and he stared up at his father’s face glowing from the lamp. His father paused in his phone call, looking startled at the teen staring up at him with wide eyes. His father quickly said, “I’ll call you back, Rhodes.”

He then hung up, setting the phone aside. His dad whispered, “Hey, kiddo…”

“Uncle Rhodey wants me to be admitted?”

His father silenced, face blanching before it morphed into insistence. He scooted downward, so that he wasn’t looming, but the two were beside each other in the pillows and lowered to the same thinking level, maybe social power, “No…no, he’s just worried. I’m worried. But it’s going to be fine, I’m not - I’m not doing that.”

Peter inhaled shakily, “You can’t home school me. I love Midtown.”

Silence flitted. The parasite wasn’t threatening, but this terror was. Peter saw the way his father’s brain was working, and Peter rolled over on the mattress and continued desperately, “Dad, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I messed up today. I promise I won’t do it again.”

“What if you do?” Peter jumped when his dad turned to face him suddenly, beginning to sit up, and that height was back and Peter just buried himself down into the mattress, a way to brace for the impact that the words were bound to make in his rib cage, “What if I don’t come home in time, huh? You go looking for the pills somewhere else?”

“I wouldn’t…” Peter’s voice cracked.

“You say that,” His dad hissed, “But I’ve said that too.”

Peter’s throat bobbed, staring up at his father’s eyes that looked like they were burning. Trying to force the information into Peter’s destructed mind. Peter gulped, and he spoke the only escape he could think of into existence…

“I…wanna go to sleep.”

He didn’t look in his father’s eyes. Maybe hoping he’d get the hint that he was going to sleep there. Not on the floor. There was a deep sigh, then a hand squeezed his arm tightly, comfortingly, a thumb swiping across the skin before his dad answered with, “Yeah…yeah okay, Pete, go to sleep.”

Maybe it was relieved, his father’s voice. As if he had been taken out of a situation. His father clicked the lamp off, but the television played in the background, illuminating some of the dark room. His father slung an arm over the pillow above Peter’s head, and Peter looked at his face. He was watching the television, but Peter knew his father was somewhere else in his mind. He looked tired and Peter knew it was his fault. But Peter pressed his forehead to his father’s rib cage, burrowing into the mattress and shutting his eyes tightly.

Peter whispered before drifting off… 

“I’m having a hard time.”  

#what we are au #biological father au #addiction au #tw: addiction

[lonelypond]

fools

NicoMaki, Love Live, 8K, 1/1

Summary: Nico Yazawa, soon to be the toast of Chicago for her performance as Oberon in FoOLs! loses her favorite spot at her favorite coffeeshop to a stubborn redhead.

fools

Lily White was Nico Yazawa’s favorite coffeeshop. Run by three friendly, kind, cute women, all of whom had equally cute girlfriends so Nico could flirt freely, no ties, no worries, no misunderstandings. Although, Umi Sonoda did raise an eyebrow if she considered a compliment provocative. But it was a sly, smart eyebrow and HER girlfriend was the up and coming designer and stylist Kotori Minami, who was going to dress Nico for so many awards and opening nights. So Nico stopped by Lily White nearly every day on her way to or sometimes from the complex where FoOLs! was rehearsing.

Crunch time was coming. Nico had to be rock solid on her lines. Opening night was in two weeks, they had just moved to the actual theatre. The budget was so low, rehearsal time had been crunched and nearly all their time had been spent getting the singing and dancing. Nico was exhausted, between actual time spent at the theatre and the time spent on her social media accounts looking so much less exhausted than she felt.

Nozomi at the counter today, so full flirt mode on, a good way to distract Nico from the pain in her feet. She needed new insoles for her tap shoes.

Nico stepped in with a flourish, flipping her scarf over her shoulder, her hair bouncing with more energy than she’d had in three days, “Hey, stacked and sexy, got something warm for Nico?”

Nozomi rolled her eyes, “The usual?”

“You know it. Nico needs what you’ve got.” Nico, self critical as ever, realized that sounded a bit flat and approached the counter, leaning into her elbows, “Sorry, Nozomi, Nico’s tired today. How’s Eli?”

“She got a callback for Cinderella.”

“Good for her.”

Nozomi made Nico’s signature slushy, sugary, 3X caffeinated drink in no time flat and Nico spun to grab a back table, freezing when she saw someone already there, glaring at her. A redhead, with slightly slanted, half closed lavender eyes that would have been lovely with a kinder expression, a Red Stars cap covering vibrant red hair, and a femme tomboy sports aesthetic. Nico smiled and saluted with her cup, “That’s Nico’s favorite seat, but I’ll forgive you this time.”

“There’s no sign.” Sullen.

Nico sighed, a completely internal reaction, no matter how lovely this young woman was getting the more Nico looked at her, the scowl was hard to riff anything off. But Nico would try.

“Impressive pile of books. You a student?”

Expecting a yes, or none of your business, Nico was surprised by a “Just curious.”

“About?”

“Martha Graham.” The arm resting on top of two books seemed protective.

“Martha Graham?” Nico took another look. Maybe this was a dancer friend of Nozomi’s girlfriend, Eli. Would explain the sportif. “The choreographer?”

Eyeroll. Nico could hear the unsaid “duh” and shook herself free from any potential in this conversation and slid into the booth nearest to her usual seat,

“And her collaborators.” Ballcap went back to her reading. Nico sipped her drink, closing her eyes to run through her longest speech. She really needed to nail it tonight, for her own confidence.

Did that mean the dancers? Or the musicians? Nico considered asking but that would require energy she needed to save for rehearsal. It’s not like Ballcap would be delivering a performance critique.

###

Kotori was meeting Nico at Lily White after rehearsal; Nico wanted a new look for the pre opening social media blast. She was feeling particularly pretty in a very vintage-y feel swing dress, pink, scattered with pinker cherry blossoms. Kotori always appreciated her efforts. And while Nico’s costumes for Oberon were to die for, they def skewed butch and boi and Nico just wanted to be flirty femme-y pretty, just for an evening. She’d been wearing button down shirts, tweed trousers, and cardigans during rehearsals to get into the Co Ruler of The Fairy World, CEO of FoOLs Unlimited -- and wasn’t that a name. One of the lines that had carried through from the adaptation of William Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ kept popping into Nico’s head at odd moments, usually when one of her friends was complaining about their girlfriend: “Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad.” Sumi, the actress playing Puck in this initial production of FoOLs! had such a manic gleam in her eye when she rolled into the audience, laughing as the projected screens revealed texts of the mess she’d precipitated the four young lovers into. Her friend’s girlfriend complaints were gentle rain allowing Nico to thrive without thinking about finding someone to date. She had a career to launch with no time for pining or misunderstandings or thinking about what the other party might be interested in. And Tansy Clark, a fellow NU alum, and the TItania to her Oberon, was an excellent theatre wife, always sympathetic, always on time, professional and generous. And their voices blended so well. And Tansy’s girlfriend was a chef so Nico got occasional leftovers.

Nico bounced through the door at Lily White. Umi was at the counter. Nico skipped forward, leaned on the counter and bent forward to air kiss in Umi’s direction, just to watch the dark haired martial artist dodge as seriously as if Nico had been wielding a blade instead of just perfectly pinked lips. Honestly, if Umi hadn’t already had a girlfriend, Nico might have landed a kiss or two, just to see how quickly Umi’s ice melted. The flustering of someone so frosty would have been a rare treat.

“Nico.” Umi’s voice was stern, “We have had conversations about this. Keep your hands off this side of the counter.”

Nico laughed, “So can Nico put them on you instead? Is that more hygenic?”

“No, Nico cannot.” There was actual threat in Umi’s response.

“What if Kotori says I can?” Nico leaned on her elbow, giggling. Umi was so much fun to tease..

“Kotori doesn’t work here.” Umi shook her head, deliberately spraying and wiping where Nico’s hands had been braced. “And she’s running late.”

Nico sighed dramatically, “Is this anyway to treat one of your best customers, Umi Sonoda?”

“With the offset of the 20% standing discount you hoodwinked Nozomi into granting you and what I spend on spills and cleaning supplies, you cost us money.” Umi straightened up, her amber eyes confronting Nico’s, “The math has not been kind.” Then there was a wink Nico almost missed.

“Just wait ‘til FoOLs! opens, people will be lining up to catch a glimpse of Nico.” Nico half turned, flashing her signature smile and gesture to the imaginary throng, “Nico Nico Ni.”

Umi froze, “We could trade you to Dark Depths for one of their quieter, more polite customers.”

“You love Nico. You know it. Everyone loves Nico.” Nico spun, her hands thrown out in a dramatic gesture to get agreement from her hordes of fans. But Lily White was nearly empty, except for...Nico squinted, no ballcap this time, bright red hair, cute nerd glasses, frown again, pale lilac silk shirt unbuttoned one button further than someone who wanted Nico to be polite and ignore their cleavage might have done. But the tousled hair and the half untucked shirt, as well as the open books and sketch pads scattered across the table, all spoke of a haphazard mindset, not a devious one. One hand was drawing a pencil along a ruler while sharp, white teeth bit into the corner of plump, plum lower lip. And all of this was happening in Nico’s favorite seat.

“Who’s the invader?” Nico asked over her shoulder.

“Friend of Rin’s. No one you should bother.” Umi spoke quickly.

“Thanks for that advice, Umi. Can I get a caramel macchiato, please. Nico wants something different today. And Nico’s here to bother YOUR girlfriend, not some random stranger.”

Nico heard Umi pull the espresso shots as she found herself watching the redhead, who seemed to be creating some kind of room layout. Was she an architect? Or considering the neighborhood, a set designer? Had Nico seen a show she’d worked on? Would Umi give up the name if Nico asked. Rin was generally pretty easy going, but her shifts rarely coincided with Nico’s visits. As Nico considered all this, leaning against the counter, half listening for Umi’s return, the redhead glanced up, and once again, frowned, not a reaction Nico was used to people having on first sight of Nico.

“You can’t have this seat. I need the space.” It sounded more plaintive than demanding, the lavender eyes were...wary?

Nico held up both hands, “The glasses are a good look. Nico might need an accountant.”

Eye roll, plus head shake, “Google one.”

Nico took a step forward, “Nico prefers personal recommendations.”

“Pay for your coffee.” The pencil pointed to where Umi had placed Nico’s drink, then the redhead returned to working with the ruler, ignoring her audience.

Nico turned, “I’ll buy one of whatever she’s drinking.”

“No.” Umi sighed.

“Is that anyway to run a business?”

“Coffee, black. Thermos.” Umi didn’t look thrilled.

“Add it to my bill.” Nico tapped the counter.

“I’m not giving you the discount.” Umi reached under the counter.

“I don’t care. Just give me her drink.” Nico was still watching the redhead ignore her.

“It’ll never work, whatever it is you’re planning, Nico.” Umi poured coffee into a growler sized mug.

Nico put a $20 down, “Keep the change. It’s your charm. Nico is enchanted.”

“Leave.” Umi pointed at the door, but there was a flash of a smile.

Nico took that as a good sign as she took the barrel of coffee to her favorite table and carefully placed it on the small, still clear area just to the left of the redhead’s left elbow, “If you’re going to steal MY seat, at least tell Nico YOUR name.”

It definitely looked like a set, and mostly copied from one of the open books, Maybe Red was a student and just embarrassed to admit it? Nico leaned in a little so she could read the caption, “Isamu Noguchi’s design for Martha Graham’s ‘Appalachian Spring.’” Noguchi?

“Maki Nishikino.” A soft voice, almost silk, almost whispered.

Nico, not actually expecting a response, startled, nearly knocked over the growler. “So not Noguchi.”

“No. He’s a sculptor.” Volume was back and annoyance.

“Nico knows.” Nico snapped.

Maki snorted, “Really. Name a piece.”

Nico cheated a glance at the page, “Ummm…”

Maki, that was a nice name, Nico would remember it, closed the book. “There’s a fountain he designed for the Bicentennial outside the Art Institute, people barely know it was commissioned and completed.”

“Nico will check it out next time she goes, unless you’d like to give me a tour…” Nico had a hand on a chair. Maki reopened the book, finding the page again, picking up another pencil to keep the place.

“Nico!” Kotori’s trill floated in as the Lily White front door opened, “I’m so sorry I’m late. Hi, Umi!”

“You look lovely today, Kotori.” Umi’s happiness boomed. Nico couldn’t help smile at her friends’ mutual enthusiasm for each other.

“Thanks, Umi-chan!” Kotori stepped behind the counter to give Umi a quick kiss.

Nico caught Maki’s eye and shrugged; Maki glanced away, but picked up the growler, “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Maybe next time you’ll leave Nico her favorite seat.”

Maki’s eyes were more multi faceted polished quartz geode than petal, with luster brilliant in the depths. “Nope. Too comfy.” Maki leaned back, stretching her arms and then locking her hands behind her head, smirking.

“Cute.” Nico tapped Maki’s floor plot, “Nico is curious, but busy. So next time, explain.”

“If you remember…” Maki muttered.

“You won’t be Nico’s Noguchi fountain,,,” Yeah, Nico was going to have to work on talking to cute girls again because this was as lame as she’d ever sounded.

But there was a flush. And a fidget as Maki leaned forward again, doodling a small cluster of spirals.

And then Kotori was right there, “Oh hi, Maki. You don’t mind if I steal Nico, do you?”

“Not at all.” A grand gesture with the pencil, “I’m behind schedule.”

Nico felt dismissed, no one ever dismissed Nico like that, or closed a book on her, but she really did need to talk to Kotori, who was eager for a chat, unlike this Maki Nishikino.

So Nico let Kotori lead her to another table, where Nico got so involved in sketches and fabric samples, she didn’t notice when Maki left. ###

6 hour day turned into 10 plus hour day plus more to come. The composer had flown into town to add a new song, to replace a song which Nico had already spent at least three straight days perfecting. But no, now there was a “Fly and Fall” Oberon and Puck duet and Nico was stressed. And hungry. And the food they’d brought in was calories, but it wasn’t comfort. A break was coming up, Nico was backstage waiting for her entrance and she’d snuck out her phone for a whispered call, far away from lurking stage managers.

“Hi there! Lily White. What can I do you for?”

Rin. Ah, this would work. Rin was super friendly super helpful and wouldn’t make Nico beg until she was miserable.

“Rin! It’s Nico! I need caffeine.”

“OOOhhh, Nico emergency.” Rin said that a little loud and Nico almost heard another voice, but then RIn giggled, “What’s up?”

“Five extra hours of rehearsal, at least three more left, no decent coffee, and Nico needs a sugar rush like you wouldn’t believe. Can you please bring me my usual, super duper Nico sized, with a cookie or something, Rin? Nico’s a desperate woman. My break starts in 10 minutes. Meet me in the alley?”

“I’m on it. Something sweet is coming your way. At superspeed.” Rin’s cheerfulness defined contagious.

Nico exhaled, “Thanks, Rin. I knew you wouldn’t let Nico down. I’ll see you soon.” Nico shoved her phone in her pocket before Ari caught her.

Twelve minutes, not the ten Nico had told Rin. Nico ran for the stage door. The thought of warm and sweet and buzzy had gotten her through the last set of notes, which had not been Nico’s most complimentary. Her head was starting to throb. Waiting with a bag and Lily White’s LARGEST cup was not Rin, but Maki, dressed in black shorts too short for the early Autumn weather and an off the shoulder gray cropped sweatshirt, Red Stars cap at a jaunty angle to the right.

“That isn’t healthy.” Maki stated as Nico grabbed the cup out of her hand and swigged. Rin had managed to deliver it at a drinkable temperature. Bless the tiny ginger haired furry. . “Nico has exactly 13 more minutes and then I have to be note perfect on a song I just went so far off key on, Winnetka winced. Nico needs fast.”

“The bran muffin has some substance. And raisins.” Maki looked so serious, her eyes searching Nico’s face, but then Maki pulled the brim of her cap down.

Grumpy. Nico was now grumpy. And sugar deprived. She took another sip as she grumbled. “Nico wanted something cookie cute and sugary. What was RIn thinking?”

Maki shrugged, handing over the bag. Nico decided that as much as she wanted to just find a small closet, scream quietly, and then spend 5 minutes in a fantasy where she sipped coffee while Mindy Kaling pitched a joint project, she could spend a minute, just a minute enjoying the view, since Maki seemed at a loss for what to do next, one arm crossed in front, the other hand playing with a curl. One foot was braced back against the wall and both legs were very toned. Nico still suspected dancer. Nico put the cup down, took out the bran muffin, bit in, and then washed it down with mostly liquified SUGAR COFFEE STRAWBERRY BUZZINESS. Maki raised an eyebrow. Nico’s hand was trembling slightly as the warmth and calories made her realize just how hungry she was.

Nico inhaled, feeling like she go back and face the rest of rehearsal. “This is a big help. Thanks. I didn’t realize Rin was so busy or I wouldn’t have asked.”

Maki shrugged again. Well, Nico thought to herself, this was almost as good as alone, although...her eyes followed the progress of the neckline of Maki’s sweatshirt, which seemed to be slipping even further down her arm, leaving the left shoulder nearly entirely bare. Nico had no idea how that happened. Maki tilted her hat back, humming.

“How’s Martha Graham?” Halfway through her muffin, Nico couldn’t take the silence.

The shorts had pockets and Maki’s hands went there so Nico was forced to appreciate the curvature of the redhead’s hips. Thus she missed the update on Martha Graham.

“And Hanayo’s never done anything on this scale…” The unfamiliar name brought Nico back into the conversation.

“Hanayo?”

“Rin’s girlfriend.”

Oh, Nico thought, the cute mouse with glasses.

“Anyway,” Maki shook herself, refocusing, “She’s never done anything on this scale, but I think the origami’s a good fit for setting up models.”

Origami? Nico was really lost. She’d either have to ask a question or find out from RIn later...as she considered, her phone buzzed. Damn, break over in three minutes. Muffin was gone, Maki was looking at her with confusion, amethyst eyes a little clouded, Nico swigged the rest of the Nico Super Strawbuzzy Special and smiled, “Time to get back to work. Thanks for keeping Nico company. Now you can get back to stealing Nico’s favorite seat.”

Maki chuckled, “Makes my day.”

“Well, one day Nico will get there first.”

“Bet you won’t.” A wink.

Nico tossed a barb over her shoulder as she hopped up the stairs. “Nico believes in fair play. No bets with thieves. ”

Maki cleared her throat, smoothing her hair back behind her ear, her voice hitting the nervous range of high pitch, “Actually, since I’m an investor in Lily White, the chair’s technically mine.”

Nico was about to open the door, but she stopped, raising an eyebrow as Maki mouthed nothing syllables after the dull bragging clang of her sudden announcement.

Nico blinked and decided she didn’t have time for Maki to recover enough composure to speak, “Thanks again. Maki. Tell Rin she saved me.”

Nico saw the embarrassment as Maki flushed, but really had no time left so back into the theatre she went, redhead forgotten, new song the only thought in her head. ###

Nico’s mother refused to acknowledge the “text don’t call” pleas Nico occasionally texting her. She’d turned off her read receipts so there wasn’t even an acknowledgement of delivery. So here Nico was, let out of rehearsal early, actually answering the phone, to get the seasonal ‘where’s my future daughter-in-law’ nudge from her mother.

Nico opened the door to Lily White and waved at Nozomi as she refuted her mother’s arguments, “I”m busy, Mama. I’m a modern woman. We want success. And independence. Nico will get you Obie and Oscar awards you can show off to your friends.”

Nico mother tsked in her ear, “You’ll be happier if you have someone to share your successes with, Nico.”

“There’s you and the kids.” Nico lowered her phone, rolling her eyes to answer Nozomi’s quizzical look, “My mom. My usual, please.”

Nozomi grabbed Nico’s phone, “Hi Mama Yazawa! How are my nearly nieces and nephew?”

Nico glared.

“Bring them by sometime. I miss them too. But we’re almost as busy as Nico here. Although I have a lovely girlfriend.” Nozomi stuck her tongue out and Nico seized her phone back.

“Mama, you’re embarrassing me. I’ll call you tomorrow morning, okay.”

“I want you to be happy, Nico.”

“I know, Mama.” Nico couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Call ended. Nozomi slid the cup Nico’s way, raising her hands innocently when Nico growled, raising a daunting palm. “You say nothing.”

Maki, in a white v neck sweater that looked a size too tight, was still occupying Nico’s preferred seat, playing with what looked like paper versions of Cotaro’s building blocks, so, grumpy, Nico slid into the cornerest booth, and slumped. This was a mood. She should be happy. Free evening because the sound board blew up, but instead disgruntlement prickled at her. Time to share the pain and get some sympathy and attention from her 11K+ loyal TWIG followers.

That’s what live streaming was far. The reality behind the life of a celebrity. The good moments, the low moments, the moments where your mom nagged you for the 520th time since you graduated college three years ago. Holding up her phone, Nico went live, taking a quick sip of her drink as she hit record.

“So how’s your afternoon? Does your mom ever call you to nag about when you’re going to meet the ‘right girl,’ settle down, and have a child? Or two? Just happened to Nico. For the 748th time. Of course, Nico could date. And have the cutest family in the universe. Because Nico’s wife would be even prettier than Nico. So imagine our children.That doesn’t mean you, Mama. You stop imagining them.” Nico shook herself, shaking annoyance off her tense shoulders like wet dog flings off water, “But one, Nico is a career woman, two, the planet’s practically on fire, and three, does anyone have time to date anymore? How do you meet people?” Nico took another sip, then remembered her morning notifications. “Although, remember how Nico set up a profile last month to get in character for Oberon the Love Arrow CEO and FoOLs? Got too busy and forgot to deactivate it, but this morning, Nico found out three cuties swiped right on Nico. Hi cuties!” Nico winked at her phone, “But Nico’s not in dating mode, although if anyone wants to meet my mother and claim they want to be the mother of her grandchildren, Nico might consider it.” A sigh, another sip, “So Nico deactivated that profile...oh my god, is that why Mama called?” Nico almost slammed her phone, of course her mother was stalking her dating profiles, “Mama, if you’re listening…” Nico shook her head, “Anyway, @ Nico with your dating horror stories so we can convince Mama an Obie is the only relationship for Nico. And get your tickets for FoOLs!” Another sip. “Next time, Nico’s giving you a sneak peek of the new song, ‘Fools Swipe In.’” Nico blew a kiss at her screen, her hand going to her temple in the gesture her father taught her “Nico Ni loves you.” Nico put down her phone, slowly and deliberately so she didn’t smash it and looked up. Maki was staring, mouth dropped open, and when she realized Nico was looking in her direction, she twitched, tearing the chair like object in her hand.

Nico winced. Maki frowned, put the pieces down, rubbing above her eyebrow. Nico decided to pry and moved, sliding next to Maki and picking up the torn piece, which was a very intricate piece of origami. Nico was impressed by the craftsmanship.

“Glue probably won’t fix that.” Nico pushed the edges together but the tear was too rough for any kind of repair.

Maki nodded, “At least I haven’t started shooting.”

“Just ripping.”

Nico realized Maki’s sulky pout was a triumph of genetics and personality.

“Joke.” Nico explained, “What is this?”

“Hanayo...” Maki paused.

“Rin’s girlfriend.”

“Right. Hanayo is an art teacher and I’m helping her with a project on famous collaborations by artists across mediums. It’s a short piece based on Graham and Noguchi’s…” Maki hesitated again.

“Fountain guy.”

“Appalachian Spring ballet.” Maki held the torn object in her palm and crumpled it, “This was the chair.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Hanayo’s recreating the set and a dancer. I’m recording the music and animating a minute of stop motion”

“Wow. Nico understands the ruler and the need for precision now. That’s intense. This is just for fun?”

“Well, I’ll probably put the in progress pictures and a video installation in my next show.”

Nico had her phone out and was typing.

“What are you doing? I was talking. That’s rude.” Maki snapped.

“Nico obviously should have Googled you.”

Maki’s hand dropped over Nico’s screen, “No.”

“Why not?” Maki’s fingers were resting on Nico’s hand. It was a nice warmth. Maki glanced away.

“Embarrassing. I’m sitting right here.”

“So you want Nico to stalk you AFTER you leave?”

“No.” Amethyst eyes blinked, “Just ask me.”

“What do you do?”

Maki inhaled, as if she’d prepared this, “I dropped out of med school and spent six months in Japan. Now I work as a musician. And do camera stuff.”

“Do camera stuff?” Nico knew she sounded as incredulous as Maki had sounded ridiculous.

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t….”

Now Nico was losing her temper. “Nico is a professional actress. People take Nico’s picture all the time, Nico has been in movies, Nico has five up and coming, Sundance approved cinematographers in her frequent contacts. Try me.”

Maki shook her head, but not as a negative, just to get the hair that seemed to be going wilder with every gesture out of her eyes. Then she spoke so quickly Nico had trouble catching every word. “I need to go. I should tell Hanayo I wrecked this. She’ll have to make a replacement. Sorry.” Maki accidentally elbowed Nico as she started to pack up her set in a fishing tackle box.

Nico was surprised by the shakiness of Maki’s hands as she cleared her work area. “Nico is sorry if my live streaming disturbed you.”

“You disturb everyone, Nico-chi.” Nozomi boomed as the line of customers thinned.

Nico flipped her off, then turned to smile at Maki and continue, “Anyway, please apologize to your friend for Nico. I don’t want Rin to get mad at me. She’s the ONLY ONE WHO MAKES MY DRINK RIGHT.”

Nozomi threw a cup in Nico’s direction, which caused another part of Maki’s set to crash.

Nico picked it up, sorrow in her tone. “Tough day to be made of paper.”

Maki laughed. Nico suddenly craved that sound.

###

Nico swept into Lily White, bouncy. Yes, it was late, but opening night was in a week and the writer had finally signed off on all the changes. Now, Nico could focus on getting into the zone. And making sure the seats were packed with an appreciative audience.

“Nico has arrived. Start the party.”

Umi, behind the counter, polishing a copper pitcher, dinged a spoon off the rim. Nico bowed.

“Nico has five tickets for Opening Night. Who wants them?” Nico fanned out the tickets.

“Kotori wants to go but I’m working.” Umi grimaced apologetically.

“Nico will get you seats for the second weekend.”

“Thanks, Nico. Your usual?”

“Nico size it.”

Maki, of course, was in Nico’s seat, and there were almost familiar faces scattered in seats around the room. Some of them glanced up, whispering to their seatmate. Maki was staring intently at a laptop, seemingly not noticing Nico’s announcement or arrival. So Nico grabbed a seat and scooted next to Maki, jarring her.

Maki jumped, then glared at Nico.

“FoOLs! Opening night tickets. How many do you want?”

“None.” Firm.

“Don’t you want to see Nico at work?”

Maki flushed and mumbled something.

“What was that?” Nico leaned in.

“Saturday afternoon. I got a ticket for then.” Maki spoke more clearly, still not looking away from her screen.

Nico raspberried and threw herself back in her seat, “What are you, a grandmother? Nobody under 80 or over 8 goes to matinees.”

“I have Friday plans.” Quick typing.

“OOOhhh, a date?” Nico was a little curious.

“Monthly dinner with my parents.”

“So bring ‘em.” Nico nudged Maki with her shoulder.

Maki stopped typing. “Are you that desperate for an audience? And stop.”

“It’s sold out. These are the hottest tickets in Chicago.” Nico ruffled through them under Maki’s nose, “Nico is just trying to get someone to appreciate them.”

Maki bit her lip, then shook her head, “Mama and Papa don’t like last minute changes.”

“Are they old and crotchety like you?” Why was this such a hard sell?

Maki scrunched her forehead, trying to finish a thought as Nico tapped the tickets next to her keyboard. “Will you leave me alone if I say yes.”

“To the tickets?” This was more like it, Nico leaned forward, ready to claim her victory.

“No. I told you I’m going Saturday.”

“Fine. Be Nico’s grandmother.” Nico didn’t like the screech in her own voice.

Maki glared, eyes narrowed. “Your skirt’s too short, young lady.”

“Nico’s grandmother wears thongs.”

“Why would you make that up?”  Maki's hands covered her face.

Nico smirked, “Who said I made it up.”

Maki scowled at Nico, then spoke slowly, “too much information is an actual thing.”

Nico shrugged.

“Don’t you have any friends?” Maki asked, sounding tired.

Nico slapped a hand to her heart, “Cruel...Nico has friends…” her voice squeaked into a higher register, “Nico has friends in every city, every country, Nico is Ms. Popularity…”

Maki raised an eyebrow.

Nico spoke very very rapidly, “My sister has a field hockey game, Eli has a show, Nozomi is working her other job.”

After a moment, her amethyst eyes unable to hide the kindness surging, Maki reached for the tickets, “Hanayo and Rin would probably appreciate these. Hanayo’s a big theatre fan. I’ll take them with me.”

“Genius. Nico approves. “Take them all.”

“I told you, I’m busy.” Maki actually sounded regretful.

Umi cleared her throat, “Nico!”

Nico pushed the chair back, “Opening night is magic. Your loss.”

Maki barely shook her head as her attention went back to the screen. ###

Nico was excited. She had the afternoon free. Her understudy, who was nowhere near performance ready, not that with Nico she would need to be, was onstage and Nico was meeting a reporter at Lily White in an hour. Now, she just had to perfect her thoughtful, yet flirty, yet aloof, yet sexy coffee sipping pose. Which meant not her usual neon strawberry drink. A mug...Nico picked up the pace. Her outfit was perfect, tailored trousers and a short jacket to give that Oberon flair, the kickiest of kicks, and a pink shirt with a ruffled collar that fell exactly right to boost the impact of her neckline. Hints of what might be there, but to draw attention in a classy, understated way. To pull off understated, Nico was going to have to burn off a volcano’s worth of energy beforehand. She started speedwalking to Lily White. Nozomi was at the counter, Maki, of course, Maki was in NICO’s seat, was she just trying to tick Nico off, fidgeting with her phone.

“Nozomi, get Nico coffee in the most serious mug you have; Maki, get out of Nico’s power seat.”

Both Maki and Nozomi looked suspiciously at Nico.

“No.” Maki stated, stubborn etched into her posture.

“Really? No strawbuzzy?” Nozomi asked, pulling out the strawberry muddle, with a mournful look.

“Really.” And Nico slid into the bench seat next to Maki and shoved the redhead over with her hip.

“Hey!” Maki shouted, her phone dropping out of her hand.

“Look, Nico has exactly,” Nico grabbed Maki’s phone to look at the time, the screensaver was some kind of cartoon, “53 minutes to perfect her sipping coffee pose and this seat has the best backdrop.” Nico pointed up at the raw texture of the wallpaper behind her, a lovely watercolor of sakura blossoms to the left of Maki’s seat. “So please, just this once…”

“I’m comfortable.” Maki slid down the bench, turning away.

Nico stared, but the redhead wouldn’t make eye contact, twirling a curl.

“Fine.” Nico shoved Maki’s phone across the table at her, “Nico will take a window seat. But if the Reader article isn’t aglow with Nico’s the greatest, you will be depriving Chicago of the truth, Maki Nishikino.”

Maki turned at her name, as Nico stood. Nozomi had a mug ready, Nico grabbed it, sniffed, gagged, and pushed the mug back at Nozomi, “Dump half of that. Nico’s too sweet for so much bitter.” Nico glowered at Maki in a way that was meant to indicate WHO the bitter was actually in reference too.

Maki made a huffing noise, Nozomi did as ordered, saving rebellion for the snark in her tone, “Should I kick out ALL my customers for you Nico-chi?”

“As I say to you every day I see you, don’t be a bitch. You know Nico takes her image seriously. Some people,” Nico spared a glance and a dubious eyebrow in Maki’s direction, but the spike in her well thought out plan was totally absorbed in her phone. Nico sighed, pouring cream into the mug when Nozomi returned it. Nico opted for the window seat with the good lighting, smiling at everyone in the coffeeshop who wasn’t Maki before she sat down. Then pull out her phone, to try various poses with the mug, leaning back, leaning forward, poetically thoughtful out the window, musing with the melancholy air weighting a bemused smile. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Maki typing like a fiend. Today, the redhead was wearing a criminally cute t-shirt with a graffiti cat scrawling RAAAWWWRRR across the torso. Nico’s brain briefly and suprisingly went somewhere involving ‘RAW’ and Maki but then Nico reminded herself that she was TOTALLY focused on her career and Maki was purposely ANNOYING so probably not into Nico. Not that Nico cared. At all. Nico kicked herself. This was too important to get distracted. She was here to think about Nico not...just think about Nico. Shouldn’t be hard. Nearly everyone did it. Nico shifted, so she couldn’t catch a glimpse of anyone out of the corner of her eye and thought aloof thoughts.

###

14 minutes and Nico still hadn’t struck a mood. Maybe she should just get a Nico Deluxe and go for cutesy. But that wasn’t Oberon....Nico knew for the interview to be effective she had to shade her native Nico exuberance with some of Oberon’s dark draw. Her phone pinged. She took it out of her pocket. Text from an unknown number, a picture of someone sipping coffee from a cup, in an open window, pensive, leaning forward, then another pic, of a classic Hollywood actress slouching back, obviously lost in a mental loop and staring blankly, over the coffee cup held in both her hands, then another, of an actress with shortish, dark hair, coffee cup raised, eyes challenging, lips tensed, a dare smashed into a sneer...then a text, “For inspiration: Cate Blanchett, Barbara Stanwyck, Natalie Wood...but I think you’re doing all right.”

And then it was a picture of Nico, taken outside the window, just a few minutes ago, Nico with one hand tracing the rim of the cup, the other tapping her phone, the angle just right to catch the sharpness of Nico’s profile. The through the window perspective added a veneer of solitude and Nico’s mouth was quirked up at the corner, a wry ambiguity lurking, without losing the sense of sharpness. Nico had never seen herself look that...smart, like she didn’t need to aspire to mysterious deeps, she was already flooded with them.

Another text. “Rin just gave me your number so I could send the picture. I’ll delete it if you want. Don’t worry about the interview. You’ll be fine.”

One more text.

“Oh, this is Maki.”

Nico giggled. Then she realized if Maki had taken the picture from outside...Nico bounced to her feet, “Nicosize the Strawberry Special and deliver it to Nico’s usual seat.” Nico slid into her space, a light hint of rose, vanilla, pepper, and musk perfume lingering. Nico sneezed.

“Bless you.” Nozomi put down the oversized cup, “I knew you’d cave. Get some good news?”

Nico glanced at her phone, “Yes.”

Nozomi was about to ask, but the door opened and a cluster of customers came in.

Nico took that moment to type a quick reply.

N: Thanks for the advice (｡◝‿◜｡) Keep Nico’s number. I might need to consult you again.

M: ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

N: ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

M: I’m too busy to consult.

N: Are you too busy for dinner some Monday?

M: Monday? Why Monday?

N: Day off. Theatre.

M: Oh. You’re welcome.

N: ?

M: For the snap.

N: Oh.

M: See you around.

Nico frowned at her phone. “See you around.” That wasn’t “yes, let’s go out to dinner” or even “I’d love to, but I’m busy” What was Maki? Dizzy? Disinterested? Dating? Nico typed in her passcode to get to the ‘snap’ Maki had taken. For once, Nico was staring at herself, but looking for someone else. That picture, the one of the photographer, hadn’t come into focus yet. Nico had no idea what insight she’d lost by not looking up.

###

OPENING NIGHT. EVERY NOTE, EVERY STEP, EVERY SONG PERFECT; EVERY AUDIENCE MEMBER on their feet at the end. Nico thought standing ovations were overdramatic, but not when she’d sensed the emotion building all night, the tension, and as the curtain fell on her final kiss with Tansy, an exasperated Puck rolling their eyes as they clapped their way off the stage, the audience exploded. And Nico, sweating, heart racing, bounced to her feet, hugging Tansy, “We did it! We did it! We did it!”

Tansy laughed, and broke the hug, pulling Nico off stage, “Come on, curtain call. More applause.”

“Oh right.” Nico felt taller than she ever had, veins buzzing with earned confidence, heart racing, unable to keep a huge grin off her face as the other couples stepped forward to receive their applause and then she and Tansy stepped out, holding hands, raising their arms to a roar. It was a small theatre and the theatre was packed with Queer Chicago and their allies, friends, and families and Nico had never felt so much love from a crowd. It was amazing, to be here, in a love story, a simple, silly love story, with no real villain, just mischief and magic and hope and happy endings. Angst could stay home. Or be spilled across the stage in other, darker theatres. Tonight, Nico was thrilled to be a moment of bright for so many girls like her, who wanted silly and cute and perfect swoony snappy patter pairings.

Nico would remember this forever, staring into a theatre, amazed, exhausted, exhilirated, audience on their feet, whistling, roaring, and cheering as the curtain fell. Tansy grabbed her in a quick hug, her voice lacking Titania’s teasing barbs, “You were amazing, Nico. I’m so glad we’re doing this together.”

Nico wasn’t quite ready to let Oberon go for the night yet, and swept into a bow as she took Tansy’s hand to kiss, “I couldn’t do this alone.”

Tansy giggled, “Actually, you probably could.”

Nico wasn’t sure how to reply and then Demtrius and Lysander sandwiched her in another hug, Sumi reached over Nico’s shoulders to half choke, half embrace the soon to be toast of Chicago.

“It’s a Nico Nico Night.” Luz choked Nico for another half second and then let go. “Where’s the party?”

“Back room at The Lady Of The Lake.” Tansy was taking off her wig, “Blaine’s buying the first round.”

“As a good producer should.” Either Lysander or Demetrius spoke. Though they were on the opposite sides of the complexion color spectrum, Nico had always thought they’d been cast because their voices sounded so similar, which made the phone confusion and the shouting chase scene in the bar so much more convincing.

“Let Nico get out of this tux.” She took off her jacket, undid the bowtie, with its ruby flecks scattered across the midnight silk and undid almost all of the studs on her shirt, so it fell open, revealing her sports bra. Thankfully, no one had insisted a binder. Nico preferred being able to breathe while singing.

Humming “fools,” Nico stepped into the hallway leading to the green room. As soon as she turned right, she heard her name in a familiar voice.

“C’mon, you have to say hi to Nico. She was amazing. You’re supposed to tell actors that Maki. Or bring them roses or something. C’mon.”

Rin’s voice. Did she say Maki? Maki was supposed to be at a monthly dinner with her parents. But no, there was the ginger furry pulling her reluctant friend down the hall by the arm, what was Maki wearing? A little black dress, off the shoulder, very very short, red hair swept up into a tight French twist, lacy shawl lying across her pale shoulders, one hand twisted up in a fist that looked about to connect with Rin, legs splayed out as Maki stubbornly fought Rin’s forward momentum. Nico laughed, deciding to intervene before a brawl started.

“Rin! Maki! You came. Wasn’t Nico glorious?”

Maki froze and let go of Rin, Rin shot forward into Nico’s chest, knocking them both off balance, Hanayo who had been half hiding behind Maki, squeaked and hurried forward, “Rin, are you okay?”

Maki was still frozen, staring at Nico’s chest, then her eyes, Maki's own wide with panic, Maki made her discomfort even more obvious by twisting rapidly to the side, guilt splashed across her face, shawl sliding off her shoulder, hand trying to find a twist of hair to curl, but hovering uncertainly, not wanting to undo the updo. Hanayo was busy with Rin, and Maki kept glancing at Nico out of the corner of her eye. Nico, taking bold strides past the rising Rin, grinned and with her most daredevil spark, spoke to the shrinking redhead, “So no roses for Nico, how about a kiss?”

Rin started to say something, but Nico heard Hanayo shush her. Maki went bright red as Nico put a hand on her arm, spinning her, sliding fingers up to the shoulder, “Such a pretty dress. For Nico?”

“Mama and Papa say...always dress for the theatre….shows respect.” Maki was speaking, chunking partial sentences into an avalanche of nerves, but her eyes never left Nico’s,

“Nico feels respected.” Nico stepped closer, feeling Maki tense, take a deep breath, which drew Nico’s attention to the teardrop diamond sitting in the break of Maki’s cleavage, the dress accenting the very noticeable curves. Nico had to stop her fingers from tracing a line down from Maki’s shoulders, “How about Nico feeling loved?”

Complete panic and a step back. Nico would have laughed, but Maki was moving away, and Nico’s sole focus was not letting there be a gap between them. She managed to catch Maki’s elbow and the taller woman didn’t shake her off.

“That kiss? Didn’t you like Nico’s performance?” Nico pulled Maki in, reading the sparking, sliding quartz of her eyes for a mood. Nico was phenomenal at reading audiences and this one didn’t want Nico to step off stage yet.

Maki nodded, eyes going more wild with every breath, voice a breathy whisper, “Every note...I just wanted you…” flushed cheeks, so cute Nico found herself thinking, “to keep going.”

That sounded like a cue to Nico. Nico touched Maki’s cheek with the gentlest of caresses, grinning when gorgeous and ____________ leaned into her hand, “Can I? Keep going?”

Maki’s eyelashes fluttered in almost slo mo as Nico’s heart raced into fast forward. Such a delicate mood, neither party daring even a breath to shatter its purity.

Then before Nico knew she’d pushed forward, Maki’s lips were tickling hers, a taunting tingle , and the urge to bite, to brush harder, to melt that dare into consent, Nico had never been so caught before, so tempted to...Maki pulled back, with a whimper, Nico realized her hand was on Maki’s hip, and the hard angles of her amethyst eyes had softened, insecurity and worry shadowing the temptations in their depths.

“My parents are waiting...you said...no dating...I have to go...sorry...you were amazing...I’m…”

As Maki frantically backpedaled, Nico had the impression of something beautiful and delicate, fluttering, letting a doubting breeze sweep it into the harshness of the open air, instead of here, every twitch, every gesture, a stroke against Nico, the magnetism almost burning.

“Maki.” Nico snapped the name, serious.

Maki bent her head, breaking eye contact, then straightened to her full height, “No one in the audience could take their eyes off you, Nico.”

That didn’t thrill Nico as much as she knew it should. “What about you?”

Maki’s jaw clenched, then she looked away, flushed, her next words only a whisper but the wonder in them was a crystal note. “I’ve never been able to look away.”

Nico took Maki’s chin and turned her back to face Nico, “Good.”

At some point Hanayo had dragged Rin away, Nico had no idea how long they’d been there, talking, almost unaware of how often they were touching, except for the urge to get closer. Maki was still, waiting, and Nico knew this was the moment, and double down with an honesty and an earnestness she’d never allowed herself to admit to. “Not dating doesn’t include you.”

Suddenly Maki giggled, “If you buttoned up your shirt, it’d be easier to take you seriously.”

Nico ripped off her shirt, remaining studs flying off who knew where. The costumer was going to kill her, “Buttoned up Nico isn’t what you really want.”

Maki, laugh lines crinkling, reached down and picked up Nico’s shirt, “Put it back on before my parent’s come looking for me.”

“Not until…” Nico pounced, hands sliding up Maki’s warm, smooth shoulders, fingers tangling in the twist starting to untwine, this kiss a fire melting away anything not touching Nico.

Sometime in a new, brighter future, Nico’s forehead was pressed against Maki’s, “Come to my cast party.”

Maki, all of her shyness suddenly transformed into a teasing confidence that was sexier than anything Nico had ever known existed, let her arms rest on Nico’s shoulder, “I would but I have plans to see a matinee tomorrow. There’s this actress….and she’s so…” Maki let her voice drag out in a breathy, sexy drawl, “e x t r a.”

“Nico will get you home early.” Another kiss, another twist of tenderness and territorialness, another moment where Maki pushed Nico like she couldn’t get close enough, eyes closed, but then when they opened suddenly, Nico had the only view she wanted. “But you shouldn’t look this windblown, undone, Nico can’t keep her hands off you sexy when you meet my mother.”

“And you should wear a shirt.” Maki snorted, before seizing a kiss of her own.

“Just for the cast party and the El and then we’ll talk.”

Maki shrugged, her hands trying to redo the Twist, “Optimist.”

“That’s not fixable. You’ll just have to tell your parents you can’t keep your hands off Nico.”

“I sent them home.” Maki glanced at her smart watch, “40 minutes ago.”

“Optimist.”

“Yep.”

“Nico likes that.” Nico slid her arm through Maki’s.

“Maki likes Nico.”

“And Nico likes Nico. So we agree.” Nico loved letting the teasing lilt edge her voice and seeing Maki’s eyebrow quirk in a challenge.

“Going to be Narcissus in your next play?” Maki bit back.

“Not now that I’ve seen you.” Nico pulled Maki closer.

Maki’s blush was adorable and sexy and Nico wanted to see how much of Maki she could get to redden, but right now, arm through Maki’s, pushing open the door of the Green Room, grinning at a Tansy on the way out and feeling Maki bump against her hip, right now, Nico was going to have the prettiest date at the cast party, to go with the perfectest performance of the year. Maybe Mama was right. Success shared certainly seemed sweet enough for Nico. And Maki's lips held Nico’s newest favorite taste.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Nico! Present wrapped, now I can get back to the chapters I owe myself.

A Midsummer Night's Dream has opened, I'm exhausted, and the actors are amazing. 5 more shows.Thanks for reading and leave a comment, please and thank you. Nico would want you to ; )

Also, some day there will be written a play, with a title 5 letters long, starting with an F, ending with an s, and you will recognize the characters, although the names may be changed. Right now, I have two possibilities: Fangs! and FoOLs! Any suggestions for a third?

#NicoMaki #Happy Birthday Nico #Number One Idol In the Multiverse #theatre meets coffeehouse AU #Yazawa Nico #Nishikino Maki #A Midsummer Night's Dream #etc #enjoy!