#im about to return to team 'this was all one fucked up week for wille'

[hillerskaroyals]

new young royals timeline just dropped:

#ive spent so long trying to revise my timeline post and simon's invoice is ruining my life #ive now decided young royals occurs in the dot of the I in jeremy bearimy #if you dont get this reference watch the good place. it's a great show #kind of #young royals #but also fully my brain shutting down #simon confronting august about the money and parents day being mid-August leaves damn near 2 full months before lucia #mid-August i meant mid-OCTOBER but i got distracted bc i was thinking about august (the character; derogatory) #im literally losing my mind over this #which then makes all the /other/ timelines confusing #like this means movie night is before autumn break and erik's funeral is during it #so the society meeting happens mid october and alexander is suspended for like 5 weeks before anything happens??? #does august ignore the fact that alex is missing for like a week before dealing with it or does it happen immediately?? #and then when does the music room fight happen? bc i /know/ its right before lucia #which means wille just sat on the info of alex getting caught with the drugs provided by simon for like a couple weeks?? #the math simply isn't mathing #although even if it was im horribly bad at math #im about to return to team 'this was all one fucked up week for wille' #im .2 seconds away from saying simon's invoice isn't cannon bc trying to use it is giving me a headache #that is all #young royals shit post #mine

[starsainzjr]

Around the World in 80 Days

Pairing: Max Verstappen x flight attendant!reader Faceclaim: None

✷✷✷✷✷

yourusername New York City

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, lilymhe and 68,836 others

yourusername Start spreadin' the news 🗽

View all 7,495 comments

lilymhe I miss you 😭

yourusername I am quite literally getting on a flight to come back as we speak alex_albon Yn help she's pouting I'm not equipped to handle it yourusername Right just let me tell the pilot to hurry up

maxverstappen1 Have a safe flight, liefje 😘

yourusername Ik hou van je, schat 🥰

danielricciardo How much longer until I get you on one of my flights 😒

yourusername You'd have to pass up Max's jet for that

maximillionverstars They are so cute it causes me physical pain

rb19sdownforce Sleeping on the highway tonight 🫶

verstrapping33 The way that she gets to fly around the world for a living AND date Max Verstappen... she won

maxverstappen1 Bahrain

Liked by yourusername, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 339,548 others

maxverstappen1 Lovely way to start the season! @/redbullracing let's go for 4!

View all 8,465 comments

yourusername Next time I won't be 30,000 feet in the air

maxverstappen1 Love you, liefje 😘 Come back to me safe yourusername I always will, schat 🥰

danielricciardo Still trying to recover from the heart attack on lap 43

maxverstappen1 😬

redbullracing Run it back, champ!

yourusername Give me more warning for the party this time

maximillionverstars The way he always tells her to be safe 😭

verstrapping33 Willing to sell my should to get what they have

yourusername Melbourne, Australia

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, lilymhe and 64,278 others

yourusername That layover was well timed

View all 5,106 comments

maxverstappen1 Biggest fan back in the garage! I love you, liefje 😘

yourusername You put on a show! I love you more, schat 🥰

redbullracing First Couple is back in the paddock!

danielricciardo YN COME DO A SHOEY WITH ME

yourusername WAIT FOR ME IM RUNNING lilymhe WAIT WAIT WAIT FOR ME TOO

verstrapping33 Yn and Max fr are the First Couple of Formula 1

maximillionverstars I'm begging for the content of Danny and Yn's shoey 😭

rb19sdownforce The only time I'm okay with Max not winning is when it's Danny on the top step

danielricciardo Melbourne, Australia

Liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, f1 and 1,020,0347 others

danielricciardo What a special day! Winning my home race has been a dream for a long time and I can't believe it finally came true!

Thank you @/redbullracing for making a dream a reality!

View all 198,284 comments

redbullracing What a return! Congrats Danny!

f1 ELECTRIC! What a race! Congratulations Daniel!

scuderiaferrari What a race! Congratulazioni from everyone here at the Scuderia!

maxverstappen1 Could not be more happy! Gefeliciteerd!

yourusername DANIEL RICCIARDO I AM SO PROUD OF YOU I LOVE YOU

danielricciardo YN TAKE THE REST OF THE WEEK OFF maxverstappen1 Hey, woah, that's my girlfriend we're talking about yourusername I love you too, schat 🥰

rb19sdownforce I'M FUCKING SHAKING I CANNOT BELIEVE IT

redbullgiveschecowings DANIEL MOTHERFUCKING RICCIARDO

verstrapping33 The First Couple supporting their third wheel no one talk to me

maxverstappen1 Melbourne, Australia

Liked by danielricciardo, yourusername, redbullracing and 299,741 others

maxverstappen1 Congratulations, Daniel! A well deserved win and a fantastic result for the team! Could not be prouder of how this weekend turned out. Onward and upward!

View all 4,881 comments

danielricciardo No one I would rather have by my side!

maxverstappen1 Shoeys all around!

yourusername DANIEL GET OVER HERE WE'RE DOING SHOTS

danielricciardo WAIT FOR ME IM ON MY WAY maxverstappen1 @/charles_leclerc I refuse to be the babysitter tonight charles_leclerc ABSOLUTELY NOT @/lewishamilton THIS ONE'S ON YOU

maximillionverstars This weekend is going to keep me going for the next, like, forever

rb19sdownforce Somebody sedate me

yourusername Tokyo, Japan

Liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, alex_albon and 62,406 others

yourusername Can't get you off my mind 🎌

View all 5,037 comments

maxverstappen1 Just a week too early 😔 Have a safe flight, liefje 😘

yourusername Love you, schat 🥰

lilymhe Now that's what I call a successful girls' weekend

yourusername YES IT WAS

maximillionverstars The way that if I ever saw Yn in an airport I would actually treat her like royalty

lilymhe I treat her like royalty too, understandable maximillionverstars BRB I'm gonna go lie in a ditch and rethink my entire life

verstrapping33 Max and Yn's relationship is the blueprint

maxverstappen1 Suzuka Circuit

Liked by yourusername, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 400,822 others

maxverstappen1 Lovely conclusion to a lovely weekend! Suzuka you were amazing as always!

View all 9,282 comments

yourusername That's my boy! So proud, I love you schat! 🥰

maxverstappen1 My liefje 😘 I love you more

redbullracing Triumphant return to the top step!

danielricciardo Max can I have my turn with Yn this weekend? I want to go skydiving

maxverstappen1 You had her all of last race weekend, it's my turn danielricciardo But @/charles_leclerc had her last weekend yourusername Danny I'll hang out with you in two weeks when I'm off

verstrapping33 The entire grid fighting over Yn's attention 😭 They really are the First Couple, it's not a joke anymore

maxverstappen1 Paris, France

Liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charles_leclerc and 418,013 others

maxverstappen1 Schedules aligned for once. A lovely weekend in Paris was well needed. I love you, liefje 😘

View all 3,107 comments

yourusername I love you more, schat! 🥰

maxverstappen1 May can't end quick enough

charles_leclerc @/pierregasly when are you gonna take me for a date night in Paris

pierregasly When Carlos stops looking like he's gonna kill me if I so much as think about you carlossainz55 ☹️

rb19sdownforce Max's comment section kills me every time I open it

verstrapping33 So like... is Max a Target purchase or is he more of an Amazon find...

yourusername Custom made ☺️

yourusername Paris, France

Liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, danielricciardo and 59,150 others

yourusername Because my love is near 🇫🇷

View all 5,001 comments

maxverstappen1 City of love was lovey! I love you liefje 😘

yourusername No one I would rather experience it with. I love you schat 🥰

danielricciardo One of these days I am actually going to get a cavity at how sweet my best friends are

maxverstappen1 Make sure to brush your teeth tonight yourusername I'll book you a dentist appointment

rb19sdownforce I swear to god they're going to kill me with how cute they are

verstrapping33 Are we sure Max isn't a Target purchase...

yourusername Dubai, UAE

Liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, danielricciardo and 53,026 others

yourusername Coming soon 😉

View all 2,927 comments

maxverstappen1 I'm so proud of you, liefje 😘

yourusername Couldn't have gotten this far without your support, schat 🥰

lilymhe She's all grown up 😪

yourusername There's a ticket for my first flight with your name on it alex_albon What about me???? yourusername You can come too I guess danielricciardo And me? 😇 yourusername Are you gonna give up the jet???

maximillionverstars She's actually gonna slay so hard

verstrapping33 Looks like I'm only flying Emirates from now on (I am extremely broke)

maxverstappen1 Emilia Romagna

Liked by yourusername, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 519,264 others

maxverstappen1 Imola! Great feeling to be back on the top step. See you in Monaco!

View all 10,002 comments

yourusername Schat! 🥰 I'm so proud you Maxie

maxverstappen1 Go back to studying, liefje 😘 I'll call you in the morning verstrapping33 To what gods do I need to make sacrifices to in order to get a Max for myself

redbullracing There's our future World Champion x 4!

danielricciardo I'm sorry for spraying champagne directly into your eyeball

maxverstappen1 I suppose you're forgiven yourusername Daniel Ricciardo if you blind my boyfriend I will hunt you down a maxverstappen1 Easy, liefje

rb19sdownforce I miss the First Couple 😭

maximillionverstars If I don't get a Max within the next 6 months I will actually lose my mind and it will be irreversible

yourusername Dubai, UAE

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, redbullracing and 62,159 others

yourusername Best way to spend a study break. Congrats, @/maxverstappen1! I love you, schat 🥰

View all 7,141 comments

maxverstappen1 Felt your support the whole way through. I love you, liefje 😘 See you soon

yourusername ❤️💙🧡

danielricciardo Yn I miss you more than Max does

maxverstappen1 You definitely do not yourusername You can have dibs on second hug once I'm back, Danny

redbullracing Two more weeks until our First Couple returns

yourusername Counting down the days

verstrapping33 The way they support each other in everything they do 😭

redbullracing Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, f1 and 781,172 others

redbullracing 6 wins in a row for Red Bull Racing!

View all 40,235 comments

maxverstappen1 Keep it running!

danielricciardo Not anywhere near done 💪

yourusername My boys!

danielricciardo Come back ☹️ maxverstappen1 There's an empty space in the garage with your name on it, liefje

rb19sdownforce They always know how to give us a heart attack jfc

yourusername Dubai, UAE

Liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, danielricciardo and 90,028 others

yourusername Take off! The past eight weeks have been incredible. So excited to finally by a part of Emirates flight crew!

View all 8,102 comments

maxverstappen1 Liefje! I'm so so proud of you!

yourusername Schat! I love you so much 🥰

danielricciardo I, for one, think I would look the best with that hat

maxverstappen1 I would love to see you try yourusername MINE

lilymhe My girl!!!! Where are we going first

yourusername Wherever you want, love of my life maxverstappen1 Hold on... alex_albon YEAH HOLD ON danielricciardo WHAT THET SAID

verstrapping33 Reading the comments over breakfast like it's the morning paper

maxverstappen1 Barcelona, Spain

Liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, redbullracing and 499,197 others

maxverstappen1 Proud doesn't even begin to cover it! SO happy for you, @/yourusername. And so happy to have you back in the paddock with me.

View all 7,106 comments

yourusername I love you schat 🥰 Could not have made it through without you waiting for me at the other end

maxverstappen1 I love you more, liefje 😘

danielricciardo YN'S BACK????? WHY WASN'T I INFORMED.

maxverstappen1 Back off, Ricciardo 🤺 yourusername Danny, at ease soldier

redbullracing First Couple content coming soon

maximillionverstars First Couple doing First Couple things

verstrapping33 Don't mind me, just sobbing into my hot chocolate at how proud Max is

yourusername Barcelona, Spain

Like by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, redbullracing and 71,106 others

yourusername Let's pretend we're dancing in the street

View all 3,111 comments

maxverstappen1 My good luck charm. I love you liefje 😘

yourusername I love you more, schat 🥰

danielricciardo She's home!!!!

yourusername DANNY COME GIVE ME A HUG

lilymhe The one race I don't go to

yourusername Looks like you're just going to have to book a flight alex_albon @/maxverstappen1 should we be worried? maxverstappen1 I think maybe danielricciardo I'm the real threat here boys yourusername No you're not lilymhe No you're not

maximillionverstars BRB gonna go sleep on the highway

f1 Barcelona, Spain

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, redbullracing and 602,291 others

f1 Nothing, just the First Couple doing First Couple things

View all 19,228 comments

maxverstappen1 My favorite part of the weekend

yourusername First Couple, reporting for duty

redbullracing All is right in the world once again

✷✷✷✷✷

All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen social media au #social media au

[breadstickposting]

i walked through the door with you the air was cold but something about it felt like home somehow and i left my scarf there at your sister's house and you've still got it in your drawer even now oh your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze we're singing in the car getting lost upstate autumn leaves are falling down like pieces into place and i can picture it after all these days and i know it's long gone and that magic's not here no more and i might be okay but i'm not fine at all cause there we are again on that little town street you almost ran the red cause you were looking over at me wind in my hair i was there i remember it all too well photo album on the counter your cheeks were turning red you used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed and your mother's telling stories about you on the t-ball team you told me about your past thinking your future was me and you were tossing me the keys fuck the patriarchy keychain on the ground we were always skipping town and i was thinking on the drive down anytime now he's gonna say it's love you never called it what it was till we were dead and gone and buried check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same after three months in the grave and then you wondered where it went to as i reached for you but all i felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame and i know it's long gone and there was nothing else i could do and i forget about you long enough to forget why i needed to cause there we are again in the middle of the night we're dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light down the stairs i was there i remember it all too well and there we are again when nobody had to know you kept me like a secret but i kept you like an oath sacred prayer and we'd swear to remember it all too well well maybe we got lost in translation maybe i asked for too much but maybe this thing was a masterpiece until you tore it all up running scared i was there i remember it all too well and you call me up again just to break me like a promise so casually cruel in the name of being honest im a crumpled up piece of paper lying here cause i remember it all all all they all's well that ends well but i'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine and that made me want to die the idea you had of me who was she a never needy ever-loving jewel whose shine reflects on you not weeping in a party bathroom some actress asking me what happened you thats what happened you you who charmed my dad with self-effacing jokes sipping coffee like you're on a late night show but then he watched me watch the front door all night willing you to come and he said it's supposed to be fun turning twenty-one time won't fly it's like i'm paralysed by it i'd like to be my old self again but i'm still trying to find it after plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own now you mail back my things and i walk home alone but you keep my old scarf from that very first week cause it reminds you of incense and it smells like me you can't get rid of it cause you remember it all too well cause there we are again when i loved you so back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known it was rare i was there i remember it all too well wind in my hair you were there you remember it all down the stairs you were there you remember it all it was rare i was there i remember it all too well and i was never good at telling jokes but the punchline goes i'll get older but your lovers stay my age from when your brooklyn broke my skin and bones i'm a soldier who's returning half her weight and did the twin flame bruise paint you blue just between us did the love affair maim you too cause in this city's barren cold i still remember the first fall of snow and how it glistened as it fell i remember it all too well just between us did the love affair maim you all too well just between us do you remember it all too well just between us i remember it just between us all too well wind in my hair i was there i was there i was there down the st

#so was anyone gonna tell me there's a character limit on tumblr #or was i supposed to find that out by typing the lyrics to all too well (ten minute version)

[safetyrat]

Hiiii maybe LL!Ren for the character headcannon thing?

hey!! yes!! im really glad i get to talk abt ren bc he lives in my head rent free At All Times :) ty very much for requesting him

Realistic: While Ren did want to win, i mean thats kind of the whole point of the game, he never was truly passionate about it? Like, he saw how it was a hollow victory last season and being a natural two lifer, he didn't see his chances as too great. The driving force for making alliances and gearing up was mostly survival instinct. He would try, of course, but he woudn't go as far as betraying allies or doing anything else crazy like that, this game wasn't worth it.

Well, he used to think so. But BigB saying that if they win, a part of his queen wins with them? That stuck with him, for some reason. He is willing to go far futher, now. A far lot futher.

He needs to win, after all.

Funny: He still is very much a werewolf, but he does not transform on full moons (bc server power supression, regulation to make the game more fair etc. etc. whatever, he just naturally is a bit dogboy anyways). Instead, he just kinda,, goes crazy goes stupid? think this post without the transforming basically.

It is especially incredibly inconvinient as this is Very Likely To Happen during the mysterious and very important meetings with Martyn/the Shadows. Sometimes this just makes him get into their weeb roleplay even more, more likely than not it ends up with furniture being nibbled on and everybody else incredibly tired with how much affection he demands. Usually Martyn has to console him bc he is very embarrassed afterwards. This is a routine they have developed in Dogwards. They Are Used To This.

(And yes, this is the reason he set himself on fire and we didnt see it in his episode. Fuck You if that wasnt even a full moon. It's also why Martyn insists on teaming with him afterwards, he clearly needs somebody)

Sad: He made a grave for his queen. Well, not a grave grave, her body is with the Joel and the other reds, and Ren doesn't think he even has half the claim to it as they do, but as close to closure as he could get. He gathered every trinked and item he could find that felt connected to her (I headcanon time to be much slower for them, so the recordings take a few days and there are days of down time between the recordings. You would be suprised how much Stuff piles up when you live with somebody for a few weeks) and burried it in the ashes of the fairy fort. Despite everything that happens late game, he always makes sure to go there and take care of it a bit, restore parts of the fairy fort maybe. He feels a bit silly, doing so in a death game, but he feels like its part of his duty to her. Like he owes it for not being able to protect her.

Canon who: OK SO this isnt entirely original, but!!!! do u know the post thats like "3rd life happend in a millisecond on the hermitcraft server, and when everybody returned they werent even sure it actually happend? and ren didnt even know if martyn actually exists?"

PLEASE if somebody knows where to find that post send it to me, its a banger and i wanna credit it properly

So take this and extend it to Last Life. Imagine Ren waking up after being killed, having watched first Lizzie, then BigB, then Martyn die, die, die. Imagine him opening his eyes in a panic, ready to scream for help from his allies, only to see... Doc? Looking concerned at him? Asking "Are you alright, man? You blanked out for a second there."

He is in a meeting. Doc looks expectantly at him to explain the new developments of the octagon. His whole life has just changed.

But it has been just a second. And every other second that passes, his memory gets more blurry. Did he really imagine that? Was he going crazy? Did he make them up? Make up three whole new people important to him? After all, most of the other players in that game had been hermits, except the ones closest to him, for some reason.

But no matter how much time passed, he could clearly remember their faces, and you know how they say that you can't make a new face up in a dream? He hung onto that.

Weeks later, and he doesn't remember why, but he metioned it to Pearl. And she told him about a little server she was on once called Evo, and that she had known Martyn and BigB there. She admits not knowing where they are now, but it is enough to make Ren determined to find them.

She also mentions another server, one she still frequents today, and while it doesn't usually have visitors, she promises to arrange something.

Time passes again, then Ren finds both Gem and Pearl at his front door and they take him on a journey to a world of empires.

It's where he gets to see his queen again, and this time, she is more royal then she has ever been before.

#these took forever im sorry i had to do more real life stuff than i thought #hope u like em tho :] #last life smp #headcanons #rendog #thank u for the ask!! #boatem-cult #long post #last life spoilers

[chxrrysangel]

I Need a Favor

Part One | Masterlist | Part Three

Summary || A talk with Wanda and Vision at the ice cream parlor gives you a grand idea. Now only to convince your partner to go along with it.

pairing || fakeboyfriend!bucky x black!ofc

word count || 1,730 words

Notes || Diana uses she/they pronouns

Warnings || brief mention of disordered eating, language

"I ruined everything Wanda. She's never gonna talk to me again, " I say while salty tear drops from my cheek into the soft serve below me.

I don't think I've cried this much since Nat and I got into the same university. At least that was a happy memory. Wanda wraps her arms around my body, trying her best to console me.

"Vision! Another cup of Cotton Candy over here!"

Vision, Wanda's boyfriend, pops up from behind the counter, blond hair sticking up in all directions. That's what happens when he's in distress, that man never stops touching his hair.

"But Wanda--". He attempts to argue with her. But when he sees the glare her features are sporting, the words quickly die in his throat.

"Alright."

Not a minute later, Vision wanders over to our table carrying a medium sized bowl on Cotton Candy ice cream, my favorite. The shop is closed now, the last customers leaving about 10 minutes ago. I probably shouldn't be eating my feelings considering I haven't always had the best relationship with food, but I'll cry about that later. Right now, I just need to wallow in the guilt of the mess I've made.

"So, what's the problem exactly Diana? Why are you so distraught right now?" I sigh and will the tears to subside enough for me to give the breakdown. Seeing me struggle to keep my composure, Wanda steps in and I thank the universe for her.

"They kissed Steve at a party a few weeks ago and now he thinks she has a crush on him. Whether she does or doesn't isn't important because he cornered her in the library earlier and now she has to figure out what to do ASAP. They don't want Nat to find out about Steve's "revelation". "

"Shit, Di. So there's nothing you can do? You have no dirt on 'im? Threaten him to keep the secret? Maybe call in a favor or something?"

Favor. Call in a favor.

"Oh my god, Vision you're a genius! I could literally kiss you right now! I mean, obviously I wouldn't. But, you get what I mean." I scramble to gather my things and throw a ten dollar bill on the tabletop.

"I'll see you guys later! I have to go do something!" I don't wait for their response before I'm hurdling out the door and running towards Jones Apartments.

~~~

I kind of forgot the distance between Jones Apartments and Wanda's Creamery. That is why by the time I reach them, I feel like someone could peel me off the sidewalk. I don't think I've ever been this out of breath in my entire life. Jesus Christ, how is Nat on the track team? I remind myself to ask her about her running routine while I sit on the curb, trying my best not to burst a lung.

"Diana?" My head perks up at the sound of my name, surprised to see the exact person I was looking for.

"James!"

"Diana, I told you not to call me that." I get up from the curb so we're more or less eye level. I don't exactly like being talked down to.

"Anyways James, I need to talk to you."

"No." James sidesteps around me, heading towards the swivel door entrance."

"And why not?" I chase after him, hoping that by following him, he'll get annoyed and let me speak so I can go home. It is a Friday after all, I'm sure he has something to do. Probably partying at the frat house. Let's be real here.

"Because, I don't want to." He doesn't wait for my response before he's walking down the corridor to the elevator. I don't know why he thinks he'll be able to escape me, it's not like I don't know his apartment number or anything.

"James--", he looks at me with an irritated expression,"Okay, okay. Bucky. I have a proposition for you.”

"And what about that exactly?"

"That's for a space with privacy. You never know who's listening." He sighs and rolls his eyes before motioning for me to follow. Gotcha. Hook, line, and sinker.

~~~~

"Absolutely fucking not."

"What do you mean?! I've barely said a thing!"

"It's Steve Rogers, that's enough for me to say no."

"C'mon Buck! Please! I will literally get on my hands and knees, and beg for you to say yes." He smirks at my words and I proceed to punch him in the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You know exactly what that was for. Anyways, I really, really need your help."

"I already said no. Now get out." I'm starting to get annoyed with him. He's so stubborn.

"James, will you cool it with the bad boy, angry man act! I know you, you fucking moron. You can't fool me with that one. " He stares at me from his seat on the kitchen counter.

"It's not an act."

"Right, because it's not like just 6 months ago you were laying in bed with me at my apartment crying to A Walk to Remember. You're a total baby."

His jaw ticks at my reminder. Ha, gotcha. During the spring of Sophomore year, I tutored James for a semester because he was in trouble of losing his spot on the baseball team. And as they're most valuable and skilled player, coach couldn't let that happen. He'd also lose his scholarship. At first he hated me, but over time we developed a pretty decent friendship. He's actually a really cool guy, and a total softie at that.

"Shut up."

"Ah, so you do remember us being friends at one point. Well, at least before you stopped returning my calls and unfollowed me on Instagram and Twitter."

"Sorry 'bout that." He smiles sheepishly, seemingly apologetic.

"You should be. Anyways, weren't you and Steve friends freshman year? I'd only know him for like a year and a half, but I distinctly remember that you two used to hang out."

"Yeah, we did. But that's in the past." He hops off the counter, opening the fridge to grab a beer. I watch him as he pops the top with his metal arm, the depth of its capabilities continuing to amaze me.

"Why, what happened? Did you guys fall out over a girl or something?," I ask with a laugh. He stays silent.

"Oh my god. You guys did break up over a girl. So, who's the lucky lady?" Again, he doesn't respond.

"Do I know her?" Ok, now I'm intrigued. Maybe a little bit nosy as well, but more intrigued. Inquisitive, if you will.

Again, my words are met with silence.

"Oo, so I do know her. Is it Nat?" He pause for just a millisecond, the same way I did at the party.

"Di, will you just drop it?"

"Oh my god!--" I jump out of my chair, squealing with excitement. "--So, it is Nat!" Wait, shit. It's Nat. Oh, this is bad.

"You think?" Did I say that out loud?

"Yes, you did. Now will you get out of my apartment please?"

"Nope, we have much to discuss"

~~~

"So, what exactly do I get out of this besides a headache?"

"Ouch, James. I'm not that bad. So basically, I keep your secret that you ever liked Nat. You get to rub it in Steve's that your crush is a thing of the past. I get him off my back, and finally I figure out how to get you a date with Daisy when we fake break up."

"Ok, I can deal with this. We're gonna need a contract though."

"Oo, look at you using your brain. I guess my tutoring paid off." He pushes me, nearly sending me off the chair to my death.

"Hey, watch it cyborg! What good is a fake girlfriend if you kill them?" Bucky simply rolls his eyes, before pulling out a pen and paper from a side drawer.

"Okay, rule number one : don't tell a single soul. Not one. Got it?"

"Yes, dad," I respond whilst rolling my eyes. He stares at me for a second longer than necessary and I look at him questioningly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Rule two?"

"Um...we have to act decently couple-y. So that means kissing, you walk me to my classes, I go to your games, stuff like that."

"Okay, good point. Rule three, you have to indulge in some of the things I like. Especially my motorcycle."

"Uh uh. No fucking way am I willingly getting on that death trap."

He laughs at me. He fucking laughs at me. "y/n, it's not that bad I promise. I won't let you die."

"You don't know that."

"I promise, I won't let you die. " He smiles wide at me, enough for his dimples to poke out. He knows how much I love dimples. Well played, Barnes. Well played.

"Okay, put it as a conditional clause. While we're on that note, you have to indulge in my interests too. You have to let me braid your hair once in a while." His face drops in horror.

"Uh uh. Don't even try it Barnes. If I'm willing to put my life in your hands, I'm sure you'll survive some french braids and cornrows." He looks at me for a second before sighing in defeat, realizing I'm not gonna budge any time soon.

"Okay fine, anything else?"

"When are we gonna break up? Or, like what's our condition if it keeps going? We've gotta be believable here." The two of us sit in silence for a few moments, thinking of a time that would suit the earth-shattering demise of our passionate love story.

"Got it! You know that holiday banquet/fundraiser thing the dean throws just after New Years'? You know the one where everyone dresses up like it's the goddamn Met Gala? Well, that banquet has the most hookups of any public event this school has all year. You'd be an absolute moron to let your partner go without you. If we're still doing this by then, you have to go with me."

The banquet is four months from now, so there's absolutely no way in hell we'll still be doing this by that time. With that thought in mind, we shake hands and sign our names at the bottom.

"You've got yourself a deal Barnes."

#fakeboyfriend!bucky #fake relationship #steve rogers #romanogers #natasha romanov #bucky barnes x black!ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #black!oc #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader

[kisskissbanggang]

Hello Stranger

[14K Words/1Hr. Read - Teacher!Bang Chan x Admin!Female Reader - Fake Relationships, Guest Appearances, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn, New Teachers, Vanilla, Office Sex, Allusions To Troubling Subjects]

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You should’ve expected a phone call when you read the email. At least then you would be somewhat prepared for the verbal lashing you were currently receiving from one of your greatest teachers. 

“I’m sorry, but — wait, you know what? No I’m not, I’m not sorry — but I am not staying here with this dumpster fire waiting to happen! He’s wrecking the department — Johnny, let me talk — and I didn’t even want him here to begin with. Congratulations, ma’am, you torpedoed my program I worked so hard to build.”

Doyoung paused, waiting for you to call his bluff, to appeal to his good side as usual. He was right. He’d done so much for his school — for the district, really, and this was getting out of hand. Johnny could be heard behind him, the poor principal having apparently had his desk phone wrestled away from him to begin with. 

“Mr. Kim,” you spoke into the phone, mustering all the confidence you had in you, “what do you want me to do? I mean it. Tell me what you want.”

“He goes or I go,” Doyoung dramatically laid out into your ear. Johnny could be heard trying to console the raving teacher before Doyoung apparently ducked him every few seconds. “I’m losing my mind. I have 150 students becoming fucking hypnotized and they’re influencing their peers like the plague.”

“Besides losing either of you,” you carefully negotiated, “what do you want me to do? I value your input; I always have. Dig into the meat with me here, please.”

“I will not teach beside some noble renegade who wears hoodies to class and asks his students to call him by his first name. I won’t teach in the same building, nor in the same school. This is dangerous, and you know it is. For all the money you’re throwing at PR this year you could be putting it in your students.”

You hated that Doyoung was right. This was not a great start to the year. A sigh escaped that you had not meant for, and Doyoung audibly steeled himself on the other end of the receiver. He was waiting now. 

“I’m coming down there,” you announced. Apparently Johnny heard you, a god fucking dammit being heard behind Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung, however, was sated. 

“Fine,” he replied, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded like he was surprised he got anywhere. “I’m sorry I got so upset.”

And like that, Doyoung hung up. You slumped down in your chair, having been pacing your otherwise pristine office for the past 15 minutes which had felt more like 15 hours. You were fussily rearranging your desk, trying to calm yourself back down when your assistant finally felt it was safe enough to poke her head into your office. 

“Ma’am—” Yeji greeted before you held up a hand to stop her. You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. 

“How many more calls this week?”

“Only four,” she replied. A relieved sigh softened your tense shoulders as she set the personnel file you requested on your desk. 

You felt so old now, run ragged by all the mayhem, but it wasn’t so long ago that you were young yourself. Even then, you still were according to most standards. You were the youngest assistant superintendent to ever serve the district, a set of magnet schools within the city comprised of one private Montessori primary school, one public STEM-focused junior high, and one private-public hybrid high school of the arts. You pined for the ultimate position, but that chair was long occupied by Mr. Simmons, a token favorite of the school board. He called you dear and was always acting like some big man pitying a little girl. However, this didn’t mean you hadn’t tried like hell to make an impression. 

Your first three years had been a terrific uphill trajectory. In year one, you brought on Doyoung to replace the retiring choir teacher and head of the music department at the high school. To date, he’d brought in more accolades than his predecessor did in twice the time. For your second year, you collaborated with your junior high on an agricultural enrichment program that offset food costs district wide to the point you could improve offerings in all three cafeterias. This year, you re-established the district PTA. Doyoung’s rabid Booster Club and the parents of the junior high’s robotics team made up the first meeting, and more and more parents had joined since. 

So it only seemed fair that this year was your first true hurdle. It had been such an innocent decision: you took a proposed program from the junior high and adapted it for your high school students. A music production and distribution program was a clean, sleek idea that was sure to impress the PTA and enrich the lives of your students in their already affluent music department and work as a dual credit with the business side of the class. What you hadn’t betted on, however, was what exactly a young teacher could get into in a high school setting. 

Chris Bang wasn’t naive — you were sure of it, looking at his portfolio. He’d cut his teeth independently producing from a young age and gathering a loyal following online. This was a concept you understood well enough, but had a time and a half explaining to anyone older than you, it seemed. Anyone older than you, but also especially Doyoung, who was very fiercely proud of his hard work to get his double Masters in Choral Conducting and Music Theory at 21 and didn’t have the patience for homegrown prodigies. You couldn’t blame Doyoung, really, even with his dramatics. His competition choir was a force to be reckoned with — surprisingly disciplined, endlessly talented, and ravenously competitive — and now two of his students were wrapped up in all this, too, and that was just the extent you were aware of. 

You tapped out an IM to Yeji from your desktop, asking her to come back into your office, and she dutifully popped in a few seconds later. She pulled up a chair in front of your desk as you rested your head in your hands for a moment. “Tell me, Yeji,” you sighed, “what’s your read on this?”

“Well, ma’am,” she mulled it over, “it’s not great. It’s awful, really. But it’s hard to tell by now what’s real, what’s a cry for attention, or what feels real but is actually just the zeitgeist. You know how this is, what it can turn into.”

You did. You’d remembered your own whirlwind feelings at a similar age, even just out of high school. Strangers and dissenters had a hard time believing it, but before you had assumed the role of meticulously poised and proper, you were frustratingly belligerent and stubborn like many of your peers when you were younger. It was easy to recall how real, how present every moment was at the time, but you didn’t even remember the whole story now. In fact, you hadn’t thought of that story in ages, but you were suddenly reminded of the smell of pine trees and sugar, the cool electricity of being out past midnight. It was quite possibly the most excited you’d ever felt, but now you couldn’t remember the fine details, the corners sanded down to curves over time. To your students, these letters were the most exciting and dramatic thing to ever happen to them, and if they would remember the details later on would depend on how you handled the situation. 

The first letter surfaced just a week before, and online of all places. A full declaration of this girl’s undying love for Chris and all of the very, very, very inappropriate things she wanted to do with him, found in an envelope on the keyboard outside his office and posted online before he could ever see it. The next letter was eventually found two days later, apparently picked up from where it had missed the trash can: a 17 year old boy, feeling emboldened enough to finally profess who he was — gay, madly in love with Chris, and willing to risk it all. A third was stolen from a girl’s backpack from some bullies and she had been a wreck, so sure that Chris had picked one of the other two and she’d missed her chance. That girl hadn’t returned to school yet. Who knew what else was going on in the hallways, in the cafeteria and bathrooms, in the parking lot after school? 

Four more parents contacted your office, according to Yeji. Four more letters. And now Doyoung was threatening to quit, for added reasons you hadn’t even been aware of. You flipped through Chris’ personnel file, hoping not to find any red flags, but hopefully find any reason this spiraled out of control, anything other than tumultuous teenage life wreaking havoc on your students. 

Your sigh renewed in spades as you glanced at your assistant again. “Who do you remember most from high school?”

Yeji’s eyes were cast downward as she thought about it. “Other than my friends? Probably the student teacher in my auto class,” she blissfully reminisced. “The teacher would sleep half the time and the student teacher would just teach us whatever we wanted to know and what we needed to know for tests. I remember I had the biggest crush because of that.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Yeji gave an apologetic smile. “What about you?”

Her question knocked you off your feet for a moment. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting it, but you immediately had an answer. “Aside from friends? Weirdly enough,” you began, “someone I didn’t meet until graduation.”

As sickly sentimental as the thought of it was, it was true. You didn’t even remember that boy’s name anymore, but you’d met exactly three times before you left for college. He had been hanging out by the bonfire on the beach at a grad party no one had expected to get so crazy. You couldn’t remember your conversation, but you could remember his bleached hair tucked under a beanie catching your eye as he sat by himself, his friends apparently wreaking havoc on their own somewhere. His lip ring was crooked, and in a fit of beer-buzzed confidence you’d fixed it for him while you talked about the phony gravitas of graduation. You’d almost kissed him, too, connecting over things that seemed way more kismet than they probably were when your friends finally made you walk home with them. 

You gathered up the rest of your patience and courage as you bid Yeji goodbye until your return and headed out to your car in the lot, making the tedious journey to the high school. The handsomely vintage architecture was charmingly modern inside the gates and within its walls, but not overly so. However, this also meant the school was a hike and a maze to navigate through to find the music department. You were distracted, though, missing a turn here or there and having to turn back a couple times now that you were suddenly remembering your clandestine romance from years ago. What was his name? It wasn’t even that long ago. Had so much really happened since then? You wracked your brain. He had a reasonably fresh and nice scratcher tattoo on his bicep, you remembered, but you couldn’t remember what it was for some reason, just like his name. He had to have said it in one of these memory bites. 

The second time you’d met, he’d been handing out flyers on the boardwalk for his own show at a rave in a warehouse on the other side of town, out where the beach met the woods. He’d seen you before you’d seen him, and he had popped up with a greeting of Hello, stranger. He had made you promise to be there, which is where you met the third and final time later that night. He greeted you again the same way. Hello, stranger. You’d thought it was cute then, and still did, which must be why you still remembered that detail, at least. He liked your shoes, your worn work boots you’d picked up at a thrift store and refused to get rid of despite all the times your parents asked. 

Those warehouse shows were always nuts, all sorts of vendors arriving who were willing to shack up with any event that passed through. He had bought you cotton candy from one of these vendors when you met him after his set and you chatted as you walked along the tree line, talking about his dreams of becoming rich and famous on his own terms. He kissed you, once, and you tasted his lip ring and spun sugar for weeks. You found yourself wondering now if he ever did become rich and famous. 

Doyoung gave you a passing glance in the hall as you stalked towards Chris’s classroom: he looked impatient but thrilled and, sure enough, well dressed in his usual suit and tie. You wondered if this new staff member was exactly what Doyoung was fear mongering. Maybe it was simply a difference in values. This was Chris’ first year teaching professionally, you remembered, and now you felt miserably guilty. What a horrible way to start a career. You hadn’t even visited your new teacher since he began, but just the door outside his room was a mess. Doyoung’s fretting made more sense now. Even though you’d only gotten four phone calls, Chris’s classroom door was plastered in letters. 

The door creaked and fluttered as you opened it and peeked your head inside. The room was devoid of any human presence. For a space that needed to serve multiple purposes, it was sparsely filled except for classroom materials and equipment. Regular desks and chairs filled the floor as opposed to risers or music stands like in the other department classrooms, but there was still a soundproof practice room in the back of the room, and only the recording equipment stored around the room gave any hint to the classroom’s purpose. To deal with the mess after the third letter, a sub was leading Chris’s classes in the library, but you at least expected to find him here himself, or at least some posters or framed photos. You peeked inside the small office at the head of the classroom, finding it just as empty as well, but with some more personality. A few extra milk crates of visibly nicer vinyl records for sampling and listening were stacked beside the desk along with a nicer record player than what was by his desk out in the classroom. Some books sat on a shelf with a modest cactus in the corner, and finally some photos: Chris shaking hands and smiling with tons of industry players and friends, and occasionally appearing in one of those hoodies Doyoung had been warning of. He did own suits, apparently. Multiple. And he looked good in them. 

A polite cough surprised you at the door of the office. 

You whirled around, the sun outside silhouetting Chris as he stared at you in his dimly lit office. “My office hours are cancelled this week. May I help you?”

It was your turn to cough, clearing your throat. He was certainly young. He was certainly handsome, his grimace pronouncing the charming dimples in his cheeks. He certainly didn’t dress like a teacher. Chris stood in the doorway of his own office, looking at you curiously in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He even had a backpack hung on his shoulder and a bag of greasy fast food in his hands. He suddenly looked down at it, embarrassed. 

“I, er, wore out my welcome in the teacher’s lounge, it seems,” he sighed out a sullen laugh. “And I needed some fresh air.”

“Mr. Bang, I—“

“Call me Chris,” he insisted with a tired grin. Your heart shamefully thumped at how friendly and cute he was. It was easier to pretend you didn’t hear him. He stepped around you and dropped down into his desk chair. He silently gestured at his food, appearing to ask if you were alright if he ate while you talked. You nodded. He dug into the bag and cheekily offered you a fry. You coolly shook your head. 

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but as assistant superintendent—“

Chris sputtered, standing up from his chair as he choked down the fry he’d just put in his mouth. “Ma’am,” he gasped finally, “I didn’t—“

“I know,” you nodded again. You waved up a hand in understanding. “Please, sit back down. I wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, considering the current state of affairs.”

Chris stayed standing, uneasy and fidgeting. “Alright, what do you want? Is this it? Please don’t suggest I need an attorney, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“What?” You asked, surprised. 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Chris lamented, “but I’ve gotten dozens of emails and messages through the school portal from parents and students asking me if I did anything, and it’s doing my head in.”

“They’re what?!” You hadn’t even considered anyone actually thought the teacher was guilty of anything. He nodded gravely. 

“Read the letters outside!” His demand came out brokenly as he pointed behind you. “They’re begging me and taunting me to do all sorts of shit. Confess, quit, fuck them — all sorts of awful trash that I never even imagined. I just wanted to teach. I don’t know why the hell this is happening to me.”

You had no idea about any harassment. This looked bad. It looked bad to your students, their parents, the staff — everyone. You pulled out your phone from your purse and brought up the PR rep’s number, now on your speed dial. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Of course I didn’t—“ he sputtered before you cut him off. 

“I wasn’t asking, Mr. Bang. You didn’t do anything and I believe you. A good superintendent would support good staff. Your first few months brought nothing but praise past my office.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris quietly said. He finally sat down as you dialed the rep. She would be by shortly. You found another chair hiding under a pile of books and cds and moved them so you could sit. Chris was looking at you oddly now as you hung up, sitting closer than you’d normally like in the small office. You shifted uncomfortably. Chris offered you a fry again before you stiffly refused once more. He shrugged and began inhaling his food in earnest. 

“Hungry?” You asked sarcastically, instantly regretting it. There was no sense in kicking him while he was down. 

“Emotional eater,” he clarified around a mouthful, equally sarcastic in your resumed awkward silence. You considered the young teacher in front of you. If you recalled the personnel file, he wasn’t just a brand new teacher, he was new to the area as well. A rumor apparently spread among the students and even some of your staff that he had been running away from something, but you never paid that any attention until you were actually in the same room with him. He caught you zoning out in his direction, an eyebrow raised as he paused on his mouthful of food, and you sheepishly pulled out your phone and checked your agenda until your rep finally found you hiding out together in the tiny office. 

Ryujin had become your go-to girl since the school year started but even more so over the past week. Public relations for a school district should never have to become very high-maintenance work, but Ryujin was quickly proving herself over-qualified for the job. She stood in the doorway, tall and cool in her confidence despite her short stature as she looked over the situation. 

“Stand up,” she simply directed Chris. 

He gave you a quick glance, not moving until you nodded. Chris set his food down and stood, hands in his hoodie pockets as Ryujin circled him. He warily shied away from her prodding as she pinched and pulled at his clothes, looking at tags and labels. She fiddled with the cute studs in his ears, tugged on the strings of his hoodie to draw him more to her level, and ruffled his dark, fluffy hair to look for showing roots or product. Ryujin looked at you now. “This isn’t so bad,” she told you decidedly. 

Chris was confused, left about ten miles behind the conversation. “Why—“

“What do we do?” You asked. Chris looked wildly between both of you as you decided his fate without him. “We’re dealing with harassment now.”

“Of course we are,” Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, “I mean, look at him.”

“Hey!” Chris rightfully looked offended, even as you held up a calming hand to settle him down. Ryujin impatiently waited for you to let her continue. 

“He doesn’t look like a teacher, he doesn’t act like a teacher, he’s under 30, and— I’m sorry— he’s cute. He was bound to get eaten alive when his students are only a few years younger than him and he has no experience.”

“So,” you reiterated, “what do we do?”

“He can go back to teaching,” Ryujin ruled, “but he has to look and act the part. No more first-name basis, no more street clothes.”

“This is so ridiculous!” Chris laughed in disbelief. 

Both you and Ryujin glared at him now before she continued. “He’ll have to make a statement first. I’ll write it, of course. He can speak at the next PTA meeting. But —“ she turned to face him for once, “you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spouse? A partner? Some boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Now you shared Chris’ confused look. “Why does that matter?”

Ryujin folded her arms. “I don’t mince words. Sympathy, mostly. For anyone worrying, he’ll clearly appear to have support. For anyone who is doubting him, he clearly appears to have a loyal and loving presence in his life that can attest to Mr. Bang never having any nefarious predilection for his students and never intending to inspire any regrettable actions. It’s ultimately a similar reason to why I suggested you should wear a wedding ring.”

Your face heated up once again at being outed in front of your staff member. Ryujin had suggested a fake wedding ring ages ago when you first hired her. The moment you were appointed, parents instantly began doubting you. Even Superintendent Simmons, a parent himself, questioned you at your third interview. How could you — a young woman with no spouse and no children of your own — ever deign to understand what it’s like to raise and nurture one? The sheer stubbornness that you felt in response to that sentiment made you refuse such a placating notion as a fake wedding ring. Chris seemed to notice your embarrassment before he piped up himself, almost seeming to want to change the subject back for your sake. 

“No,” Chris said simply, “I’m single and fine with it.”

“Look,” Ryujin rolled her eyes, “that is fine. Find a fake, then. It just needs to look real. It’s not fair, but these parents will assume you’re a better person if you’re not single in this situation. They need to see that you’re a loving and committed professional who just wants to teach and nurture young minds. The next PTA meeting is this Thursday night. Today is Tuesday, so you have a little time, but not much. Consider it, and I’ll have an optional line in your statement for whatever you decide. Do you have a suit?”

“For funerals and weddings,” Chris grumbled. 

“A sweater is fine then,” Ryujin shrugged. She put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “This is going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” You realized with thorough embarrassment that you sounded distressed. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed, “the Superintendent wants a meeting about his son or something. You will be fine. Keep me updated.”

Ryujin ghosted out the door as fast as she’d come, and Chris reeled. “The nerve! I can’t believe her, can you?”

“Yes,” you nodded seriously, “I can. She’s right.”

“Oh, come on!” Chris blustered. You stood back up now, gathering your bag in the crook of your arm and straightening the carefully pressed collar of your suit jacket. 

“I don’t want to see you have to end your career so soon, Mr. Bang,” you sympathized as you pulled out a business card from your purse and handed it to him. “Again, I’ve only heard good things about you until all this. Call me if you need anything. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Things settled for one day. And then Thursday morning happened. Yeji was pale as you entered the office in the morning. 

“John called from his cell.” 

You checked your watch. First period was just starting at the high school. 

God dammit. 

You jogged into your office, grabbed the phone, and dialed him back. Johnny was out of breath. “I have a situation,” he panted into the phone. You could hear shouting behind him. Specifically, you could hear Doyoung shouting behind him. God dammit. 

The tires on your car screeched as you peeled out of the parking lot of the admin building, tearing across town and barely breathing until you passed through Johnny’s office on your way into the building. He was icing his cheek with a cold pack from the nurse, his tie loose and slack around his neck and his suit jacket haphazardly slung over the back of his chair. Before you could say anything, he just shook his head with a disappointed laugh before returning to work at his computer. You walked quickly through the hallway, students watching you from their first period classrooms until you reached the music department. Taeil, the band teacher, closed Doyoung’s door behind him as he saw you in the hall. 

“Ma’am,” the teacher greeted, thoroughly exhausted, “I wouldn’t go in there. We already called a sub for the rest of the day and I took Doyoung’s kids to the library for independent study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” you thanked him graciously, “do you have any idea what happened?” Taeil shrugged helplessly. His tie was crooked as well, his rolled sleeves uneven. You looked over at Chris’ room, open to the hall. Letters had shuffled off the door and onto the hallway floor. “Take care of Doyoung,” you instructed Taeil, “make sure he’s okay and that he gets home alright.”

Taeil nodded and let himself back into Doyoung’s classroom as you carefully approached Chris’. The room was dark, books and papers strewn across the floor. You cautiously switched on the light, only to find the teacher slumped in his chair at the head of the room, icing his own face with a metal water bottle. He silently glanced at you and sighed as you rushed over to check on him. You set your purse on his desk and gingerly pulled the water bottle away, sharing Chris’ sigh as you saw the bruise on his cheek. It felt a bit gross to still find him so frustratingly handsome in this moment. 

“What happened?” You softly asked him. Chris sank into the chair and gave a dejected shrug, helpless to recollect. And he didn’t get much of a chance to even try, as a commotion erupted in the empty hallway. Doyoung stood fuming in the doorway with Taeil futilely attempting to pull him away. 

“So you are here,” Doyoung grimaced at you before he shot a glare at Taeil, “why are you lying for her? Everyone is treating me like I’m insane and I’ve had it.” He stormed over, only stopped as you turned to press a confrontational hand to his chest. Doyoung had quite the busted lip. 

“Mr. Kim, I know tensions are high—” you began staunchly before Doyoung steamrolled you. 

“Do you?! Do you even know what happened?” He leaned to the side, staring daggers into Chris. “Tell her, you sorry excuse of a—“

“I’m telling you, Kim, just like I have been telling you,” Chris glowered, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about! You’re the one who came in here looking to start a fight.”

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Doyoung shouted. You put your hands on his shoulders, making him look at you. 

“Tell me, then, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung shiftily looked back and forth between the two of you. “Tell you what, ma’am?” he grumbled. “Tell you that I had the joy of overhearing one of my brightest students talking with her friends during zero period, bragging about fucking in his practice room? Tell you that she’s just a freshman? Tell you that I caught her and her friends giggling as she wrote her own fucking letter?” 

Doyoung pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his suit jacket and shoved it into your hands. You looked back at Chris, his shaking eyes horrified as he was apparently hearing this all for the first time. 

“I admit, I took matters into my own hands. I flew off the handle. Why, though, would I come to you with all this first, ma’am?” Doyoung pleaded. You recognized the helpless heartache in his eyes, hating how much he was losing his students. “You wouldn’t come to me first if I asked for your help. You’d go straight to him.”

You glanced down at the notebook paper in your hands, catching glimpses of curly, naive confessions, and you looked back at Chris again. He didn’t look guilty. You didn’t want him to be. You wanted this all resolved, as cleanly as possible before you possibly wrecked the year before winter break. You thought fast. 

“I did go to him first, Mr. Kim,” you conceded, quiet yet confident, “and I apologize if my actions come across as selfish, but this ordeal has caused quite the strain on mine and Chris’ relationship, even more so since it’s still fairly new.”

Doyoung backed up, aghast as his eyes flicked between the two of you again. His normally soft gaze was pure hellfire. “You’re kidding me,” he shook his head in disbelief. He had no interest in waiting for a confirmation before he turned to storm off, herding Taeil along with him. 

Chris was staring at you when you turned back to face him, shocked as he was at your sudden plan. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

You pulled out your phone to dial Ryujin, but before you actually sent the call through, you bored your eyes into Chris, who was still wincing past the bruise on his face. “You still didn’t do anything?”

“Never,” he adamantly shook his head. 

“Good,” you nodded. “We will need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. My assistant will call you with details.” You plucked your purse up from his desk and shouldered it. Chris watched, still stunned as you made for the door. His continued stare made you pause, a hand on the door frame as you turned back to face him. “You’re innocent,” you explained, “but if you quit you’ll be proving everyone who’s doubting you right. It seems like no one is on your side except me, so if no one will do anything then I will. You’ll be fine, Mr. Bang.” With that, you regained your confidence once more to walk down the hall. You caught your breath before you tapped out a message for Ryujin on your phone. Somehow, you didn’t expect her to call you right away. 

“I’m sorry, but you what?!” Ryujin exclaimed, stooping you in your tracks from wherever she was. 

“You said he needs to find someone and make it look real!” You hissed, trying to keep your composure the best you could in the quiet hallway. 

“I didn’t mean you!”

You grumbled out a curse under your breath. “Well, it’s a bit too late for that clarification,” you bit out, “so what do I do now?”

Ryujin could be heard tapping on her cell phone as she spoke to you. “I’m on it,” she assured you, “and I’m sure you already figured you need to talk before the PTA meeting tonight. We need to make sure you’re on the same page. I’m forwarding you the statement I wrote. Hang tight, I’m going to meet you at your place.”

Chris frowned at the suit laid out on top of your couch after you’d extracted it from its garment bag. Ryujin had brought it, on loan from some unnamed resource, complete with notecards of her prepared statement in the breast pocket. “Why does this also feel like proving everyone right for some reason,” he said uncomfortably. 

“What exactly is wrong?” You sighed. Chris fidgeted. He looked out of place in your apartment, his soft black hoodie and worn jeans contrasting starkly with your minimalist and meticulously organized sanctuary. His brows were furrowed with impending panic, but he looked determined. 

“I’m nervous,” he bemoaned, “tell it to me again.”

“We met over the summer at a cafe downtown,” you explained impatiently. 

“That’s so soon for someone like you to be backing up a pariah like me,” Chris laughed, almost on the verge of breakdown, apparently. He was choking down a milkshake. He’d brought you one too, of course, but when you politely refused he took it as a consolation prize. It was incredible to you that he seemed to be in such good shape for how much food he put down. Or, you realized, maybe a catastrophe of this caliber wasn’t very common for him. 

“Put on the suit, Mr. Bang,” you urged, “please?”

“Oh my god, you need to stop calling me that if we’re dating!” Chan nervously laughed again.

“Look, I’ll be just fine, I’ll be able to fix it when we’re in front of people,” you insisted, “but you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? I’m having an entire escape plan thrust upon me and I’m trying to adjust.”

“Well,” you huffed as you found yourself meeting his level, “maybe you wouldn’t need this escape plan if you didn’t take such a lax approach to teaching.”

“Excuse me?” Chris asked, blindsided by your outburst. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what people are saying!” You doubled down in defense, squaring up against him as you impatiently folded your arms. 

“Why don’t you tell me, ma’am, what exactly people are saying about me?” Chris stood defiantly, toe to toe with you and daring you to follow through. You took the bait. 

“You know exactly what people are saying,” you challenged him, “that you refuse to take the role seriously because it’s easier that way. You give these students too much freedom, and you’re encouraging them to act out. Who needs homework? Who needs textbooks? Who needs seating charts? They call you by your first name and think you’re their best friend, that you’re one of them, only older, just like they wish they were! They live and die by your approval because you seem so cool and you don’t seem like a teacher.”

“Oh, so I don’t seem like a teacher now?” Chris scoffed. 

“They certainly don’t respect you like one,” you snapped. A deep pause coursed through you both like a cold breeze before he burst. 

“Well you sure as hell don’t respect me like one, so why the hell are you helping me?!” Chris shouted. 

“Well,” you mocked, quickly losing grip, “here I was thinking it was the right thing to do!” You heaved out a frustrated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and finally turning away as you couldn’t stand to look at him. 

However, you may have glossed over the in-progress milkshake that had been in his hands, now currently all over his hoodie and on the spotless hardwood floor of your apartment. 

“Oh, great!” Chris laughed incredulously. “I sure look like I could use the help now, Miss Assistant Superintendent. Guess I’ll put on the stupid suit so I don’t make a bigger fool out of myself at my public execution tonight.”

Your face regrettably heated up as Chris frustratedly tugged his hoodie off over his head, his shirt following right after as he fished the pressed white shirt out from within the suit jacket. He had an admittedly nice figure, his toned torso never being hinted at through his comfy wardrobe. A set of tattooed compass roses on his upper arm caught your attention, and you wished you didn’t find it attractively endearing. “I don’t know why I agreed to this,” he ranted, “no one would ever believe I’d date a stuck-up, uptight, tyrant like you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you fumed as you turned away, not wanting to get distracted, “except no one would believe I’d ever date an arrogant ingrate like you.”

Chris could be heard pacing behind you as he buttoned the shirt, apparently pausing at your mantle over the fireplace. “I bet you were a nightmare as a student, a real grade-grubber and brown-noser,” he grumbled, now seeming to have found your framed photos of you and your friends at graduation, first from high school and then from undergrad. “I’m going to hang myself with this godawful tie— is this you?”

You rolled your eyes as you walked over and snatched his tie out of his fingers to do it yourself. He’d already deftly changed his pants while you weren’t watching. “Sure, that’s me,” you muttered, “and no, I wasn’t a nightmare, thank you very much.” You paused as you felt a shift in his silence and glanced up at him. For the first time you noticed a subtle cologne on him, a gentle musk that was miserably attractive on him and you just wanted to get this over with even faster. Chris was giving you that indecipherable look again as you fiddled with the stupid necktie. From this close, you could see a cute little dot just under his lip, a telltale spacer that more than likely usually held a lip ring and—

Oh. 

Hello, stranger. 

Chris was gravely silent as he parked in front of your apartment later that night. The PTA meeting had been a disaster, starting the moment you left to travel back to the high school, where the meetings were held in the main theater. A loaded silence had staked itself between you the whole drive, and neither of you had reviewed Ryujin’s statement whatsoever. Nonetheless, you sat and stood close enough to each other during the meeting to be clear but not obscene in what you both were implying with your proximity, and you were faithfully beside him as he approached the podium. It was difficult to ignore the hushed whispers resounding through the audience. Chris’ brazen confidence was all but gone by now, fully broken as multiple hands immediately shot up to get a word in. Chris had forged ahead, though, even as his hands tried not to tremble around his notes. Ryujin’s statement didn’t mince words, just like her. He read out how his inexperience wrongly led him to take a more casual approach to teaching, how he’d recklessly and misguidedly inspired his students to put too much trust in him. He read out what a struggle this presented for both of you, being faced with accusations of such severity, and wishing to regain the trust of the assembled teachers and parents. The hands stayed in the air, and Johnny moderated question after question and Chris adamantly confirmed again and again and again that he had done nothing except naively neglect to put a firmer stop to all this. He was the one, and not Ryujin, to say that he should have brought the letters to Johnny’s attention and not simply ignored them, hoping the situation would stop on its own. More hands kept raising. Seemingly every parent belonging to a letter on Chris’ door was here wanting personal reassurance and, subsequently, a reason from him that their children were acting out. It felt like a never ending ordeal, a constant string of hurt and confused parents needing comfort. Johnny had no words for Chris when he finally ended the meeting, putting him out of his misery. Nothing else got done on the agenda that night. He only clapped a sympathetic hand to his teacher’s shoulder. 

You tapped out what happened in a text message to Ryujin. Her diagnosis was optimistic but tough, and in your continued silence in the car, you suddenly realized you were stopped in front of your apartment. Chris was quiet, zoning out at the wheel until you nudged him.

“Ryujin says we can still do this,” you encouraged him. “Enough of the parents should believe you. We just need to make sure the students and staff do, too…. as well as the board.”

Chris leaned forward, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. “I wish they didn’t have to believe me. They’re probably stressed as hell over this. This whole thing is such shit,” he muttered. “We don’t even like each other.”

“We don’t?”

“What?” Chris sullenly chuckled. “Just because we did ages ago?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I remembered that pretty fondly. I thought of that kiss all summer.”

“We kissed?”

Ouch. 

You sighed. “Fine then. You’re right. We don’t like each other. You’re cocky and naive and I’m…”

“Uptight?” Chris smirked, but he shut his mouth when you clearly didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’re doing, you know. I just… I’m going through it.”

“I know,” you commiserated. 

“What do we do now?” 

“There’s a board meeting next Wednesday night,” you explained. “You can accompany me to that, and that’ll take care of them. Until then, we keep up appearances at school, now that we’re exposed.”

“How are we doing that?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you reassured him. “What’ll you do now?”

“Oh, you know,” Chris laughed tiredly, “probably go pick up a taco box and try not to ruin this suit.”

You nodded in understanding as you unbuckled your seatbelt and dug around in your bag for your keys. “No hoodies, okay?”

Chris nodded, watching as you stepped out of the car and fussily smoothed your skirt back down. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“I can manage,” you grinned softly as you pulled something out of your bag. You handed him the offending note from that morning. “I didn’t do this just because I thought you didn’t do anything. This letter is addressed to a Chris but it appears to actually be a student named Christian S.”

“Oh,” Chris grimaced, “isn’t he Superintendent Simmons’ son? I have him in fourth period. He’s one of the first chairs in Taeil’s concert band. He’s sort of… gross, sometimes, about girls. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m still disappointed.”

“You alright?”

“I should’ve done something,” he muttered as he sank back into his seat, still staring at the letter. 

“Don’t start with that,” you lightly admonished, “it’s not always easy to know when to interfere.”

“Thank you,” Chris said quietly. 

“Of course,” you said with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

Johnny and Doyoung did a double-take as you walked into the music department the following day at lunchtime. It only made sense to you that if Chris was trying to dress up more, you’d match him by dressing down more. Your requisite suit and heels were switched out for a simple blouse with some tailored jeans and flats. That alone was a huge step for you, considering you even refused to dress down for the annual Welcome Back picnic for the district staff every year. You felt uncomfortable despite still looking clean and poised, but leagues more approachable apparently, proven as students’ passing glances lingered on their way to the cafeteria. Johnny’s look was simply one of surprise, but Doyoung’s was nothing but bitterness. Even Chris, as he happened to prop open his classroom door when you walked down the hall, was curious to see you looking so casual and chipper as you strutted up to him with a bundle in your arms. He was surprisingly handsome, wearing a blazer over a simple t-shirt with some slim jeans and sneakers — better, but not quite there. He couldn’t help a small smile as you theatrically revealed what you had brought: his cleaned hoodie and shirt folded and draped over a bag of takeout to split. 

“Hungry?” You asked sweetly, but hopefully not overdone. A couple of students walked past, their eyes boring into you. Chris looked unfazed, took the hoodie and shirt from your hands and, with a quick look down the hall at Doyoung and Johnny, beckoned you into the classroom with a nod.

“Starving,” he answered with a grin, and even gave Johnny a cheery wave as he promptly shut the door again behind you. “What are you doing here?” He quietly asked you, the dazzling facade of confidence instantly crumbling. His panicked surprise wasn’t lost on you. 

“We need to keep up appearances like I said. It’s Friday, you’re going through a hard time, and you’re eating like you grew another stomach. I brought us something to eat,” you explained, pushing the bag into his hands. 

“You—“ Chris looked dumbfounded, eyes darting between you and the food in his hands, “— brought me lunch?”

“Yes? What else was this supposed to be? I’m your girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” You led Chris back into his own office and helped yourself to a seat. “We also need to brush up on our relationship in case anyone asks.”

“Fine,” Chris nodded as he dug into his food. “Let’s study, then. I’m guessing you went to college right after we met, and I’m sure you taught at least a little before this.”

“Grade schoolers,” you nodded, “it was good but not for me. I never asked about your accent.”

“You did, actually. That first time, so that’s probably why you don’t remember. I grew up in Sydney, moved here before junior year in high school. Do you live by yourself? I didn’t see a roommate or any cats.”

“I live by myself,” you confirmed, “I gave up on roommates around the time I took this job. No time for pets, either. I guess I’m too uptight.” Chris winced as you continued. “Yes, I’m aware of it; I guess I’m just sensitive. Did you find a good place in the area?”

“Yeah,” Chris said thoughtfully, “cute little house. You should probably see it sometime.”

“You bought a house?!”

Chris’ ears reddened. “Yes? Again, it’s little. A couple bedrooms, a couple bathrooms. Lots of work to be done on it, but it’s all mine. Here, look.” You watched, momentarily stunned as he fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. He pulled up a surprisingly adorable photo of Chris in front of a humble little house, holding what you could only assume was his dog you didn’t know he had. “Cute, right? Her name is Berry. You should meet her.”

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head in advance, “but you could afford a house? What brought you to teaching anyway?”

“Producing was good, but not for me,” Chris meekly bit at his lip, “I always wanted to try teaching what I know, and thankfully your team brought me on while I’m still earning my degree.”

“So one day you just decided to be an educator?” You asked dubiously. 

“Didn’t you?” Chris seemed more cagey now, more defensive. 

“Sure, but maybe this explains your approach to teaching.”

Chris sighed hard and set his food down. “You know what? I knew you were bringing it back to that. Here I was thinking we were on a little better footing after last night. My approach to teaching came from thinking of what I wanted when I was these kids’ age. I wanted someone to treat me with respect and value my opinion and talk to me like an adult.”

“Right,” you nodded, “but that acceptance clearly looks like an invitation to some students.”

“An invitation to what? The other staff are always saying how closed off their students are, but they’re not like that with me. They’re proactive, they’re independent, they’re thoughtful, they’re excited to be here.”

“What about students who aren’t yours?” You challenged him with your stare. It would’ve looked better in a suit. “Your students are in love with you — some of them literally — and it makes them act out with their other teachers, even students who aren’t yours are citing you as their inspiration. Terrific and capable teachers are being defied simply because they’re not you. Admit this is easier for you than establishing and upholding boundaries.”

Chris listened, but he scoffed nonetheless. “Fine. It’s easier. I’m terrified of these kids but I want them to like me and trust me. But even if I assign them homework and treat them like they’re children, that still won’t solve how the teachers don’t trust me.”

“They will,” you impatiently assured him. 

“Even Doyoung?”

“Why do you care?!” You gave a stunned chuckle. 

“I mean he punched me in the fucking face yesterday,” Chris shrugged. “Is it true you two dated?”

You gaped at him, stunned. “Why do you care?” You repeated. Chris nonchalantly shrugged. “Are you jealous?” You were provoking him on purpose, but there was no use in pretending you weren’t disgusted with this line of questioning. 

“No! We don’t even like each other.” Chris was floundering, now facing his desk more than you. “I’m a naive and arrogant asshole and you’re an uptight ballbuster who sold out, remember?”

“Sold out?” You guffawed, standing up now. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I grew up.”

“Right, well—“ Chris barked as he got up to square off against you. “Did you grow into a stuck-up busybody who is more worried about how she looks than how she’s doing?”

Chris’ ears were burning scarlet as you bristled at his words, but he still walked you to the door as you stormed away. “That was too much. I’m sorry,” he apologized sheepishly before he opened the classroom door into the hall. 

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bang,” you quietly gritted out, despite your saccharine smile in case anyone was watching. “I’m helping you and then I’m never speaking to you again.”

You were right back in your suit jacket and skirt on Monday, having stewed all weekend over how much more you hated doing this with Chris now. Worse, you hated feeling like he was right. He was shamefully attractive and smart and funny and charming and as much as you hated it — he was right. Somewhere between getting your teaching degree and getting offered your job, you’d become incredibly jaded by the people around you, but not without reason. Even now, the only people who went out of their way to make sure you didn’t feel like you were some child were Ryujin and Yeji… and Chris. Doyoung had, too, which was why you had dated briefly, but now he had joined everyone else in babying you like you were bound to fail. That wasn’t even mentioning the board, made up of all men from old money who mostly seemed to hire you for humor and bragging rights. Even still, this wasn’t even mentioning Superintendent Simmons, who talked to you like he was a lion with a mouse in its paws. 

So, sure, you had reasons to be aloof around the people surrounding you, but Chris’s nagging was starting to bother you. Yes, you were leagues more organized and fastidious than you had been growing up, and you even took some solace in sprucing up your space, but you also had to recognize you were quick to do that instead of facing problems at times. It was easy to organize the kitchen for the fourth time or clean out your closet, but it wasn’t always easy to deal with adult problems. You took great pride in your appearances, because looking capable helped you feel capable, but did that mean you were? It was difficult to say, almost as difficult as deciphering Yeji’s bemused look on your way into the office on Monday. 

A gorgeous bouquet of flowers was sitting on your desk. You curiously walked over, plucking the small envelope from within the buds and gently prying it open. 

Hello Stranger,

1. Are these still your favorite color? You mentioned it years ago so I could be wrong. 

2. I’m sorry about Friday again. I know I’m a hot-head and what I did was terrible. You’re not stuck-up, and you’re not a tyrant. When I think back to that summer, I thought we were on the same page, and now you make it look so easy while I feel like I’m completely lost and failing the whole time. I appreciate you helping me. Thank you. 

A stiff sigh fell from your lips as you looked at the note in your hands, with Chris’ dumb, nice handwriting giving you a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You quickly paged Ryujin and Yeji into your office. Once both girls were sat waiting for you, it was time for the dreaded question.

“What do people think of me?” 

Both girls looked like they’d seen their lives flash before their eyes as you sat at your desk and did some quick typing. When you showed them your screen, they both gasped. There was you, all acne and unfortunate appearance choices at your high school graduation. “It’s not a loaded question,” you promised, “think of it more as a confirmation. I think I’m trying too hard to hide this person.” You gave the girl in the photo a sympathetic look. She was bright, funny, and brimming with potential — even you could see that. 

Yeji surprisingly sighed out her answer first. “The other office staff were still whispering about you when you hired me. They said you just wanted to hire other young women to look progressive.”

All three of you rolled your eyes at the sentiment before Ryujin piped up. “The board does like you… because they think you’ll do their bidding. They think you’re ruthless. The teachers think you have an iron fist. The Superintendent? Well, you know how he feels.”

A sour grimace pulled at your lips. “Why don’t I like any of that?”

“Is it because it’s not what she would want?” Yeji thoughtfully asked you as she nodded in the direction of the photo on your computer screen. You thought back to what Chris had said, about wanting to be the person he wanted around at that age. It was such a trip, thinking of what that girl would do if she saw you now. She’d give you a belligerent sneer and close herself off from you because you were a cold witch and you knew it. The girls watched as your shoulders softened, sinking into your chair as you pulled out your phone and found Chris’ number that Yeji had fetched for you. 

>>Thanks for the flowers. I’ll be by tomorrow so we can try this all again before the board meeting dinner on Wednesday. 

There were decidedly less stares as you walked down the halls of the high school again the next day when the lunch period began. You saw Johnny try to catch your attention out of the corner of your eye, but you simply waved as you passed his office. You had a sneaking suspicion it was about your outfit. As opposed to Friday’s jeans, you felt much more comfortable being more comfortable as opposed to someone you thought you should be. The pencil skirt remained, only now in a cozier dark pallet and much comfier material. The biggest changes were pairing the skirt with a soft flannel shirt and a smart pair of suede oxfords. You felt exposed in how dressed down you were again, but Chris’ surprised smile as you stood in the doorway of his classroom reassured you. He looked good, his hair moderately styled back and wearing another smart blazer over another old band tee. You could see he was even wearing chinos today, still managing to coordinate them with some worn boots not unlike the pair you used to own all those years ago. It was a good look, one that made you a bit more bashful than you had been already. 

“Hello, stranger,” you cheekily greeted from the doorway. 

“Hey,” he smiled back, motioning for you to come in. 

“Hungry?” You asked, fishing a bag out of your purse and placing it in his hands. He peered inside as you set your purse on his desk. 

“Are these—?”

“I felt so awful this weekend,” you sighed as you leaned against his desk, still unable to keep from straightening stacks of his papers, “and especially after yesterday. I couldn’t think straight so I cleaned my apartment and made you some cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He asked incredulously before taking a bite. You could’ve sworn his eyes actually sparkled for a moment. “Alright, these are so good there’s no way you still can’t think straight.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Just like you were already right, about almost everything. But you left one detail out.”

“What’s that?” Chris grinned around a mouthful of cookie.

“You make it look pretty easy yourself,” you smiled softly. Chris raised an eyebrow. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I know you do,” you laughed, “but it’s true! You’ve already done just fine in an industry of your choosing and impulsively decided to become an educator? And you just happen to be financially smart enough to have a house already? It’s reckless but it’s admirable.”

Chris choked on the last of his cookie, his dark hair falling out of place as he composed himself. “I, er, should be up front about that.”

“About what?”

“About deciding to change directions,” Chris sighed. “I had a giant proposal on my hands. I could have had my own company and my own team, but it was a huge investment entirely depending on me and my success. I froze up. I had enough. It felt way too big. I got rid of my fancy apartment, I got rid of my suits and watches, and I just moved.” A sigh fell from Chris’ lips as he folded his arms. He couldn’t meet your imploring stare. “I wish I could do what you do,” he continued. “I want to march headfirst into every single thing no matter what people think of me.”

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You covered your mouth as your face heated up. “I’m terrified,” you explained. “Just like you were scared to take that chance, just like you and most of us are reasonably scared of these kids — I’m terrified. I’ve worn suits to attend sports events and picnics with the staff from how terrified I am of them.”

“Well, you look really good today,” Chris beamed at you, but the distracted nuance of his gaze didn’t let it last long. You playfully sat back on his desk, trying to keep his mood up. 

“I feel good today.”

“I lied, by the way,” Chris sheepishly blurted. “I know we kissed that night. I thought about it all the time. I didn’t go out with anyone for almost a whole year, I thought about it so much. If you knew I still remembered, I would be too tempted to get distracted. But I’m getting distracted anyway, so I thought you should know. You look really good today.”

A flattered smile pulled at your lips as you reached for Chris’ hand where it rested on the desk. His hand was warm and gentle in yours and he looked up at you, silently gauging your look to see if it was alright to lean up more into your space… when your phone buzzed with a message. It was Johnny. 

>I was trying to get your attention when you came in. Simmons is here TOURING THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT. Get that time bomb out of there NOW.

But it was far too late. Superintendent Simmons could be heard talking to Doyoung in the hallway. Chris watched curiously as you whirled around just in time to catch them appearing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’d love to hear your plans for the year but— ah, hello, dear!”

You winced at the use of the word “dear” but fought it back. “Superintendent,” you nodded cordially, “what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take a stroll through the department,” the older man coolly insisted, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “I also thought I could finally meet young Christopher here since I wasn’t sure if he was accompanying you to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your question was stated friendly enough, even as you subtly waved a calming hand back to Chris to keep him back. 

The Superintendent shrugged. “You know how it is, dear. My son takes his class but I haven’t even met the man before. We’re certainly not exempt from being aware of current goings-on and I wanted to see who all the fuss was about.”

“Do I live up to your expectation?” Chris suddenly asked, unmistakably indignant as he came forward. 

“Seeing as my expectations were of a naive, insubordinate, carpe-diem-prescribing kid,” Simmons smirked, “then yes.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent,” you huffed sharply, “but I do not appreciate you speaking to Mr. Bang that way, first as one of my staff members and second as my partner.”

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Simmons threw his head back with a laugh. “Your partner? How unbecoming of you, dear. Now, I would normally do the professional courtesy of discussing this in private, but as you always deem it appropriate to throw a fit, I’ll do it here— you know we need to terminate Mr. Bang. Too much liability.”

A wildfire ignited behind your eyes before you quickly jumped into action. If you had a moment to spare, you would’ve considered the possible consequences. “Mr. Simmons,” you spat, “you know for a fact there are liabilities just as big, if not bigger, right under your nose, just like I know for a fact Mr. Bang is in possession of a confiscated note containing quite the insinuation that your son Christian is having a very close and troubling relationship with one of Mr. Kim’s most promising freshmen.”

You hazarded a look behind you and Chris returned it, petrified. It was a low, risky blow, but an apparently fair one as Mr. Simmons’ eyes grew wide. He stubbornly shook his head. “Christian is a smart boy who is studying hard and has no time—“

“—Christian turned 18 over the summer and wants to have as much fun as he can in high school before he goes to college,” Chris finally spoke up. “He’s said as much in class, and if I recall correctly, that girl is 14. I can show you the letter. He met her at a party that she doesn’t remember but all she knows is she is woefully in love with him. As your son’s teacher I’m a mandated reporter if I think this is an unsafe situation for either of them.”

“You want to play executioner with a man you admitted you just met? Fine,” you warned. “But just like your gossip, you’re not exempt from this, either.”

At that moment, Doyoung sheepishly poked his head into the open doorway, politely coughing to get the attention of Mr. Simmons, who was now sputtering until his face had turned red. “Mr. Superintendent,” Doyoung timidly spoke up, “perhaps you would like to come discuss those plans—“

“Fine time for you to decide to act like a teacher,” Simmons growled towards Chris, before he thrust a fat finger into your chest. “This isn’t done, dear. He’s on thin ice, and now you are, too. Let’s see how long it can hold both of you.” Superintendent Simmons turned on his heel, marching out the door past Doyoung and towards his classroom. Doyoung leaned into the room, giving you both a look that remarkably appeared to be sympathetic support. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked. 

You nodded shallowly, still a bit stunned. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Kim.” Chris was seemingly dazed as you turned to face him. “Mr. Bang, can I see you in your office?” 

Chris barely nodded himself, having gone pale during your confrontation, and Doyoung silently wished you well before closing the door behind him and trotting down the hall after the older man. You clutched onto Chris’ sleeve and pulled him into his office, guiding him in before you quietly closed the door. 

You realized you were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling hard with adrenaline as you looked behind you to check on Chris. He was staring back at you, almost shocked, even as you gently took his hand again to make sure he was alright. His fingers had turned clammy where they squeezed yours, and you shared a brief silence, recovering and staring at each other until he finally spoke up. 

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Bang,” you nodded, leaning back against the door and pulling him a little closer. You felt a bit lightheaded. “I wanted you to finish your thought from before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded dutifully, now cutting right to it as he followed your hand in his to press against you where you leaned against the door. His lips hesitated a mere breath away before he finally kissed you, deep and seemingly driven by every kiss he’d wanted to give you since that night years ago. You could’ve sworn you tasted cotton candy and his lip ring again, maybe even smell evergreen trees if you weren’t mistaken by his cologne. It was electric, re-energizing enough that Chris seemed to finally realize what just happened outside in his classroom. 

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped like he just came up for air. “Did I just threaten the—“

Chris’ frantic recollection persisted even as you continued to kiss him. “Did you just warn the superintendent that he is better off tending to matters closer to home in more need of his attention? Yes.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to be fired,” Chris lamented, but even still he let his lips run over your jaw, falling into you and pressing you into the door. 

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head as you cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you for a moment. “He would’ve said so. He knows this is bad and it’s going to be a pain to deal with.”

“Wait, you don’t want me to—“

“Report? You just said you should. Honestly, Mr. Kim probably would’ve already if he read the letter more closely in the first place.” You held his gaze as you led his hands around your waist and he quickly got the hint, wrapping around you and diving back into you. “Am I still a ballbuster?” You breathlessly chuckled. 

He nodded heartily as he nibbled and kissed your neck. “I love it.” Chris hesitated as he pulled away from your throat, almost asking permission as he kissed you hard against the door, his tongue hot and needy against yours as he almost knocked the breath out of you. 

“Mr. Bang—“ you gasped, and you felt him shiver in the cutest way. He seemed emboldened to let his hands get a little braver, following your hint when you led them to the waistband of your skirt, and he fumbled with your shirt as he untucked it and began unbuttoning it. It was a bizarre sensation, feeling so vulnerable to someone you hadn’t known long but had been thinking of for years, and maybe you weren’t the only one. Chris’ breath seemed to catch in his throat as he leaned back enough to see, his hungry eyes falling on you as he pulled open your shirt and became impatient for more. You gasped again as he pushed you back against the door, his strong hands now tenderly roaming down your chest and groping your breasts as he kissed you before he came back to the waist of your skirt again. His confidence seemed to be returning in full now as his hands firmly ran down your thighs to the hem of your skirt, his lips trailing down your chest and nuzzling your cleavage as he gingerly lifted it. Another gasp caught in your lungs as his fingertips wandered up your legs and paused, his trepidation even spreading to the extent that he seemed hesitant to kiss you again. You reached up to gently cup his face, his cheek warm against your palm as you tried to see what could possibly be wrong in this moment. Out there, sure, that was all understandable, but in this tiny office there was no reason for anything to be wrong. 

“Mr.—“ you began softly, instantly cutting yourself off as you realized. Oh. “Chris,” you began, more confidently now, “are you alright?”

He sighed out a small laugh before he finally kissed you again. “I am. I just missed you, is all. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s still hard to believe any of this is happening, so Mr. Bang is going to be fine for my students but I’d much prefer it if you and I are more personal than that.”

“I can do that,” you grinned, that stunted gasp from earlier finally coming back and completing as Chris finally let himself caress you under your skirt, getting as personal as you both were yearning for. His fingertips were firm but slow, purposeful as they teased the hem of your panties but continued over them to feel you between your legs, making you so aware of your heat against his hand. He smirked as you shivered at his touch, and you felt your face heat up. “Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly, “it’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris assured you, finally gasping himself as you regained your mental footing and let your hand drop, trailing down his chest to get an exploratory grip on his growing erection in his pants before you brought him back to kiss you again. His muffled sighs and moans grew feverish as you teased him through his clothes, up to the moment he pressed your hips back against the closed door. You watched curiously as Chris’ lips ghosted down your chest and stomach until he was on his knees for you, dangerously close to nuzzling your damp heat until you let yourself subtly roll your hips towards his mouth. He took the cue to instantly pull the thin fabric aside, just enough that he could dip his tongue into your folds. 

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as he lapped you up, one hand holding your panties aside and the other clutching onto your bared thigh as you squirmed and mewled for him. Your fingers stroked back through his hair as he held you tight and hungrily licked until he just happened to hit the perfect spot. That, of course, was when he stopped, leaning away and his shiny lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. “I need you so bad,” he drawled, “I’m getting impatient.”

“You?” You giggled sarcastically. “Impatient? Impossible.”

Nevertheless, Chris rocked back onto his feet and pulled you over to his desk before he sat you on top of it, gently pulling your knees apart to step between them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Do it.” 

Chris grinned shyly as he unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down enough to reveal his hard cock, groaning as you brazenly grabbed his length and pumped it a few times in your hand before guiding him into you. You both gasped in tandem now as you were stretched open, and your legs quickly found purchase around his hips as he kissed you again, the faintest taste and scent of your wetness still on his lips. He filled you out unexpectedly, prodding deep into you in this angle and his girth just wide enough at the base to make you whimper each time he bottomed out. 

“God, this is so good,” Chris groaned against your lips, “you’re so good. I’ve thought of this so many times.” His groans and whispered curses were hot in your ear as he fucked you on the desk, and you were both lost in this endless moment while you both sounded like you were steadily climbing your respective peaks until you noticed his prolonged smirk. 

“What’s so funny?” You jokingly accused. 

“Nothing,” Chris shook his head with a breathless smile, “I’m just surprised. I honestly expected you to be a little more in charge.”

“Oh, am I not as dominant as you thought?” You pouted for effect, seeming to only convince him for a second before you kicked him back into his chair anyhow and willingly taking his bait. He watched, his hands clutching the armrests with intrepid excitement as you dropped onto his lap. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Actually, yeah,” Chris nodded hungrily as you raised your hips, just enough to pull your panties to the side and grind your soaked pussy against the head of his cock. You both sighed in pleasure at the sensation as you took your sweet time dipping his length into you just the slightest bit, your lips parted to barely kiss him the whole time you teased yourself against him. He actually waited patiently as you barely rolled your hips lower into him, even as he began to get impatient again. “Heh, hey,” Chris laughed under his breath, “aren’t you gonna—“

“Whatever happened to your lip ring?” You asked him, teasingly oblivious to his question. 

“My wha— oh, that?” Chris was almost delirious trying to rock his hips up into you. “Don’t laugh, but I didn’t think it looked very professional when I first interviewed. I already wasn’t wearing it out to events and meetings, so not wearing it to school made sense.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” you smirked as you playfully pretended you were about to kiss him over and over, your lips ghosting over his own time and time again as his cock surreptitiously tried to work deeper into you, “but that’s ridiculously funny. You’re literally still wearing your earrings, and don’t try telling me that’s different. Weren’t you waiting for something, by the way?”

“Was I waiting—? Come on, aren’t you going to…?”

“Aren’t I going to what?” You asked innocently. Chris’ head lolled back against the head of his chair in exasperation. 

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” His question was quiet, almost as if he were shy to be saying it out loud, but he asked it nevertheless. 

“Sure,” you shrugged casually, “are you going to wear that lip ring for me sometime? I want to see if it has the same effect.”

“Anything, if you’re that easy,” Chris quipped, even as he was unable to hide the excited tremble in his voice. 

“I’m easy?” You asked, eyebrows raised as you finally sank deep onto Chris’ erection and kissed him again. His muffled groan was thick, laced with satisfaction as you began to ride him in earnest. The hot moans falling from his lips echoed your own impassioned whimpers, only growing more feverish as you angled your hips down, enabling yourself to grind your clit down against his lap. By now you were so lost in it that were thoroughly soaked through your panties you were still wearing.

“Are you sure you’re not easy?” Chris chuckled exhaustedly, even as he nuzzled against your heaving cleavage and gripped tight onto your hips. It was his turn to whimper as you desperately ran your fingers through his hair to clutch onto him as you felt your peak coming fast. Chris must’ve not been far behind, considering the way he sweetly groaned your name against your skin, as if to personally coax out your orgasm. 

The air between you was hot, static, and the way Chris held you was surprisingly affectionate. Despite how much ire and sarcasm had been slung between you previously, now you were both rendered speechless, your staccato breaths falling heavy in the spaces between your sighs and moans. Giving in to Chris didn’t feel like giving up like you had been afraid of for some reason. Reality seemed to be that he may even be quite fond of you, maybe even more than you’d previously imagined, despite how much you did or didn’t change. He obviously wanted to do more than kiss you, and now it seemed he wanted to do more than just fuck you. Chris’ fingertips dug into your hips as he thrust up against you, and you suddenly caught yourself meeting his gaze. The feeling was mutual, apparently, the blown out arousal in his eyes probably echoing your own impending orgasm slowly rising up your spine and making your head spin. He seemed to catch this as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and pressing his lips to your throat as he pistoned his hard length deep inside you, the head dragging along your sensitive walls and daring you to cum.

So you finally did. It hit you hard, giving you barely a moment’s notice for you to grab onto Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck as your core shuddered, radiating out to your quaking thighs and trembling fingers as your heightened moans hit a fever pitch. This, of course, was the final straw for Chris, his orgasm not far behind yours as he tensed up, palms pushing flat against the small of your back as he rutted into you with a broken groan. He uttered a sharp curse under his breath, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own climax spilling into you as you finished riding out your own on his lap. 

It felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other’s shoulders as you both fought for breath and you finally realized how cramped it was straddling Chris in his desk chair, the armrests uncomfortably digging into your legs. As if to mitigate this silent complaint you had, Chris gently began to ease you off of him as he simultaneously pulled you to him for a tiredly satisfied kiss. The bright lights in your eyes finally dulled and the imaginary cotton in your ears finally fell out, letting the sound return to normal. You could hear the low drone of the air conditioner, the muted hum of the hard drive in Chris’ laptop, the clatter of the classroom doorknob outside turning open—

Chris heard it, too, with how he bolted upright with you in his lap. You both stared at the door of his office in terror; this was no way for the assistant superintendent to be found, in post-orgasmic bliss with her legs wrapped around a teacher who was still in a heap of trouble, and you had no chance of escape. Footsteps could be heard approaching before Chris quickly pushed at your retreating knees, apparently on the same page as you when he helped you slide off his lap and under his desk. You scrambled forward to grab at his chair and wheel him close as he desperately stuffed himself back in his pants and tried to make himself presentable. A knock came at the door and Chris quickly wiped the accumulated perspiration off his brow. 

“Come in—!“ he coughed, trying to sound chipper and casual, and as if he didn’t just orgasm with you barely two minutes prior. He gave you one crazed look to make sure you were alright shoved under the desk before the door to his office gingerly opened.

“Hey—“ 

Doyoung?

“Mr. Kim!” Chris sat up a little straighter, inadvertently kicking you in your shin in the process and nearly making you curse out loud. You reflexively punched him in the knee, making him jump as he tried to appear natural. “Is everything alright?”

“What, with me? I’m fine. It’s just...” Doyoung sighed, apparently not moving from where he awkwardly stood in the doorway of the tiny office. “Was it true, what you said about the superintendent’s son?”

“It was,” Chris said solemnly. “Would you like to see the letter again?” His question was genuine, any ill feelings towards the other teacher seeming to have dissipated by now. Your ears perked up as Chris leaned forward. You could hear papers shuffled overhead. He still had it? You could hear a piece of paper being handed to Doyoung, whose sigh only multiplied. 

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, “that’s so…”

“I know,” Chris commiserated. “Will Samantha—“

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Doyoung resolved, “but first, about the other day, I’m sorry about—“

“Mr. Kim, you don’t have to apologize,” Chris insisted, “tensions were high, you were upset, and you were protecting your student. If you’d like to help me report this I’d appreciate that. You’re a good teacher.”

“So are you, Mr. Bang,” Doyoung conceded sheepishly. “Maybe you can join me in the teacher’s lounge for lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

You could hear the smooth heel of Doyoung’s oxford turn to leave and Chris backed up from the desk. The sigh of relief you both let out revealed that you had apparently been holding your breath. He slumped back in the chair before leaning forward to offer you an assisting hand. 

“Oh, one more thing—“

Chris snapped upright in his chair, accidentally kicking you again before his knees knocked into the top of his desk. He grinned through it as he attempted to look nonchalant again. “Yeah?”

“So,” Doyoung began stiffly, “you and her are, like… a thing?”

“Er,” Chris floundered for a second. “Yes. Why?”

“Why? Oh, I mean, it’s nothing,” Doyoung fumbled, “I meant, I guess, is it serious?”

Chris’ Adam’s apple could barely be seen bobbing with his sudden gulp from your vantage point, and you didn’t blame him. Serious? It wasn’t a stretch to imagine his ears turning beet red again. Your thighs were beginning to get sore where you were folded under the desk. “No! I mean, not yet,” Chris said, his stammer matching Doyoung’s now. “I want it to be, though. I really like her. Why?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You felt like such a sucker, but why did you also feel so smitten? 

“No reason,” Doyoung laughed politely. “I’m happy for you. For both of you. She looks different with you, you know? You look good together. See you later.”

The door finally clicked closed and you both waited for the classroom door to do the same before it was Chris’ turn to let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed heavily, melting into his chair before sliding back. His gentle hand reached down to help you out from under the desk. You held his hand, his fingers warm in yours as he met your gaze. “Hello, stranger,” he grinned, “did you have fun under the desk?” Chris fussed with your clothes, helping smooth your skirt back out and buttoning your blouse back up before he realized you were staring at him. He suddenly looked concerned, sitting up as he tried to make sense of your expression.  “What? Is everything alright?”

“You want this to be serious?”

Chris almost flinched as he defensively tried to figure out your tone. He settled for getting back up from his chair and squaring up against you once again, arms folded matter-of-factly like he anticipated a confrontation. “You know what? I do.”

“This isn’t even real, Chris,” you smirked, flattered by his sincerity. “We don’t even like each other, remember?”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “Holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Go ahead, then, tell me how we aren’t real.”

“Well,” you smiled, “you haven’t asked me out, for one thing.” 

It seemed Chris finally caught up to your game. “Fine,” he sarcastically scoffed. “Would you like to go out with me some time?” 

“Sure,” you playfully shrugged with a smile. “How about now? Are you hungry?”

Chris was amused as he pulled you close into his arms. “You know what? I’m actually not.”

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #kwritersworldnet #kprosenet #bang chan x reader #bang chan breakdown

[hopelikethemoon]

First Steps (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: First Steps Rating: Explicit Length: 2500 Warnings: So much fluff and some smut (woman on top) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in Februrary 1994.  Summary: Josie takes her first steps. 

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​ @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive​ @pascalesque​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​ @queenquazar @sabinemorans​ @buckstaposition​ @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great--perhaps

“It’s going to be so weird going to work without you,” You remarked as you brought your beer bottle to your lips, but you didn’t take a sip yet. “I’m sure if I could get you a job with the P.D. if you wanted to get back into the swing of things.” You added, taking a swig.

Javier’s jaw tensed and he shook his head, “I need a fucking break, baby.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, before rubbing at his cheek. “I was already in Colombia for a couple years before you got there.”

You knew it had taken a lot out of him. Hell, it had taken a lot out of you. But there was this weight on his shoulders that you weren’t entirely sure he’d be willing to let you carry some of its burden. 

It wasn’t an easy job. Tough decisions, bad decisions, too many mistakes. 

“Staying home with Josie is going to be good for you,” You scooted towards him on the sofa, resting your cheek against his shoulder. 

Javier shifted so he could wrap his arm around you, keeping his beer bottle perched on his thigh with his other hand. You watched the way he ran his thumb over the side of the bottle, the way he picked at the edge of the peeling label. 

There was still a part of your mind that hadn’t fully processed your departure from Colombia and the DEA. The trip to Texas — spending Christmas with his father — it had all felt like a holiday. But it was less of a vacation and more of a new beginning. This was home now. You didn’t have to live with the anxiety of your relationship anymore. You could just be. 

And now that Steve and Connie knew about your relationship, there was no one else you were keeping this secret from. Everyone that mattered knew. You and Javier were finally free to be happy. 

Josie squealed loudly, drawing your attention back to her as she chucked the baby doll that she’d been contentedly playing with across the floor. Javier snorted as she started scooting her butt across the floor to get to the discarded doll. 

“What a goober,” Javier remarked, shaking his head as he gave your shoulder a squeeze. ��JoJo, are you playing fetch with yourself?”

Josie tilted her head as she looked towards both of you, babbling nonsensical things as she snatched up the doll and tossed it towards the sofa.

Again, she scooted herself on the floor towards the toy. 

“At least she’s happy about it.” You laughed, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you stayed nestled against him. 

Josie squealed, slapping her palms against the floor before she held her hands out towards Javier. 

Javier pressed a kiss to your temple, unwinding his arm from around you as he sat his beer bottle aside. In the time it took for him to sit up, Josie had concocted a better plan for getting what she wanted. She grabbed onto the side of the coffee table with one hand and hauled herself up off the floor.

“Oh my God!” You nearly dropped your own beer bottle in your haste to get up. “Shit, where’s the camera?”

“Bedroom.” 

You ran down the hall, ducking into the bedroom to grab the camera off the dresser. You took off the cap, slinging the strap around your neck as you headed back into the family room.

Javier had her by her hands, helping her stand up in front of him on the sofa. “Baby, looking at her!” He grinned and you focused the camera on his smile as you started recording. 

“We should’ve known she’d start walking because we weren’t quick enough to give her attention.”

Javier laughed and Josie echoed his laughter with a little put-on chortle of her own. “I’m gonna let go of her hands.” He explained as you approached with the camera. 

You positioned yourself on the floor a few feet away from Josie. He released her, staying close as she teetered on her feet like she might fall over. Instead she took a step towards you, wobbling from side to side as she tested the action again.

Javier covered his face as he laughed and you couldn’t help but turn the camera back on him, capturing the look of sheer joy on his face. God, he was so happy. If only you could put a pin in this moment and revisit it again and again. 

Josie started to lose her footing and you quickly turned the camera back on her, catching her as she thumped onto the floor on her butt. Her eyes widened like she might start to cry, but Javier was quick to sweep her into his arms. You laughed as you watched him cradle her against his chest and shower her little face with kisses. 

“Someone’s a daddy’s girl.” You remarked as Javier tossed her into the air a little, earning him more squeals and giggles. She was beside herself with the attention and forgot all about being upset over falling over. 

Javier sat her back down on her feet, letting her clutch at his hands as she walked forward towards you. “Someone’s going to drive daddy crazy now that she’s walking.”

You laughed softly, “You’re going to be dying to get out of here in a week.” 

“Maybe.” Javier held his hand out to take the camera from you so you could trade off with him. You took ahold of Josie’s hands, guiding her across the family room. 

Javier turned the camera on you, “And who’s that gorgeous woman?” He questioned, “JoJo, is that your mommy?”

Josie babbled her response, an utterly ridiculous combination of sounds. 

“You know if she’s single?”

She lifted one foot and looked up at him curiously, but didn’t provide an answer. She was too busy trying to walk without your assistance. 

“Uh-oh.” You remarked, grinning at the camera. “What does silence mean?” You questioned, keeping one hand in Josie’s hold as you both moved towards Javier. 

She grabbed at his legs and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “She’s happily taken.” You told him. “By a very handsome man.”

“Yeah?” He put the camera in your face again.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to push the camera away. 

“What’s his name?”

You bit down on your bottom lip, giving the camera a coy look. “Some fruit loop I picked up in Colombia.” You shrugged. “Javier Peña or something.”

“Damn and here I was thinking I had a shot.”

You snorted, “Maybe after our little walker goes to bed.”

Javier chuckled, peering the lense back at Josie. “Are you an official walker now, JoJo?”

“Mmmm!” She responded, slapping her little palm against his knee. 

You grinned at Javier, “We are officially the parents of a walker.”

The smile he offered you in return made your heart leap in your chest. 

 ——

 Javier was already in bed when you entered the bedroom after your shower, “You’re not asleep already, are you?” You questioned as you toweled off your hair and tossed it over the hamper to dry. 

“I’m awake,” He assured you as he sat up, taking his fingers through his hair. “I did fall asleep in the rocking chair with Josie.”

You laughed and shook your head as you peeled back the covers and joined him in bed. “You were crying weren’t you?”

“Is it that noticeable?” Javier made a face, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he met your eyes. 

You curled up beside him, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. “This was the giveaway.” You whispered, before stealing a kiss. “I broke down in the shower.”

“Your eyes are red.” Javier curled his arm around you. “She’s already walking.”

“And she’ll be in high school by Friday.” You remarked with a mirthless smile. 

“I’m not ready for her to grow up.”

“Me neither.” You stroked his cheek, “At least I didn’t miss it. Shit, if she had done that while I was at work tomorrow…”

“I would’ve lied and waited until she did it in front of you.”

“Sweet, but you’re a terrible liar.” You ran a finger down the length of his nose, before tracing your thumb over his lips. 

Javier narrowed his eyes, “You think I’m a bad liar?”

“It’s all in the eyes,” You kissed him again, letting your lips linger against his. “Though, it’s sweet that you’d wait until I was there for it to be the first time.” 

“You sure you’re ready to go back to work?” He questioned, brushing his nose against yours.

“It’s only three days a week. One of us needs to make money.” You remarked with a sigh, “It’s still four days with you and Josie. Which was more than I had in Colombia.”

Javier tilted his head and kissed you, “It’s been nice. These past couple of weeks.” He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over the rise of your cheekbone. “Just the three of us.”

“It’s spoiled me.” You laughed, rubbing your hand down his chest. “I’m going to miss you tomorrow.”

“Maybe we’ll come visit you on your lunch break.” Javier suggested, covering your hand with his own. 

“Really?” You grinned. “I think the Captain said lunch is usually around one. I have a meeting with their narcotics team at two.”

“I’ll be there at ten til one.” He drew you in for another kiss and this time you let it linger, slowly moving your lips against his as you deepened it. 

A low groan rose up in the back of Javier’s throat as he sank his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he slanted his mouth against yours. His tongue swept out, dragging over your own, teasing the roof of your mouth. 

You trailed your foot up the length of his calf beneath the covers before you shifted to straddle him. Javier sat up, an arm curled around your waist to keep you pressed to him. You wrapped your legs around him, settling yourself against the hardening length of his cock — rocking against him. 

“Javi,” You breathed out as you broke the kiss, your fingers tugging at his hair. 

“Hmm?” Javier questioned, his hands sliding down your curves. “What is it, baby?”

You scraped your teeth over your bottom lip as you caught your breath, your eyes searching his. “Let me take the lead on this one, Javi.”

He nodded slightly, “Whatever you want.”

“I figured you’d be into that.” You quipped, pressing your palm to his chest and pushing him back onto the bed. You sat astride him, grinding your core against his cloth-covered cock as you pulled your tank top off of your head and tossed it aside. 

Javier groaned, his hands skimming up your stomach and waist, but not quite reaching your breasts. He was so good about not touching them, even though you knew he desperately wanted to. 

Javier Peña had always been a breast man. 

You leaned down, your wet hair falling into your face as you peppered kisses along his collarbone and down the center of his chest. You relished the feel of his warm hands as they trailed over your back, greedily touching wherever he could reach.

Sliding off of him, you quickly did away with your sleep pants and underwear, leaving them on the bed beside you as you moved back to straddle him. 

Javier couldn’t help himself, he tugged you back downwards so he could kiss you, curling his fingers around the back of your neck. You wiggled atop him, seeking friction as your slick core dragged against the fabric keeping you from his cock. 

“You should’ve showered with me,” You whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, pulling it back before releasing it as you sat up. “I had no luck taking the edge off alone.”

Rising up on your knees, you reached down between you and slid his boxers down his hips, letting his cock spring free. “Fuck.” You breathed out as you curled your fingers around him and pumped it along his straining length. 

Javier’s hands curled around your thighs, his gaze locked on yours as you rose up just enough to sink down onto his cock. You moaned as his cock pressed into you, filling you deliciously until you were sat astride him. 

“Baby, fuck. You feel so good.” He told you, rubbing his hands over your skin. “Fucking gorgeous.”

You smirked, “I feel fucking gorgeous riding you.” You pried his hands off your thighs, interlacing your fingers with his as you drew them towards his head, pressing them back against the mattress. 

His grip on your hands tightened as you started moving, rolling your hips as you built up a rhythm. “That’s it, baby. That’s it — fuck. Ride me just like that.”

Your nails bit into the backs of his hands as you moved atop him. It felt like heaven. And it was just the cure you’d needed to chase away the first day jitters that were plaguing you. It wasn’t like either of you could enjoy yourselves tomorrow morning. 

A flicker of pain crossed his features and you instantly released his right hand. You weren’t about to exasperate an old injury, just to enjoy the upper hand.

“Thank you.” Javier whispered as his hand moved to your thigh, brushing his thumb over the skin there. “Can I?”

You nodded, letting your eyelids flutter closed as Javier’s fingers found your clit. His thumb rubbed circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, timed perfectly with every upward rock of his hips. 

Your release took you by surprise, a wave of pleasure washing through you, pooling hot and heavy in your core as you clenched around him. You’d didn’t stop — riding him through your release until you felt him tense beneath you.

“Baby.” Javier urged, his voice tight as your eyes snapped open. The look on his face made your heart flutter — pure unabashed desire and adoration, quickly replaced by his own moment of pleasure. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he came apart — his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled out his release. 

You kept rolling your hips, grinding down against him even as you sank forward against his chest. You let him wrap his arms around you, your own snaking beneath him, pressed between the mattress and him. 

“Is that how much you’re going to miss me tomorrow?”

You snorted, nuzzling at his throat. “Even more.” You told him, winding your fingers through his hair as you leaned up to kiss him. 

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[bxthharmon]

Never Go Home Again, Pt. XIII || JJ Maybank x Reader

Words:2715

Series Warnings: violence / talking about abuse / toxic relationships / talking about nudes sex and sex tapes / drugs / underage drinking

Pt. Warnings: abuse / being a fugitive???

Series Summary: A new girl, a shoebox of old memories, a past she’s trying to forget coincide with a hotheaded, but selfless, boy.  teenagers getting in way over their heads

Pt. Summary: In a desperate attempt to sort everything out, Y/N finds herself in the ones place she least expected to be

A/N: ok ok ok i promise im writing my requests oops anyway love yall send more requests cuz im always bored. Also, yall dont understand how sad i am that this is ending :( BUT started writing another series so lemme know if u wanna get tagged in that <3

Chapters linked in my masterlist.

“masterlist”

“John B, what are we doing at the police station?” JJ asked, breaking the stuffy silence that was consuming the vehicle.

“Somebody’s gotta tell them what happened.” He justified.

“Need me to come in, like, as a witness?” you asked. He shook his head. 

The heavy quiet was broken by Pope, coughing like he’d inhaled chili powder. “Easy there, chief.” JJ reprimanded, and you took the blunt away from your friend. “Alright,” JJ leaned through to John B, “I’m just gonna be real with you right now,” You watched his red cap, “You might end up in the lion’s den, but you don’t go there on purpose. It’s fundamental, just like my old man always told me, you should never, ever trust cops. No matter what the circumstance is.”

“Your old man’s an abusive liar.” Kie countered.

“I agree with JJ.” Pope spoke, and you frowned, holding back the giggle in your lips as he continued, “Fuck the police.”

“You going to the dark side now?” Kie snarked.

“When was the last time the police ever helped us?” He countered.

“Peterkin looked out for me, alright?” John B interrupted, “Or tried to, at least.”

There was a moment of thick quiet before he continued.

“They need to know.”

He looked around, none of you willing to argue as he got out of the car and entered the station. You looked over to JJ, who was determinedly ignoring your stare. You wondered what the fuck was going on because last time you checked, you had been on good terms with him. You sighed, looking out the window and waiting impatiently for John B to return so that the awkward silence would end. You took a hit from the blunt you’d taken from Pope, letting the smoke swirl around in your lungs before gently blowing it out, ignoring the frustrated looks you got from the other three.

Next thing you knew, everyone was shouting and the car was accelerating, the officer trying to open the car door discarded as the shocking adrenaline rush took ahold of the speeding car. Eyes wide, you took another hit from the blunt.

--

“Good news for residents of the Outer Banks, Dominion Power says their underwater transmission line, which will restore power to 95% of the area, should be functional within 24 hours.”

Sirens passed, but in the hazy atmosphere of the car, no one moved, other than to make sure the car didn’t turn. Pope and Kie sat in the front, JJ and John B to your right, seats reclined as you all attempted whatever kind of rest was possible on the worried heat of the day.

“And still no arrest for the shooting death of Sheriff Susan Peterkin. The state police have issued a statement regarding a local person of interest, a juvenile from-”

Kie clicked the radio off, glancing over at the three of you in the back.

“Let’s game this out.” JJ suggested, “Maybe you guys can help, being the smart ones and all, but… who are the cops going to believe? Ward Cameron or us? So the accuser is a big shot developer, kind of lord of the island, got the governor on speed dial kind of person, and the accused…” he looked over to his friend, “is John B, who is pretty much a homeless 16-year-old boy at the moment.”

“Thanks.” came the hoarse voice of the boy across from you.

“Shit.” you muttered, running a hand over your face and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. You twisted so that your back was leaning on the back oh Kie’s seat, and you were facing the three boys.

“Okay, man, Yucatan, alright?” JJ said, swiftly avoiding your arm as you stretched, “I’m saying, that’s the only option, what other option do you have?”

“Enough with the Mexico bullshit.” John B shook his head. “Sarah’s gonna bail me out.”

“She did witness the whole thing.” Kie pointed out.

“So did I?” you reminded, “So what? She’s gonna snitch on her brother for her dick appointment of the week? No offence, bro.”

“It’s not happening.” JJ reiterated, “We’ve gotta get you off the island.”

“The ferry.” Pope said, “It’s the only way.”

“Exit stage left while you still can.” JJ added. “Before the entire island is on lockdown.”

“Get down.” You reminded him softly, and you all ducked. You reached for JJ’s hand, but his simple gesture of pulling it away made you feel embarrassed, unsure of whatever was going on between you. You turned away from him, looking out the window again.

“Sarah’s not a pogue, John B.” Pope reminded.

“Yeah, you can’t stay here, man.”

“Let’s go then.” You muttered, and Pope pulled out, driving carefully to the docks. They were crowded, and you got out before anyone could argue, thankful for even two minutes out of the suffocating atmosphere. You walked to the sign, reading the notice about the ferry closure and ripping the wanted poster off its staples. You walked back to the car, reading it as you reached the vehicle, then passing it through Pope’s window and shaking your head solemnly. You got in next to JJ as they passed the paper around, JJ making a joke.

“Okay, so the whole island’s looking for John B right now.” Pope said.

“Well at least you know how much you’re worth.” You joked, receiving a frustrated look from Kie.

“Congratulations, John B,” JJ smirked, “you’re famous.”

“We gotta get to the HMS. We need small, no running lights-” kie began to reason, but John B cut her off.

“It’s at the Chateau, Kie.”

“And I wonder if the cops have got the entire place staked out.” JJ said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Let me think. Yeah, no, they definitely have that place locked down.”

“Hey Jay?” you nudged him, an idea forming, “Like, a couple of weeks ago, you mentioned your dad’s boat? The Ghost? Spectre?”

“The Phantom!” JJ and Pope caught on.

“He still got it?” Pope asked.

“Maybe.”

“You could get that right up the coast, no problem.” Pope said.

Bickering followed, and then the sudden realisation that Pope’s car was on the poster. Suddenly, someone was hitting the window and the car wasn’t starting and everyone was shouting. The car lurched forwards, straight into another car, and then took off, driving away as people watched, shocked.

The car sped forwards, crashing around as you all shouted for Pope to stop, his high ass was definitely not fit for driving.

“JB,” you shouted over everyone, “you need to get out.”

Pope braked, all of you thrust forwards with the force of it, and you found yourself pushing John B out of the car while JJ shouted instructions at him.

--

The two field tents were massive, rows of chairs on either side as swarms of people worked, talked, and typed. You wandered around for a minute or so, watching the officers interact, always being pushed back when you tried to talk to anyone. You could feel the eyes of the security team burning into you as you looked for Shoupe. Eventually, you saw him, talking to a taller man in an SBI windbreaker. You walked towards them slowly, finalising your plan in your head.

Shoupe saw you, and stepped aside from the conversation so that he was facing you, the agent turning as well, a frown forming as he took in your scruffy attire and the faint smell of JJ’s weed that was clinging to your clothes. You looked between them, “Uh, Officer Shoupe, I have some info.” You greeted.

“Who are you?” The agent interrupted, looking you over again.

“Um, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I know John B.” you clarified, and he nodded.

“What have you got for us?” he asked, and you breathed in, and out, pinching yourself slightly.

“I saw everything on the airstrip.”

The SBI agent introduced himself as Bratcher, then they sat you down in one of the tents, letting you explain what you saw, uninterrupted, and asking questions when they saw fit. They told you that your account, while plausible, was a hard one to argue, especially against Ward Cameron, unless you had a second account to back it up.

Sarah Cameron, you thought. Talk to Sarah.

After taking your statement, they left you to sit in the field tent, shivering in the cold breeze and no coat, watching them call your dad, listening out for any relevant information you could gather. 

You could feel their eyes on you, discussing what to do with the information you had for them. An officer, you couldn’t remember her name, had draped a jacket over your shoulders at some point, then led you away while the SBI agent gave a briefing.

You waited at the end of the tent, looking for anything to cease your worry and boredom.

Then you saw her. She looked as lost as you had, trying to work out who to talk to, just like you had a few hours ago. You stepped towards her.

“Sarah?” she turned to you, going to hug you, but an armed officer stepped between you, pulling you apart. “No, she’s my friend!” you struggled towards her, another officer holding her away from you, both of you shouting.

“What’s happening?” Bratcher asked, all of you stopped struggling. 

“This is Sarah Cameron,” you explained, “she was there, like I said.”

He looked between you, and nodded, asking her if she was able to make a statement. They took her away, sitting her down at the other end of the tent, letting her talk. You saw Ward approaching.

“Y/N?” he frowned, and you raised your eyebrows.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Sarah’s mentioned you.” he looked around, “have you seen her?”

“Oh, is she no longer locked away in her room?” He tensed, confusion and anger contorting his features.

“How do you know about that?” 

“Can’t say.” You said, “Not a great parenting strategy, just saying.”

He leapt forwards, a madness in his eyes that you’d never seen before. He grabbed you by the throat, screaming in your face while you clawed at his grip. Within seconds, other bodies were pulling him away. Your panic subsided, and you looked at Bratcher. You could use the situation to your advantage.

“See what I mean?” you yelled, pointing at him as you faced Bratcher, “He’s crazy! I told you, he attacked Big John, he’s the reason this is all happening!”

Bratcher sighed, signalling for his men to take away the older man. “I have to say, Miss Y/L/N, your story is making more sense. Two stories matching perfectly, his temper. But we talked to your father, you’re free to go, we’re almost done with Sarah.”

“What’s going to happen to John B?”

He sighed, “We’ve gotta bring him in, you understand that.”

You nodded, “I hope I shed some truth to the situation.”

You walked away, leaving the jacket on a chair as you passed, sending a reassuring smile to Sarah on your way out, you wandered the streets, finding your way to JJ’s house.

By some kind of miracle, you arrived at the same time as Kie and JJ. He was getting out of the car when he noticed you, and instead of making any move to hug you as normal, he froze.

“Look, JJ,” you sighed. “Why are you mad at me?”

You stood opposite him in his front yard, staring at the way he sighed, an odd mix of relief and defeat adorning his features. “I saw some texts, from Tyler.”

You nodded slowly. “I rejected him, if that’s what upset you. Since I met you, no guys have been the same, you know?”

His eyes pulled in slightly, as if realising that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t one-sided. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yeah.” you glanced at the floor, “I don’t really know why. Things were weird between us and I just - I missed my old life. But it was like, the confirmation I needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

His jaw dropped slightly in shock, running you words over in his head, working out whether you were genuine. You began to step back, and before you could think about what had just happened, he was kissing you.

It was urgent, emotive, full of everything that you couldn’t put into words. You broke apart, still slightly shocked at the confession. You looked at his front door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He looked to Kie, who was pretending she hadn’t watched, and nodded apprehensively, slipping a hand into yours and leading you to the door. He opened it, leading you through into the mess. You stepped over shoes and bottles as he led you in, calling out for his dad.

You ventured into the living room, seeing his dad passed out on the sofa, a half empty bottle of something on the table next to him. “Dad, I need the keys to the Phantom.” a snore sounded, “Dad?”

You looked down, noticing the sleeping pills and picking them up, showing the bottle to the blond boy next to you. Watching him, you could practically feel the hurt resonating off him, masked by his strong resolution as he looked back at his dad. Noticing the chain around his neck, between you you found a pencil and pin to get the keys with.

You stood a couple of feet behind him as he knelt down, preparing himself.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you.”

The voice was a murmur, almost soft, and your heart was beating in your throat. You knew what he was capable of.

“You’re back.” 

This time, Luke had more clarity in his voice, and was more awake. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Just checkin’ in.” JJ said, backing away as the older man sat up, taking a swig from a beer bottle.

“School out already?” 

“What?” JJ frowned.

“Did you ditch? It’s alright, you can tell me.”

JJ nodded slowly, “Yeah. I hit the break, you know?”

“I hated school too. My boy!” Luke chuckled. You felt intrusive, like you were standing in on a moment that wasn’t yours to see. But the moment felt intimate, hitting you where it hurt as your eyes went glassy. “You know what? Listen, hey.” he stood shakily, “Hey, look, I know I’m hard on you sometimes.” JJ hummed, fear mixing into his pain, “But sometimes I - I see your mother in you, and it gets me a little tweaked, you know?”

You wiped a tear away, the scene before you hurting more than you would like to admit. The man looked at you, and you could see JJ’s shoulders tense.

“You got a girl?” he didn’t look away from you.

“Uh, yeah, Y/N.” JJ looked over at you, worry seeping into his eyes.

“You treat my boy better than I could, okay?” You nodded slowly, more tears slipping down your face.

“Of course.” your voice broke slightly, “I love him.”

“Me too.” His head turned back to his son, “I love you, son.” He pulled JJ in, “Come here, I love you. I love you, son. I love you.”

More than anything, you wanted to call him out. Tell him that if that was true, then he wouldn’t hurt JJ like he did. But whatever this moment was, it wasn’t the right one to do so.

You could hear JJ sniffling, letting his hands find their way onto his father’s back. When he spoke, he sounded like he wanted to be stronger than he felt, his voice thick, pained, struggling. “Love you too, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.” His father muttered, the sleeping pills pulling him back out of consciousness, slowly as ever. JJ helped him down onto the sofa. “You’re a good boy.” came the murmur.

JJ let out a shaky breath, not sparing you a glance as he pulled the chain from his father’s neck and stepped away. He looked back at you, almost embarrassed to have let you see him in such a vulnerable state. He turned to leave, your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“JJ, you don’t always have to be strong, you know that, right?”

Tags: @tangledinsparkles​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @lolitstiana​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ @teamnick​ @thoughtsofthestars​ @obxmxybxnk​ @pcterparxer​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @sxcretinhuman​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @angvelics​ @badwolf00593​ @coloradogirl07​ @mendesmaybank​ @jiaraendgame​ @5am-cigarette​ @emerald-xcd​ @haharudy​

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #obx #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj x reader #jj x you #jj x y/n #john b #john b routledge #kie carrera #kie #kiara #kiara carrera #pope #pope heyward #sarah #sarah cameron

[im-justso-bored]

Week 3 of clown theories and analysis

S3E03 - Meetings Have Biscuits

OH BOY. what a lot to unpack here. so im gonna save that Scene™ for last because i’ll never get to everything else if i don’t. i’m actually having to rewatch while writing this review because honestly what even happened other than The Bus Scene™??

The Tuning Fork Kills - i’m not a big fan of these kills, they were so unrealistic lol everything else about this scene was gold though. V going back and forth between the maid and the baby was hilarious. im disappointed we couldn’t actually see V steal the baby. does V even know how to properly hold a baby lol

I Have All My Best Thoughts In The Bath - Such a Carolyn thing to do here lol idk about anyone else but when Eve came into the bathroom, i got so excited, you can just tell when she walks through the door that she’s back to her old self. also this might be an unpopular opinion but i like Mo. i saw some posts about how unusual it is that Eve trusts the Bitter Pill team so quickly but i think it’s less a matter of trust and more a matter of resources. both Bitter Pill and MI6 need something from the other and Eve surely can’t do it all herself. Also each group is invested with Kenny working at Bitter Pill and then of course, Carolyn being invested as his mother. i dont think either group is really happy about the arrangement but they’re working with it to achieve a common goal

I’m Not Ready - i love how Dasha just casually puts the baby in the trash and literally no one notices lol. I’m actually really surprised that V didn’t hop on the next flight to London after processing that Eve is alive. i guess that really shows just how much V actually feels when it comes to Eve that she LITERALLY HAS TO SORT OUT HER FEELINGS BEFORE SEEING EVE, she’s such a gay mess and im here for it

6 Million Euros - so im a little confused by how willing Konstantin was to loan Charles 6 million euro that he doesn’t have. it seems that they’re old friends based on their conversation about their families but it sill seems a bit strange to me how Konstantin agreed to give him the money. Also if V was tasked with killing Charles, wouldn’t Konstantin know this if he’s supposedly still working for The Twelve? so why go through the trouble of looking for the money if he was just going to die anyway? This makes me believe that Konstantin is working for someone else entirely. what do you guys think?

Roman Centurion - can we talk about how V is literally everyone who has ever gotten their heartbroken? she gets to London fully expecting to see Eve and instead of putting on La Villanelle, she decides to go for a “powerful” scent to show Eve just how much she’s moving up in the world and has “moved on”. she’s so dramatic 😂

Poland - Niko is moving further and further out of Eve’s life and as much as i want it to be Eve who is done with him, i’ll take it at this point because finally.

Who Doesn’t Answer Their Phone On A Stakeout?! - what a GREAT scene. Other than The Bus Scene™, i think this is my favorite scene of season 3 so far. This scene really brought me back to season 1 with the music, the tension, the coldness and calm with how V carried out the kill. 10/10. this is also my favorite kill of season 3 so far. everything about this scene was perfect. This scene was also a great tribute to Killing Eve: No Tomorrow! the tension was sooooo good, this scene actually gave me chills. like i was pretty confident that Carolyn wasn’t going to die but they had me second guessing myself. also the way Mo reached out for Carolyn and was so relieved when she opened her eyes! Both of their performances here was incredible. Especially when Carolyn went home. We’re seeing so many different sides of Carolyn this season and Fiona is nailing all of them!

I’m Wearing Power - I love Villanelle and Konstantin’s relationship so much, i totally thought V was going to say something about how Eve kissed her and Konstantin would be the disapproving best friend who has told her countless times to stay away from her “ex”. im really curious to see where Villanelle’s interest in finding her family stems from. she said that in order to have power, you need knowledge and that’s why she wants to find her family which i believe is partly true but i also think there’s another reason. we’ve seen her having more feelings this season like when she was empathizing with Felix and then when watching the news with the father and the baby. Maybe she wants to know what that feels like? To have someone so happy to see you again after thinking you were gone? maybe she saw herself as the baby? Her family thinks she’s dead and maybe she’s thinking she’ll get that same reaction when returning to them. if that’s the case, that will reunion will end badly for her. im excited to see how much episode 4 dives into this storyline.

Admit it, Eve. You Wish I Was Here - okay so this scene was just as gay as The Bus Scene™, if not more so. Eve went through so many emotions here. Confusion as to where the voice was coming from, realization when finding the bear, anger at the thought of V toying with her again, and then ending with just pure fucking longing and acceptance as she replayed the voice over and over again. she’s so gay and i’m so glad she’s finally giving into it

The Bus Scene™ - it’s been 18 hours and i still haven’t processed that this actually happened. we were all satisfied with them beating the shit out of each other but they really went above and beyond with this scene. everything about this scene was perfect. the way Villanelle walked up Eve just radiated confidence and big dyke energy and i think i speak for all of us when i say, Jodie could step on me and call me a piece of shit and i would thank her. Eve was ON SIGHT and I STAN. Eve’s reaction was absolutely perfect. I love just how completely she caught V off guard and got a couple of hits in before V regained her composure and ABSOLUTELY TOOK CONTROL OF EVE AND MANEUVERED HER AROUND THAT BUS WHILE SMILING. Like godDAMN, that was sexy, the power struggle between the two of them is just perfect. and the wAY V FUCKING HOPPED OVER THE SEATS AND SO EFFORTLESSLY STRADDLED EVE. i don’t think i’ve ever been more attracted to anything else. and in the midst of all of this, V had the audacity to say “Smell me, Eve”, i love how unpredictable she is because that sure as hell caught me off guard but at the same time, sexy as hell, only V could make something so outrageous sound so sexy. and the fact that Eve kissed her is sooo important. V was never going to do it first, not after Eve stabbed her and i’m so glad the decision was made to have Eve initiate the kiss. it wouldn’t mean as much to us as fans and to V if V were to do it first. I love how all of V’s confidence and “power” just evaporated when Eve kissed her, we stan a soft Villanelle! and the way they paused to look at each other before EVE HEADBUTTS HER WHICH IS JUST PERFECT. Everything about this scene is so in character for both of them. As outrageous as this scene may seem for anyone from the outside looking in, it was fucking perfect for these characters and everything we needed for a first kiss from them. i’m really excited to see them together again later in the season. i’m really curious to see how or if this changes the dynamic for them. look out for a fanfic about this soon, i think that’s the only way im going to be able to fully process this

OVERALL - i really enjoyed this episode, the tension was just perfect, the plot is picking up and really seems to be going somewhere which im really looking forward to. as of right now, this season could really go anywhere and im really excited to see how it all plays out. i cant believe that after next week we’ll be halfway through season 3, it’s all going by so fast! thanks for letting me rant!

#killing eve #killing eve spoilers #villaneve #villanelle #eve polastri #eve #killing eve season 3 #killing eve season 3 spoilers #eve x villanelle #jodie comer #sandra oh #fiona shaw #carolyn martens #killing eve 3x03 #the bus scene

[selanpike]

Abandoned Trollcops/Problem Sleuth fic

i’m bored so i’m posting this old trollcops concept i wrote a couple years ago

i meant to have it be this big sprawling thing, including all the trolls and the beta kids and team sleuth and the crew, but it was way too big for me, so all i ended up writing was the first three chapters--basically, the intros for sleuth, pickle and ace. 

i don’t plan to return to it. i still can’t get my head around the whole thing. but i like what i wrote, and maybe you might like it too? so here u go.

Chapter One

Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.

The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.

The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.

“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”

“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”

“Is that so,” Terezi says.

You nod.

“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”

“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”

The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.

“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you. 

“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.

“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”

“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”

“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.

You wilt under their stares.

“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”

“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin. 

“N--no,” you admit.

Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away. 

You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.

“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”

“You--you what?!”

“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”

“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”

The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.

“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”

Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.

“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”

“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”

You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”

“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”

“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”

 She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”

You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”

You laugh.

You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”

“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.

“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”

She does sorta have you, there.

---

You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.

“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”

“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.

“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”

“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”

“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.

The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.

“I know you,” he says.

“I get around,” you reply.

“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”

“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”

Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.

You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”

“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”

You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”

“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.

“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”

You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”

He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow. 

---

It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?

Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.

You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him. 

“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”

“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”

“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”

There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.

“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”

“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”

“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”

“They hired me.”

He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.

You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”

He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”

“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”

“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.

“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”

Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down. 

“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”

He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.

You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.

The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.

Chapter Two

> Be Pickle Inspector.

You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.

Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.

Uncooperative witnesses.

You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.

Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.

It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?

You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days. 

You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes. 

You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.

“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.

“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.

“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”

“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”

He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers. 

Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”

You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”

“Oh! Let me get my coat.”

“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”

“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”

You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”

She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”

Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.

---

34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.

This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.

He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.

He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”

“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.

“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”

“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”

“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”

“I can, yeah,” she says.

“A--are you going to?”

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”

He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.

“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”

“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”

“Absolutely.”

You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”

“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”

You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”

“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”

You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.

“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”

“As usual,” he says, before standing up.

He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”

“H--how’s that?”

“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”

“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”

You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”

“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”

“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.

“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”

“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”

She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.

She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.

“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.

“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”

“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.

“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”

You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.

“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.

After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.

Chapter three.

> Be Ace Dick.

Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.

You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.

You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”

She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”

You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”

“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”

She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”

“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”

“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”

Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”

“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”

“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.

Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”

“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”

“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”

“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”

“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs. 

“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”

“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Might be.”

“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.

“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.

She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”

“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.

“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”

“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.

She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”

Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”

“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”

She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”

“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.

They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.

You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.

#problem sleuth #midnight crew #trollcops #mspa #homestuck #writing #fanfiction #unfinished

[angel-deux-writes]

I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this On Here, but I really want to tell the story of the guy who put in my kitchen floors because it was terrifying

im putting it under a cut bc it’s probably not that long, but who knows.

(scrolled back up after i actually wrote it to confirm that it is in fact long)

Some backstory is that I was INCREDIBLY lucky and got my condo very cheap in a neighborhood I already knew I loved. The other unit I’d looked at was a full 30k over my budget, but this one was perfect because the owner hadn’t updated ANYTHING since it was built in 1985, so it was just...awful. Awful rugs, awful floors, awful walls. My dad is like...the dad who loves a project, so he was all “I can fix all of this except the floors!!! it’ll be great!!”, so I bought it. We hired a local company to do the floors, not wanting to go to Home Depot or whatever (Which i still support in theory, just......not this company lmao). Everything except the kitchen and bathroom was originally carpet. Hallways, stairs, every single room. And it was cheap industrial carpet, too. Like the kind in office buildings. The dude who did the carpet was like “what the fuck were they thinking???” 

Also, one of the carpets had a truly upsetting rusty stain, so. My guest bedroom might be haunted. 

Anyway, the carpet guy was great. He was the owner of the company, and he was older and very kind. I had my mom come over with me when he was doing the carpets, but I didn’t even need her there. He was cool. His son was in charge of the hardwood portion (I say “hardwood”. I mean, like, the cheapest laminate while still looking nice lmao). He was less great. He had a team of like 3 dudes and 1 lady who would show up and work, doing my office/dining room and upstairs hallway. I know carpet is easier, but the carpet guy took one day, and these guys took a week and a half. They messed up a few times, and it was kind of stressful, but overall it was okay. They had to redo all the subfloors, because condos built in 1985 were almost universally built in buckwild, impossible-to-explain ways, so it took forever. The hardwood guys were loud as hell, but they were nice! 

At one point, one of the nicest guys accidentally broke a few of my kitchen tiles while putting in the transition from the wood to the tile. I was cool with it, tbh, but he offered a discount on a new kitchen floor because, shocker, the subfloor under the broken tile was really jacked up, and it wouldn’t be as simple as taking a tile from under the fridge and replacing it. I was like, okay, cool! We set it up. 

I did not hear from them for four months. Which, I get it. It was a discounted job, so obviously they wanted to do full-price jobs first. I have no problem with that. The same hardwood guys came back to do the subfloor, and then they were like “okay [the owner’s son] will contact you about the tiles. That took about a week. Finally, I got a date. It was a Friday, a day when my sister was already working from home, so she was like “yeah, I can handle it.” She works in interior design, so she’s used to dealing with construction people, and she was REALLY useful when it came to talking down the son of the owner, who was like...every bad stereotype about contractors meshed with a used car salesman. 

So I’m at work the day the tiling is supposed happen. My sister is fine at first, texting me about how the son showed up with one single guy, and then left, so it was only the single guy working. She was annoyed like “it’s supposed to take one day, right? That’s what they said? There’s no way he’s finishing at this pace. Why are they making this guy do the whole thing by himself?”. She called him “nice, kind of cute, but a very slow worker”. I was like ‘well, if they have to come back tomorrow, whatever, that’s fine’.”

Around 10:30 she starts texting me increasingly insane shit. 

“He’s talking to himself downstairs? Maybe he’s on the phone”. 

“He keeps dropping stuff and yelling SHIT really loudly.”

“Someone just showed up with a bag, and he let them in, and they chatted in the kitchen for like ten minutes, and then the person left, and they didn’t take the bag with them”. 

“He’s standing outside using the tile cutter and SCREAMING whenever it’s on.”

“He’s out in the rain and shout-singing something while he’s cutting tile”

“He is BARKING LIKE A DOG TO THE TUNE OF THE RUGRATS THEME SONG CAN YOU PLEASE COME HOME”

I’m half convinced she’s making this shit up, but she’s uncomfortable so I tell my boss what’s going on and race home. When I get there, there’s a vaguely adam driver looking guy who seems nice enough. A little startled to see me, but we make pleasant conversation, I see that he’s not very far along, and then I go upstairs to see my sister. I brought her takeout as a treat, and we sit there for a while talking about normal things. Gradually, downstairs, the dude starts talking to himself. I’m thinking that’s still not THAT weird. Then he starts singing and clapping along. Okay, a BIT weird, but not terrible. I decide to go downstairs into the living room and play some Playstation. Like, maybe he thinks we can’t hear him upstairs and he’ll be more chill when i’m down there? NOPE! HE ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT! He does the barking thing again (and it is, in fact, the rugrats theme song), he’s working at a pace of about one tile per hour, and he starts singing a song that consists only of the word “bitch” over and over again. 

I’m texting my dad, freaking out, and he tries to get in contact with the owner or his son, but nobody’s answering the phone. My other sister and her friend are on their way for game night. My sister’s boyfriend should be home soon from work, but not soon enough. It is, at this point, 7 pm. There is absolutely no chance he’s getting these tiles done today. He’s not even halfway done. My kitchen is VERY SMALL, by the way, so this reasonably could have been done in a day with two people, but I suspect that because it was a discount job, we got the discount treatment. 

My other sister and her friend show up, and the guy is perfectly pleasant and normal to them. We all go upstairs into my sister’s room, and we sit there, waiting in silence for it to start again, hoping that maybe with more people in the house, he’ll be okay. 

NOPE! He starts singing the “bitch” song again. I distinctly remember my other sister whispering “I love this song” and pretending to groove, which was kind of funny but NOT THE TIME. I’m sitting on my sister’s bed clutching a camp axe like a maniac, because I’m like “we are going to be killed by this giant kylo ren asshole”. I’m still texting my dad, who’s like “if you need me to come over, I can, i’m out of work”, but at this point it’s almost 8 and I’m also thinking about my neighbors. Like, he can’t be here at night. He just can’t. He’s so loud even just doing regular tile things! 

I muster up LITERALLY EVERY IOTA OF COURAGE THAT I HAVE, and I head downstairs. I ask him when he’s planning on wrapping up, because I know there’s no way he’s going to finish tonight. He tells me it’ll probably take about two more hours. That is 1) absolutely not true and 2) not something I’m willing to deal with because I live in a condo with neighbors on either side of me, and one of my neighbors is a truck driver who gets up at like 4 am! So I explain that my friends and I have an obligation to get to, and I would love it if we could arrange for someone to continue the work tomorrow. He’s SUPER NICE ABOUT IT and is like “oh, okay, no problem!” He leaves. Just...walks into the rain. Leaves all his tools and his tile cutter. I move it inside because it was on my front porch and it is, again, raining. 

My sister, a Nancy Drew Game fiend, starts searching the entire downstairs and eventually finds the plastic bag that someone brought him. My other sister, who is a nurse in a hospital that primarily treats overdose patients, is like “yep, that’s drug residue for sure”. I’m like, okay, so he didn’t hurt any of us, and he was nice, just....high and weird. But it’s over now, so whatever. My dad says he’ll call the owner’s son the next day, and everything’s cool. He also says that he, my mom, and my brother will all come over to watch the football game at my house the next day just to be there (which...im less than thrilled about the football part, but sure). I also beg my friend to drive up from the Cape to pick up his hat that he left at my condo over the summer just so he can chill for a few hours in the morning. 

The next day, the same guy returns, with the owner’s son this time. The owner’s son is like “why did you only get this far along?” but otherwise doesn’t really say anything. The barking guy is TOTALLY FINE, totally polite. My friend lingers as long as he can, but there’s an ice storm coming, so he peaces out eventually. I’m alone for about an hour with the guy, and nothing happens. He’s quiet, even when the owner’s son peaces for a bit. My parents show up, we watch the football game, and nothing happens. I feel like A LUNATIC, because my dad is like “he seems fine now” and I’m like NO BUT YESTERDAY WAS TERRIFYING. 

Anyway, so that’s the story. I didn’t end up saying anything to the owner’s son, but my dad reamed him out a bit for sending only one person to do a job meant for two. And now every time I drive by that business I suppress a shudder, and sometimes the barking version of the Rugrats theme song still gets stuck in my head.

#genuinely it was so so scary but he never even did anything? he was just weird #and almost definitely high #the barking thing was almost funny? like it would have been funny if he wasn't in my house

[angrylizardjacket]

and then there was light [4] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5060 words. part 4? part 4. it’s a bit of a darker one and before you ask, there will be a part 5, you know i wouldn’t end it on a cliffhanger and do you dirty like that.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

The moment Roger steps foot into the meeting about the design of the shows for the upcoming American legs of the ‘Night at the Opera’ world tour, he’s pretty sure he’s already mentally checked out. Freddie’s doing all the talking, to literally no-one’s surprise; the man has big ambitions for his own costumes, and knows the other guys will pipe up about their own needs when they get to meet with just the costume designer. John Reid brings up the technical requirements, Roger’s got the ‘galileo’s from Bohemian Rhapsody playing on repeat in his head as he stares into the middle distance, and it’s Deaky who sits forward.

“We’ve got a pretty solid idea for the lights; Freddie and I have been consulting with a designer in America; she’s freelance, used to work for EMI, she’s reliable.” He assures, and Roger’s thinking ‘hey that sounds familiar’ but Reid seems satisfied and they’re already moving on to the staging and sound equipment needed. 

Roger doesn’t connect the dots at first; it’s been almost four years since that fateful American tour, and they’ve had other tours come and go since, and as far as the others are concerned, they’re pretty sure he hasn’t spared you a thought since arriving home at the end of that tour. But he does, even if he doesn’t mean to.

The tour after you’d quit working for EMI, someone drops a parcan side of stage, and his heart is in his throat when he realises he was waiting to hear you yell ‘okay that one wasn’t my fault’ or something similar. All he hears is a faint apology, and a call from someone to get a broom. The scheduling’s different this time around, he can’t even have a cigarette in an empty theatre without some stagehand buzzing back and forth, or a band member trotting across the stage as they practice. It would be so much easier to lay on the stage if the rest of them were confined to one place while they played, like he was behind the drums. It’d be boring as shit, he would be the first to acknowledge that, but it would mean he would get stepped on less during lunch, and that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make with the toe of Freddie’s shoe poking at his waist.

Nothing serious had come his way in that time, or rather, he’d never found anyone who could hold his attention for more than a week or two. People became dreadfully boring when all they wanted to do was faun over him and fuck him; not that it wasn’t fun at first, it was always fun at first, but there was a lack of variety, a sinking sensation that these people were more attracted to the idea of him that left a sour aftertaste.

But now he’s here, new company, new album, second leg of the new tour, new chance to sample all different women across this great nation. He’s already a little tipsy from his multiple jack and coke’s on the plane when they land, and he’s passed out on the tour bus before it even gets to the first tour stop. Once in Conneticut, he’s dragged from the bus, and informed that as soon as the tech crew had finished their meeting, they could start loading in their instruments. 

“How long have they been here?” Brian asks the stage hand, and the guy shrugs. 

“A couple of hours; the Floor Tech wanted the drum risers set up before she gave the brief.” He tells them as he lead the band in to the theatre, where most of the crew were milling about on stage. 

“She always did have a flare for the dramatic.” John says with a grin where his eyes were trained on the stage, and Freddie hums in agreement, which only serves to confuse Roger further until he sees an all too familiar figure climbing the drum risers with a clipboard in hand.

“Alright guys, can I have your attention, please?” Even after all these years, the sound of your voice hits Roger square in the chest. “I wanna make this as quick and painless as possible, so after today we can bump in and bump out without any hassles.” You addressed the crowd with an easy confidence from your place at the top of the drum risers, tapping your nails against the back of the clipboard in your hands, wearing the overalls he’d seen you in so many times before.

“You can call me Spotlight; I’m the Head Floor Tech for the tour, as well as lighting designer; those of you on my lighting team, you’ve got a copy of the lighting plan, and I’ll be talking to you about how we’re gonna run it after this. Next time, I’ll get some help from the stage hands to set up the drum risers, I had a few people help me today to get them set up early, but that’s just because I like being tall.” With a sharp grin you pause as a titter of laughter spreads around the group, “stage management team, you’re in charge of making sure side of stage is set up with anything the band needs, and that it’s clear of unnecessary clutter and people, and running cabling for the sound guys; they’ll tell you what they need.”

After a beat, you look around the gathered crowd, and nod firmly, a gesture which a few of them return.

“If you have any questions, remember; find your Light.” You point directly at yourself. “We break for lunch at one, but until then we’ve got a lot to get through; let’s get rockin’.” Grinning brightly, you hop down from the risers into the crowd of crew members, ushering a bunch, each holding a sheet of paper, off to the side, as the others scattered like cockroaches under light.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Roger finally finds his voice where he’s still standing, a little dumbstruck, alone in the aisle of the theatre where the others had left him behind.

“Didn’t you hear her speech? Spotlight’s our lighting designer.” Freddie calls over his shoulder, eyes wide and innocent, as if he hadn’t set this all up without thinking to mention it to Roger.

“Our what now?” He splutters, jogging a little to catch up to the other band members as they made their way towards the stage. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, or what will happen when he gets their; the last thing you’d said to him was that you were stupid to think he was above his reputation, while you were in tears, and then it had been three years of nothing. He’s not going to run, at least he’s pretty sure he’s not; he’s self aware enough to know he was in the wrong last time you spoke, that he was an asshole, but he’s not going to be a coward. Not again.

“That was quite the speech.” John waits patiently until the crew who made up the lighting team had dispersed before addressing the familiar face at the centre. You turn, eyes bright and smile brighter, casually making your way towards him and the rest of the band.

“Yeah, I really feel in my element, you know?” It’s with an easy familiarity that you pull John into a hug, giving him a firm squeeze. “Good to finally see you again.” And then you’re hugging Freddie, and then Brian, and you stop short in front of Roger. It’s a stalemate, neither one wanting to be the first to look away, but both unsure of what to do. In the end, you don’t even offer him a handshake, just nod, and you turn back to the others.

“How’s Pippin been?” Freddie asks, and you’re about to answer, but Roger cuts in.

“Hang on, can someone fill me in here? Lovely to see you, by the way, just a little confused as to how you got here.” He says, and you’re lost for words, just blinking rapidly, trying to process the whole situation.

“Did you not tell him I was working with you guys?” Your words come out incredulous as you turn your gaze upon John and Freddie, who seem just as bewildered as you.

“I thought he’d cotton on when I mentioned an American designer who used to work for EMI.” John mused, turning his gaze on Roger, who frowned, thinking back to the initial meeting he’d just mentioned.

“I did,” Brian piped up, before casting a smile at John and Freddie that was just a little bit confused, “though I wasn’t a part of this little setup.” He tried to reassure the drummer.

“In my defense,” Roger started, before his gaze dropped, “I wasn’t paying attention, design isn’t exactly my forte.” He admitted, and you had to shake your head at that, exasperated and already a exhausted.

“Pippin’s good.” You go back to John’s initial question. Pippin isn’t so much a person as it is a touring version of a Broadway musical that had opened a year ago, to great success.

It turns out a written letter of recommendation from both the lead singer, and bass player of Queen goes rather far in the industry. After taking some time for yourself, you call up EMI to beg them not to fire you, however it turns out you needn’t have; both John and Freddie had given glowing reports of your work ethic and skill, and the man on the other end of the line is just eager to know when you were next available. 

The moment you’re on site next, they tell you you’ve been promoted to Floor Tech; they hand you a roll of gaff tape and a drill and a whole new set of responsibilities, heaped onto your usual load. You don’t even remember who had been performing, the tour had only lasted a month, all you know is that they were calling you Spotlight from the moment you’d arrived; apparently it was what Freddie had called you, and John had to clarify.

John is the first to contact you again, through EMI of course, and he becomes something of a comfort when you consider taking your career beyond the company that kept you firmly in the one position on tour. Freddie calls you less often, and never about business; it’s John who gives you the courage to leave EMI, and he’s the one who helps set up as a freelance theatre and event crew member. 

People had been head hunting you from tour to tour, beyond even EMI, some smaller acts even giving you the full Lighting Designer role. They expect you to sit back, let a stage hand or an assistant to take care of it, but every time you watch someone else focus a spot, your fingers itch to be doing it yourself. Dedicated to a fault, Roger had once called you, you think about it every time you climb an unsteady ladder, and think perhaps that he’s right.

The moment Pippin announces it’s tour, and puts out calls for crew, you’re first in line for the job, putting your hat in the ring for lighting, but happy enough to take any crew role. Not that you don’t love working with bands, but there’s a certain finesse that comes with theatre lighting that you can’t get anywhere else in the world. After two years, and the support of both John and Freddie, you find yourself as the assistant Lighting Designer, as well as Head Floor Tech, and once you step foot onto the tour bus, everything else becomes history.

Speaking of history, later in the day, after the rest of the crew have broken for lunch, you’re wedged under the drum risers, running some cables, when you hear someone climb up them, taking a seat at the drums.

“If you play one beat-” You’re cut off by Roger’s yell of surprise, as he’s so startled he almost falls off his chair.

“Holy shit, who is that?” He’s breathing heavily, voice panicked, and for a moment you take pleasure imagining clutching his hand to his chest like a delicate, little grandmother.

“Take a wild stab in the dark,” you mutter, unwedging yourself from beneath the structure, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Almost immediately he’s frowning, and you’re thrown back to the moment almost three years ago where you’d been here before, looking up at him from behind the drum risers after you’d changed out the light mid-show. Clearing your throat loudly, you break the moment, getting to your feet and making your way to the side of the stage.

“What are you doing here?” He calls, watching idly as you go about counting out fly lines until you get to the one you’d been looking for. You’d gotten here early to go through the fly-line procedure with the Duty Tech for the venue, and now you lowered the LX bar it was attached to with ease after making sure there was no-one in the way. Your focus made something in his chest tighten, and he feels like he’s being taken back in time; you’re beautiful when you work, passionate and skilled, meticulous, that hadn’t changed. Roger has to look away.

“My job,” and you just sound tired when you say it, already securing the meticulously placed lights onto the bar you’d just lowered, going along and fixing them to the metal in a neat line. An uncomfortable silence spreads between you, punctuated only by the scrape of metal against metal, and the rattle of the safety chains.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even try to hide the snippiness from your voice, not even turning to look at his as the accusatory words hang in the air.

“I’m having a smoke in what I thought was going to be relative peace, it’s something I do, okay?” Voice defensive, you hear the rustle of cardboard and hear the click of a cigarette, your annoyance growing with each passing moment.

“No, it’s what I do. It’s what I did three years ago, you just started showing up. You stole my relative peace.” You snapped, turning to him, a blazing fury in your eyes at his words, before your lip curled in disgust, “And you don’t even do anything with it.” You scoffed, and he went quiet, sulking behind his drum kit. Sensing he wasn’t got to talk back you turn back to your work.

The moment you turn away, he sees the way you heave a sigh, angry tension draining from your shoulders, a little hunched as you concentrated. Your hands shake a little as you fiddle with the safety chains. There’s still that confidence there, the ease with which you moved about the stage, but unlike around other people, when it was just Roger - though he suspected you were pretending he wasn’t there - you just looked... weary.

After that first town, he keeps his distance for a few stops, though the other band members look to keep you company on occasion. But then... he’s there again. Quiet this time, he just watches where you hold yourself like royalty at the top of a rickety ladder, so sure of yourself. He’d forgotten the sight of you in your element, and it hits him like a truck.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap when you chance a glance down and see his awestruck expression looking up at you. The shock comes when he actually looks abashed, averting his gaze, picking up his drumsticks and tapping out a rhythm that you’re pretty sure you recognise.

You’re both too stubborn to give the other one the peace of the theatre at lunch, however, while you’re content with stewing in silence as you worked, Roger, to no-one’s surprise, is not.

“How’ve you been?” He brings himself to ask. You stop where you’re replacing a gel on one of the drum riser lights, taking a long moment to consider your words carefully.

“Busy.” Tired. The subtext comes through loud and clear, despite your short answer, and once you’d finished with the light, you stand, before taking a moment to stretch your back out from behind hunched over.

“Working a lot?” I can tell. He answers after a long pause, almost sympathetic, and you know he’s not really responding to the words you’d said out loud.

“Yeah, non stop.” No subtext, just responding at face value, before your eyes up to the mostly finished rig. Afternoons were for last minute fixes and focusing, there wasn’t much left you could do, unless you were willing to ask for Roger’s help.

“When did your last thing end?” He asks, and you click your tongue as you turn on your heel, burned out gel in your hand, heading for a bin.

“Two days before this one.” You admitted. When you’re met with silence, you turn, and Roger’s frowning at you, almost disbelieving.

“You’re not still sleeping on the tour bus, are you?” He asks, and you roll your eyes before you tell him your accommodation is paid for this time around. You’re the first to leave, for the first time since everything had started, you leave halfway through to actually eat lunch, leaving Roger to himself.

When he’s drunk after the show, leaning against some local pub, with a girl leaning against him, heavy enough that the two of them would have tipped over if it wasn’t for the counter, he can’t get you out of his mind.

“I didn’t ruin her career.” His eyes go wide as the words, with something akin to revelation, escape him, and the girl makes a noise of confusion, her fingers ghosting over his chest, but he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.

“I didn’t ruin her career!” He announces, excited and pleased in his inebriated state, sitting himself so forcefully on the arm of Freddie’s chair that he spills part of his drink. Freddie makes a noise of confusion, looking up at the blonde, and Roger gesticulates enough to spill more of his drink, ignoring Freddie’s yelp. “Spotlight! She said I’d ruined her career!” 

“When?” Freddie asks, just as John pops out from seemingly nowhere.

“Well you certainly didn’t help it. That was me.” Roger doesn’t care that John’s drunk, the way bassist says it, so serene and matter-of-fact, makes it sting just a little bit worse. His mood instantly flips.

“Can you piss off? Go be her best friend somewhere else.” Roger snapped, and he knew he’d regret being so sharp with John the following morning, but it seemed John himself knew that Roger was in a mood, and obligingly fucked off, seemingly not taking it to heart. “When we broke up, she accused me of ruining her career.” And he realises too late, when Freddie’s eyes go wide with realisation, that he’s said too much.

“Is this where you tell me exactly what went down between you two?” He asked, tapping Roger’s leg with excitement. The blonde, however, stood abruptly, glower on his face.

“No. Fuck off.” 

Roger spends almost fifteen minutes banging on the door of the tour bus before he remembers that you’re not in there, and falls into bed alone, fully clothed.

“The fuck did you say to Freddie last night?” The moment he steps foot onto the stage at lunch, you’re waiting for him, already livid. He’s tempted to turn and walk right back out the door. “Apparently he doesn’t know the real reason that I went home last ti- !” 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Roger snapped back, on the defensive without a moment’s hesitation. “It makes me look like a fucking wanker and he’d kick my ass; he adores you!” And that was enough to shock you into silence, grip loosening on the gaff tape in your hands. “They all do.” He said, and your expression turns unreadable.

“I know.” You finally said, a new, strange quality to your voice, it’s something akin to shock, but not quite, and Roger doesn’t know what to say next. “What about you?” You finally ask, voice a little defensive. It hurts to see you look at him with such a judgemental eye, though he’s well aware he deserves it.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? I could apologise a thousand times and you’d still be pissy.” He huffs, and you cross your arms, cocking your hip.

“At least once would be nice.” You level a cold glare at him and his gaze snaps back at yours, surprised. “You never once apologised, you know that?” And your voice is low, hurt and honest. “Are you even sorry for what happened?”

“It was three years ago-” He sighs, but you cut him off, shifting your weight to your other foot, swallowing thickly.

“So that’s a no. Glad to see where you stand.” And you turn to cross the stage to where you’ve already got the ladder set up, but he makes his way to you in three long strides, making to grab at your upper arm. The moment he does, however, you whirl around, slapping him, hard. “I told you to never fucking touch me; did you think I forgot?” And he sees why you were so eager to leave; there’s tears in your eyes, so close to breaking and streaming down your cheeks, your lip trembling. Something about your voice is so raw, it hurts worse than the slap.

“I am sorry.” And he sounds so fucking sincere, but you just glare at him, unashamed where the tears have begun to track down your cheeks. 

“You had your chance to say sorry; you had your chance to beg for forgiveness, but you told me I could leave; so I did, and so did your fucking opportunity.” But you can’t bring yourself to step back, frozen in place where he’s less than a foot away. Every fibre of your being is betraying you, wanting to be around him, close to him, after what he did.

“I’m sorry what happened between us;” his voice is so level, carefully controlled, you know he’s think hard about what he’s about to admit, “I fucked up, I know that; I’m sorry. It was three years ago but I’m still sorry. I’ve been sorry for a long time now.”

“Since it happened?” You asked, and he didn’t drop your gaze, answering without flinching or hesitation.

“Since I started worrying I’d lose you; I know what I’m like, I knew what I’d end up doing.” He admitted, and the words clearly didn’t have his intended impact as you stumble back, free hand clutching your chest.

“And yet you still-” And quietly, so quietly you’re not even sure he hears it, the words come out as more of a defeated whimper than anything else; “How could you not tell I was in love with you?” 

He’s in shock, and you barge past him, leaving as you can no longer contain your aching heart, and you head to the hotel you were staying at down the road, taking the rest of the lunch break to cry.

When you return, the rest of the crew has filtered in, Roger looks guilty, and Freddie and John look about ready to commit violent homicide, which was unsurprising for Freddie, but there was something comforting about Deaky wearing the expression too. In less than a week, the whole crew knows, and wherever you go, you feel yourself followed by pitying stares, which won’t go away, no matter how hard you throw yourself into your work.

“You’re working yourself into the ground.” Roger tells you a week later, watching the way your arms tremble as you focus a light, and it takes you a moment to blink blearily at him. “Don’t forget the security chain.” He adds, and you scowl, before looking at the light itself, and hurriedly affix the security chain to the rig. You insist that you’re fine, making your way down the ladder to scoop up another parcan, but you almost immediately drop it. 

“I just need some food.” You try to insist, your hands shaking as you leave the light where it is.

You don’t come out after shows, and it’s not gone unnoticed. The rest of the crew think you’re just dedicated, personable for the most part but prone to bouts of standoffishness.

“Oh you should have seen her on our first tour,” Freddie muses to an enraptured crowd at an afterparty, a few crew members listening with a bright-eyed attention, “that woman risked life and limb for our show.” And he sounds so proud when he says it, but something twists uncomfortably in Roger’s gut.

Cracks don’t show around other people, Roger’s noticed; you’re smile’s bright enough and your voice is loud enough that they don’t see the way your hands shake. Or how tired your eyes are. But then there are moments, you stand as if in the eye of the storm, gaff tape and drill in hand, watching as people follow your instructions without question, and you look up to see Roger tweaking his drums, and the two of you share a look. It’s a little indecipherable, he’s concerned and you’re just... tired. He wants to offer to help, but as soon as the moment arrives, it’s passed, and you’re off to the next task.

The air between the two of you has lost it’s angry tension; after saying your peace, after hearing his apology, there’s no fight left. Just a lingering disappointment, a quiet like the moment after a world-weary sigh. You don’t have to pretend around Roger, you both know he’d see through it if you’d tried.

“You should come get a drink after; you look like you need it.” Roger laughs, but there’s no humour in it. Without missing a beat, you decline, you don’t even bother coming up with an excuse. 

“I’m worried about you.” The tour is almost three weeks in, and you’re asleep against the proscenium arch when he walks in. You wake with a start at the sound of his voice, reaching out for the light you’d been fiddling with before you’d passed out. When you look to him with confusion, he repeats himself slowly. “I’m worried about you; are you sleeping okay?” 

“As if that’s any of your business.” You snapped back, and Roger kept quiet. It only takes him a day to figure out that sleep isn’t really a luxury you allowed yourself; you were the last out every night after bump out, sometimes staying until two in the morning, and from what the crew said, you were always the first up, running through check lists, accident reports, and going over anything that needed maintenance. 

When Freddie asks you to come out with them after a gig, you find it difficult to say no, he helped get you this job after all, but you’re there for barely half an hour before Roger sees you slip out the side door, drink untouched.

John asks if you’re okay one afternoon when you drop a stack of gel frames without warning, jumping almost a foot in the air and looking like you’re about to break into tears from shock, but seems content when you explain you’re just tired. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover how overworked you are.

The night you finally decide to relax a little, bump out having been miraculously fast, you’ve got the next day off. The others cheer you on as you down drink after drink, the alcohol hitting you hard and quickly, and the world gets blurry as you find yourself on the dance floor. It’s easy to drink too much, because for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed, not worrying about the pretty, dickhead blonde who worries about you when he really shouldn’t. 

You’re drunk enough to admit to yourself that part of you likes the attention he’s giving you, it feels like vindication for the heartache you went through all those years ago. Part of it’s not even vindictive, part of you just likes the way he looks at you, the way his smile made your heart beat just a little faster; you call that part a fucking traitor and have another drink.

You don’t remember leaving the bar, but you come back to your body when you’re leaning against a streetlight for support, halfway through telling someone to fuck off.

“Ya’ not my caretaker, Roger,” you sneer, “you don’t need to look after me or whatever this is. Go help groupies home or to hotel or whatever.” You spit, and push off from the light, turning on your heel, almost topple over, and right yourself.

“Light, that’s the wrong way.” He calls, exasperated, and you turn again, this time actually crashing to the ground and grazing your hand on the way, before you get to your feet. He’s come over to try and help you, but you swat him away.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You stalk ahead of him in the direction he had come from, back toward the hotel, and he follows only a few steps behind.

“Fine, Y/N; you’re legless, let me help.” And after a moment of intense eye contact, in which you try to weigh up your options, you begrudgingly loop your arm through his.

“You’re still on my shit-list.” You inform him, and he hums in acknowledgement. “Why are you doing this?” You follow it up with.

“I’m not the asshole who fucked you over three years ago, and I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed for this show.” He said through gritted teeth, and you just smiled, a little dreamily.

“But what a way to go.” And he came to an abrupt stop. It took you a moment to realise, and looking back, you tugged on his arm to keep him moving. He just frowned at you, a little concerned. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it.”

“If I have to fire you to get you to take a break-” He threatened, and you scoffed, expression turning bitter.

“I’ll drop a light on you.”

“You’ll drop a light on me by accident before then anyways!” He crowed, and your expression fell, contemplative. “Just let me help; what do I have to do to make you actually rest? What do I have to do to prove myself?”

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #and then there was light #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #the angry lizard writes

[haughtbreaker]

Gus returns home the morning after the party to find a tense household. Nicole wrestles with the events that had happened the night before. 

Special thanks as always to @jaybear1701 for putting up with my shitty punctuation habits. Sorry it took so long for this chapter. There was a con, a bunch of unexpected life stuff and just my brain not willing to cooperate. Yeah I might have been listening to a bit of Death Cab for Cutie while I wrote this, hence the title.

There’s a Spotify playlist for this fic that goes up to whatever the current chapter is if anyone is interested. 

TW: Blood and graphic depiction of a suicide attempt

 "Where's your sister?" Gus shucked off her coat before she took a seat at the table. She'd only had a few hours of sleep in the room above the bar but it had taken the edge off the exhaustion and given the girls time to clean up. Well, to be honest, it gave Waverly time. Wynonna, as always, was nowhere to be seen.

"Still sleeping." Waverly set a mug of coffee and an empty plate in front of her. "You know how she gets."

Yes, Gus knew exactly how Wynonna could get. Considering the house wasn't in shambles and they weren't in the emergency room, they got off easy. "Well, I suppose she's forgotten she's to have community service today." Gus began to pull pancakes and scrambled eggs onto her plate from the different serving dishes. "Luckily, Randy is hungover." Gus smiled at Rosita who was quietly alternating bites of pancakes, paying attention, and scrolling through her phone. "Enjoy meeting the hooligans of Purgatory?"

Rosita grinned around her fork. "They're not too bad. Strangely comfortable with nudity in the snow, but other than that, not much different than back home."

Gus looked at Waverly in question.

"Go Devils," Waverly said as she sat down with a bowl of fruit and oatmeal.

"Ah, hockey team, got it." Gus unfolded the newspaper she'd brought home and began to skim the articles. There was a sale on her favorite fertilizer and she made a mental note to stop at the hardware store. "Is Nicole still sleeping as well? She's usually up bright and early helping you with breakfast." She looked at Waverly over the top of the newspaper.

Waverly didn't look up from her oatmeal, just shrugged. "I think so. I haven't seen her this morning."

Gus rose an eyebrow. In the past few weeks, Waverly and Nicole had slowly grown to become inseparable. While the changes in Nicole, from her original forlorn state, had been the most obvious, Gus could swear even Waverly had started to look a bit brighter. Not just in the smile she gave everyone, but deep in her eyes - a glimmer that had begun to truly sparkle. What in the world had happened that had made Waverly unwilling to look up?

There was a soft beep from Rosita's phone and she sniffled. "I think Nicole just woke up." She took a long sip from her coffee before pushing back from the table. "I'll go see what she's up to. I'll be right back, cause these pancakes are too good to not finish." She tossed a wink at Waverly.

"Could ya let her know Sheriff Nedley is too hungover and her sentence has been delayed again."

Rosita paused, tilting her head for a moment. "Um… I'm going to need the deets on that but I'll let her know."

Watching Rosita leave, Gus turned her attention back to Waverly who was absentmindedly stabbing at her oatmeal, not really eating it. Her eyes didn't seem to be focused on anything, just gazing off into nothingness. Interesting.

---

Nicole looked down at the familiar desk, worn and comfortable. She could feel the burn in her eyes but she wasn't exactly sure why. The taste of vodka clung to her tongue as she looked around the room. Familiar posters and photos lined the walls, movies and bands she had adored when she'd still had the care to decorate. Hanging from the corner of her closet door, a familiar hoodie drew her attention.

This wasn't Purgatory. She knew that and she knew it was wrong, yet still she felt the comfort of familiarity numbing her curiosity. She was moving before she knew what she was doing, grabbing the hoodie and sliding it on. It was a little snug, not fit for her own frame, but fit for her on another level. The scent of coconut lotion was woven into the threads and she hugged the material to her as she moved back to her desk.

In her hand there was suddenly a photo, she and Shae sitting in the sand together, faces covered in smiles of unknowing. Nicole didn't want to be there anymore. The comfort of familiarity was replaced with the cold of a blade, one of her father's replacement blades for his box cutter. A song played on repeat from her phone, one of Shae's favorites. She looked down at her arms, coconut-scented sleeves already pushed up past her elbows, not wanting to get the material wet as vodka suddenly pooled on the desk from the bottle she didn't remember tipping over.

The movies had been wrong, she thought, as the spilled vodka began to turn red. They hadn't prepared her for the way flesh parted. There weren't neat lines that slowly seeped crimson, but rather layers of muscle that seemed to spill out once free from their flesh casing. The movies hadn't told her how she didn't have the grip strength to go as deep or far with the second cut. She felt the warm touch of another hand covering her own, a familiar presence giving her the strength she needed to keep cutting.

Over the sound of the song playing on repeat and the percussion of her father suddenly banging on the door, she heard the voice in her ear.

"Follow me."

Nicole jerked awake, gasping in pain as she looked down at her arms. Familiar scars greeted her, dark red lines with their train tracks of stitch marks. A familiar pain pulsed through her arms and she winced, taking a moment to breathe in and out. It had been a while since she felt the pain in her arms like this. Physical therapy had helped with it the most, but she hadn't been since getting to Purgatory. Maybe that was stupid.

Experimentally, she opened and closed her hands, feeling the tug from within that hadn't existed a year ago. They'd told her she was lucky there hadn't been extensive nerve damage, that she still had a grip at all.

That she was still alive.

That she had her whole life to look forward to.

With a soft sigh, she looked around the room, noticing Rosita wasn't anywhere to be seen. Her phone told her it was past nine, later than she normally woke up. She was usually downstairs by now, helping Waverly with breakfast.

Suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch, all the memories from the night came back to her. She remembered the drinking and that stupid game. She remembered kissing Wynonna. She remembered the jealousy that had flared up when Rosita kissed Waverly.

She remembered the barn - the bite of cold being chased away by the caress of soft lips, the warmth of fingertips against her cheek.

Oh God, Nicole thought, laying back and pulling the covers over her head. What the hell had she done? She paused for a moment. What the hell did Waverly do?

Pushing back the blankets, she looked for her phone before pulling it back to her, quickly pulling up her IMs.

I need you.

Nicole hit the send button before pulling up her social media. No weird photos. No idiotic, drunken posts. It was a small comfort in the whirlwind of emotions that were rolling through her. Of course, she hadn't been that drunk. Why the hell was she even checking? She knew there was no point, but still she scrolled through, pausing to like a photo Rosita had posted of the bottle from the night before, tagged #drama. That was the damn truth.

She remembered everything.

Everything.

Her fingertips came up to trace her lips, once again remembering the soft caress before she pulled her hand back, her eyes falling to the scar on her forearm. "Fuck." The word slipped from her lips just a second before a body fell onto the bed with her. "Shit!" She gasped as the blanket was pulled back.

"You're finally up." Rosita wiggled into a more comfortable position.

"Rosie…"

"Oh hey, Gus said to tell you something about the Sheriff wants to delay your sentence again… due to a hangover?" Rosita gave her a questioning look.

"Oh, great… I completely forgot about that."

"Sentence?" Rosita poked at Nicole's side. "What the shit is that about?"

"Wynonna," Nicole responded as if it explained everything. When she got no response, she looked over at rubbed at her eyes. "She got us arrested for drinking in public and we have to do some shit community service."

Rosita hummed positively. "Such a rebel. You were never arrested back home."

Nicole sighed heavily. "Did you bring me any water?"

"Did you ask for water?" Rosita snorted and picked up a glass and a bottle of aspirin. "I brought it up earlier."

"God, I fucking love you." Nicole sat up before accepting both. The world spun slightly but she powered through it, gulping down the water.

"Don't forget your other pills."

Nicole nodded, grabbing her backpack and hauling it onto her lap. "Can't forget those." She went through the process of shaking out the collection of pills. "Can't… forget… these." The remnants of her dream still tugged at her mind even as she swallowed the handful of medication, false sanity that left a bitter taste on her tongue.

"Hey. You okay?" Rosita reached up to push a lock of auburn hair behind Nicole's ear. "What's up with that text?"

Nicole cradled the glass in her hands, pursing her lips. "Yeah… sorry, just a little panic from waking up from a bad dream." She'd contemplated bringing up the kiss to Rosita, but the words seemed to stick to her tongue, a hard-to-swallow pill that caused more anxiety than it soothed.

"So it has nothing to do with you and Waverly mysteriously disappearing for a chunk of time last night?"

In the middle of another sip, Nicole nearly choked on the water. "What?"

Rosita shrugged. "I mean, not like anyone else was paying attention or anything but it's pretty suspicious when you suddenly disappear after Waverly kisses me and then she goes after you." Rosita gave her a suspicious look.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nicole crossed her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Uh huh. Sure."

Nicole hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of just coming out and saying it. "Waverly kissed me." The words came out before she could stop them.

"She kissed me too," Rosita joked. "She's actually really great at it." She paused for a moment, turning to look at Nicole closer. As if sensing Nicole's discomfort, Rosita pursed her lips, folding her legs under her. "But I'm guessing she didn't kiss you the way she kissed me."

Squirming uncomfortably, Nicole changed positions. "No." She had her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap.

"Okay so this is a we totally need to talk about it kind of kiss."

Nicole took a deep breath. It was so easy to turn her arms, to see the dark red marks on her skin again - permanent reminders. She curled her hands into fists, turning the scars away, as if she could pretend they weren't there. "I think we both drank too much and we were in the barn with just the two of us…"

Rosita reached over, slipping her hand into Nicole's. "By that, I'm guessing you kissed her back."

"I just… it hasn't even been a year since…" Nicole swallowed audibly, her words stuck in her mouth. It felt wrong to bring up Shae while talking about Waverly, but how could she avoid it? "I mean… I'm feeling so many damn emotions, I don't even know what to do anymore. Everything just keeps piling up and up and it's like I can see it about to tip over but I can't stop it."

"You're allowed to be happy, Nicole."

"I know."

Rosita snorted. "Do you? Because right now you're acting like you're supposed to be punished."

"Maybe I am…" Nicole spoke softly. She couldn't forget about the fight she'd had with Shae, how their last words had been an argument.

How she'd basically put Shae in that car.

Even if she verbally agreed with Rosita, she knew she didn't deserve to be happy. She deserved to be in pain for the rest of her life, loving and missing Shae.

"You're an idiot."

Nicole blinked, her head jerking up in surprise. "What the fuck?"

"You… are… an idiot," Rosita said slower, giving her a no-nonsense look.

"Wow… um… okay."

"Nicole, Sweetie." Rosita reached out and tapped the tip of Nicole's nose and Nicole swatted her hand away. "I love you. Like, I love you so much, but you are such an idiot. But, at least you're pretty."

"Why did I even call you up here?" Nicole exhaled loudly.

"I improve the aesthetics of the room." Rosita grinned. "That and your gay panic."

"It's not gay panic."

"It's the prime definition of gay panic."

"You're the prime definition of gay panic."

"That's mature," Rosita snorted. "Anyway, let's get back to you and Waverly and your gay shenanigans."

Nicole groaned, laying back down and covering her face. "I mean… she's not even gay," she huffed, rubbing her eyes. "She was dating Champ of all people." She made a face at his name.

"Excuse me with your gold star bullshit…" Rosita rolled her eyes. "Maybe she's bisexual… or pansexual… or fluid… not everyone adher's to your black and white gay scale, Miss I was born with a vag in my mouth."

"Shut up!" Nicole sat up just so she could push Rosita back.

Rosita just barely stayed sitting up. "Bitch." There was a moment of silence, both just living in the comfort of their friendship until Rosita eventually moved closer, sitting right next to Nicole. "If you honestly believed Waverly were 100% straight, do you think you'd be sitting here about to hyperventilate right now?"

Nicole knew it was true. There was no way to ignore the way Waverly had pressed against her, the softness of her hand against Nicole's cheek and the hunger in her kiss.

Rosita reached up, tugging on a lock of auburn hair. "Do you honestly think you would have stomped off into the cold, dark, night in a jealous fit if you weren't kind of into her?" A moment of silence passed between them before Rosita captured a tear that slipped down Nicole's cheek. "Hey. Come on. This is a good thing."

Nicole pulled away slightly, her hand coming up to rub at her eyes. "Do you…" She sniffled softly. "Do you think Shae would like Waverly?"

"God no, she'd fucking hate her."

Nicole pulled back in surprise, not expecting that comment. "What?"

"I mean, Waverly is fucking amazing," Rosita quickly spoke up, "but she's like… too perfect and you know how much Shae liked being the center of attention." Pausing for a moment, she pursed her lips before continuing. "I mean, even in the short time I've been here, I can tell that this town pretty much worships the ground that girl walks on, which is really fucking weird."

Nicole shook her head. "She's not perfect. She's flawed, and insecure, and…" Nicole looked down at her hands, picking at her nails. "She's so sad sometimes. She's so good at hiding it from everyone, but I guess maybe takes one to know one." She sniffled. "She's so damn guarded behind that damn smile and wave." Shaking her head, she sighed softly. "I'm such a fucking mess, Rosie."

"And that is totally acceptable." Rosita covered Nicole's hands with her own, stopping her picking fingers. "I miss her too, Nicole. Every day, I think about her." Rosita looked down at their hands, the dark red scars evident as always against Nicole's pale arms. "Sometimes I'll be getting dressed and in my head I'll hear her voice like 'you're not really wearing that top with those pants are you?'" She impersonated Shae's questioning voice.

Nicole had to laugh. "That's good. That's… that's definitely Shae." With a sigh, she adjusted her position, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on one knee. "I miss her, every damn day. I think about her, the good and the bad and how much I still love her." Nicole sniffled. "Waverly has this weird ability to… I don't know… calm shit." She took a deep breath, feeling her emotions settling even just thinking about Waverly's presence. "When she's around it's like the storm calms down, or rather makes way for a completely different storm… a storm I want to be in."

"That… is some deep shit." Rosita rolled her eyes. "Now, can we go downstairs so I can finish my breakfast?" She huffed. "Waverly is acting all skittish and the only other person down there is Gus. I need you to keep me company, at least until Wynonna wakes up." She gave Nicole a wink.

"Rosie…" Nicole was thoroughly distracted, as she unfolded her frame. "That is such a bad idea."

Rosita had the decency to smirk. "I know, but you know how much I like a bad idea."

----

"Good morning!"

Waverly looked up at Gus's greeting, seeing Nicole following Rosita into the dining room. She immediately got up from her seat to retrieve the coffee to pour Nicole a cup.

"Happy New Year." Nicole smiled at Gus. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I would have here," Gus answered with a chuckle.

Nicole stepped up to Waverly, who was holding a mug in her direction. "Thank you." She offered Waverly a smile and Waverly's cheeks flushed slightly.

"Of course. Have a seat and eat something."

Nicole nodded, taking a seat next to Rosita who had resumed alternating bites of her breakfast and typing into her phone.

"So, what are you lot up to today?" Gus folded up the paper she'd been reading, setting it aside. "Not much is open today. Everyone's nursing a hangover."

"I have a fantastic idea." Wynonna came bounding down the stairs and into the room. "Hey Gus, Baby Girl, Red…" She paused at Rosita, offering her a wink, "Hottie." She looked at Waverly whose eyebrows shot up to nearly her hairline. "We got some fresh snow last night. We should head out to Nakiska, show these Californians a good time."

"Naked kissing what?" Rosita perked up.

Nicole coughed loudly, nearly choking on a mouthful of eggs.

"Nakiska," Waverly corrected. "Wynonna wants to go snowboarding." She pursed her lips, thinking over the idea. "That could be fun. Did you want to drag the boys along?"

Wynonna snorted, dropping down next to Waverly and grabbing a pancake and beginning to pour syrup over it. "They wish. How about just us? Just a bunch of gals… being pals?" She looked at Rosita and licked a bit of syrup off her fingertip with a wink.

"Oh boy." Nicole focused on her own plate.

"We don't have to… if you don't want." Waverly smiled softly.

"No. It sounds like fun." Nicole nodded. "I've been wondering how different it is from surfing."

"Well I definitely can't tell you that." Waverly laughed, a sound that made Nicole smile wider. "Not a lot of ocean around here."

"Yeah. I've noticed." Nicole chuckled. "I don't know if we have any snowboarding worthy stuff."

"No worries. We've got a bunch of stuff. I'm sure we can find something to fit," Waverly added, looking at Wynonna.

"Yeah. I'm sure we can find something warm you can slip into."

Gus looked around the table and sighed heavily. 

#wayhaught #wynonna earp #pmm #tw: suicide #tw: blood

[nureyevapologist]

Hiyaaa, if you want an aftg prom still, pls consider: Neil coming home to his and andrew's apartment with one of his newest recruits, and they boy is beaten and battered and neil's first instict was to take care of him because no one ever took care of neil, and andrew's reaction to this! ❤

thanks for this!! i might have veered from the specifics a little and this is like, 70% a character study of neil and 30% Andreil Content but i hope this is okay!!

Neil Josten felt that he owed a lot to the idea of coincidences.

Coincidence was Neil taking an uncalculated risk on the Millport Dingoes the very same year that Riko Moriyama finally snapped and took the bones in Kevin Day’s hand with him. Coincidence was falling into the same orbit as the man who had watched Neil’s father slice a man like lunchmeat and coincidence was him being so single-mindedly focused on Exy that he didn’t notice Neil’s terrible dye job or the white ring around his contact lenses. Coincidence was Andrew Minyard being the single-most observant person Neil has ever met, and coincidence was Neil being forced into his field of vision.

Coincidence was also Neil here and now, stopping off at a convenience store to grab a packet of cigarettes and accidentally witnessing his potential new recruit fall victim to a heavy, parental hand. 

It had only taken one video on a grainy, digital camera to show Neil that this kid had the raw potential to be one of the greatest backliners Palmetto State would ever see. Not fifteen minutes into the footage had Neil shoved aside his other folders and said to Wymack, one thumb jutted at the screen, we have to have him. Wymack had shrugged, assented with a nonchalant you’re the captain, captain and the very next week saw the two of them riding out to Georgia in Neil’s shiny new Lexus.

(“Having a Pro Athlete for a boyfriend sure does have its perks, huh kiddo?” had almost gotten Wymack elbowed bodily out of a moving vehicle.

“Above your paygrade” in a smooth, Andrew-esque tone had Coach laughing for the next ten minutes of the drive, safe and unmoving in the passenger seat.)

So they had approached the boy, Josh, after hanging back in the shadows to watch his high school team completely demolish their opponents. Wymack had loitered, no doubt trying to catch the name of the opposition’s only saving grace, a furious offensive dealer, and Neil had attempted to look cool and friendly as opposed to cold and menacing.

Naturally, the kid told Neil to fuck off four times before Neil backed him into a corner and told him to stop squandering his future by being unnecessarily abrasive. There was something in the complicated ice of this boy’s eyes that Neil connected with, an innate fear that ducked for cover behind aggression and hunched shoulders. One minute he stood every inch his five feet and ten inches and the next, body folded in on itself like he was willing it to disappear, he looked to stand no taller than Neil himself.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” Neil had said, arms tucked across his chest with all of his patchwork scars on show, “but I come from Palmetto State. I’m not here to judge, or pry, or fix. I don’t give a shit about your tragic backstory, I give a shit about the way you single-handedly held up your team’s defense line and I give a shit about putting you on an NCAA Class I Exy team. If you can get over yourself for five minutes, I suggest you sign first and cry later”

Every fibre in this kid’s body twitched like he wanted to run and Neil was hit, not for the first time, with jarring memory of himself in this position, shadows of a dark locker room curling in around his ankles, Wymack promising a future he’d never stayed still long enough to know he wanted. Sentiment was lost on Neil, most of the time. Still, if his family of Foxes had taught him anything, it was that sometimes you had to save people despite them not wanting to be saved. At this point, that may as well be the Palmetto State Motto. Neil had given the kid a few hours to think on it. Go home, talk to whoever you need to talk to, think about it. Just remember that we did not drive out here for a no.

Wymack had, of course, grumbled about having to spend a few hours sweating my damn ass off in the pleasure of your company but had mellowed somewhat when Neil had taken him for a suitably greasy dinner and showed him how to use his new phone to FaceTime Dan. He had allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the scene; Wymack, his face far too close to the screen, cursing Dan out for not texting him all week because saying I miss you is too overrated. Dan, a pixelated blur of joy and exuberance, showing her father every single corner of her new apartment and zooming in on one Matt Boyd, tangled helplessly in the middle of an Ikea side table.

With Wymack occupied, Neil had called Andrew, who answered on the very last ring because he was a certified asshole at the best of times. “Am I to assume you will be elsewhere when I get to the dorms?”

Andrew always makes him feel so known. “I managed to pick another stubborn one”

“Yes,” Andrew says, his voice a slow rumble over the familiar, quiet growl of the Maserati, “because you were so quick to acquiesce”

“I might have been running to grab a pen,” Neil replies. Andrew doesn’t laugh, but there’s a puff of air that Neil recognises as amusement, and his own mouth curls. “I think I sold him, though. A few hours and I might finally have secured a backliner”

“You should hope so,” and then there’s a beat of silence and the tell-tale flick of a lighter, “because I refuse to listen to you whine about it all weekend”

“So you admit that you do listen, when I talk?”

“Absolutely not” and when the silence stretches for a beat too long, Neil lifts the phone from his ear and realises Andrew has disconnected the call. Typical Andrew, but now Neil’s fingers twitch to hold a cigarette and he distinctly remembers leaving them behind at the behest of Wymack’s disapproving frown. Beneath his thighs the sticky vinyl booth creaks in protest when he shifts his weight and he waves a round-about hand at Wymack before ducking out of the diner, knowing that Wymack will see him cross the road toward the convenience store and put two and two together.

It says a lot for how far he has allowed himself to sink into safety and familiarity and family that he doesn’t immediately notice the shouting. He’s caught up in realising his ID is somewhere in the glove compartment of his car and wondering if his sharp scars and sharper expression will dissuade the cashier from asking questions. Behind the front counter is a door, all peeling red paint and a half-hearted Staff Only sign, and the slight space between the door and the frame is the source of the noise. Neil has no interest in interfering. Neil has no interest in even listening to some inane disagreement between cashier and colleague, and is considering returning to the diner empty handed when he hears a sharp crack, followed by a sharper, you are never leaving me, Joshua, not ever and the unmistakeable sound of hands pummelling flesh. Something in Neil twitches to intervene but he isn’t stupid enough to walk into a small room with flying fists so, in a bid of panic, he thumps the bell by the cash drawer once, twice, three times.

A man appears from the back, face flushed the red of barely-swallowed anger, eyes a little wild and searching. Neil smiles something icy and the man is stupid enough to misread it. “Sorry ‘bout that, had’ta catch up on some paperwork in the back. What can I do ya for?”

There’s a moment where everything slows down and Neil files away details like his life depends on it. Blood, smeared across the knuckles of one large, meaty hand. A row of scratches, three raised and red, sit tucked against his chunky neck in an indication that someone had raised a hand to defend themselves. A gold ring, thick and faded, shaped to spell out DAD. Neil doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he opens his mouth to ask for a packet of Camel Blue and what comes out is “someone round the back is casing the place, you might want to check that out”

A self-righteous rage takes over the man’s expression, clouding his eyes and the twist of his mouth and he claps Neil on the shoulder as he passes on his way to the door. Men like him, Neil thinks, are far too predictable for their own good. Something like a memory tugs at his subconscious; Neil at age sixteen, dropping a similar line, waiting for the all clear to stuff his pockets full of food and hightail it out of there before anyone noticed. That, Neil thinks, was a far more sensible plan than whatever this was. He rounds the corner of the cashier desk, nudges the back door open with the flat of his hand and comes face to face with the cowering, crumpled body of his newest recruit.

The kid, Josh, is folded in on himself in the far corner of this office, schoolbag tossed a few paces away, face hidden in his hands. At Neil’s entrance he starts so hard Neil almost feels it like a physical thing and then his face does something complicated when he realises it isn’t his father; relief warring with shame warring with anger warring with hope. One of his eyes is beginning to blacken and there’s blood pouring from a cut in his eyebrow – the ring, the fucking ring – and from one side of a crooked nose. His wrist doesn’t look particularly healthy and the way he holds himself tells Neil that this is not a one off occurrence.

“What do you want?” asks Josh, and Neil has no fucking idea. There are scars on his skin from the hands of his father and the hands of his mother and there were long years of his life where he was so accustomed to being beaten within an inch of his life that he never stopped to think that maybe, he didn’t deserve it and maybe, it wasn’t normal and maybe, someone should have helped him. How many teachers saw his black eyes, his split lips, his bruised arms, and how many of them said nothing. How many strangers saw his mother grip his wrist so tightly that it popped, pulling him into a car or a hotel or an alley, how many men saw his father pummel him like a punch bag?

Without thinking about it too much, Neil holds out a hand. “I want to help you. I want you to come with me”

Josh scoffs, gesturing loosely to his face. “This is nothing compared to what he’ll do if he comes in here and I’m gone”

Neil frowns. “Look at me,” and he points to his own scarred face with equally scarred hands, “look at my face and tell me you don’t think I’ve survived worse than your piece of shit father. Come with me, now, and don’t ever come back. Let us help you”

And there it is again, the flurry of anger-fear-shame-hope. “Why?”

“You’re a damn good backliner,” Neil tells him simply, “and if you let that pathetic excuse of a man beat you any harder you won’t be, anymore”

Hesitation twists his features into something ugly. Neil knows that he has minutes, maybe seconds until the man outside realises he’s been set up. If Neil has to pick saving himself over saving this kid, he’ll probably save himself, but Josh drags himself to his feet and looks Neil squarely in the face. “If I do this…he will come looking for me”

“And he will find an entire team of angry, troubled Exy players who know their way around a racquet” Neil replies. “I can protect you, but we have to leave. Right now”

His jaw goes tight but he nods, once. Neil nods back and together they make their way toward the front of the store, Neil pushing ahead, body strung-tight with focus. Outside he nudges Josh ahead of him, watches him adjust his gait around a lopsided limp, reels in his anger for another day.

They reach the Lexus across the street and a voice from behind calls “Joshua, get back here this goddamn instant.”

Three things happen.

Josh, in a bout of incredible bravery, flips his father the middle finger and falls over himself to clamber into the back seat of Neil’s car. The father, in a bout of incredible anger, starts for Neil like he means to snap his head from his body. Wymack, in a bout of incredible exhaustion at the familiarity of a situation such as this, appears at Neil’s right shoulder and swings a right hook up and under the man’s jaw.

It sends the man on his ass and in a split-second shared glance, Neil and Wymack make the mutual decision to get the fuck out of there.

Over the course of their drive back to Palmetto, Neil explains the situation with their new backliner, Wymack assures Josh that he will be resolutely protected, and Josh leaks blood all in the fancy seats of Neil’s car. When it doesn’t seem like it will stop, Neil shucks off his hoodie and throws it at the kid, telling him to hold it fast to the wound – after a brief, whispered argument, Neil pulls over and hands Wymack the keys and throws himself into the backseat to try and assess the damage. The ring hadn’t cut his eyebrow so much as it had gouged out a chunk of skin and his nose and lip are bust but mostly dried up. There’s a patch of blood at his side, seeping through his white t-shirt, and he waves that away as split stitches. From what, Neil doesn’t ask. He tries to staunch the bleeding but succeeds only in covering his own fingers in the blood, and in the end Wymack has to drive them straight to Abby’s house.

“Abby is our team nurse,” Neil explains, while Wymack tries to parallel park a Lexus under a blanket of colourful curses, “she patches up sprained ankles but she also patched up every wound visible on my skin, so you can trust her. I can stay, if you want, or I can leave you in her capable hands while I go back to campus and make preparations for you. There’s a spare bed in one of the freshman dorm rooms, or you can stay with Abby, or you can sleep on my sofa. Whatever you need”

Josh tucks his arms around himself, bravado stripped for the day. Neil assumes it will come back, that things will be difficult, that the kid’s attitude will fling itself all over the place, but for now he’s looking at Neil like Neil just saved his life and Neil thinks he just might have.

“You can go,” Josh says, “I have more shit under here I don’t wanna flash to anyone but a nurse, right now. Uh, I don’t…maybe I can stay on your sofa? For a bit. I don’t…”

“Hey,” Neil interrupts, “you don’t have to explain. Sofa it is. Though, I should tell you, my…my boyfriend is visiting right now, and he isn’t the friendliest person you’ll ever meet-”

“Understatement,” Wymack interrupts, “fucking understatement”

“-but,” and Neil flips off Wymack, “as long as you don’t give him any reason to distrust you, you’ll be safe”

He watches the kid for a minute, waiting for something. Protest, anger, homophobia, acceptance. Instead he shrugs, tired, overwhelmed, and climbs out of the car. Wymack follows him out, with a parting jab about Neil’s use of the term boyfriend, and then Neil is left to drive back to campus alone.

Maybe it should be embarrassing that the sight of the Maserati fills Neil with a fuzzy sort of warmth but this past half-a-year has begrudgingly taught him that distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever, and that he should allow himself to recognise that he misses Andrew and likes it when he comes home.

Or maybe Bee had taught him that, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Andrew.

The man in question is leaning up against the hood of his car, sleek and sharp in his black jeans and leather jacket, one booted-foot propped against the license plate, a cigarette between his lips. He’s gotten broader, since Neil last saw him, bulkier in the arms and shoulders and if Andrew is feeling up to it, Neil wants to relearn the shape of him with his fingers, maybe even his mouth.

Andrew doesn’t look up when the Lexus pulls in, feigning a nonchalance the set of his jaw doesn’t quite convey, but he does look up when Neil steps out of the car and his face transitions from smooth to thunder so fast it gives Neil whiplash.

“What happened?”

Neil blinks and Andrew’s hands are on him, fingers tilting his jaw this way and that, skimming down the sides of his body, eyes roaming for injury. Neil belatedly realises that he has Josh’s blood on his hands, a little on his shirt and he curves his own fingers around Andrew’s wrists, meets his eye with a calm stare. “It isn’t mine”

“That,” Andrew says, shoulders settling away from tension, “is not as reassuring as you seem to think it is”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Had some trouble with the new recruit. He’ll be staying with us”

Andrew arches a pale eyebrow, studying the blood on Neil’s fingers with a calculated disinterest. Neil huffs. “His father was beating the shit out of him”

“Where is he now?”

“Abby’s”

Andrew studies him for a long moment. Then, “I thought taking in strays was my thing”

“Well,” and Neil smooths his thumbs down over the fine bones of Andrew’s wrists, “someone had to pick up the slack. I couldn’t leave him there. So many people must have seen my mother backhand me and no one ever stepped in. How could I-”

“Stop it,” Andrew says, and Neil stops. “You cannot take responsibility for every single person in the world. It will never make your mother un-hit you”

Neil flinches, but he knows Andrew is right. Still, “I can help him. I can help this one. I want to”

“Alright”

“Yeah?”

Andrew gives him a look. “What, were you asking my permission? Are we adopting this child together?”

Neil laughs, a new thing, tipping his head back, teeth slipping past his lips. “You don’t think we’d make good parents?”

Andrew steps close enough that one of his boots rests between Neil’s two sneakers, their hands still clasped between them becoming squashed between their chests. “I would be a textbook parent. You would be a nightmare”

“I resent that,” Neil tells him “We’re never having kids”

“Obviously”

“Cats, maybe”

Andrew blinks. “Cats? You’ve thought about cats?”

Neil shrugs, once, but can’t fight the smile spilling back onto his face. “We’re getting cats. You said yourself that you like taking in strays”

“No,” Andrew says, firm. “I do not like it. The last one I took in continues to test my patience, so I will not have another”

“I’ve been testing your patience for four years and you’ve yet to get rid of me” Neil reminds him, “I think you’re getting soft”

“I think I am getting back in my car and leaving you here” Andrew replies, allowing it when Neil’s hands wiggle up between their bodies to frame his face.

“I think you’re going to help me make use of my empty dorm room before a freshman backliner moves in onto my sofa”

Andrew doesn’t respond to this either way but he allows it when Neil stretches to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and he allows it when Neil takes him by the fingers and leads him into Fox Tower, and he certainly allows it when Neil peels him out of his leather jacket before the door is even closed behind them.

(Later, when Josh announces his presence with a tentative knock at the door, Andrew answers it. Neil watches them size one another up and then Andrew reaches up into his armband for a knife. “Use this on anyone other than your father,” he says, “and I will use it to remove your hands”

If the expression on his face is anything to go by, Josh has no idea what he’s agreeing to in taking that knife, but he does it anyway. Neil has to hide his smile in the collar of his newly-acquired leather jacket.)

#answered #prompt fills #andreil #fic

[fromforeigntofamiliarity]

Trust | Montgomery De La Cruz | Part 2

Summary: Reader was having a normal morning until someone decided to pull a stupid prank

Warning: None

Montgomery De La Cruz x Reader

Its been about 2 months since you broke up with Montgomery and you had no intention on getting back together with him.

Everything seemed so better, you got to wear your favorite perfume that Monty told you sent like shit, and dress, shirt, or shorts you want without him yelling at you about ‘walking about with you ass half out’.

But like everything there was a bad side Monty had been calling and texting you almost nonstop half of which were happening while he was drunk, he ever showed up at your house one night thank god your parents weren’t home, having to sleep alone with no one to cuddle with even though Montgomery was cheating on you he held you so close to him at night that he might have thought you would evaporate if he didn’t.

You also started to notice him getting into more fights at school or coming to school with bruises that weren’t there the day before leaving you to conclude that he had been sleeping at home most nights.

The bell had just rang for third period while you were on your way to ap history when a hand went over you mouth and one around your waist. You start to kick but soon after your feet are restrained as well.

When you finally set down you look around and your surrounded by guys in the middle of the boys locker room.

As you survey the faces of your attackers you realize it none other than the Liberty High baseball team.

“Thanks I’ve alway wanted to know what it felt like to be kidnapped.” You said sarcastically but still with and uneasy feeling as you knew what most of the baseball team were into. “I guess I can also say I know how Natalie Greendale felt at Sheri’s party.” You joked with a small laugh once you realized no one else was laughing you kept quiet....of a while.

“OKAY WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?!?” You yelled.

“Well explain in a minute just calm down.” Zach said.

“No zach I’m not gonna calm down in a room full of high school male and not a witness in sight.” I sneered.

“What do you think we’re gonna do Y/N?” Bryce asked taking a step closer to you.

“I don’t know Bryce you tell me, but I do know that if you don’t back the fuck up it will be the last think you do.” You replied.

“Alright let’s all calm down here.” You turn at a new voice entering the locker room.

“We’re all calm here coach.” Bryce says taking a few steps back.

“No were not I was just kidnapped.” You interjected.

“Look we’re sorry about that we just needed to talk to you.” Scott explained.

“And ‘hey Y/N.’ Wasn’t gonna workout for you?” You asked rolling your eyes.

“We didnt think you would listen if you knew what it was about.” Zach said making you have him a look to tell him to continue. “Monty.”

“Oh hell no.” You said turning on your heels and heading towards the door, only to find you path blocked by no less than 7 males.

“Hey Y/N, is it? Monty is one of the best guys on this team and as of late it’s been showing in his preformance on the field that something is off with him.” Coach spoke up. “And according to the team this all happened when you guys broke up.”

“Still not seeing what this has to do with me.” You interrupted.

“Look I’ve seen you around school with Monty and at the games in the stands cheering him on and you two seemed like a pretty solid pair and you don’t want one little fight to ruin that do you?” He asked condescendingly.

“Uh coach.” A random member started. “He was cheating on her for almost a month.”

“And that’s awful but everybody makes mistakes.” Bryce replied.

“Yeah and im not putting up with his ‘mistakes’ anymore.” You snapped. “I had to come to school everyday and see the girl my boyfriend was fucking behind my back, see them talking and flirting and act like I didn’t know anything so I don’t look like the crazy jealous girlfriend! For 3 week he looked me in my eye and lied to me and then had the nerve to accuse me of cheating and call me a slut!” You yelled causing half the team to flinch.

“Look no one ever said Monty was smart, but i since you dumped is ass he’s had a hair trigger and if he gets into anymore fights porters gonna bench him for the rest of the season, not that it matters is playing has sucked.” Scott quickly got to the point seeing you were running out of patience.

“I never asked him to be smart Scott I just wanted him to be loyal, or is that too much to ask from you people. You know if the roles were reversed I’d be slut-shamed out of the school, but when a guy does it we’re just expected to forgive him?! Well fuck you! I’d say fuck Monty but I’m sure someone is already on that now either you let me out of this damn room or I’m gonn a start screaming rape at the top of my lungs not that that would be beyond any of you!” You shout. “No offense Zach, Scott.” You said becoming a little calmer.

“All good.” Zach said at the same time Scott replied with a “no problem.”

After you exited the locker loom you went straight to class but you couldn’t focus on anything that was happening your thoughts were only on Montgomery.

Was he really that upset about your break up?

Of course not he wasn’t thinking about you when he was screwing Natalie.

But the team needs him.

So what has the team ever done for you?

Everyone deserves a second chance.

He had a second chance the first time he slept with her, the chance to come clean and never do it again but he wanted to her more than he cared about you.

Thoughts like these were floating though your head the whole day. Finally it was time to go home when you were trying to make your way to the door but a huge crowd was blocking your exit.

��I’m gonna beat your fucking as Adams!” You hear a familiar voice from the core of the mob.

“What the fucks your problem all I’m saying is it not my fault you cheated on your girl and got caught.”someone replied.

As you pushed your way through the crowed you saw just what you expected to see and angry Montgomery. What you didn’t expect was to see the face of the Asshole jock the tried to suck your face.

You felt a presence beside you causing you to look and come face to face with Bryce walker.

“What Walker?” You sighed.

“Nothing just wondering if your gonna let this happen?” He asked gesturing towards Monty.

“I’m not letting anything happen, this has nothing to do with me.” You replied.

“Yeah your probably right. But it’s no secret Monty has been looking for a reason to beat Adams to a pulp, and when he’s does there will be no more baseball he could miss the chance at a scout. Not to mention his dad will hear about it as we both know how that’s gonna end assuming no one presses charges and sends mont straight to jail, but yeah completely out of your hands it’s not like you could stop it or anything.” He went on and on.

Taking off your backpack and trusting to towards him which he takes.

“I hate you.” You say before walking to stand between Monty and Adams.

“Y/N what are you doing? Move.” Monty said still staring down the boy behind you who once you looked at him realized how scared he was. He knew he fucked up and that once Monty started it would take a lot for him to stop.

“Monty no.” You said holding you hand out keeping him from coming forward. “Think about this, even if you beat him up now what’s gonna happen to you after?” You asked.

“I don’t care.” He gritted out.

“I do Montgomery look at me.” You order but you demand went ignored.

You move closer to him and put your hand on either side of his face and gently guilt it down to the level of your eyes.

“Look at me.” You say softly as he finally submits. “I’m willing to talk about us Monty but you have to prove to me it’s worth it. Please just come with me and walk away. Please.” You quietly beg.

He started into your eyes for what seemed like forever.

“Fine.” Said causing you to let out a sigh of relief. You glance over to Bryce and nod.

“Alright, alright folks nothing to see here clear out!” He said starting to wave people off.

Once the group had dispersed Bryce had returned your bag to you and reminded Monty about having practice before the game tonight.

“Okay let’s go talk.” He said reaching for your wrist. You move slightly out of his reach.

“Not now Montgomery.” You replied.

“But you said.” He started.

“And we will, but you heard Bryce you have practice and a game. We can talk after.” You clarify.

“Your coming to my game?” Monty asked. You didn’t miss the joy fill his eyes as he waited for your answer.

“Yeah I’ll be there.” You say bitting your lips.

“Okay that’s great.” He exclaimed. Before you could stop him he quickly pecked you on your lips. “Oh I’m sorry.” He said once he realized what he didn’t.

“It’s fine, but just because I’m willing to talk doesn’t mean we’re getting back together.” You clarify.

“I know but if you do get back together I promise I’ll treat you like the angel you always were to me.” He said.

“You should go you have a game to win.” You said with a small smile.

“Yeah I’ll see you later.” He said walking backwards as if when he turned around you would disappear.

“I’ll see you later.” You said turning to walk away.

Once you got you your car you sat there staring straight forward.

“What the hell am I gonna do.” You said dropping your head down into the steering wheel a little too hard.

“Ow.” You quietly wined rubbing your forehead.

#13 reasons why #montgomery de le cruz #hanna baker #masterlist #reader #montgomery de la cruz x reader #sheri holland #zach dempsy #clay jensen #13 reason why imagine #alex standall #bryce walker #tapes #jessica davis #justin foley #part 2 #tony padilla #courtney crimson #trust #netfilx #season 2 #female!reader #season 1 #marcus cole #montgomery x reader #monty x reader

[totallyexhausted]

Small Head cannon/ Snippet

Can we take a moment to appreciate the post by @toosicktoocare that mentions Loki telling Peter when his “anger” gets to a Ten... I like this head cannon and wrote a small end fic. I posted it earlier too- sorry, I was just excited :) I just totally see this whole ordeal as being Loki’s fault- him seeking out a villain and taking Peter with him because he figured he could take the guy easily. Obviously that didn’t happen. I also see Loki trying to protect the lanky teenager he had, over the past few weeks, grown fond of, and once Thor and the rest of the Avengers rescues them, backs off, letting the team fuss over Peter. (If the bad guy got away then Loki tries everything in his power to seek the guy out- but, I also see him breaking free of his restraints at the end of this and killing the guy in cold blood). Tony is of course furious because Peter went against him, and he doesn’t trust Loki- believing that the Asgardian was the one who put the kid in danger and hurt him... however, he later finds out this isn’t/ wasn’t true. Loki hides the fact that he was hurt because Peter was in FAR worse shape than he was and convinces everyone he is FINE. Thor, of course, hovers and grows concerned like always, but Loki is Loki and he is the God of Mischief. Then again, there really is only so much the trickster can take... 

………………………………………………………………………………………...

Eight...

Loki bit his lip, his right hand clenching tightly as he struggled to break free from the restraints wrapped around his torso. He looked to the left, breathing slowly as his eyes met the crumpled form of Peter lying against the gray concrete, blood pooling around his unconscious body, dripping from his mouth, from the cut of his forehead; his mask had been ripped off and thrown next to the boy, bathing in the dark crimson.

Loki had tried calling to the boy, had tried to reach him, had tried to protect him… and yet, he had failed. He had failed, and because of him, because of his stupidity, the young misgaurdian was going to die.

Something crashed in front of him and he jerked his head away from Peter, towards the huge man standing a few feet away. Blood dripped from Loki‘s chin and he spit towards the ground, his hands clenching violently as anger washed over him, clawing past the guilt plaguing his heart as the man laughed.

„Im going to fucking kill you,“ Loki spat. His vision wavered harshly, darkness threatening to envelope him as his knees shook from extertion. He’d been tied up, restrained against the cemented pillar for quiet some time now, though if he’d been honest, he wasn’t really sure just how long. By now, he figured Thor and the rest of his boy band would have showed up… and yet…. 

The man laughed again, walking towards the unconscious teenager. He pressed his foot against the boy‘s shoulder, kicking him violently, turning Peter over before squatting down, pulling the boy up by his hair. Peter let out a small whimper but failed to open his eyes, failed to move, failed to get away. But… he was still alive. Nine...

Loki lurched, bringing his hands forward as he tried to lunge towards him, „If you touch him again, I swear it to all of Asgard, I will-“

„You’ll what, exactly?“ The man interjected, straightening his posture, dragging the teenager with him towards the center of the room. Loki watched in horror as blood smeared across the floor, dripping from the misgaurdian’s form, his Spiderman suit shredded. The Trickster bowed his head slightly, glancing towards his feet, looking, hoping to find something, anything to break him free. He felt his blood beginning to boil, his fingernails digging into the palms of his flesh as he looked back up, his eyes cold, his jaw locked and tense as he met the eyes of the man holding them captive. 

The man dropped the boy harshly, his head smacking against the cement with a sickening thud and Loki grit his teeth. He pressed his head against the pillar behind him as he glanced around the dimly lit room. His magic was useless here, his threats useless… the man who Loki had stupidly sought out was stronger, was smarter than he looked… and now, now Peter was going to pay the price. Ten... 

There was a loud bang outside the door, followed by shouting and the man jerked his head towards the commotion as the Asgardian let out a small chuckle, „My friends are here.“ 

Silence hung in the air, and for a moment, just this once, Loki was grateful his older brother was coming to save him. He swallowed thickly, glancing towards the pale teenager lying motionless on the floor, his eyebrows raising slightly as he watched the kid’s fingers twitching, his eyes fluttering. Peter was waking up. The man snickered, pressing his hand against his ear, saying something Loki probably should have been hearing, but instead- the only thing the God of Mischief was concerned about, the only thing grasping his attention right now, right here, was Peter. 

„Are they? No matter,“ the man said carefully, turning back toward Loki. He bent down, tearing off a piece of Peter‘s suit, reaching for a needle on the tray of instruments behind him. Dread coursed through the Asgardian’s heart, freezing the blood in his veins, the commotion outside momentarily forgotten as he watched the purple liquid drip from the syringe. No! Loki lunged again, his eyes widening as the man pierced the teenager‘s skin, „I‘m going to fucking kill you!“

The man looked up, throwing the needle beside him, kicking at the kid‘s chest before he made his way towards the Asgardian. More screaming echoed through the halls, gunfire against the door, and an evil smirk filled the man‘s face, pulling it down slightly, his rotting teeth showing, „You can try, my friend... but you’re already too late.”  

Loki clenched his fists, feeling his magic returning to him slowly as a mischievous grin crossed his face, his jaw locked once more. Anger surged in him, and suddenly the fear he’d had moments ago dissipated. Was he going to kill the man? Without question. Was he willing to sacrifice half the planet in order to do so? Most definitely.  Behind them, Peter groaned softly…

Eleven...

#KB #Headcannon #Loki #Peter Parker #hurt/comfort