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tendousthoughts · 3 years

Note

Yo yo yo... god that cringy but anyway! I would like to request something that I saw on another blog. It’s when the s/o has a fight with the boys and after it the boys go to the bedroom or somewhere to be alone but when they come out they see that their s/o is gone. In reality they just went outside for a walk to clear their head but our precious boyos panic that they left them for good.

I hope I explained that well I’m pretty new to requesting and stuff but I really love what you’ve written so far on your blog🥺

HQ Boys Thinking Their S/O Left Them Pt. 1

Character(s) included: Sakusa & Iwaizumi

Warning(s): Foul language (cursing), flinching

Song of the day: Meteor Shower by Cavetown

A/N to ask writer: Heyo! Thanks for enjoying my content! I love this idea, thanks for sharing. If you were looking for a specific character(s) to be put in this prompt go ahead and shoot me a pm/dm, write another message in anon or non-anon, or just comment on this!

A/N: Heyo as you can see I’ve added a new section for people who are my ask box writers in answering too! I got some new rps but if anyone wants to chat! This prompt gave me a lot of space to work with and I’ve decided that it will always probably be a four part series as well or maybe five. I’m extremely sorry about the break I took. If you have any ideas what to call this please tell me lmao. If you have any requests please read my rules first! Sorry for my grammatical and spelling errors. Reblogs, follows, and likes are greatly appreciated!

Where to find all the parts!

Where to find all my content!

Sakusa

It was a one sided fight. As always. He was yelling and you just took it. It was your fault after all. You shouldn’t have touched his shit, but you did. So now you are here. Holding back your pathetic tears. A mouth full of words was pushing through your lips and soon they fell out. “Sometimes I wonder why you’re still with me..” you whisper, no longer able to push back your tears. “I mean I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” You mutter softly.

He sat their stunned for a moment, “Maybe I want to be alone, but fuck your so clingy and nosey.” He muttered softly. He looked up at you, disgust in his eyes. “You know sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to you at birth to make you this fucked up. We’re you dropped or something?” He screamed. His hands now balled up into fist. You’re scared. You’re not going to lie. As he steps forward you flinch and that brings him back to reality. Instead of saying something he backs off and slams the door. You sit there stunned.

“I’m sorry..” you whisper and leave, grabbing most of your stuff. What ever you can grab at that moment which happens to be your phone, keys, wallet, and jacket. You take a deep breath as you slip on your shoes and leave quietly. Locking the door after yourself.

I’m sorry

Your thoughts were all over the place as you got into your car. Grabbing your phone you turn it off. Not wanting any calls or texts. Expecting none, but that just might hurt you more. You take a deep breath and decide to drive nowhere on a random freeway. You start the car and leave.

Hours passed when Sakusa finally came out of the room, “y/n..?” He whispered softly. Now missing you as he didn’t know what he was doing. He looked around and soon realized some of your stuff was gone, and so were you.

He bit his lip running to his room as he called you. “Pick up.. pick up.. pick up..” he whispered.

Heyo! You’ve happened to miss me! I’m sorryyy but I am probably hanging out with my amazing boyfriend. Please leave a message and I’ll call you back soon! Anyways gotta go. I’m going to get in trouble with my boss if he catches me on my phone.

He bit his lip hearing the voicemail. It’s funny, he had never heard it before. Maybe it was because he never called and it was always you. Or maybe because when he did you picked up immediately. Unknowingly tears start to roll down his face. He fucked up. He knows he fucked up.

He lays down on the bed you guys share and just holds your pillow close. Tears rolling down his cheek. He calls again but waits till he can say something. “Y/n.. I’m sorry.. Please pick up. I’m sorry.” He sniffles as his tears fall. “I didn’t mean any of it.. please..” he whimpered softly as he knew it was no use. He ended the call and just cried for a few hours.

When night came he decided not to eat. He wasn’t feeling good as he tried to call you again. Yet not to his surprise he heard the same voicemail. Tears welled up as he heard your soothing voice. He couldn’t believe he made you so scared that you flinched away from him. “Y/n.. baby.. please.. I’m sorry.. I miss you.. I know I sound stupid and you probably want some space.. b..but please..” he hung up. Throwing his phone as he hugged your pillow closer.

At 11 pm you finally make it back. Hoping he is sleeping as you walk in. But to your surprise you can hear soft cries and whimpers coming from the room you share. You bit your lip softly as you gently put your stuff down. Softly taking a deep breath, you gently knock.

“Ba.. Sakusa..” You bite your lip as a couple seconds later you can hear the sound of someone fall or something and then you’re greeted with a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry..” he whimpered softly as he just held on to you. “Please don’t go.” Fear was heard clearly in his voice.

You bit your lip. “Baby.. I’m right here.. take a deep breath.. I’m dirty Sakusa you gotta let me go..” you whispered worried how he might react later.

“No..” he whispered softly as he held on tighter. “P..please no..” he was scared.

“Okay okay.. I’ve got you.. no leaving..” you smiled softly as you gently held him. “I’ve got you..” you muttered softly. You gently held him kissing his head. You take off your jacket and make your way to the bed you guys share. Gently sitting down and Sakusa followed.

He hugged on to you immediately as tears flood his eyes. “I’m sorry.. I don’t want you to leave me and stuff.. I didn’t mean any of it..” he whispered softly “I love you so much.” He muttered.

“I love you too baby..” you whispered softly playing with his curly dark hair. “I didn’t mean to worry you okay.. I’m sorry baby..” you mumble softly.

“It’s my fault.. I got angry and I started yelling and.. a..and I wanted to show you how mad I was.. and I started to scream at you and I said that I didn’t want you to be so clingy.. I didn’t mean that. I missed you and when I went to find you I couldn’t.. and it scared me and I know I fucked it. And I know I shouldn’t have done that. When I saw you finch I didn’t know.. I..I just thought about how terrible I was acting and stuff..” he whispered softly. “When I tried to call you.. you didn’t pick up and then I heard your voicemail.. and I don’t know I just..” he was crying into your chest as he held on.

“Shush.. I’ve got you.. I’m sorry baby.. I know.. it was my fault okay? You didn’t mean too. I touched your stuff and I didn’t think about how you would feel.” You whispered softly, kissing his head softly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.. and you know I wouldn’t ever just leave you without saying anything. I won’t do that to you..” you whispered as he closed his eyes and just held on. “I’ve got you and won’t let you go I promise..” you whispered softly while holding him.

“I love you..” he whispered softly as he looked up to you. Tears in his eyes. “I love you so much..” he whispered.

“I love you too darling..” you smile softly. Holding him till he falls asleep. Once he does you close your eyes and fall asleep too.

Iwaizumi

He got jealous easily. Everyone knew that. He was the type to act on his jealousy. Not only that, but he acted upon them in irrotational ways. So when he heard that you were hanging out with a coworker, it wasn't an extreme surprise that he made a huge deal about it. Starting an argument as soon as you get back.

"Just tell me who the fuck he is!" He screamed, his voice echoed in the hallway. You weren’t even inside yet and he was already acting as if he was going to kill someone.

"Can I even just come in?" you look up at him. You’re clearly annoyed which might just make him more upset.

"Oh okay just come inside! Would you like something to drink too?” He said sarcastically.“Oh wait you went and had coffee already with this 'coworker'!" He screamed as you pushed your way through the door.

When you turn to him the door is already shut and he is waiting for an answer. “It’s a coworker I don’t need to repeat myself, and I won’t. I’m not going to not hang out with people because you want me too!” You scream. Here’s the thing. Your so fucking sick and tired of him pushing you around. You used to take his shit but a month or two ago you started to respond. There’s no fucking reason for his shit.

“Ya you know what. Maybe I would be okay with it if it wasn’t taking up our time together!” He screamed and at this point nobody is really understanding what the other is saying.

“Our time? Our time?! How fucking dare you. You’re always at work! I don’t get a word out before you kick me out of our office!” You look at him in annoyance.

“My work is something I can’t just ignore! So I don’t understand why you keep bringing it up! Your fucking coworker can wait can’t they? I mean you knew I was off today! Did the whole fucking date just skim over your head?” He screamed. Now everything sorta just clicks.

“Wait ba-” but before you can finish he had already left the room. A few brief seconds pass by and you are met with the sound of a door slamming. “Fuck..” you muttered softly.

A few minutes go by and you come to the idea that he wants some time alone. You are just coming home, and are already ready to leave. So you slip on your shoes and leave. Locking the door after you head out to go get some for him, full of his favorite snacks and stuff. Knowing full well that wouldn’t fix it but maybe it could make him a bit happier.

When you get to your car you get a pop up from your reminders app. You feel a wave of tears. “Fuck,” you muttered throwing your phone to the next seat over as you start to drive.

It takes about half an hour for him to notice you’re not there anymore. He doesn’t hear your footsteps or anything as he gets up to check. After a moment or two he knows you left for sure. “Fucking shit. Misses our date and then leaves..” he muttered softly as he headed to the shared room.

You arrived getting a few things as you don’t think about anything other than how to make him happy.

After an hour or two more he bit his lip softly now a bit worried if you’re okay. But he doesn’t call waiting an hour before he does so.

Ring…

Hello! It seems like you have sadly missed me. I can call you back as soon as possible! Just please leave a message! Bye bye!

It takes him a moment before he opts just to hang up. When he does he releases a shaky breath.

An hour later you get back with some stuff gently placing the stuff down as you take off your jacket and shoes.

Iwaizumi hears you scrambling up and running over. A sigh of relief falls as he sees you standing there. “Thank god..” he muttered softly, walking up to you.

You look over unsure what to say as you feel his arms tightly wrap around you. “I’m.. I’m sorry Hajime…” you whispered softly as tears welled up. You hugged him tight as you felt terrible. “I’m sorry…” you whisper again.

“Hey it’s okay.. I know you didn’t mean to.. I just.. I was upset because it feels like sometimes when I do make time for you something happens.. like last time and shit. But when I don’t it always seems like you’re free and I thought we knew we were both open today and I woke up without you there and then I found out you were having coffee with someone and everything just started crashing down you know..?” He whispered softly.

“I know baby.. I know.. I’m sorry.” You whisper as you hear soft cries come from him. “I’ve got you.. okay? I promise next time I will remember.. I know I messed up okay? You didn’t deserve that..” you whispered as he kinda just stays quiet and holds on. “I got you some goodies baby…” you whisper.

“Please don’t leave like that again.. it made me worried..” he whispered now finally telling you. “I thought you left for good..” he muttered softly, holding you “you didn’t respond to my calls either..” he whispered softly.

“I’m sorry baby.. I won’t.. and you know I wouldn’t do that to you.. I love you too much for that okay?” You bit your lip as you listened “I didn’t see them.. I’ll check why later.. okay? I’m sorry,” you whisper and kiss his head holding him close. Soon enough he drags you to your shared bed to cuddle.

“I love you..” he whispered softly, holding on.

“I love you too Hajime,” you smiled softly, kissing him. Soon enough he fell asleep, the stress finally lifted off his shoulders. You were in his arms again. That’s all that mattered.

Follows and likes are appreciated! Please reblog if you enjoyed it, so more people can find my work! Thank you all for your support! Stay safe, and have a good rest of your day!

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thedamageofherdays · 3 years

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This week's reading log is here. It's been a good reading week for me and with the start of Kinktober I am confident I will have a whole month of goodness ahead of me!

Favourites are marked with 🌻, locked fics on AO3 are marked with 🔒 and fics that are only on Tumblr are marked with 🍀

🌻 Cor Hydrae by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

”You saved my life.”

James turns his face down, can’t bear to look at Steve any longer. ”I have also lured men into their deaths,” he says, barely audibly. ”It was time I gave something in return.”

OR:

Merman Bucky nurses Steve back to health after rescuing him from drowning in the Arctic Ocean.

Captain America And The Accidental Baby Acquisition by attackofthezee (noxlunate) [Stucky, 2,5k words, General]

The baby looks up at Steve with big brown eyes and pulls it’s fists from it’s slobbery mouth to hold them out to Steve.

Right.

There’s a baby on Steve’s doorstep.

Steve can handle this.

Aka Steve Rogers And The Accidental Baby Acquisition. Aka sometimes assholes on twitter say "Captain America would never wear a papoose" and you gotta write a fic just to spite them.

Nature's Masterpieces by attackofthezee (noxlunate) [Stucky, 2k words, General]

“Snow.” Ella says solemnly, pointing towards the window and the white fluff drifting down to gather in piles outside.

“Yep. That’d be the fluffy cold white stuff out there.” Steve agrees, “We can go play in it when Pops comes home.”

Ella sighs in a way that Steve is 110% sure she’s gotten from Bucky, presses a hand to Steve’s face and says, “Daddy, listen.”

In which Steve has a precocious as hell three year old, snow ball fights are had, snow angels are made, and the future is talked about.

🌻 Wishing and Praying by jaxington [Stucky, 19,2k words, Teen]

“It’s a mistake,” Steve whispers. Neither of them have moved a muscle, too busy gaping down at the living, breathing, actually-here-somehow baby on their doorstep, blinking against the morning sunlight.

“There are no mistakes with babies,” Bucky whispers back. “That’s the whole goddamn point.”

Can You Help Me Find This Book? by Erosanderis [Stucky, 3k words, Not Rated]

Bucky Barnes was happy working as a children’s librarian in the New York Public Library. One day a little girl and her very attractive dad come in. Bucky hopelessly pines.

We Are Asleep Until We Fall in Love by Erosanderis [Stucky, 2,3k words, Not Rated]

Steve and Bucky finally go on their first date.

Sequel to “

‘Can you help me find this book?’ But can be read as a stand alone fic.

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy by thewaythatwerust @thewaythatwerust [Stucky, 11,7k words, Explicit]

Steve's whole world begins and ends with Bucky Barnes.

His heart constricts painfully every time he sees Bucky with a dame on his arm; every fiber of his body thrumming with envy. He isn't sure what it means, exactly. He doesn't know what being a fella is supposed to feel like. He doesn't know what being a dame feels like. He just knows he wants Bucky look at him the way he looks at them. To put pretty dresses and stockings on and let Bucky slowly peel them off him. To feel Bucky press into him like he does with his special dates.

To be Bucky's... girl.

🔒 A Soul as Sweet as Blood-Red Jam by pringlesaremydivision [Stucky, 2,4k words, Explicit]

It slips out. It just – slips out, and it takes half a second before Steve realizes what he’s said, and then he wants to die.

Or: Steve's daddy kink comes out to play while he's in bed with Bucky.

Just Dropkick The Shame by rohkeutta @rohkeutta [Stucky, 7,9k words, Explicit]

List of Stuff Bucky Shall Never Do:

1. Give up spider solitaire

2. Tweet TMI shit to celebrities

3. Get a fucking raise, it seems

4. Sleep with a coworker

He HAS tweeted TMI shit about celebrities, but he also has some common sense and knows that some people actually read their replies, so he a) posts only on his private account and b) never tags. Bucky's pretty sure that he's not the only person to have drunk tweeted about Captain America's daddy level, but at least he doesn't fucking call Steve Rogers 'daddy' to his face.

Until he kind of does, and breaks his fourth rule in the process.

🌻 sleeping lessons by glim [Stucky, 23,6k words, Explicit]

During the Fall Semester of 2012, Steve Rogers audits a Modern US History course.

Five Times Steve Came Out by Accident, and One Time He Came Out on Purpose by suspendedinice [Stucky, 2,8k words, Not Rated]

Steve really needs to break the habit of blurting out the first thing that comes into his head.

“Right.” Steve replies with a frown, giving up on his newspaper for now, folding it up neatly, “I suppose I’m bisexual then.”

Did he say that out loud?

Judging by the way Tony’s mouth is hanging open, he’s pretty sure he did.

The Angel From My Nightmare by Nightwing11 [Stucky, 5,9k words, Teen]

It's been three months since Bucky returned to Steve. But, despite their past friendship, not to mention their romance, the two have barely touched since their reunion.

The only exception comes at night, when their hands somehow find their way to one another, intertwining and gripping for dear life.

But, what happens when Steve returns from a mission, sleep-deprived and nightmare ridden?

Obviously Oblivious by ABrighterDarkness [Stucky, 4,2k words, Teen]

Steve supposed it didn’t help matters that Bucky started favoring the Avengers themed clothing that had started being sold almost immediately following the battle against the Chitauri. Iron Man and Black Widow hoodies. Hulk and Hawkeye sweatpants. Thor t-shirts. Plural on every one of them, and Bucky wore them all the time.

No Cap gear. Not a one.

The Buck Stops Here by theemdash [Stucky, 451 words, Teen]

The presidential campaign trail has been tough on Steve Rogers, luckily his campaign manager and best guy is along to take care of him.

🌻 Kinktober 2021 by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Stucky, 2,7k words, Explicit]

Compilation of my Kinktober 2021 Fics

Putting Away Wet/Free Use by @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 4,3k words, Explicit]

The pad of James’s fore-finger digs into the flat of Steve’s tongue, a playful reprimand for nipping at skin instead of his meal, when Daddy speaks, voice resting just above a whisper.

“I want to try something out tomorrow, something I think you’ll like. You wanna play?”

🍀🌻 Dirty Talk by @howdoyousleep3 [Ari x Female Reader, 1,7k words, Explicit]

When he invited you to accompany him to a business dinner, you assumed it was to look nice on his arm.

You had no idea it was to keep him entertained all throughout the night.

🌻 overflow by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 5,8k words, Explicit]

Kinktober Day 2: hyperspermia/come inflation

Bucky is a nurse at SHIELD and freshly-thawed Cap hasn't come in literally 70 years.

#r's reading log #my reading log #fic rec #fic recs #stucky #stucky fic rec

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holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight · 3 years

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Hothead

Summary: Extended station scene from 1x03 between Carlos and TK, from Carlos' POV. A snapshot of how they started to mend things between them after TK had stormed out on the date that Carlos had tried to spring on him.

Rating: General Audiences

A/N: I do not pretend to know anything about the inner workings of a police station, their rules and regulations or what sort of things are contained in their reports. Tried to be as realistic as I could but apologies for any inaccuracies.I also do not claim any ownership of 9-1-1 Lone Star or the associated characters. Pretty sure they own me instead... (:

First foray into the 9-1-1 fandom but hopefully not the last!

Read on AO3 here.

* * *

Carlos was flipping through the files on his desk, making sure he had signed off on the last of them, when a familiar name being spoken caught his attention.

"TK Strand, yeah. He's a firefighter with the 126. Guess he got a little hot-headed."

"You can't keep reusing the same joke every time something involves a firefighter, Ben, seriously."

Carlos looked up from his desk to see two of his colleagues ribbing each other, all talk and no malice.

Jill was right – Ben liked to reuse the same heat-related jokes about firefighters, but his curiosity was peaked over the implication in regards to TK.

"What's that about one of the 126 firefighters? Did they get hostile at a scene we were at or something?"

The two cops looked over at him in surprise. He wasn't normally one to join in on gossip.

"Nah, he was off duty. Started a fight at a bar. Provoked two built men that were drunk off their asses. Bartender called it in after security tried breaking it up."

Carlos felt his worry double. What was TK doing? Why was he picking a fight? He knew he had freaked out on him the other day, making it clear there was a lot more going on internally than he was letting on, but volunteering to get pummeled? That had to be a cry for help.

"EMS clear him?"

"Yeah, he's fine, just some cuts and bruises. He's cooled off now; just gotta process him, give him back his shit, and do the usual stern warning that means bull."

Carlos seized the presented opportunity, hoping Ben would take the bait. "Hey, if it's that easy, why don't I take over? Your shift just ended and I owe you for staying late when I had my abuela's birthday to run to. I've finished the last of my reports from that three car pile-up earlier, so I'm free."

"Well, me and Ella were supposed to do date night tonight… yeah, all right, Reyes. He's all yours. Thanks, man."

"Of course. Have a good time." Carlos said, trying to play it off casual, like it was no big deal, even though he was itching to corner TK and ask what the hell he was thinking. He didn't need his coworkers knowing details about his private life so it was better they didn't know he knew the guy more intimately than professional overlap.

"I think you still owe Spencer, Reyes. Pretty boy is easy on the eyes, even if he is an idiot who started a bar fight." Officer Porter teased.

Carlos didn't bite; the station knew he was out, at least most of them did, so it wasn't that weird of a comment. Reacting would only make it obvious that something had gone on between them and he didn't need a lecture from the sergeant on duty about professional conduct or bias.

Ben passed over the folder on his way to his desk. Carlos immediately sifted through it, scanning the pages quickly to learn the basics of what had gone down.

Caucasian male, mid-to-late twenties, athletic build. 0.0 BAC on breathalyzer test. No abnormalities on basic toxin screen. No prior records with APD. No registered fingerprints in American database. New York driver's license – Tyler Kennedy Strand. Firefighter identification lists station 126. Charges of assault and disturbing the peace dropped by others involved. Release from policy custody with warning.

He read further through the other two men's files, piecing together that the story detailed matched what he had already been told.

Carlos looked up as another one of his colleagues led a handcuffed TK to his work desk and nodded in his direction. He accepted the plastic bag of TK's belongings from Jill and headed over to his… well, he didn't really know what they were.

He watched as TK held an ice pack to his temple, the odd cough wheezing out of him. He probably had a bruised rib or two, if not fractured, and it no doubt left his chest extra tight.

Carlos strode over and dropped the plastic bag of belongings onto the desk without a word.

TK looked up and groaned at the sight of him. "Seriously?"

Carlos grimaced as he sat down. "Austin's a small town, TK. Or should I say, Tyler Kennedy."

"Ugh." TK grumbled, eyes closed as he kept the ice pack against the side of his head.

"Bummer about getting arrested – people might find out your real name. Which marks the first actual thing I've learned about you."

Being good with his mouth, hands, and body notwithstanding…

"Isn't your processing me, like, a conflict of interest?" TK asked, a thin shred of hope clinging to the words.

It wasn't really an issue, given that Carlos hadn't been the deciding officer on charges and, technically, he wasn't even sure what their relationship could be classified as in order to consider it. If anything, it would be their definable working relationship that was the issue, but most officers in the precinct would have the same problem since they all crossed paths at one time or another on the job.

Carlos chose not to answer him, instead changing the subject. "The good news is that neither of your new friends want to talk about that little scuffle tonight…" he explained while unlocking the cuffs around TK's wrists, trying not to react when their hands brushed in the process. "…and since you blew a 0.0, we're not even giving you a drunk and disorderly."

He finally freed TK entirely of the metal, and TK rubbed his wrists, still not looking at him straight on.

Carlos pushed the bag towards him. "You're free to go."

There was a pause as TK digested that.

"And what's the bad news?" he asked as he picked up his stuff.

Carlos inhaled. "The bad news is that means you did this with a clear head." He swallowed before leaning on the desk to bring them closer together, lowering his voice so any nosy coworkers couldn't overhear. "I'm not trying to be your boyfriend, or even your friend if you're not into it, but you should probably talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal."

TK's eyes held so much pain as he looked back at him that Carlos had to look away. Needing something to do with his hands before he grabbed TK and refused to let go, he tossed the tissue box in front of him.

"You've got a little crud there, by the way." he added, gesturing to the side of his mouth.

TK plucked a tissue out and rubbed at the opposite side of his mouth to where the blood had piled up.

"Other side." he said, staring unblinking at the computer screen without taking any of it in. He was way too hyperaware of the man he hadn't been able to get out of his head to concentrate on the words on the screen.

TK wiped closer to the spot but still missed and didn't get the bulk of it, so Carlos sighed and grabbed a tissue of his own.

"Stop. Just… let me."

Deep green eyes bore into his brown ones as Carlos gently wiped the area, managing to get at least the worst of it. Their gaze was locked so intensely, Carlos was half-expecting sparks to explode in the air. God, he wished he could read TK's mind. There was some sort of storm brewing behind his eyes and Carlos had no idea what kind of emotion was rolling in.

He pulled the tissue away, crushing it up in his fist to stop him from saying or doing something stupid. He had already put his heart on the line enough with the man. No need to solidify his humiliation any further.

"Thanks." TK muttered, looking away finally.

Carlos didn't look at him, pretending to be wrapped up with finalizing the paperwork on the computer.

TK leaned over the desk, crossing an arm over the space between them. "Hey. I'm sorry I went crazy on you the other night." he said softly.

Carlos didn't want to reveal all of his cards, but there was no denying the thrill that rolled through him that TK was trying to apologize for what went down between them the other day. It had been eating him up inside since. And if TK was bringing it up unprompted, maybe that meant it had been bothering him too. And that he actually wanted to mend things between them.

Carlos managed to play it cool and indifferent. "I'm a cop. I'm used to crazy."

"Look, I just went through a really bad breakup. Like, nuclear bad. And then I relapsed."

Carlos had turned his body to face him but couldn't look him in the face, instead busying himself with a report on his desk. "You mean with me?"

Great, he was just a mistake. A 'relapse'. Guess that meant TK slept around, or used to, and it really had meant nothing to him.

"No. I mean with substances."

Carlos finally looked up at that. He wasn't expecting the confession, nor the way that TK was exposing himself to him right then. TK had addiction issues? Had given up substances likely due to misuse or overuse and his breakup had been bad enough to trigger using again?

Something clicked in his memory from the other night and he felt shame wash over him. "Right. Which explains your reaction to the champagne."

He had never asked if TK was even a fan of champagne or alcohol in general. He should've been more respectful and anticipated the idea that maybe TK had a poor relationship with it, or a bad experience, or just wasn't interested in it at all. No wonder he got his back up right away – Carlos had been trying to have a proper date with him but he didn't know this important thing about him. And TK was still probably pretty raw after his relapse that even the pressure to be polite would've been enough to set off some ugly emotions. That he'd have to come up with an excuse or lie, because who wanted to reveal their deepest secrets that early on?

"I'm such an idiot. I'm-I'm sorry…"

TK cut off his stammering. "No, it's fine, okay? I just… ever since I got here, it's just… it's just grey. And I just feel numb, all the time. I guess I just… I wanted to feel something."

TK's eyes were wet now, and there was nothing but heartbreaking honesty reflecting out of them.

Carlos felt his own eyes filling with moisture. He didn't know what to say. Hearing that TK had been hurting so badly, that he still was struggling so much… it broke his heart.

TK slipped his wallet and phone out of the clear bag finally and stood up to leave, heading in direction of the exit without another word. It seemed he had said all he needed to say.

Carlos couldn't let him go yet, couldn't let that be the last thing said between them tonight. "Judging by that lip, I'd say mission accomplished."

TK stared at him in irritable disbelief, the barest hint of amusement at the edges. "You really busting my balls right now?"

"Yeah. I suppose I am." Carlos replied.

He couldn't help the way the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smirk, and he felt his heart pick up its pace when he saw TK's expression break into one of his gorgeous smiles.

TK shook his head at him in mock-disappointment. "And all this time, I thought you were too good for me."

It was clearly meant in jest, but Carlos could detect the hidden truth behind the words. He was a little too stunned to say anything to dispute it, their easy banter normally coming naturally to him but he was drawing a blank.

It wasn't until the door closed behind him that Carlos moved, and then he was crossing the station to chase him outside.

"TK! Wait."

TK turned from where he was walking down the sidewalk, his movements more ginger now than they were in the station. He likely was in a lot more physical pain than he had let on.

Carlos stood in front of him and inhaled a breath in the hopes that it would instill some courage in him.

"Thank you for telling me all of that. I know that couldn't have been easy. But I want you to know, it doesn't change anything for me. I still want to be with you. Whenever you decide you're ready. I…" He exhaled shakily, glancing down at his shoes as he tried to dig for that bravery somewhere deep inside him. "I really like you, TK. Not just because you're the best sex I've ever had. I… there's something here. I feel it when I'm around you. You're… you're special. You make me feel… so many things I don't know how to name yet."

Great, now he was rambling. Even better, making it clear how much of a lovesick fool he was over the guy. That wouldn't freak him out or anything.

He corrected his throat, trying to calm his anxiety. "Look, all I'm saying is that if you feel anything for me, I can be patient. I can wait until you're more ready. I think you're worth the wait."

TK's responding smile could outshine the sun. He wasted no time in coiling his arms around Carlos' waist and burying his face in his shoulder.

"I really like you too. And I do want to give this a shot. Just… when it has a better chance of not blowing up before it gets started."

Carlos pressed a quick kiss to his good temple before pulling back.

"For now, try to stay out of trouble, okay? You won't always be so lucky to get such an understanding cop like me processing you at the station."

TK blew out an exasperated breath that turned into a laugh. "I'll do my best."

Carlos couldn't help grinning at him, a much bigger fan of a laughing and teasing TK than a shattered and beaten one.

"I should get back. You gonna be okay to get home?"

TK nodded. "Yeah I already called a ride."

"Well, see you later then." Carlos said, not really sure how to be less awkward as he headed back up the stairs to return to the station.

"Hey, Carlos?"

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"Best sex you've ever had, huh?"

TK was sporting his cockiest grin, and Carlos wished he could kiss it off of his stupid smug face.

"You would pick that as the only takeaway from that whole speech…"

TK chuckled. "No, I remember it all. I just latched onto that because it was the same for me too."

Carlos took an extra second to process and then he felt himself flushing in pride.

TK's smile softened, no doubt reading his reaction even from several feet away. "Goodnight, Officer Reyes." he said cheekily as he moved towards the car marked with the Uber sticker that had pulled up.

Carlos could only watch as the car drove off into the night.

He felt a little bereft being apart from TK after all the honesty of the evening. Something about being so vulnerable together gave him the urge to be within close quarters, not wanting to give up the resulting rush that came with exposing your heart and having it be safe with the other person.

But Carlos knew that TK needed time. And he was willing to wait as long as it took.

For now, he returned to his desk, this time with a little more of a spring in his step.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #9-1-1 lone star #911 ls #prompt #s1e3: texas proud #canon compliant #tw: mentions of past drug addiction #tw: self esteem issues

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 4 years

Photo

I made “now” and sort of “what if” versions of our boys. What if they hadn’t met certain people? What if the direction of their lives hadn’t changed? What if they hadn’t said the things they said? What if they never found a limit?

The bar where Mo Guan Shan worked at almost got robbed one night but Mo Guan Shan knocked the guy out. The owner of the bar was impressed and told Mo Guan Shan about an illegal fighting ring. He could easily earn some extra cash with his skill. At first, Mo Guan Shan wasn’t interested but then his mother was hospitalized and suddenly he was facing hospital and medication bills. “You think I could really do well?” he asked his boss, telling himself that it was either this or asking someone for money and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. His first opponent was easy and the prize money was lucrative. His boss praised Mo Guan Shan for getting the crowd going with his ferocity. “Just let me know if you want to earn easy money again,” he said and gave him a thick wad of crumpled bills. He fought another match about a week later. Soon, he started to gain a reputation. People called him the “Mad Dog”. His boss - now his unofficial manager who also hustled as a bookkeeper at Mo Guan Shan’s matches - even came up with the idea of the muzzle. "Showmanship, you have to have showmanship," he had said when Mo Guan Shan had frowned at the damn thing. "You gotta give them a show." It was snowing the night Mo Guan Shan beat up a kid much younger than him. The boy hadn’t even had a chance against him. After the fight, Mo Guan Shan threw up behind a dumpster and tried to wash off the kid’s blood with snow until his hands were red with cold instead.

He Tian ended up working for his family, and his life was spiraling. He lived by himself downtown in a spacious loft apartment. Despite having money, the apartment was sparsely furnished. A double mattress on the floor in front of the wall of windows stretching a view over the city. At an arm’s reach next to the mattress was his laptop and an overflowing ashtray. A couch and TV that he rarely watched but had pretty much always on. A rack for his clothes that he didn’t just store in various piles on the floor. He worked as a debt collector. And he was good at it, too. He was good at finding people and putting the fear of God in them. It helped that you didn’t give a shit. Like how he had beat up this one redhead kid when he couldn’t have paid his monthly interest. The dullness made it easy, and it had set into him so deep you could see it in his eyes. When he wasn’t working, He Tian took the dullness out on booze, drugs, and women - sometimes men. Whenever his brother came to visit him, he narrowed his eyes at the fresh hickeys spotting He Tian’s neck and the empty beer cans littering the floor. “Disgraceful,” he always muttered. He Tian drag on his cigarette and told him to give him the intel on the new mark and fuck off already.

“Zhan Xixi, I like you. I’m sorry.” had been the last message Jian Yi sent Zhan Zheng Xi before his phone had been taken away and destroyed. As the big bodyguards had been relocating him and his mother, he had wondered if he would ever see Xixi again. He didn’t wonder that anymore. But sometimes it still caught him off guard. Something happened during the day and he snatched his phone, eager to tell Zhan Zheng Xi all about it, only to remember that these days his phone only had three contacts: “Auntie”, “Dentist”, and “Mom”. And neither of them was Xixi’s number - nor his aunt’s, dentist’s or mother’s. He was left alone a lot. Well, there’s always someone watching him, but he’s still alone. Jian Yi has started to spend more and more time in his dreamland. Imagining talking with Zhan Xixi even though he can barely remember his voice anymore. He’s terrified of the day when he can’t recall his face, too. Jian Yi is afraid he will lose a part of himself that can't be replaced. The minutes Jian Yi spends deep in thought easily stretch into hours. He is still being trained but he doesn’t fear the pain anymore. Brother Qiu had been right in saying that he would get used to it eventually. He's stopped holding back while training Jian Yi, and Jian Yi almost welcomes the bruises and soreness. For his birthday, Jian Yi wanted a floral tattoo on his neck. One day, he wants to once again feel Zhan Zheng Xi’s fingers knead the back of his neck.

“Zhan Xixi, I like you. I’m sorry.” That message is the center of Zhan Zheng Xi’s life these days. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, it’s always on his mind, occupying its every last nook and cranny. He wishes he had never received it. He couldn’t live without it. He works as a police officer, trying to be promoted to an investigator. He works 80 hours a week, but it’s not work for him. Not really. He’s learning, training. He’s getting closer to that message, he can feel it. His coworkers have long ago given up on inviting him along to drinking parties and get-togethers. You couldn’t have a better partner as an officer than Zhan Zheng Xi but damn the guy needs to let loose every now and then. They don’t get it, Zhan Zheng Xi thinks to himself while politely but firmly turning down one of his female coworkers nervously asking if he had any plans for the weekend. None of them get it. He’s getting closer. He knows he is. He has to be getting closer by now. Maybe the black-haired junkie punk he had caught the other night but hadn't booked finally has some answers for him.

She Li is searching, too. He’s looking for God himself. The same from when he pushed a red-haired kid against a wall, grabbed a fistful of his soft hair, and looked down at the watering eyes pleading him. A portal had opened that day, channeling energy that had overwhelmed She Li and taken over him. That God. But God had proven to be fickle. She Li had tried to connect with Him again but something had always been missing. He lives within She Li. She Li is Him, he just needs to find Him again. If She Li finds Him in himself, he can find Him in other people, too. He wants to turn them all into gods and feed on them. Be the God of gods. But he's been going about it all wrong. To find Him again, first, he must sacrifice himself. Before he was the marker but now he needs to let God come to him. Nothing of him can be left untouched, not sullied. Use him, push him down, mark him as His, so he can find Him again. He’s calling She Li’s name, telling him that he’s meant for great things.

Bonus:

He Cheng realized the error of his ways when he stepped over the gate’s threshold and smelled free air for the first time in 15 years. Released early for good behavior. All his life, He Cheng had thought he knew patience and humility but it had turned out, he knew nothing of those things. He had been arrogant and blind. But he had been a good student for over a decade and now he had enough patience and humility to properly enjoy destroying the parties responsible. He would thank them for this lesson in life by making every last memory of them ever even existing disappear into thin air. Across the parking lot, Qiu was leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette. For a second, his eyes widened when he spotted He Cheng and his buzzcut. The ragged scar under his eye. But he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t even ask about the neat line of vertebras tattooed along He Cheng's spine when he’s fucking into him from behind at the nearest cheap motel they had found. He just silently slides his wide, rough palm over it and sinks his teeth into He Cheng’s nape where the ink meets the soft fuzz.

Used Picrew

#19 days #mo guan shan #he tian #tianshan #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #zhanyi #she li #he cheng #brother qiu #qiucheng #my 19 days post #my edit #ntiwewi

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years

Note

For the bad things bingo, what about an e.d or coughing up blood involving the delanceys and the newsies? Like the newsies find out that one of the brothers (or both) have an e.d or catch one of them coughing up blood or something.

Okay!

I wasn’t really sure what to do for this one, since I really don’t write the Delanceys all that often anymore. And I know some people don’t like giving the a redemption arc, which... I don’t fully understand, but it is what it is, I suppose.

Anyways, this is set in really whatever time period ya’ll want. It’s pretty vague and pretty short but it does have one or two homophobic slurs in it, so beware!

TW: Homophobia, Violence

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Coughing Up Blood

Fandom: Newsies

Characters: Morris Delancey, Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins, Oscar Delancey (mentioned), Weasel (mentioned)

Words: 1k+

Summary: Hiding is hard. It always has been.

Bar Fight

He had no idea how he ended up here. Sitting against the wall of the bathroom at Jacobi’s bar.

He hadn’t meant to defend anyone. It was never in his nature. He’d been conditioned not to. He’d been conditioned to not care. Him and his brother.

If someone couldn’t fight back for themselves, they deserved to be beat. It’s what Wiesel always said.

But that kid… he didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that. He didn’t deserve to be hit just because he was trying to be happy.

“Morris…” somebody called. Morris tried to open his eyes. But it didn’t work. “Morris… we called an ambulance. N’ we called Oscar… but ya gotta stay awake. God, please just stay awake…”

The kid sounded frantic.

“Racer, take a breather—“

“Let go of me!”

Morris coughed. Something tasted horrible.

“Jack, he’s coughin’ up blood!”

“Race, go out n’ let those cops take your statement. I’ll be out in a minute…” For a moment nothing happened. “Tony, now,” the other man eventually stressed.

It was a long moment before Morris heard someone shuffle away. And someone else helped him sit up. “Okay, Morris just breathe for me…”

He hadn’t meant to get in the middle of it. But the look on that kid’s face had been so familiar.

”Oh are you married?”

“No… it’s… it’s just a promise ring… he gave it ta me before he went into the military right after high school… he’s comin’ back in a few weeks—“

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘he’?”

The young bartender looked up. His blue eyes were a bit frightened when he realized what he let slip. He shouldn’t have to be scared of it.

That’s what caught Morris’s attention.

“Um… yeah… yeah, it’s my boyfriend,” he stated, clearly trying to be brave and failing. His coworker, his foster brother, Morris remembered, had just gone on break. The kid was out here alone. And he was now avoiding eye contact with the big stranger.

Morris had been coming to this bar for years now. It was the best one in his hometown. Good music, good beer and easy to access. Only problem was, everyone he went to high school with was there too. Some of them even worked there.

“I’m sorry… is there someone else working tonight?”

“I’m the only one not on break…” the kid stated, wanting away from the situation.

Morris took a sip of his drink, swallowing hard as he tried not to make it obvious that he was fully invested in this conversation.

“I’m sorry, I’m not going to give my money to some fag. I think what you do is disgusting and I won’t support it.”

Morris flinched at the ugly word, looking up at the boy who he used to steal money from in high school. Race had been a freshman. He’d been a senior. He was sure he’d bullied the kid into doing homework for him from time to time.

Maybe that’s why Jack had always started fights with him back then.

The man could remember walking through the halls with his brother, watching all the other students duck their heads, hoping they weren’t their next victim. Sometimes Morris wished he could go back and change it.

After all, the only reason he picked on those kids is because Wiesel couldn’t know that he was just like them. Scared. Alone. Terrified.

Queer.

He felt sick.

“Uh-hm… m-my… J-Jack will be back out in a few minutes… I’m—“

“Is that your manager, cause I wanna talk to him.”

“Okay… he’s just gonna be a few minutes…”

“I’m sorry, are you stupid too? No, I asked to see your manager. You’re disgusting and I will not be finishing my night talking to you. In fact, I’ll be taking back the tip—“

“S-sir, please, I’m not hurting anyone… I’m just tryin’ ya do my job—“ Race stuttered, trying to reason with the man.

But the stranger stood, knocking over his stool as he did so.

Morris winced, picking up his beer, almost heading towards the door, unable to watch this, before he heard the definite sound of a fist connecting with flesh.

He froze at that, like so many others did.

He willed himself to just walk away. This wasn’t his fight. If Race wanted to win, he could.

“Get offa me!” the boy cried.

Morris hadn’t spoken to Race in years. Despite frequenting the bar where he worked, he made it a point to talk mostly to the waitresses rather than the bartenders. He didn’t like to think about what he’d done to that poor kid.

No doubt the boy still hadn’t forgiven him for any of it.

Morris wouldn’t blame him.

He heard the kid scream.

And he couldn’t just walk away this time.

The young man took another swig of his beer before setting it back on the counter and turning around to find Race struggling against an iron fist tightening in the front of his shirt. The man’s arm was reared back for another hit, probably to match the swelling right eye.

Morris let out a breath and let instinct take over for the first time in his life.

And suddenly he was on top of the man.

Or the man was on top of him.

He just couldn’t remember.

“Hey, hey, are ya with me? Cmon, man, I know we ain’t never gotten along, but ya still got a life ta live…”

Morris coughed again. This time he could feel the blood that dripped from his lips. “Wh-where’s Oz?” he asked, his voice small and weak.

“He’s comin’. But we gotta get you to a hospital—“

“Jack—“ he was cut off by another fit. Jack’s hand came down on his back. It was an odd feeling. He’d never been comforted by anyone other than Oscar. The second someone tried, he’d clam up and shove them away. But not this time. “I-I’m sorry—“

“Delancey, you mighta’ been a real dick in high school, but I’m pretty sure ya just saved my brother's life, so let’s just call it even, alright?” Jack rushed out. Morris let his eyes slide open, just able to make out the blurry image of the guy who used to be his nemesis. He looked almost frantic. Morris let out a breathy groan when something pressed over his stomach. It felt soft, like a sweatshirt of some kind. He tried to push the hands away. But he was too tired. “No, man… c’mon, you ain’t goin’ down like this. That guy was drunk. Ya really wanna die by beer bottle?”

It was almost a joke. Morris laughed. “B-betta’ n’ how y’r g’nna die…” he choked out, his hands over Jack’s as he tried to help stop the bleeding.

“Oh yeah? How’m I goin’ out?” Jack challenged, a relieved smile on his face when he found that Morris was still smug as ever.

“Pr’obly gonna jump off a buildin’ on a dare…” he slurred.

Jack shrugged. “Hey, that ain’t so bad. Least people will know I ain’t chicken, right?”

Morris grunted as the pressure increased. The door was pushed open and Race rushed back into the room. “The ambulance just got here! Morris, you’re gonna be okay—“

The kid was cut off as EMTs rushed in and ushered him out of the way. Jack tried to move, but, in a move of desperation, Morris reached back for him, and Jack took his hand. “Hey, you’re gonna be alright, man…”

“J’st… wan’ Oscar…” he breathed.

“Oscar’s coming, Morris. Promise,” Jack assured, giving him a nod as he was maneuvered onto the stretcher and the team began to rush him to the ambulance.

“‘Kay…” he breathed as they began to strap him down.

Race bit his lip as he watched them take the man away. Jack put an arm around his shoulders to steady him but the kid was still trembling. “H-he defended me, Jack…” the twenty one year old let out shakily.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, kid… I know…” he sighed out.

The pair watched the bully as he was rushed back through the bar, clinging to life.

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shootmethroughmyhead · 4 years

Text

Oh Zoinks

Chapter One

Word Count: 2.3

Warnings: No warnings

Chapters: 1/?

It was supposed to be like any other day. Just another day at the office, where reports were due at 4, and the stupid printer would jam right as you needed to use it. Another day where Charlotte absentmindedly empties the sugar dispenser as Bill complains yet again about his daughter, and Ted bitches about going to Beanies without him. It was supposed to be like any other day, so why wasn’t it?

July 23, 2018 - CCRP Technical Office

"God Paul, c'mon." Ted says as he rolls his eyes. "That is the stupidest thing I've heard today, and it's only 11." He only shrugs when Ted frowns at him. He turns back to his screen and continues writing his report when he leaves. The typing from keyboards and paper shuffling are the only sounds in the office. It's one of those rare occasions where no phone is ringing or no one's on a call. The peaceful atmosphere is almost immediately ruined when Mr. Davison walks in.

"Hey gang," He announces to the room as he clasps his hands together with a toothy grin. "Got some big news." Paul gets comfortable in his chair, and gets ready to ignore the rambling that he always starts with as his coworkers do the same. He sees Charlotte sit hunched over, picking at her fingers and staring at nothing. Bill, dutifully hangs on to every word, even when it’s about rambles of his personal life.

He looks over to Ted, and he's just as uninterested as everyone else. Entirely unimpressed and bored, with his cheek on his fist, he slouches in his chair with terrible posture. Paul realizes he’s been staring for too long when Ted raises an eyebrow at him. He blinks, turning back to face Mr. Davidson, who’s finally wrapping up his long winded speech.

"Silly of me, isn't it? Now that I got that out of the way.” He jiggles a little before calming down, undeniably thrilled. “So, as you may be unaware, the CEO of the company will be dropping by soon. Nothing to fret, he’ll just walk through and see around the place. He'll probably talk to one or two of you, and then we'll be in a meeting for the rest of the time being."

That catches the attention of everyone. It's not everyday you might get to meet the CEO of your job. He continues on. Already, there’s whispers floating in the room, and Paul can’t imagine how obnoxious it’ll be when he leaves. He's about to look around the room again, when Ted catches his eye. His head snapped forward at some point when Mr. Davidson was speaking. He’s suddenly alert, listening to every word. He has a tense expression on his face and it’s probably the most serious Paul ever seen Ted. He doesn’t know what warranted a reaction like that, but he doesn’t ask.

When Mr. Davidson does finish and leaves, the floor explodes in excited chatter. There’s no chance that he’s going to be productive when the room’s like this, so he saves his report and turns off his computer. During the time it took him to do so, Bill and Charlotte gathered over at Paul’s desk.

“CEO, my goodness. Exciting don’t you think?” Charlotte gushes, hands framing her face. “What do you think he’s like?”

“Probably a dick.” Paul tells her truthfully, dodging the swat Charlotte sends his way.

“Oh, that’s mean Paul.” She scolds. Ted rolls over and listens to them for a little while before he joins in.

“So when is he coming?” Ted asks them, nonchalantly as ever. Paul would have fallen for it too, if it wasn’t for the tightness around his eyes. “Anyone know?”

“I think maybe Thursday?” Charlotte says.

“Mr. Davidson said something about next week, he’ll probably send in an email.” Bill tells him helpfully. Ted nods his head at the two as a thanks. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the conversation. Paul turns to Bill and Charlotte to see if they notice his behavior. They don’t, talking animatedly between themselves to see.

“You alright Ted? You seem… distracted.” Paul asks him, not concerned but noticing him.

“Hmm? No, yeah I’m fine.” Ted tells him off handedly. Paul nods, unconvinced, and turns to join Bill and Charlotte. He can’t help but continue to glance over to Ted, who seems lost in thought. He’s not concerned, but definitely begins to feel so when Ted doesn’t tell him off for staring.

..-. .-. .. -.. .- -.-- / .--- ..- .-.. -.-- / ..--- --... --..-- / ..--- ----- .---- ---..

It gets to a point where Paul, in fact, gets so embarrassingly concerned throughout the week that he asks Bill and Charlotte if there’s anything wrong with Ted.

“I didn’t realize you cared about Ted so much Paul. But no, I didn’t notice anything, sorry. Give him some time I guess.” Bill tells him with a shrug one day after work when he asks. Bill’s not much help, but he probably could have approached Charlotte better when he went to ask her.

“Why would you assume I know anything that’s going on with Ted?” She asks, miffed. “Ted and I are nowhere close enough to talk about what troubles us. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll get through it. Besides, you know Ted, if he’s going through something he’ll be quiet about it. Lord knows how secretive he can be when he wants to.”

-- --- -. -.. .- -.-- / .- ..- --. ..- ... - / -.... --..-- / ..--- ----- .---- ---..

Ted didn’t get any better during the week, unlike what Bill and Charlotte said. Instead, he withdrew into himself. Ted was never the social, friendly coworker in the first place, but he completely withdrew himself from them. He threw himself into his work, focused more on his reports or whatever he was working on. More than likely, Ted would be hunched over his screen then not. Not only that, but he worked overtime, something that Paul is sure he’s never seen Ted do in all the time he’s worked for the company.

He’d turned down offers of a Beanies run whenever Paul asked, he didn’t snark or picked fights with Bill, and strangest of all, he pulled back from Charlotte. Paul doesn’t think the three of them have ever been so confused by Ted before.

“You need to intervene Paul.” Charlotte tells him one day, pulling him aside.

“Me?” He says incredulity. “Why me? Why don’t you talk to him? He’ll probably actually listen to you. Or Bill.” She stared at him unamused.

“Paul, be serious, you know why it has to be you. You’re the closest one to him, hell,” She cuts off, slightly frustrated. “You’re probably the closest thing to a friend Ted has. You’ve seen Ted, you know him! Ted doesn’t do ‘friends. He doesn’t seem to have any, so it’s up to you to talk to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question as to why you can’t talk to him.” Paul asks, unconvinced. She looks down, slightly abashed. She tugs at her sleeve a little before responding, facing the floor.

“Me and Ted are- were fighting.” She corrects. “And well, I-I pushed him away. Told him I never wanted to see him again. Oh, but I didn’t really mean any of it! And I knew Ted knew because he just scoffed, unconvinced! A-and he was still talking to me, but then he stopped, and he stopped talking with you and Bill, and- oh I feel awful. It’s all my fault!” She cries out, covering her face with her hands.

‘Oh, oh no. Charlotte’s crying.’ He sucks a breath in to hide his wince. “Charlotte,” He says awkwardly. “I’m sure it’s not your fault.” He raises his hand, awkwardly hovering her shoulder before patting gently twice.

“Oh, but it is! I caused all of this, and now Ted won’t talk to any of us, it’s all my fault!” She cries out through her sleeves still.

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not that, it could be a multitude of reasons.” Seeing she’s still unconvinced, he continues. “Look, why don’t I talk to Ted, see what’s going on.” She looks up, uncovering her face.

“Oh Paul, will you really?” She says with glossy eyes. At his nod she instantly relaxes, relieved. He knows he can’t get out of this without hurting Charlotte.

Which is how he’s in this situation, intervening.

“Hey Ted.” Paul says. “I was gonna go grab coffee at Beanies, want to come?” Ted barely acknowledges him or looks up from his screen.

“Mhm. Sounds nice Paul.” He mumbles. Paul frowns a little.

“Ted. Did you even hear me? I’m going to Beanies, don’t you want to go?” Ted does a quiet, little sigh. Paul watches him, silent. He turns his chair to face Paul.

“I’m fine Paul, I gotta get through this report.” He tells him quietly, running his hand down his face exhaustingly. His frown returns, concern growing.

“Are you okay man? You seem…” Exhausted. Quiet. Withdrawn. Different. Ted blows air out his mouth, ruffling his normally slick back hair that now falls in strands in front of his face.

“Yeah, just… fucking paperwork.” He says, grabbing a random folder, shaking it before dropping it back on the table. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Paul says, unconvinced. “Listen, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been working a lot, working late. You look exhausted man, we’re getting kind of worried.” Ted looks ready to turn back to his screen. “Come on, humor me.”

Ted stays silent, seemingly contemplating something. “I’m kinda tight on money right now.” He admits after a while.

“Oh.” Paul blinks. “Oh. Shit Ted, I didn’t-” Paul cuts himself off when Ted chuckles humorlessly.

“Yeah. It’s why I haven’t been going to Beanies recently. I would of taken another shift, but hah, no shift available. And I uh, don’t have the time for another shift anyways, so.” He says with a shrug, spreading his hands when he finishes, purposely avoiding Paul’s eyes.

“God Ted, I um, I'm sorry. I can pay-” This time Paul gets cut off by Ted.

“Oh God no. Don’t pity me man. It’s not that bad, I just gotta work some more for a while. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been blowing you guys off all week. I just,” He puffs his cheeks. “I gotta make money. Got bills and rent to pay and shit.”

“No, yeah I get that.” He says nodding.

“Cool, so if I can…” He points behind him to his computer, wanting to go back.

“Yeah! Go ahead man, I’m sorry. Uh, hopes it gets better.”

Ted huffs. “Yeah, me too. Thanks.” He clicks his tongue, finger gunning Paul before returning to his work. Paul stares a little while before walking to the breakroom.

“Well?” Charlotte asks, anxiously. “What’s wrong, what happened?” Behind her is Bill, holding the sugar dispenser.

“She nearly finished it again.” He explains.

“Nevermind that.” She waves him off impatiently. “What’s wrong with Ted?” She clutches her hands in front of her chest. He hesitates, wondering what’s the right to do.

“Well?” She notices him hesitating, eyes wide. “Is it that serious?” She asks fearfully, head ducking slightly.

“Oh no no.” Paul reassures. “Well it is, b-but he’s fine!” He rushes out, seeing how Charlotte eyes widen with every word.

“Well, you know Ted, he’s too proud to talk about his problems. He’s fine, mostly. It wasn’t you, or any of us. Um, he said he was sorry too, for blowing us off. He’s just… busy, with his problem.” Charlotte bites her lips, nodding as she wrings her hand.

“Okay, okay.” She whispers. “Ted is fine.”

“Yup.”

“And it’s none of our faults.”

“That’s right.” She bobs her head again.

“Okay, okay.” She starts to relax, fluttering her fingers to her mouth. “Okay, okay.”

“So then, what’s wrong?” Bill asks. Before Paul can say anything, Bill continues. “I know you said it’s personal, but it’s clearly affecting him. So… how can we help?” Charlotte nods eagerly, also wanting to know.

“Just… buying him a drink from Beanies. That’s all.” They both look at Paul unconvinced, but nod their heads when he repeats himself. “Really, that’s all he needs.” Paul accidentally becomes the example for them that week.

“Here.” Paul places the drink on his desk. “For you.” He adds. Paul watches a series of emotions pass over Ted’s face, watching his face go from confusion, to realization, conflicted, falling, and going indifference.

“Uh… I uh- Thanks man. That’s… that’s really nice of you.” Ted grabs the drink, holding it between both hands. “Y-you didn’t have to.” He stares at it, concentrating on seemingly nothing.

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind.”

“Uh huh, thanks.” He mumbles. Throughout the week, and that day, Ted kept getting drinks dropped off on his desk by the three of them. Paul found it slightly amusing to see Ted get his fourth drink in a day, and watch Ted get increasingly confused.

“Hey Paul.” Ted says one day after work, jogging after him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah sure Ted, what’s up?” He slows down, letting Ted catch up.

“Did you... say something to Bill ‘n Charlotte?” He asks confused. “Like, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t give out any details if that’s what you’re asking. They asked how they can help and I just… told them you would appreciate some Beanies.” Ted blinks, before patting his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I uh- Thanks man."

“Like I said before, not a problem.” He says shrugging. It’s probably the most conversation Paul’s had with Ted this week. He, strangely enough, for once doesn’t want it to end. He wants to fill the silence. He racks his brain for any topics.

“So… the CEO’s coming tomorrow. Excited for that?” Immediately Ted reacts negatively. Before Paul can decipher it, Ted masks it over.

“Ooh, real excited. Can’t wait to meet some fucking douche.” He says sarcastically. He notices Paul’s bewilderment. “Ugh, sorry. I just- ugh. Don’t wanna talk about that asshole.”

“Do you... know him?” Paul asks slowly, completely confused.

“Nope.” Ted says simply, exaggerating the p. Paul wants to ask him more about it but they reach Ted's car before he can.

“See ya Paul.”

“Bye Ted. Take care.” He gives a small wave, smiling slightly when Ted returns it.

“You too.”

There's something strange going on with Ted, and Paul only hopes it all blows over by tomorrow.

#ted is scrags au #scrags solve it squad #scrags #joey richter #tin can bros #ted tgwdlm #the solve it squad #solve it squad

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heartofsnark · 4 years

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This Is Love (Chapter One): Welcome to Hope County

Notes: Soooo, I’ve been talking about this for a bit and it’s time to just take the jump and start publishing my Far Cry 5 fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, i have like a series warning for this that will be on every chapter cause it needs it.

Summary: Dahlia Hale is the youngest person working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, it’s going to take her some time to fully acclimate to the new environment and living on her own. Developing friendships takes time even for the most functional of people and for disasters like Dahlia it takes even longer. She gets along with her coworkers and there’s some religious family who’s taken a shine to her, for some reason. It seems like she’s on her way to getting the kind of friends she’s only ever dreamed about, even if it’s going to take some more time.

Then everything goes to shit.

Halfway through her six-month probationary hire and that nice religious family has kicked off a holy war with her becoming enemy number one.

To one side she’s a hero.

To the other she’s a monster. She’s not sure which is right.

Word Count: 9,290

Series Warning: I usually do not like to spoil endgame pairings in my fics, but this warrants being up front. This series is polyseed and involves heavy, recurrent themes of at times romanticized noncon, dubcon, large age differences, and stockholm syndrome that develops into a romantic relationship. The relationship between my oc and the Seeds is extremely unhealthy, toxic, and should never be replicated or sought out in real life. No matter how things progress or how they are portrayed at different points, this fact remains the same. i am comfortable exploring and enjoying these themes in fiction, not everyone is. If you are uncomfortable with or triggered by any of these things, please skip this and take the precautions you feel necessary to avoid this material. If you are an individual who struggles with separating reality and fiction; please do not read this. Otherwise, if you’re comfortable with and enjoy that kind of content, please enjoy.

Chapter Warnings: Bliss flowers, hallucinations, threats of violence (really not bad compared to whats to come)

A shiver rolls down Dahlia’s spine, the chill of the Montana night settling into her bones. A sign welcomes her to Hope County, her motorcycle tire spinning dirt at it as she passes. The moon shines bright in the sky, cascading silver light down on everything. It’s beautiful despite the cold, light reflecting off the lakes and streams that pass through the county.

It’s mostly woods and forests, fields of big white flowers and animals wandering through. The entire county is begging to be put on a postcard, from the animals, to the fields, to the…giant cement statue of a guy with a manbun…

Her tires squeal as she comes to a stop on the thankfully vacant road, she pushes the visor of her helmet up, as if the tint could cause her to see something like this. Sure enough, the white hunk of stone is still there. It’s of a man with his hair pulled back in a small bun, in one hand he holds a book and the other gestures outward.

Hair raises on the back of her neck and goosebumps collect across her skin, the statue is…eerie. It looms across the entire region, a creeping specter. Unnerving doesn’t even begin to describe it, her body has started to lean towards it, almost drawn to it.

Maybe it’s a historical figure for the county? People do that right, build monuments to founders or something. The clothes of the figure seem old fashioned, but she’s not sure about how far back the manbun goes.

She shakes her head and slaps her visor back down, she needs sleep. It shouldn’t be much further to her hotel. Dahlia revs her engine and rushes off that way, finally finding the large wooden hotel with its red roof. There’s a large wooden sign welcoming her to the King’s Hot Spring Hotel, the parking lot is decidedly vacant, and she comes to a stop by the smaller stone black sign that sits close to the larger wooden one, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t looking close enough.

“King’s Hot Spring Hotel

On May 12th, 1902 a 7.6 earthquake struck the mountain south of the hotel. It created a 10 million ton landslide that sliced a deep crevice in the earth and destroyed half the King’s hotel. 16 people were killed in the landslide, their bodies never recovered. To this day, their ghosts are said to haunt the site of the rebuilt hotel.

Built 1866.”

So, from a dirty cockroach motel to a haunted hotel, certainly a step up. She doesn’t really believe in ghosts, they’re cool as all hell, she loves creepy shit. But she doesn’t think any of it is real and if she’s wrong, maybe the ghosts will be nice enough to kill her. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine, unclipping her storage bag from it and making her way to the door.

The inside feels warm and welcoming, rustic. A large stone fireplace with a bear skin rug in front of it, wooden stairs leading to the upper floors. Her eyes scan the room and she finds a registration desk where a woman sits, reading from a white book. She stands out slightly in the old styled hotel, tattoos covering her arms. The woman’s light, almost milky, green eyes, look up to see Dahlia as she makes her way to the desk.

“I called ahead and reserved a room for tonight.”

“Hale, right?” The girl flashes a soft smile as she slides the registration forms across the desk and Dahlia finds herself looking down at the receptionist’s arms, SLOTH and ENVY with strikes through them; half tattooed and half scarred in the woman’s skin. Heavy-handed work.

“Yeah, that’s me, how’d you know?”

“Oh, not many folks check in here anymore, between the ghost tales and the new management.”

“Management?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she finishes scribbling in her info and handing her card over.

“Here,” the woman hands Dahlia’s card back along with a room key and a map, “I’m sure you’ll find the path.”

“Uhh…thanks…”

She shakes her head as she leaves the desk, doing a double take at the worker, who’s now back to reading the large white tome with a soft smile on her face. Dahlia is entirely too tired to deal with weird cryptic people, maybe she’s trying to play up the creepy factor of the supposedly haunted hotel. Probably intrigues the tourists or some shit. She takes her phone from her pocket, ringing Lloyd as she walks to her room.

“Hey, Stray,” He greets her with the nickname he gave her and she already feels a little better despite the chill and exhaustion.

“Hey,” Dahlia unlocks her room and strides in, there’s a deer head mounted on the wall and a vase of those white flowers on the bedside drawer, “just wanted to let you know that I am officially in Hope County.”

She tosses her luggage, along with the gunk the receptionist gave her onto the bed and does a fist bump for no one’s benefit but her own.

“That’s good, your interview is tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, hopefully it’ll go well, if not it might be another year of me eating cheese puffs on your couch.”

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of bum.”

“I mean…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m gonna be a mess when you go.”

“If I go, still gotta get the job.”

“You’re gonna nail it, I know it, me and Earl were friends way back. He’s not dumb enough to let you go. And if he is, well, I’ll be having some words with him.”

“You can’t fight someone for not wanting to hire me.”

“I mean, I can, uh, yeah, sweetie it’s stray, I was kinda, oh Caroline wants-“

“Stray, did you throw your fucking phone away?” Caroline, Lloyd’s wife, is on the phone in a second, worriedly yelling.

“I talked to you when I stopped off in Denver.”

“Yeah, in a dingy nasty motel and then we didn’t hear a word from you for over twelve fucking hours!”

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself,” Dahlia laughs and rolls her eyes, the concern is appreciated but unneeded. She’s a cop and despite her short stature, she’s got muscles and knows how to protect her. Maybe it’s cocky and arrogant, but at this point in her life, she’s not afraid of anything hurting her physically, mentally and emotionally is a whole other ballpark.

“Still, what if you were in an accident. Have you ate? Do you know where you’re eating tonight?”

She ate back in Denver and her stomach is growling now, but she mostly just wants a shower and sleep. She’d rather just grab room service for breakfast.

“I’m fine, I’ve ate and I will eat. Stop worrying, now I’m gonna get settled in for the night, I’ll call you after the interview.”

“Wait, ha-”

“Goodbye, mon cher,” Dahlia ends the call after her casual term of endearment, cher and mon cher as normal to her as bud or pal. Maybe it’s just a Cajun French Louisiana thing, or it’s one of the many things she picked up from her dad. She instinctively plays with the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck, he was always so proud of where he came from, teaching her Cajun French from the moment she could talk. Would he be upset with her leaving the state?

She shakes the thought from her head, she can’t concern herself with the opinions of people who aren’t here, as much as they’d mean to her. Dahlia finally has the tools to be independent and make her own way in this world, she needs to seize any and every opportunity. She double checks that her door is locked, before stripping out of her clothes.

Dahlia sets her phone to play music as she takes a shower, singing along to it as hot water eases her aching muscles. Once she’s cleaned, she dries off and starts to make her way to the bed where her luggage is.

The large white blooms on the table between the bed and window, draw her eye, her suspicion confirmed that they’re the same as the fields of flowers she saw on her way here. They must be a common flower here. She’s not a plant person, but she can appreciate pretty flowers when she sees them. The petals are soft against her finger and she pulls out one of the fresh flowers, sniffing at it. It tickles her nose, the soft scent pleasant, but it makes her want to sneeze. She tucks it back in the vase and scrubs at her nose.

Her vision swims for a moment, suddenly light-headed. She hasn’t slept much and has been driving a lot, her eyes must be tired as well.

Dahlia digs some comfy sleeping clothes from her bag to change into. Content in her shorts and tee, the hotel much warmer than the outside chill. She pushes her luggage off her bed and takes a look at the Hope County map.

Her vision is still swimming but she reaffirms where she needs to be tomorrow for her interview. It’s over in Fall’s End at the Sheriff’s Department. Dahlia fishes a marker out of her discarded jacket pocket and then starts to write directions down on her right forearm before tucking the map away.

She rifles a cigarette from her quickly emptying pack, most places don’t like their hotel rooms stinking like nicotine.

Cool air rushes in as she opens the window, she leans against the windowsill, appreciating the view of the moonlight reflecting in the pool of spring water. Montana really is beautiful.

She lights her cigarette, looking away for a second to ignite it.

“Ooooh ooooh~” A soft melodic voice drifts in, piercing the quiet, and Dahlia’s head snaps back to the window.

In the grass, a woman surrounded by green mist spins and dances, singing softly into the night. She’s young, but still older than Dahlia with dirty blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. A white lace dress with flowers across the waist and skirt. Illuminated by moonlight, a heavenly glow, angelic but singing a siren’s song.

Who would be out there at this time of night?

Dahlia’s the only one in the hotel and she doubts the staff indulges in nightly dance sessions.

When did Dahlia start leaning further out the window?

Every fiber of her being screams at her to run to the woman. To jump out the window if she has to, anything to get closer to the hauntingly beautiful woman dancing along the decks before the spring.

Dahlia slams the window shut, quick and hard enough to rattle it. It’s late, she’s exhausted, she’s ridden her bike almost twenty-eight hours straight. Only stopping for a late night in a shitty hotel in Denver before getting back on the road at eight am this morning.

Between ghost stories and exhaustion her brain is fucking with her.

The woman’s singing is still there.

Softer now but still present, still beckoning.

Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared to bolt in order to go find that woman.

She smashes her fist against the side of her head, the impact of her knuckles rattling her skull as she literally tries to knock sense into herself. Her visions seem to clear a bit and she can’t hear the singing anymore, but she also might have concussed herself.

Her cigarette is stamped out before she’s even halfway through it and she’s setting her phone alarm before jumping into the bed.

She buries her face in the pillow, no matter what she hears or thinks she’ll see, she’s not going anywhere until the morning. This interview is the most stressful thing she’s dealt with in years, so much rides on it, and she can’t be exhausted tomorrow from chasing fairy ghosts or what the fuck ever.

Her mind is just playing tricks on her, it��s an asshole, it does that.

She’s not certain exactly when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knows her alarm is going off. Dahlia groans and forces herself out of bed, she hates waking up. Her interview isn’t even late, but god, fuck waking up.

Her head is clearer now, no swimming in her vision and no singing or sirens. She forces her way out of bed, groggily trying to go about her day.

She’s running late, she’s always running late, time isn’t real.

After taking her sweet sleepy time to get herself put together and inhaling a room service breakfast, Dahlia is running down the hotel stairs and scrubbing syrup off her chin. Why does she do this to herself? The receptionist calls out something and she waves her off.

Helmet slapped on and engine revving, she guns it out of the parking lot and makes her way to towards the Valley. She comes to a bridge and pulls her arm from her jacket to read her scribbled directions, remembering too late that she can’t read her own handwriting.

She squints trying to decipher what the hell she wrote, her chicken scratch leaving a lot to be desired. It looks like it might say she’s going to Holland Valley or Halland Volley or Hallard, something to that effect by crossing the Honne…Benne…Rover….Dridge… Why does she do this to herself?

She’s probably on the right track, probably. Dahlia readjusts her jacket, confirming that her mess of directions won’t be getting any clearer the longer she stares at it and makes her way over the bridge. More signs hang from the inner framework of the bridge, half of them bearing a cross symbol with what looks like sunbeams coming from the center, the other half states The Power Of YES; Take The Leap.

Heebie jeebies nest in her gut, those goosebumps from earlier coming back. Religion…

Maybe it was too optimistic, but she had hoped further up North she’d see less of…that. She did searches online and was told based on some statistical thing that Montana was less religious than Louisiana. But apparently religion isn’t completely avoidable in the United States.

The crisp smell of apples manages to break through her helmet as she leaves the bridge. Apple trees as far as the eye can see, bright red fruit gleaming under sunlight, a giant orchard surrounds the road. People mill about the apple trees; couples holding hands and parents hefting their children up on their shoulders to pick the highest apples their little hands can reach. A few people look at her as she rides past, the rev of her engine and the music pounding from her helmet drawing attention. Some looks are judgmental, others unconcerned, a small kid waves at her as she passes by and she waves back, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. There’s a constructed Apple Statue in the orchard, noting that she’s riding through the Gardenview Orchard.

Over the horizon, built into the hills of the Holland Valley is a giant Hollywood style sign that says ‘YES’. It’s infinitely less creepy than the weird man statue, but far cheesier. Whether that’s better or worse? Who knows, but Hope County is definitely…weirder than she anticipated.

She passes through the orchard and coming up on the left apple trees are replaced with pumpkins on the ground. Fields growing them, some clearly bigger and further along in the growing process, none fully ripe, however. A house is built among the fields, one fence with a sign that says Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm.

There’s a couple walking around, holding hands, but more importantly there’s a dog. A mottled coat of black, white, and blue gray with a bandana around their neck. The dog’s head raises at the rev of Dahlia’s motorcycle engine passing by on the road, tail wagging but he doesn’t run out, a well-trained doggo.

She’s running late.

She doesn’t have time.

One pet can’t hurt.

Dahlia comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing and bracing herself against her handlebars of her bike so she doesn’t fly across the farm. The couple taken aback, staring wide-eyed at her as she kills her music and yanks off her helmet. The doggie is still wagging its tail, eager to meet their new friend.

“Can I pet your dog?”

The couple is older, by Dahlia standards, so probably around their thirties…or forties…or twenties…ages confuse her. A woman with short sandy hair and a man with a knit hat over his head, the woman’s dropped jaw becomes a soft smile, her eyes gentle.

“Of course,” a thick southern accent tints her voice, “Boomer’s doesn’t know a stranger.”

Dahlia stays outside the wooden fence, not wanting to step on crops or something, but she leans over it. Boomer’s big brown eyes landing on her, so cute, she already loves him. A few coos and he’s already rushing over, standing to put his paws at the top of the fence so he can get some much-deserved love. She pets the top of his head, scratching behind his ears and around his neck. He eagerly leans into scritch and pet, licking her.

“Awww, such a good boy, yes you are,” she praises and laughs, soaking it in. Even if she’s running late, this is more than worth it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks.

“Nah, here for a job interview,” Dahlia answers, hugging around Boomer’s neck as she snuggles him.

“Where you interviewing at?”

“Sheriff’s department.”

“You’re kind of young for a cop, ain’tcha?”

“I’m an adult,” she says, shrugging her shoulders through the hug. She is a young adult and that’s all that needs to be said on that.

“They finally trying to fill that deputy position?”

“Seems like it.”

“Sorry, to brush you off so soon, but we have to go pick up some equipment before noon and we’re already cutting it close.”

Shit, right, time. She’s running late too, but the dog was worth it.

“No problem, have a good one, you keep being a good boy, Boomer.”

She gives a final scratch to his head, then slides her helmet back on, waving off the couple as she hops back on her bike. Her nerves have eased slightly at having gotten some time with a dog and even if she’s late, she doesn’t regret it.

Her engine revs and she’s back to traveling down the quiet Montana roads. The sheriff’s department is in Fall’s End. A water tower baring the town’s name lets her know she’s arrived in the right area. It’s not a huge town. Along the main road, there’s the sheriff’s department, a general store, a bar, a church. There’s little streets and roadways showing that beyond those there’s houses and an apartment complex. Not huge, but certainly bigger than where she’s from, which…isn’t saying much.

Dahlia parks her motorcycle outside the sheriff’s department, all those initially dissipated nerves are bubbling back to the surface. Her stomach in absolute knots and her muscles tense with anxiety. She shuts off her bike and pockets her keys then pulls off her helmet, fiddling with her hair. A deep breath, before she finally steels herself to step into the building.

There’s a desk to Dahlia’s right when she enters the building, an older woman with a layered bob of red hair.

“There something I can help you with, darling?” Her southern accented voice asks.

“I have an interview with the sheriff.”

“Really,” the woman’s eyes scan Dahlia up and down, eyebrows furrowed in judgement, “can I get your name?”

“Hale,” she murmurs, once again fiddling with her messy strands of dark hair. She knows she doesn’t exactly look the most professional right now. But professional clothes and motorcycles don’t truly mix. The woman, her desk tag says N. McClure, shuffles through some documents and reads over something.

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let Earl know you’re here.”

Dahlia plops down in one of the reception area’s chairs, fiddling with the cat ears on her motorcycle helmet. Her leg bounces up and down, shaking out excess energy as the woman at the desk starts to call back, asking for Whitehorse. It’ll be fine, Dahlia reassures herself, Lloyd and Caroline have been talking her up to their old friend. All she needs to do is be herself, maybe, probably not. She’s kind of a mess.

The clock hand ticks slowly, Dahlia feeling like she’s about to go crazy waiting for her interview to start. Finally, the woman hangs up the phone she was calling back to Whitehorse on, a soft smile on her face that pulls at the wrinkles around her eyes.

“Earl’s ready to talk to you, come on back.”

The older woman steps out and helps show Dahlia to the office door, passing through a bullpen style office area to get there, Sheriff Whitehorse is scrawled on a plaque by the door. Dahlia knocks and he tells her to come on in, she slowly opens the door and steps in. There’s a modest sized quaint office with only a few personal touches. She’s only seen old photos Lloyd had of himself and Whitehorse, from way back in police academy. The man before her is much older than he was in those photos, weathered with wrinkled skin. He looks like an old sheriff pulled directly from a movie; green uniform, cowboy hat, scraggly brown hair, and a mustache.

“You’re Lloyd and Caroline’s Stray, right?” He says, standing up from his desk to shake her hand over it. He’s over a foot taller than her, probably close to a foot and a half. His hand swallows her own whole, it’s probably bigger than her face.

“Holy shit, you’re tall.”

That’s not a good way to start an interview, but he seems to be laughing and smiling. So, maybe it’s fine. Lloyd once said she has a charm about her despite her lack of tact or decorum. She’s still trying to figure out what that charm is, but still.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. She follows suit, leg still bouncing like it was in the waiting room. Whitehorse puts a manilla folder down on the desk, the little tab labeled D. Hale. It’s surprisingly thick for someone who’s never met her in person.

“Lloyd and Caroline talk highly of you, hell the whole town does.”

“The whole town…?” She raises an eyebrow, what’s that supposed to mean? Reinette, Louisiana is a small town, it’s police department has about six people in total and everyone knows everyone. But certainly, they wouldn’t call up Whitehorse to talk about her.

“I swear Lloyd must have handed out the stations number to everyone down there, we’ve been getting two, three calls a day of people who can’t say enough good things about you.”

“Oh god.” Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks, god damn it, Lloyd.

“You’ve left quite an impression on the place.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Dahlia pushes some hair off her face, fidgeting with the locks.

“And you haven’t been working there long, have you?”

“Not counting training, about a year and a half, I know I don’t have much experience.”

“Still making such an impact in a short amount of time, says something.”

“Thanks.” His words soothe her nerves and embarrassment a bit, maybe this will go well.

“But, there’s the issue of your record…”

“My record…?” She shouldn’t have a record, he opens the manilla folder and she feels bile raise in the back of her throat.

“Between what’s on the books and what everyone was saying, I was starting to wonder if there were two of you, Hale. Runaways, break in, fights, attempted grand theft auto, and petty thefts, the list goes on. Doesn’t exactly scream future cop.”

“I thought records got expunged at eighteen.”

“If you request it.”

“Oh…well then…”

“I know this all happened when you were a minor and you’ve been clear for the past two or so years, but…”

“It still looks bad, I know, I know. I’m not going to try to tell you some bullshit excuse or sob story. I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. I regret most of it, not all of it, but most of it. Lloyd and Caroline helped me get my life back on track, I know two years doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’m not the same kid I was when I did that shit.”

That what she tells him, but she’s not sure how much she believes it. It feels more like her situation’s changed than she’s changed, but if she just said that she’s no longer a delinquent because she doesn’t need to be, well, it wouldn’t sound as good or employable.

“What made you wanna be a cop?”

“Wanted to help people,” she answers with a shrug, it’s not really anything more complicated than that. Whitehorse huffs out what sounds like a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, I gotta ask, why here? Lloyd and the whole town loves you. It’s a hell of a move and the pay raise ain’t much.”

“Look,” she sighs and folds her hands on top of her motorcycle helmet, calming her body down, “I love Reinette, I love Lloyd and I love Caroline. I owe them and the whole town a debt that I’ll never pay back. But, I’m twenty years old. I’m not their kid and even if I was it’d be time for me to go, I’ve taken enough of their time, money, and everything. Reinette, bless the town’s heart, it’s...dying. There’s more cows than people, our station has more cars than officers. It won’t be long before they do away with the town’s department and just do everything through the Parish. And the parish’s department doesn’t need any more officers.”

Her throat constricts as bile raises in the back of it, her stomach churning. After everything that town and its people have done for her, she’s leaving them. A traitor, betrayer.

“You figure any of those officers will even find work in the parish, at all?” He asks with a knowing, soft look in his eye. If he keeps in contact with Lloyd, he’s already well aware of the trouble in Reinette.

“I doubt it, town’s a sinking ship. Lloyd…he’s willing to go down with it,” her eyes sting and she clenches her jaw, containing herself, “I can’t do that. As much as they all mean to me, I can’t. Lloyd’s gonna retire when it goes under, I’m twenty, the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m trying to help people; I’m trying to make a difference. But my hands keep getting tied because of money, resources, anything and everything. Lloyd and Caroline gave me the means and the tools to make something of myself, I’m not gonna piss that away because some fucker decided we weren’t worth investing in, I…”

She’s clenching her fists and nearly smacking her helmet, anger and frustration welling up inside of her, a geyser of emotions threatening to break through. This is an interview, she can’t do this, can’t be emotional. She needs to stop this, a deep breath before she starts to speak again.

“I can do more here, I know no place is perfect, but I can do more here.”

“Well, no one can say you’re not passionate.” Whitehorse lets out another chuckle, seemingly amused.

“Sorry, certain shit, just winds me up.” She massages the back of her neck, why is she such a fucking idiot? No one wants to hire a cop who can’t keep their cool and throws a fit. She was supposed to tone down her dumbassery, not ramp it up.

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about what you’re doing.”

“Yeah…” She half-heartedly agrees, Whitehorse is trying to make her feel better. Her interview has become him trying to console her, absolutely pathetic. She might as well call Lloyd and Caroline now and tell them she blew it.

“You got any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

Did she just fuck this up as bad as she thinks she did?

“Not really, I just wanna get to work.” That earns her another chuckle from Whitehorse, even if he doesn’t think she’s competent, at least she’s entertaining it seems.

“Full of piss and vinegar, ain’t ya?”

“To say the least.” She lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no mirth of joy behind it. Not a shred of happiness as she thinks about what a fucking idiot she is.

“Well, if that’s all,” Whitehorse stands up from his desk, “I’ll go ahead and show you out.”

Dahlia stands up, the sheriff places a large hand on her back as they leave his office, finding their way back into the reception area.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Hale.”

“Same, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She’s sure that he’d rather be doing literally anything else, especially after that beyond trash interview.

“It’s no problem at all, I-”

The doors to the department open, a man and a woman in green deputy uniforms coming in. Another giant, the man is barely an inch of two shorter than Whitehorse, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes. More importantly, the woman while taller doesn’t absolutely tower over Dahlia, her long black hair is braided over her shoulder and her olive skin makes her hunter green eyes stand out all the more.

Dahlia’s throat feels tight and her heart race is a little faster. So…that’s a thing.

“We running a daycare, now?” The guy asks, looking down his nose at Dahlia, though that might just be because of the height difference. Either way, she glares at him, he’s been around her a grand total of five seconds and he’s being a dick.

“Pratt…” The woman, her name tag says J. Hudson, rolls her eyes at him. Her voice is warm and rich; why is Dahlia’s face so hot? Is she sick? Has the Montana weather already kicked her ass, what is this?

“This is one of the interviewees. Hale, these are my deputies.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hudson flashes a soft smile and what is Dahlia’s heart doing? It’s like someone’s squeezing it and filled her gut with bugs while they were at it. She fucks up an interview and now she needs a doctor, great.

“Same, I was, uh, just on my way out actually.” She needs to go sleep off whatever the fuck has just hit her.

“Good luck,” the taller woman gives a friendly tap to Dahlia’s bicep, “hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.”

Dahlia is dying.

That’s the only explanation. She fucked up an interview and now she has the heart plague or some shit, hell of a day.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, ‘preciate it.” She’s avoiding eye contact and she doesn’t know why she's stumbling over her words and she doesn’t know why.

“Pssh,” Pratt scoffs, “she’s gonna need it.”

Suddenly, she can talk again. Weird. Hudson and Whitehorse shake their heads, clearly use to his bullshit

“Sorry about Pratt, he’s, well he’s Pratt.”

“Eh, every station has at least one cop who’s just trying to make up for his tiny dick.”

“I assure you, I-”

“Enough,” Whitehorse cuts him off, talking like he’s breaking up a child’s squabbling. Doesn’t really help make her look any more mature or competent, way to steer into the skid, Dahlia.

“For the millionth time, no one wants to hear about your dick, Pratt.” Hudson rolls her eyes, why is that being said for the millionth time?

“Well, that’s certainly my cue to go, have a good one.”

Dahlia quickly waves off the sheriff and deputies, making her escape. She takes the couple steps to her motorcycle with quick rigid movement, making sure she’s away from windows or the glass door, not wanting any of them to see her.

She lets out a low guttural groan muffled by how tightly her jaw is clenched jaw and knocks her knuckles against the back of her head.

Idiot, she fucked everything up by going on some huge ass fucking rant.

Despite the distance, this was a phenomenal opportunity the best she’s had. It’s not like she hasn’t looked into place in Louisiana, but something is always wrong. She’s never made it as far as the interview. Either she never gets a call back, maybe they’d seen her records the same way Whitehorse did and didn’t even bother giving her that chance. Or she’d learn the town, parish, city, whatever was no better off than Reinette. One of the sheriffs she talked to on the phone knew her stepfather and recognized her name, nearly making her puke before she hung up.

This was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best chance she’s had. Whitehorse has the Lloyd seal of approval which is as good as gold. And as much as the distance is guilt inducing…, the fear of betrayal and abandoning people who mean so much to her. But, she needs somewhere far away.

As many good memories as Lloyd, Caroline, and the people of Reinette have given her. There are still too many bad ones, too many people figuring out where she came from, one too many bad memories trying to be more than just that. As much as it may eat her up to leave, it’ll eat her up even more to stay. Between the impending unemployment and her own past, every good moment there has a shadow looming over it.

When she gets back to Reinette she’ll start working to get her record taken care of. Once that’s settled, it’s back to job hunting. A bump in the road, a moment of frustration, but she’ll come out the other end. She always does.

Her stomach growls, burning through a pack of cigarettes and stress binge eating sound like a great way to deal with this. She’ll find some place to stuff her face and call Lloyd once she gets back to the hotel.

There’s a general store, she doesn’t know if the bar lets minors in, so it’s probably her best place to grab some quick snack. She plops her helmet on and makes the short drive to the store, parking her bike outside and pulling her helmet back off to light a cigarette by the dumpsters. Her stressed brain is desperately craving nicotine.

She rips open her pack of cigarettes and lights one up, bringing it to her lips. Smoke pools in her lungs, clawing to her insides and easing her nerves if only for a second. Holding it there for a moment before breathing it out into the air. Her eyes are drawn to the neon sign of The Spread Eagle bar, even bright in the daylight. It also seems to have some activity despite the early hour. Well, early for a bar. A white truck pulls up in front of the building, a man with long grungy hair climbing out of the passenger seat.

Those odd pains in her chest and churns in her stomach fade as she inhales the smoke, looking up at the clear blue sky. A soft breeze blows through, carrying the gray trails away with it. Montana really is beautiful…

“Get back here!” A woman yells out, door to the bar swinging open violent as the man with long hair comes rushing back out, arms piled high with crates of alcohol.

Dahlia drops her cigarette and helmet, bolting towards the bar, as the thief tries to scramble into the back of the pickup truck. He gets the crates set down, but she’s grabbed the back of his shirt before he can climb in. A harsh yank, pulling the tall man back into her and away from the truck. She encircles her arms under his armpits and locks her hands behind his neck, grappling into a full nelson hold that keeps him from running off. The odd angle of these heights and the way he was yanked from the back of the truck leaves him on his knees in his grasp.

“Someone call the sheriff’s department!” She yells out, she doesn’t have any jurisdiction here or cuffs to actually arrest the guy.

He tries to fight back against the hold, attempting to break free, but all he manages to do is writhe and squirm. The door of the truck swings open, the driver jumping out, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy sound. Another man easily a foot or more taller than her.

“Help me, brother Theodore,” the man in her hold struggles to beg for help.

“We have strict orders from John Seed to confiscate this liquor.”

“Don’t know or care who that is, mon cher.”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to know him,” the guy tells her, sneering and she sees his finger twitch, brushing over the gun in his belt holster. She can’t have firearms going off in a residential area.

“All you’ll do is end up shootin’ your friend, don’t be stupid. Liquor ain’t worth bloodshed.”

He lets out a sigh and his hand relax, something clicking in his mind. The man, Theodore, chews his lip, eyes flickering as she nearly sees the gears turning in his head.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar rough voice asks over Dahlia’s shoulder, she doesn’t need to look to know Whitehorse has come to investigate. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare look away from the man in front of her, not until she’s sure he won’t try to shoot.

“These pieces of shit peggies were trying to steal my liquor stash,” a woman explains, somewhere behind Dahlia.

“Liquors still in the back of the truck,” Dahlia tells them, none of it seemed to break, so hopefully it won’t hurt the bar too much.

“If it wasn’t for her, they would have cost me a month’s worth of sales.”

“Pratt, Hudson,” Whitehorse calls the names of his deputies.

“I got it here,” Hudson taps on Dahlia arm, cuffs in hand, and that weird heart thing is happening again.

“Um, yeah, o-of course.” She maneuvers away from the guy, she’s never stumbled over her words like that before. Hudson cuffs the guy and starts reading his rights off.

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” Pratt barks out at the Theodore guy who's surprisingly obedient as he lets the deputy cuff him.

Dahlia scratches at her nose, watching the scene unfold. She’s finally gotten a good look at the woman who was being robbed.

And, not only is everyone here tall, they’re also apparently beautiful. The woman is than both Dahlia and Hudson, with honey blonde hair tucked up into a bun and soft blue eyes. Her features are soft, cherubic almost, with freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Have women always been this pretty?

When did women start being this pretty?

The fuck is her heart doing?

“Looks like it’s a good thing you were here,” Whitehorse tells her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “you managed to get Mary May’s liquor back and stopped it from escalating.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“Someone you know, sheriff?” The blonde, Mary May asks. His smile gets wider and he squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a comforting touch.

“This is my new Junior Deputy.”

“I am?”

He’s not serious, there’s no way, he has to be fucking with her.

“Unless you changed your mind?”

“Hell no,” she shakes her head, “I am the new Junior Deputy, wait, Junior?”

“You’ll start with a six-month probationary hire, paid of course, manage that and we’ll take you on permanently.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’ll start next, c’mon down to the station Mary, we’ll book ‘em and get your report in.”

“See you around, stranger,” Mary May tells her as she follows after Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt forcing the thieves along. Theodore shooting a glare Dahlia’s way.

“Look forward to working with you, Rookie.”

“Pfft, I give her a week, tops.”

And with that, Dahlia is left alone on the road of Falls End…with a new job.

She got the job.

She’s got to get through the probationary hire, but she got the job. Holy shit. Holy shit. And she starts in a week. She needs to call Lloyd and Caroline, she needs to find somewhere to live, there’s so much to do.

Dahlia is practically skipping back over to her helmet and bike. She’s gotta start getting her ducks in a row.

She speeds her way back through Hope County, making her way back to the hotel. She has so many fucking calls to make and shit to go through. Before she knows it she’s back in the Kings Spring Hotel parking lot, fumbling to get her phone. As silly as it may be, she’d rather call Lloyd and Caroline in a less populated area. She’s grinning ear to ear, enough to hurt her cheeks, she looks like a dork and that’s not going to get any better. Helmet under her arm, she dials Lloyd as she paces in the isolated parking lot.

“How’d it go?” Lloyd is asking before she even says hi.

“Six months, probationary hire, then we’ll go from there.”

‘So, you got the job?”

“That was the bummer way of saying I got the job, yeah.”

“I can hear you smiling!”

“Shut it!”

“Caroline! She got the job, yeah!”

“I,” she rubs a hand down her face, “I thought for sure I blew it.”

��What changed?”

“Some bar across the street got robbed right after my interview, I stepped in, next thing I know I’m the Junior Deputy.”

“Holy fuck, do you know what that is, Stray?”

“Dumb luck?”

“Fate, Stray, it’s fucking fate! The world telling you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be!”

“You really are a sap, ain’t ya?”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m staying another night here, but once I hop off I gotta start looking into where I’m gonna stay. I start in a week, so I gotta start moving, I’ll see you all in two or three days once I make the drive. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll manage.”

“Man, you’re really leaving.”

“No crying.”

“Seems like yesterday Caroline found you in the barn.”

“No crying.”

“You were so thin, just a little bag of bones…” His voice is choking up.

“I’m hanging up, you cry baby!”

She does just that, smiling up at the sky. It’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels like the start of a new life, a new her. There’s a jump in her step as she makes her way back into the hotel, room service food and she’ll start making phone calls.

“Miss Hale!” The soft lilted voice of the receptionist calls out when she sees Dahlia.

“Oh, hey.” Dahlia walks to the desk, head tilted in question, what could she need?

“A heads up, we’re switching the water in the tank for the shower and bath system to water pumped in from the spring.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“It’s so much more relaxing than regular tap water, be sure to use it tonight.”

“Uh yeah, thanks, by the way can I order some room service?”

“Of course.”

Dahlia goes through her order for room service, being assured the order will be put in and delivered before she knows it. With that she goes back up to her room, she starts digging through the bedside drawer, searching for a phone book for the area. There’s a white book in the top drawer, with that same strange cross like symbol that was on the signs along the bridge. She throws it on the bed, finding a local phone book beneath it, much more important.

She starts rifling through pages. Hope County is mostly a trailer park town, for people who can’t afford to build or buy an actual home and land. There is an apartment complex in Falls End, but the rent is high for pretty small apartments. The prices probably jacked since housing is so limited. She’d rather get a whole trailer to herself for cheaper and just travel further for work.

Hours pass by her making phone calls, seeing about housing and stuffing food in her face when she’s not talking. The Silver Lake Trailer Park that’s nearest the station has no vacancy or trailers available for rent, but they refer her to the Moonflower Trailer Park. It’s some distance, but with how fast she rides her bike, it’s doable. It’s the only place with vacancy, she’ll drop by with a down payment and check out the trailer tomorrow before she heads back to Louisiana to get her stuff and everything tidied up there. The world outside the hotel window has gone dark, moon hanging bright in the sky.

That settled she finishes off her food and collapses back on the bed. She’s still smiling, grinning ear to ear.

“Wooooooo!” She yells out and pumps her fist up at the ceiling, fuck yeah, she’s got this.

She’ll grab one of those spring water showers and then pass out for the night. She grabs her phone and sets it up to play music in the bathroom while she washes up. Her clothes hit the floor, air conditioner chilling her skin as she waits for the water to heat up. It has a soft floral scent and is tinted slightly green, spring water.

She steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the day. Her muscles relax under the water and steam, as she scrubs the hotel soap into her skin. She blinks her eyes open once she’s done washing her hair, finding her vision clouding, her body feeling heavier and heavier. Must be the exhaustion of the day. Dahlia quickly finishes washing, the last thing she needs is to fall asleep in the shower again.

Her steps are shaky, her body swaying as the world swims around her. Colors distort and shift in prisms before her eyes. It’s like the night before, but times a million. Her movements sluggish as she dries herself and quickly pulls on her sleep clothes. She was feeling ill earlier, maybe it’s catching up to her? But it doesn’t feel the same. Not panicky and nervous. One of her favorite songs starts to play through her phone, though its eerie tones aren’t as welcomed in this moment.

She grips the sink for leverage, steadying herself as she looks into the mirror

All our times have come.

Her dark brown eyes aren’t dark brown, not quite. She tugs at her eyelids, the iris growing milkier and lighter than she’s ever seen it. What the hell is this? A soft melodic laugh echoes through the room, like it’s near.

Here but now they're gone.

She stumbles out of the bathroom, finding her empty bedroom. Nothing unusual.

Seasons don't fear the reaper.

The laugh rings out again, a flash of white passing by her open door. When did it open? She didn’t leave it open.

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...

She’s walking out her door before she can give it another thought, looking back and forth across the hall, who’s there?

We can be like they are

Her feet pad down the hallway, steps suddenly sure and confident as she tries to follow the voice. Like her body is being drawn, pulled, following sheer instinct. She needs to find them.

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

A flash of white, the swish of lace fabric, that laugh again vanishing into one of the rooms. Dahlia is there, trying to wrench open the door. Then it rings out from behind her.

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

A woman stands at the end of a long hallway, the one from the tight before. Long sandy hair and beautiful green eyes. A blue butterfly perches itself on her fingers, the woman looking at it in awe. Dahlia takes slow steps forward, she wants to speak, ask who she is and what she’s doing here. But her tongue is heavy, her throat tight, vocal cords numb, not a sound escaping.

Baby I'm your man...

Green eyes flicker from the butterfly to Dahlia, a soft almost mischievous smile tugging at the woman’s lips. She laughs again as Dahlia nears her, then she runs, childish and giggling she runs towards one of the rooms. Dahlia is chasing her even after she vanishes from sight, legs moving without her permission, instinct driving her to reach this woman. She doesn’t know why, but she needs to reach her, touch her. Be closer.

La la la la la

The laughter turns into soft humming, singing echoing through the halls. Somehow the sound is everywhere, all consuming and right in her ear, but also distant the source too far away for her to find. She walks down the halls, taking turns and climbing up stairs, following her instinct that pulls her in each direction she goes.

Valentine is done

Flashes of white fabric, doors closing and shutting. It’s a game of tag that she can’t seem to win, the small hotel has somehow become a labyrinth as she tries to find the humming woman. Short hallways and few rooms have been traded for never ending paths with room lining them.

Here but now they're gone

Sometimes spacious and open, other times claustrophobic, choking, walls scraping the skin of her arms where she has to fear she might become stuck. More halls and more floors than she’s ever seen, winding paths that make her dizzy. But she can’t stop searching for that woman.

Romeo and Juliet

One more turn, the woman is at the end of a hallway. Standing before a door, softly singing to what is now two butterflies balanced on her fingers. Dahlia starts to walk down the hallway, tight, claustrophobic. She keeps her hands on the walls as if it will give her more space, as if she could force the walls to open wider for her.

Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet

Her heartbeat races as she walks closer and closer, the walls threatening to crush her between them. She can hardly breathe, every breath ragged and tight. Dying. She feels like she’s dying, air being stolen from her lungs and heart pounding lie it’s trying to escape her chest. It worsens with every step she takes near the woman.

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet

Some part of her brain, the small part that doesn’t have a thick haze of fog clinging to it, tells her to run the other way. That with this feeling only growing with every step towards the siren, with her heart pounding harsher, breathing getting raspier, she’ll die if she keeps going. That this truly is a siren luring her to death, but she can’t listen to that part of her. Her body won’t. She needs to reach her.

40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness

She’s getting closer and closer; the woman isn’t running this time. Just calming singly, like she doesn’t even notice Dahlia. She tries to reach out for the woman, her fingers nearly brushing the woman’s dress sleeve.

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are

Then the woman walks through the door, Dahlia could curse and cry if her vocal cords would only work. Once again, the woman evading her, being just out of reach. But this hall has no doors along its sides, no turns or twists. The only two options are going back or going through the door after her. It’s not even a choice.

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

She wrenches the door open and she’s in another world. No more wood walls and floors, her bare feet touching lush grass that tickles her skin. White petals float in the air and scatter across the ground. Trees curl around the area and when she looks out at the horizon, she sees that large statue of that man looming over the area.

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

When she looks straight ahead at the middle of the field is the woman, she twirls, short white dress fanning out around her hips. She stops, turning to face Dahlia, she smiles softly. Delicate and angel like, she stretches her hand out. An offer, a beckoning.

We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper

The feeling of impending death lifts the very moment she sees the woman. Her heartbeat and her breathing easing, relief and contentment filling her body. She’s smiling and she doesn’t know why she feels alive. Free, like she can do anything. She’s walking closer and closer to the woman, each step making her happier and happier. Her body lighter and lighter. Calm and peace, she’s never known. She’s right where she belongs, she doesn’t need to be anywhere else.

Dahlia reaches out, finally about to touch her, a touch of their hands is so simple, so minor. But it feels like the only thing she wants. All she’s ever want, like every moment in her entire life has been building up to this, being here with her, whoever she is.

Before skin can meet skin, the siren fades to mist.

No, no, no!

She grasps desperately at the air where the woman once was, her heart racing, her lungs stinging like the airs been knocked out of them. The world is crumbling, falling down, everything going out beneath her feet. It’s falling apart and she can’t stop it, she can’t fix it.

Dahlia takes a heavy gasp, desperately sucking in a heavy breath and she blinks, the world around her has completely shifted. Her vision isn’t blurred, no more prisms of color before her eyes.

Cold, goosebumps raising up on her skin, shorts and tee doing nothing to save her from the Montana breeze. She’s outside the hotel, in the world she knows. That damn statue looming still in the distance ahead of her.

Dull.

The landscaped she was so mesmerized by this day, seems so dull now. She feels dull, after so many emotions, so much intensity both in fear and happiness…she feels so numb. Dahlia rubs her fingers together, her craving for the feeling of another’s hand in her own…there’s an ache. She was so close, but now she’s been plunged back into reality.

She stands out in the field outside the hotel, staring at that cement statue, it still seems to call her. Her heart telling her to go towards that looming structure, but her head tells her to go back inside the hotel.

So, she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring.

“Miss Hale!” A voice pulls her further back into reality, the hotel receptionist walking out towards her with a large blanket.

Dahlia blinks a few times, she no longer feels numb, the very real emotion of shame flooding in. She’s standing out in public, in her pajamas. Did she just wander out of her hotel room in her sleep clothes? She must look ridiculous.

“Hey…”

“Is everything alright? You just walked out of your hotel, looked like you were sleepwalking.”

“Uh…yeah, I guess.”

That makes sense, she must have went to bed and had a weird dream…yeah.

“Here,” the woman wraps the large blanket around Dahlia, “you must be freezing.”

“Thanks, sorry, I, just, weird dream.” She murmurs as they walk back to the hotel, Dahlia giving one last glance at the hotel.

“Dreams are nice, aren’t they? Sometimes you just wanna stay there forever.”

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #faith seed #jacob seed #deputy oc #This Is Love #Dahlia Hale

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years

Text

In Pieces

Title: In Pieces

Word Count: 3698

Summary: Thomas may not have the whole picture, but he has enough of it. for @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. Familial LAMP/CALM, plus “guess I’m an uncle now” Thomas.

Warnings: parental abuse, food mention, yelling, cursing, physical abuse depicted through acting, sort of crying, I have no idea how real movie sets/filming work so it’s probably not accurate woops

Author’s note: I love Isa’s Sanders Bro AU an abnormal amount, probably. So of course I had to write a fic for it because I have no chill. Credit for the AU and the entire basis for the fic (from this post) is all to them. Please, please check out the AU on their blog because it is amazing. This fic certainly pales in comparison, but I hope it’s not too terrible. Heh. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but here it is regardless! Huge thanks to Isa for also answering my anon asks for clarification about a few things. Hope some of this isn’t too far off course. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff@helloisthisusernametaken @ren-allen @lizaelsparrow @princelogical @random-pianist @ravenclawicecream @erlenmeyertrash @milomeepit @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes @rileyfirstname @pinkeasteregg @sassy-in-glasses@vigilantvirgil@generalfandomfabulousness@lacrimosathedark@thepoolofthedead @monikastec @heir-of-the-founders @yourworstnightmare999 @artistictaurean @kanejandkruge @cdragontogacotar@candiukas @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl@angst-patton@savingshae@noneed4thistbh@awesomelissawho@unikornavenger@bopthesnoz @spiralofsilencetheory@finger-gunsss @crownswriter123 @swlotakulady34

…

“And cut!”

Roman grins brightly at Thomas—who has him shoved up against a brick wall with a prop knife to his throat—and the tension from the dramatic scene they’d just finished is suddenly cut (no pun intended) with one look. Thomas laughs and rolls his eyes, letting Roman shrug out of his grip.

“Good take, guys. Take a break,” the director calls out as she flips through notes.

Thomas hands the prop knife to one of the stage hands and thanks him with a sincere smile before following Roman to the snack table behind the assortment of cameras. The teen picks up a turkey club sandwich from the pile and shoves it unceremoniously into his mouth. Thomas picks up an apple. He doesn’t blame the kid, really; they’d been filming and rehearsing since six this morning without much time for a lunch break.

The constant movement on set is oddly comforting to Thomas. Stage hands hustle to get props and actors, the director is watching footage of the scene he had just filmed with Roman and talks about it in hushed voices with her producers. She casts a glance at Roman, and Thomas smiles. He knows that look. She’s impressed, and to be honest, Thomas is too. Roman is young—still a kid, really—but he’s got serious acting chops. It’s a wonder he didn’t break into the business sooner.

Thomas glances at the teen beside him and smiles faintly at the awed look in his eyes as he watches the action around him. They’re a few weeks into production on this movie, but Roman still looks like he can’t believe he’s actually here.

A few smaller kids for the orphanage scene—maybe five or six—chase each other around the set, shrieking in laughter. A few of the cast members seem vaguely annoyed at the added chaos, but Thomas doesn’t mind. They were quiet, talented, patient kids who knew to only wreak havoc between shots.

“Tag, you’re it!” a little girl shouts as she runs into a boy’s shoulder before sprinting away. The young boy—in his tattered clothes costume but his eyes bright and lively—spins around. His gaze seems to zero in on Roman, and the teen barely has time to react before the boy barrels right into his legs.

“Oof!” Roman says dramatically, doubling over—but not falling over, and Thomas is vaguely impressed by that—and capturing the boy his arms. “Argh, you cannot escape my grasp!”

“You’re it! You’re it! You’re it!” the boy yells, grinning as he tries to wriggle his way free.

“I’m it?” Roman announces, playfully holding onto the kid, “Are you sure about that? I’ll have you know, I’m a three time champion in the art of playing tag.” He’s grinning, something warm and twinkling in his eyes.

“Nuh-uh!” The boy barrels out of Roman’s arms, and the Sanders teen lets him break right out of his grasp.

“You don’t believe me?” he says, throwing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I suppose I’ll have no choice but to prove it to you!” The boy shrieks with laughter as Roman chases after him.

Thomas crosses his arms over his chest and watches his coworker chase the kids around the set. A few people stop and watch the chaos unfold as well, but most people don’t mind too much. They’re between takes anyway, and he’s keeping the kids occupied in the very least. Thomas watches as one of them leaps up onto Roman’s back and feels his heart jump, but Roman only stumbles a step or two before hooking his arms underneath the kid’s legs in a piggy-back ride and running the kid around the set a few times.

“Roman! Thomas!” The director calls out. “We’re gonna need to do that scene again. I want to try some different camera work. Be ready in five.”

Roman looks over at the sound of his name and nods. He lowers the kid on his back to the ground, says something to him that Thomas doesn’t quite catch, and they both exchange a mock salute before Roman jogs back to the table.

“You’re so good with them,” a voice speaks up as Roman returns by the snack table. Thomas looks over his shoulder to see Valerie taking a cracker off the plate.

Roman smiles slightly and lifts a shoulder. “I have three younger brothers.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Valerie says, having seen Logan, Patton, and Virgil a couple of times over the past few weeks. “You’re all so cute. I bet your parents are so proud of you!”

Roman seems suddenly very interested in the cheese cubes on the table by the crackers. He picks one up and pops it in his mouth. “I gotta get back to set,” he says, in a voice that sounds just a little tight to Thomas.

“Oh,” Valerie says to Roman’s retreating form, her voice still bright and friendly, if a bit confused. “Of course! Good luck!”

…

“What do you mean you can’t make it tomorrow?” the producer says, his voice rising. It’s a month or so later. Thomas stops mid-sentence and looks over towards the noise. A young intern with short hair and big glasses seems to shirk away from the volume, and Thomas sighs.

“I mean, I’m sorry, it’s just….” The girl stammers, adjusting the frame of her glasses.

Most people around the set are keeping themselves busy, ignoring the exchange. The producer is known for his temper, after all, and few people paid attention when the interns were getting reamed out. A small number were trying not to stare at the exchange, and a few others appeared to not be listening but—when looked at closer—could be shown to be listening regardless. Across the set, Roman Sanders seems to have fallen into the latter of the group, staring a little too intently at the script in his hands.

“I gave you this break!” the producer shouts at her, his face red. “This is a real job, sweetheart, and you don’t get to just come and go as you please!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees Roman snap the script close and toss it onto the table in front of him. There’s something tight in his jaw, squared in his shoulders, something aged in his eyes… Even the producer looks taken aback when he realizes that Roman is walking towards him.

“I think,” Roman says, in a calm and measured voice that Thomas wouldn’t have even been able to hear if it wasn’t dead silent on set, “that she can hear you plenty well when you speak normally, sir.”

The producer blinks in surprise—even Thomas feels a bit taken aback by the new actor’s courage—before spluttering an indignant reply. “This isn’t any of your business, boy.”

“Perhaps not,” Roman replies, his voice still remarkably cool and composed. It stands in stark contrast to the producer’s indignant shouting a moment ago. “But it’s certainly hard to ignore when you’re screaming about it. Perhaps you should take a moment to calm down before discussing the matter further.”

Roman’s words seem to make the producer suddenly and startlingly aware of the people around them. At the sharp stare of the producer, most onlookers duck their heads and busy themselves with rehearsing lines, checking mics, finding their shoes suddenly fascinating. Thomas quietly meets the producer’s gaze with a steady one of his own. He doesn’t know what his expression shows, but Roman is right, and Thomas is fully prepared to come to his defense if the producer tries anything.

The producer grumbles something in a low voice and storms off. Thomas watches as Roman seems to relax back into his usual warm persona. Regular chatter and the sounds Thomas had come to associate with the backstage-between-takes bustle of the movie business filter back up. Roman flashes a smile at the intern, and Thomas reads his lips as he asks, “You okay?”

The young girl nods, smiling faintly back. The girl, by Thomas’s best guess, is probably around sixteen or seventeen, making Roman only a year or so older than her. But there’s a brief moment where Thomas can’t help but feel like Roman looks so much older for his age. A weariness and weight in his eyes, visible even across the room but only for a fraction of a second.

And then the bright, flamboyant, excitable kid is back as he laughs at something she says and responds easily. He shakes her hand, inclines his head, and then walks back to pick up his script and goes right back to rehearsing.

…

“Action!” the director calls a week later.

Thomas slips into character effortlessly, his hands fisting at his sides as he marches up to Roman and grabbing his shoulder. The fight is choreographed flawlessly—the coordinators were impeccable, honestly—and both Thomas and Roman had been working on this exact scene for weeks.

“What the—“ Roman says, delivering his line with just the right amount of surprise, eyes widening and ducking Thomas’s flying fist just in time. Thomas stumbles in just the right way, and Roman throws up his hands as if to protect his face. “Calm down!”

“Calm down?” Thomas snarls. “You nearly got us killed out there!”

Roman shifts his weight as Thomas delivers his line and is ready when the older actor barrels into him, sending him careening back into the ladder on set. It breaks away and collapses on top of him. Roman lets out a frustrated huff before scrambling to his feet.

“That wasn’t me! Would you just—“ he ducks another of Thomas’s punches, throwing an elbow in retaliation.

“Cut!” the director calls out, a slight note of annoyance. Thomas sees confusion and a bit of self-doubt flicker through Roman’s eyes, but Thomas is confused too. It was a good take. Or at least, it had felt good to Thomas.

“Sorry, guys,” the director sighs. “You were great. Our mic levels are off. Can we get a sound check? You guys take a break.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees a relieved smile flicker across Roman’s face.

“Nice job,” Thomas tells him sincerely. “That would’ve been a good take if the mics had been working.”

Roman laughs. The two of them make their way over a few yards across the warehouse behind the cameras.

Roman’s three brothers sit near a stack of shipping cargo. Logan—sixteen, Thomas remembers—is sitting with his back against the cargo and a textbook propped open in his lap. Patton is talking quietly but excitedly with Valerie. And Virgil (Thomas still wasn’t sure he entirely believed that he is eight years old, given just how small he is) is sitting beside Logan, so close their arms are brushing. He has some kind of homework worksheet on the cement floor in front of him, but his eyes are glued to something in the textbook in Logan’s lap.

“Hey guys,” Roman greets warmly. “How are we doing over here?”

“Satisfactory,” Logan replies, his eyes lingering on the textbook page before flickering up to meet his older brother’s.

“Good!” Patton chimes in. “Valerie and I were comparing favorite Disney songs. She has good taste.”

Valerie laughs. “Why thank you, Patton. So do you.”

Roman smiles at the exchange. “Good to hear.” With a dramatic groan, Roman takes a seat on the floor beside Virgil. “What about you, Virge? Doing okay?” Thomas notices—not for the first time—how his voice seems a little softer when he asks Virgil.

The youngest brother nods.

Roman arcs an eyebrow. Thomas sees him exchange a glance with Logan over Virgil’s head. Thomas can’t decipher the unspoken conversation they seem to have, but whatever is exchanged seems to relax Roman a bit. The teen leans back a bit into the boxes behind them.

“Hey, Thomas,” Patton says suddenly. “What’s your favorite Disney movie?”

The question surprises the actor. “Favorite Disney movie… hm…” Thomas sucks in a breath through his teeth and rubs the back of his neck. “That’s a hard question. If I have to choose one, I suppose Aladdin.”

Patton nods thoughtfully. “That’s a good choice.”

“It was awesome talking to you, Patton, but I gotta go to makeup. You’ll have to teach me the words to ‘Almost There’ one of these days, though.” She smiles as Patton promises to do so, then hurries off. The five of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment before Roman breaks it.

“Thomas and I are about to shoot that scene you guys saw us walk through a few weeks back,” he supplies conversationally.

Thomas’s lips quirk into a smile at the memory. One of the days Roman had brought his brothers along a few weeks back, he and Roman had done a dry run through of the fight scene. Both Patton and Virgil had been about ready to tackle Thomas in defense of their brother—or more accurately, to ensure he didn’t get injured. He and Roman had then proceeded to go through the fight blow by blow in slow motion to show them how the fight wouldn’t actually hurt Roman at all.

“Yep,” Thomas adds. “You guys can watch your brother beat me up today, if you want.”

Roman snorts. “Something like that.”

“Thomas,” one of the actors—Terrence—calls from a few feet away, waving a book of papers, “Is this your script?”

Thomas jogs over and snatches it back, thanking him before heading back over to the brothers.

Logan has turned the page of his textbook—it’s a science textbook, Thomas can see now—and points something out to Virgil who is still looking at it over his older brother’s shoulder. Roman also seems interested in whatever Logan is saying quietly to his brothers. Patton raises his eyebrows, then shifts to sit across from Logan, who tilts his textbook towards his younger brother and points to a picture of a nebulous star.

Logan, who had always seemed to Thomas to be very quiet, is explaining something to his three brothers and Thomas has the odd feeling that if he were to try to listen in, he may be intruding. It wasn’t that the four of them were cold—to the contrary, they were some of the warmest and kindest kids Thomas had ever met—but they had a certain close-knit aura around them that Thomas felt was different than other families. Certainly different from his own.

“Hey! Thomas! Roman!” one of the cast-mates calls, jogging over. Logan stops talking, glancing up at the new face. “Are you guys coming to Marco’s after filming wraps today?”

Thomas thinks about it, but Roman’s response comes immediately. “Sorry, Alex. I can’t.” The answer hardly surprises Thomas—he’s not sure he’s ever heard the teen accept an invitation to do something after filming.

“I’ll think about it,” Thomas replies.

Alex opens his mouth to say something, looking vaguely disappointed, but the director’s voice cuts through the air.

“Thomas! Roman! You guys are back on. Same scene from the top. Sorry for the delay.”

…

Months pass, and Thomas can’t help but see the patterns.

Roman having this way of quickly shutting people down who yell during an argument, the way he never accepts invitations to do things after filming, how quickly he deflects any mention of his parents being proud of him… at first, Thomas had written the latter off as humility, but there was always something forced behind the smile and indifference that didn’t quite sit well in the older actor’s stomach. There was also something about the way Roman and his brothers interacted with one another that Thomas didn’t quite understand—quiet, tight-knit, and protective.

Thomas doesn’t really know what it all means. Or even if it means anything. He could be reading into things more than they really warranted. Right?

Right.

Thomas pops a grape into his mouth and wanders over to stand beside Roman, watching the scene being filmed from behind the camera. He and Roman just wrapped on a scene and were scheduled to be next anyway, so both of them had elected to linger around and watch the next scene get shot.

It’s one the of the flashback scenes for Thomas’s character, evidenced by the set being the kitchen of a home rather than a warzone. The actor playing younger Thomas—around ten years old—does bear a striking resemblance to 26 year-old. The only other person in the scene is the actress playing the mother.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?!” the mother demands, the fury looking real and tangible in her eyes. Thomas has to admit—the actress playing the mother was exceptional at her job. Thomas had filmed another movie with her before, and she was a really sweet lady in real life.

The kid, also, is quite good. “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted…” he stammers, stumbling back.

Before Thomas can even blink, the mother hits her son across the face with the back of her hand. Beside him, Thomas sees Roman visibly flinch. When he glances at him out of the corner of his eye, he notices Roman is looking very pointedly at his shoes.

“What did I just say, kid?” the mother growls. “God, you never shut the fuck up!”

Roman seems to be standing suddenly very still. Concerned, Thomas looks at him more fully, but Roman won’t meet his gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest, and there’s something about the way his shoulders are hunched ever so slightly that makes Thomas suddenly and acutely aware that this kid beside him is a kid. And somehow, he looks and acts much older than that.

Something clicks. His brothers and their relationship with one another, the way Roman always deflected questions and comments about his parents, the way he didn’t tolerate yelling and never went out after filming, the way he flinched just now…

Thomas doesn’t have the full picture, but it’s all in a hazy focus that is just enough. Whatever Roman is dealing with, Thomas can’t help but feel like it’s something much bigger and much worse than any kid his age should have to handle. It’s not something someone his age should have to shoulder.

At least not alone.

“Cut!” The director yells a moment later. “Great take. I wanna run that one more time, then we’ll move on. Take a break, though.”

It’s, apparently, all the encouragement Roman needs. Because the young actor turns without saying a word to Thomas and walks off the set. Thomas follows after him.

…

Thomas hesitates for a moment outside Roman’s trailer, his breath making small clouds in front of his face in the brisk late autumn air. He remembers the look of pure disbelief, quickly overshadowed by excitement, when Roman had learned he’d be getting his own trailer for the movie. Thomas hadn’t even thought much about it—Roman had a number of costume changes, plus a not in-substantial role that necessitated long days of filming—but seeing Roman’s vaguely awed look had reminded him of himself when he’d gotten his first big role in a movie. He’d been just a little older than Roman at the time.

Thomas knocks softly on the door. “Roman?”

There’s a brief pause, then a hurried and slightly muffled, “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

“We have a while,” Thomas replies, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “But I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

Another pause, then the door swings open. Roman looks more composed than he had just a moment ago, his face now one of confusion and perhaps a bit of nervousness. “Of course. What’s up?” He shifts to the side, giving Thomas room as he steps up into the trailer.

The trailer is messy and generic; very little of Roman expressed in the small space. There’s a blanket on the couch that was provided when the temperature had started to drop. Some discarded shoes on the floor. Roman’s normal clothes tossed over a plastic chair in the corner. Roman shifts past him and rubs the back of his head before taking a seat on the far end of the couch.

“Roman…” Thomas begins, feeling suddenly unsure of where to start but knowing that he has to say something. He looks at the teen sitting in front of him and sighs. “Are you okay?”

Roman throws him a brilliant smile. “Of course, Thomas. Just, uh…” The smile falters for only a fraction of a second, then stays in place. He lifts a shoulder. “Y’know.”

Thomas gives him a soft, knowing look. “I don’t, actually. Not really.” He takes a seat on the couch beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And that’s okay. I don’t want you to tell me anything you don’t want to, or aren’t ready for. But…” Thomas holds Roman’s wide stare. “But I’ve got your back. And I’ve got your brothers’ backs.”

Roman is shaking his head, words tumbling out of his mouth even as his eyes start to shine. “Thomas—“ Roman says, and Thomas pretends he doesn’t hear the way his voice cracks just a little.

“I mean it,” Thomas says, with as much sincerity and earnestness as he can because he needs Roman to know it and believe it. “Any of you need anything—anything at all—you have my number. I’ll be there. That’s a promise.”

Roman opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. He scrubs a hand across his eyes and sniffles. “Okay,” he says, in a soft, choked voice. He coughs to clear it. “I… thank you.”

Thomas gives him a small smile. “Any time. I mean that.”

Roman releases a watery laugh. “Yeah, I know you do.”

Thomas thinks of Roman’s bright energy and aged eyes. Of the quiet way Logan always seems to have words pressing against his lips but for some reason, holds them back more than he speaks. Or the way Patton’s warm smile and sincere curiosity makes every person feel seen, even though Patton is so much younger. Or how Virgil looks at his brothers like he’d move mountains just for them.

“Good,” Thomas replies softly. “Because you guys are a good group of kids.”

…

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders bro au #familial lamp/calm #familial lamp/calm fanfiction #tw angst #tw abuse #tw physical abuse #tw parental abuse #tw cursing #tw yelling #i literally dont know how i feel about this fic but i wanted to post it anyway #because i worked on it for a while y'know #meep #maybe one day it won't be intimidating to post fic but that day is not today #hope its enjoyable!#and please go check out isa's au #also sorry mobile users #its kinda longish

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mystic-scripture · 5 years

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What if It Wasn’t Fake? Part 1

A Bucky Fake Dating AU.

Hey all, this is part of Amanda aka @stanclub‘s 2.5 K writing challenge! This is the first time I’ve done one of these and honestly, I can’t believe I have to split this up, it was so simple in my mind, but the details just got away from me.

Word Count: 6,992

Warnings: Swearing, lots of drinking, anxiety ridden situations, anything else please let me know ASAP

I want to say this is part one of two, but I am not sure yet...we’ll see.

Fake Dating Prompt: my friends are all coupled up and i’m the only single person so i pretended you were my partner even though you’re the barista/bookstore owner/etc. that i see all the time and now they want to meet you (for bucky)

Warning( separate from the others I guess) : I refer to Rocket briefly in this, but please assume he is human, kay (i.e. he looks and sounds like Bradley Cooper). Not judging others, but not really into that furry stuff. I just wanted to make the jokes that I make really bad.

What if it Wasn’t Fake?

“Are you kidding me right now?” Bright, frost blue eyes glanced at yours in amusement as well as confusion. “I mean, you’ve gotta be right? We’ve never interacted outside this bar as individuals, let alone what you’re proposing so there’s no way you expect me to say yes to that.”

“Come on, Buck!” You pleaded, slapping your hand against said counter as he cleaned a glass in front of you. “It’s not like I had any other options!”

“Oh, so I’m not even your first choice; Just your only one.” His eyes narrowed at you, but there was a playful glint to his eyes that you swear you (or rather the booze in you) could see. “Consider me flattered.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples with a headache that wasn’t even close to a warning of the impending hangover you were going to have in the morning. You’d been hanging out with your friends, Gamora (and goofball of a boyfriend Peter), Okoye (and her new beau M’baku), Jarvis (though he goes by Vis ever since he started dating Wanda), and Clint (and his baby mama Laura).

The pattern is already becoming evident, thus your problem. You were single in a flock of paired lovebirds. Which is what led you into the very situation that had you pleading a teasing Bucky. They were all partnered up, and even adding more couples to the friend group, while you sat alone and isolated amongst a sea of friends. And none of them helped with the numerous blind dates they wouldn’t tell you about until you were trapped. Not that you were complaining about the hookup with Peter’s friend Rocket, dude was an animal and knew what he was doing.

So, when it came time to decide who your plus one to the big art gallery opening you were all invited to in a week, you embellished on your relationship status. And by embellished, you told everyone that you were dating the hot bartender at your favorite bar, now they all want to meet him beforehand, and you were strapped. Dinner, in three days, and you hadn’t even told him that you’d said this just as long ago. Work had been hectic and you’d been cramming to get this done in time, and well, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. At least not until it was last call and you’d had several of your go to cocktails.

This lead to the very circular conversation you were currently having about a few days of prep/ ‘research’ in order to know each other and not get caught up in things. He, though finding you amusing and adorable, was refusing, and you were getting more embarrassed the more you talked about it. It’s not like you wanted to have a fake boyfriend, you were just tired of all the couples feeling bad for you.

“Look, I’ll tell them that we broke it off because you had to do something that will make you look good, or even better, you dumped me for someone better!”

The begging had started about ten minutes ago, but it was getting more slurred as you sat there, more and more of the liquer saturating in your liver. You had figured if you ordered enough drinks and tipped him enough, he might eventually give in out of sheer annoyance. Unfortunately, he was painfully sober and not having it. So, you’ve dissolved into telling him the truth.

“And you really think none of them are going to see through it?” He shook his head, punching buttons in the register to close out someone’s tab. “Pretty sure Clint is a regular here, and Gamora comes on Karaoke nights.”

“Please, we both know you don’t work Karaoke.” You argued, not denying the holes in your plan. “And if Clint’s here, he’s here to drink, not pay attention to the various people that serve him. Well, unless it’s Nat, he’s never too busy to flirt with Nat.”

“Oh he does more than flirt,” The redhead corrected, casting a wink in your direction. “At least he did until he knocked Laura up; now he’s a total boy scout. Mention me in casual conversation; you’ll see.”

“Romanoff you are really not helping. “Bucky rolled his eyes at your banter, “That is hardly the point here, and you have four tables to clear off.”

A mock salute was tossed his way as Nat gracefully floated away. “Fine, Fine, go back to your petty excuse for a fight that we all know you’re going to cave on.”

You watched as an icy glare was sent in her direction, before the gaze turned molten towards you. There was something about the intensity of these gazes that sent chills down your spine. You didn’t know if it was because of the booze, or the fact that you suspected Natasha’s comment meant something more. You were scared by this, still awaiting a reply. A part of you wanted to worry, but something else in you made you put on a brave face. You slapped a rather large tip on the table, and raised an eyebrow in what you hoped looked like a challenge.

“So…” You dragged the word out, your small spark of courage fluttering. “Are we going to keep up this charade, or are you going to help me?”

A dark, throaty chuckle resounded from his chest. “Puppy eyes and begging didn’t work, so we’re resorting to bribery now, Doll?”

“You underestimate the desperate nature of my condition.” The statement sounded a lot less pitiful in your head, but you barrelled forward. “And judging by your coworker’s comments I have overestimated your resolve.”

Broad shoulders turned from you, long fingers gracefully cleaning the freshly washed glasses. “We’ll see (y/ln), we’ll see.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been a long process, but after you’d all but locked yourself in the bar with him while he closed, you’d finally convinced Bucky to go along with your plan. Well, most of your plan. He refused to see you outside of work until the dinner which was right before the event, meaning no prep, and no idea what to say about him for the next few days as questions abounded. Typically, it ended up with you texting him, or Nat should he refuse to answer, as quickly and discreetly as possible. As you sat at lunch with the guys today, (the girls were having a spa day that you rejected to) you could feel the worry curdle in your gut. Or maybe it was the Bailey’s from the Car Bomb you all downed.

“So, tell us more about your boy, (y/n).” Quill slurred, leaning back in his chair to the point that it tipped slightly, causing him to slump forward. “How can we believe he’ll show?”

“Like you can talk when you tried to set me up with that Trash Panda you call a friend.” You bit back. “Dude showed up an hour late and then tried to steal an old man’s prosthetic. The only reason I even did anything with him after is because he was very ripped, and very persuasive.”

“Eww, you actually did Rocket?” he gagged. “I’d hoped he was kidding when he said he’d hit it and quit it.”

“That is only half true!” Clint laughed, sticking up for you, which made you relax your fist around your glass. “I’m pretty sure (y/n) kicked him out of her apartment after she was done with him.”

“Were you listening from the roof again, you perv?” You teased, feeling yourself grow calm in the banter. “I swear you just sit at that air duct so you can have blackmail.”

“You can prove nothing, (y/ln). Nothing.” The blonde winked, tossing his sandwich wrapper into the bin three tables down with a soft swish. “And even if you could, you’ll never see me coming.”

M’baku’s deep chuckle sounded next to you as he swallowed down a bite of his veggie wrap. “I fail to see what any of this has to do with your...Bucky?” You nodded. “And how we know nothing of him. How long have you been seeing each other without any of us knowing?”

Vis nodded, the tea in front of him steaming in curls around his face.”I agree, I feel like you would have told us something sooner, (y/n). I’m honestly quite offended to have not heard of this.”

You sighed, bobbing your shoulders up and dropping them in a look of doubt. “If I’m telling the truth? I don’t even know, we’ve known each other in passing for a while, so I can’t pinpoint exactly when we crossed the line between friends and more…” You paused, trying to find a way to say this in a way that wouldn’t make it sound like you’d literally said the first guy they didn’t know that popped into your head. “Besides, I wanted to make sure this was a decent thing before bringing him into the fold, ya know? Vet him out a little bit.”

This seemed to please them, and after everyone had finished eating, it was decided they would go to the park to wait for the girls. Some frisbee was tossed, a few vendors visited. As the sun died down, you all walked for a bit, discussing work and the various things that have happened throughout the week, when you felt a light tap at your shoulder, causing you to turn, the group continuing without you. Knowing it wasn’t any of your friends, you swung your fist, thinking it was someone up to no good. (I mean, the park didn’t always have savary people, and the day was dying down) However, you were surprised when a warm hand wrapped around yours, catching the punch with ease. Taking a look up, you instantly felt regret and panic as you looked to your friends.

“Buck, what the hell?” You hissed, yanking out of his loose grip as you tried to fix the situation. “What are you doing here?”

“I was heading home, worked the delivery this morning instead of the bar tonight.” He shrugged, running his now free hand through his hair. Nodding behind you, he smirked. “So, those your friends?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like that look on-”

Your concerns were cut off as he swerved around you and towards your friends that were sitting at and around a nearby bench when they saw you weren’t with you. You could have sworn you felt the ghosting of his lips at your temple, but you were too busy panicking at whatever he was planning to really think about it. He had replaced the smirk with a smooth smile, the one you’ve seen him use for the patrons of the bar, and his walk was poised to be relaxed. You numbly followed him, managing to catch up to him in frantic steps just as he reached the boys.

“You all must be (y/n)’s friends I’ve heard so much about.” His voice oozed charm and confidence, a hand outstretched toward Clint who happened to be closest. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky or Buck.”

You barely had time to catalogue that you never knew his first name before Clint grasped his hand, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I? You look super familiar, Dude.”

“Well, I’ve heard your close one of my closest staff members at the bar I own.” He replied easily raising a curious eyebrow in your direction. “Natasha over at Winter’s Draft?”

“Oh, yeah...Nat.” Clint’s grin turned wicked, though frantically made him blanch as we all looked at him. I guess she had been right, total boy scout, my little rebel. He rubbed at the back of his head, giving off a shrug that was meant to look nonchalant. “I mean, I knew her, but it’s been a while. Haven’t seen her since I started seeing Laura.”

“Right, well, she sends her regards.” He stated before quickly going through and introducing himself to each man, somehow knowing enough about them to get through introductions. You watched all of this in awe, barely even reacting to the exchanges and jokes made around you. This was not part of the plan. You were to meet him at your place, and figure out a strategy, dinner at around Seven, go to the gallery opening, and then call it a night. Getting along with your friends? Laughing and knowing things about them? Not expected or anticipated.

It wasn’t until Barton poked you in the ribs saying they were gonna head home since the girls decided to grab some drinks before getting dolled up, that you could really do anything.

“I-I’ll meet you at your car, Clint.” You muttered, blinking slowly to wake yourself up. “I just want to confirm a few things with James about tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it, Man, I can give her a ride.” Bucky insisted, wrapping a loose, but heavy arm around your shoulders. “This might take a while, we’ll just meet you at the restaurant, yeah?”

None of them, aside from Clint, who was still trying to parse how he knew Bucky and not seeing the obvious answer, seemed to pick up on any of the panic that you were trying to exude from your body. There were slight micro expressions of how easily he touched you, something that they knew people had to earn, but otherwise, nothing. Putting on a small smile, I nodded, gulping down the chokehold of anxiety in my throat.

“You know, he’s right, why keep you all away from your Ladies, right? We’ll meet you at the dining hall.”

All the men nodded, waving as they departed, leaving you alone with your bartender, who apparently was the bar’s owner. He seemed relaxed, and not as if he’d just bumped into you with your friends casually when he’d refused to even talk to you about this facade. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you took in the details of his face, a hushed growl replacing it.

“What the fuck was that?!” Your elbow moved to make contact with his ribs, but he’d spun around you and started leading you in the opposite direction with a scarily practiced finesse. You moved with him, knowing that otherwise you’d be dragged, or fall on your face and cause an even bigger scene than the one you’d imagined. “You couldn’t warn me? Text me a heads up, maybe, anything?”

You waved your hands for a more dramatic effect, but it only served to amuse him, an easy smile coming across his lips. “And miss out on how adorably thrown you are? Not a chance in Hell. Besides, figured it would be better if we hadn’t planned on this.”

At this you stopped, stumbling slightly when his arm kept moving behind you. You were quick to duck though, rebalancing yourself to look at him. Your face scrunched as you crossed your arms to hug yourself. His face gave the illusion of being an open book, but you couldn’t read anything off of him. Noticing the crinkle in your brow, he smirked, knowing he was successful.

You let out a puff of air, all anger deflating out of you at this point. “Well, it’s too late to take any of it back now, you just dug yourself deeper down the Rabbit Hole. No backing out now.” You looked where you’d retraced your steps. “Wait wha- You came this way why are we walking through it again? Were you stalking me?”

“Please.” He scoffed, his lip twitching slightly as he tried to hide that damn smirk again. “Don’t flatter yourself, (y/l/n). I happened to be walking through the park after a long day, and wanted to relax before an even longer night where I have to be in a monkey suit.”

“Geeze, such a drama queen.” You scoffed now, motioning to his attire. “You’re halfway there most of the time anyway.”

You both looked down button down shirt, rolled crisply to the elbow and gently folded back. This was actually the first time you’d ever seen him in the daylight, and you couldn’t deny that you liked what you saw. The muscles at the bar were even bigger than you imagined, but there was a softness to him that you didn’t normally see. He had his shirt tucked into dark jeans that tauntingly hugged at his legs (and his ass, if you guessed correctly), and pooled ever so slightly over his boots. Though dressy, you noticed that they also looked scuffed and worn as if he’d had them for a while, or used them in more utility fashion. His hair waved just at the top of his shoulders, giving off a volume that would make a supermodel jealous, and his stubble had been trimmed and groom very recently.

You didn’t even realize you’d been staring until he made some comment about being better than the polar opposite like you- which was true, you were hanging with the guys today, so you’d settled for a ratty old baseball tee, stained jeans, and comfortable sneakers- and huffed, trying to act as if you were looking for your friends in hopes of escaping this mad man. Hell, a part of you was doing this in earnest; he was far too wild a card to play at this kind of thing.

Maybe you could run for it, tell them it was all a ruse, and just never go to the bar you’d been going to nigh on religiously for the past three years. You bit your lip, knowing that wasn’t going to happen, and started to move in the direction you’d been walking in. Having done this, little did you know that he’d dug the rabbit hole deeper for you both, and not just himself.

You muttered a half-hearted shut up, beforehand, but otherwise you both remained quiet, in a way that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.h Unsure of what to say, or if you should say anything, you kept glancing his way, hoping he wouldn’t notice your squirrelly behavior. However, since luck had clearly designed to abandon you in this endeavor he broke the silence with roll of his eyes.

“What are you looking at? Is this something I’m going to have to deal with all night?” He rubbed a hand down his face with a groan. “Just ask whatever prep questions you wanted to ask, might as well kill the time somehow.”

the silence between you was too much, and you could use the extra time to prepare.

“So.... you own the bar, but work behind the counter?” You asked, “How did I not know that?”

“You never asked.” he stated, “And clearly neither did any of your friends. They cared more about my schooling, and where I grew up and all that junk.”

“But I’ve been going there forever and you didn’t think to mention that ‘oh hey (y/n) just while I make you this long Island I wanted to tell you that I’m the Owner and could charge you for harassment of a staff member.”

“Please, everyone over there loves you, and if you were harassing them, you’d have heard it from Nat. She doesn’t tolerate that shit, which is what makes her a great partner.”

“Also explains how she knows everything about you.” You muttered, the words coming out more bitter than you thought you meant. You didn’t know why, but there was something about the word he used that left a sour taste in your mouth. “She okay with you doing this? Running around with a customer who refused to take no for an answer? Which let me tell you, sounds pretty close to harassment.”

He chuckled, his adam’s apple bobbing with his mirth. “Not that kinda partner, or at least not anymore, strictly business between us. We’ve known each other for years. She also knew I’d give in because I was going to this thing anyway. Would have been awkward to say no and bump into you.”

“Wait-What?” You paused, grabbing his arm. “What do you mean you were going anyway? Are you working the event? Or-”

“The artist is a close friend of mine.” He paused stopping to look down at your hand. You swore you could feel the faintest of flexes under your fingers, but he continued, “I’ve known about this far longer than you have most likely.”

“You are friends with Steve Rogers?” You felt your jaw go slack. “And you never thought to mention this? What else are you hiding from me?”

“I don’t hide anything from anyone, it’s all about asking the right questions, which, again, you didn’t ask.” He corrected, pulling away from you to continue walking. “And I’m not just friends with Steve; I’m best friends. Which means it would suck if I was late. So, let’s get a move on, huh?”

You frowned, following him as a small crinkle appearing between your eyes in confusion. You didn’t say anything for a while, trying to figure out what to do with all of this information, any prep you had prepared went out the window as you glanced at your phone to see the time. It was around 5:30 which gave you a little under two hours to get ready and you still had to shower and blowdry your hair before you actually got dressed and did your hair and makeup. Wanda offered to come over and help, but you’d refused, afraid she’d go a little too heavy on the eyeliner.

“You might want this.” You jumped as Bucky passed you a helmet. “Also, don’t judge her for her age, okay? This baby’s a classic.”

You took in the vintage bike in front of you, it had been well cared for and clearly been made by it’s rider with a heavy dedication for authenticity. You felt yourself smile before forcing a stoic look on your face. It was beautiful, but you had already given Bucky the satisfaction of surprising you enough today. You weren’t new to riding, having been with Clint on many a ride before he traded it in for an actual car now that he was a future father, so you waited until he got on, wrapping your legs over the bike and placing your hands on his shoulders.

“Looks who’s all confident.” He said, taking a hand and moving yours around his chest. “But you’re gonna want to hold on somewhere a little more secure, Doll.”

You felt your face heat up at the pet name, shaking your head against his back as you held on tight. “Whatever you say, Evil Kenevil.”

He dropped you off at your apartment and darted off to get ready himself, barely telling you anything even though you were shouting all kinds of questions into his ear. Your body went into autopilot as your mind tried to go through the tangled web that was this lie. All just so you wouldn’t go on another blind date? So you could feel included? Is this what dating was now, having a thousand questions and not nearly enough answers about who you are with? It seemed so backward to you, but as you fit yourself into a classic black number, you couldn’t help but wonder if you should add a splash of color that would match his eyes. You were sure you had a few blue pieces to play around with. His eyes were always shifting from one shade to another so you’d have to make a guess, and-

Wait. What the hell were you doing?

You paused, your hand hovering over the pieces in question, not even realizing you’d moved to them with the thought. Why did it matter so much that you matched his eyes? If it was the quiet before the storm, or the blizzard of bottled emotions, you always found solace in them after a long day. You’d settle for drinking alone with some random RomCom if you knew he wasn’t working, not even bothering to go there unless you knew he’d be there with a heavy hand and light hearted banter. You knew this, but why did your friends need to see you matching him? Why was that so important?

Running a hand through your lightly curled strands, you let out a sigh that had been trapped there for weeks. It was a sigh that lifted one weight off your shoulders, but placed another on your heart. You’d been wrestling with why you would drop his name of all names to your friends, and now you knew why. It was a lie made of hope, and desire. A lie made out of a desperation for something hidden to be in view and true. You were in love with Bucky Barnes, a man who probably knew more about you than vice versa, and it took you pretending to date him to realize it.

You put on the barest strokes of make-up with shaking hands, your epiphany hitting you at the wrong time to conduct yourself properly. Looking in the mirror, though you’d hidden away all the shock and stress from the week, all you could see was this truth hidden in the lie. You grabbed a nip from your emergency stash in your clutch, barely having time to down it and throw away the shell when your doorbell rang. You closed your eyes, gave yourself a steadying breath, and opened it, left utterly breathless by the sight.

Bucky stood there, a beautiful compilation of straight lines and soft edges that blurred into each other in a wonderful contradiction. His hair had been swept back tidily, the strands tucked away from his face in a partial bun, and his tux was jet black against his skin. Like you, he’d gone classic black, and having no idea what you were wearing, donned a silver vest for the accent. It matched your bag and your jewelry so perfectly that you could swear he’d somehow seen what you were wearing. You smiled, probably brighter than you should have, and stepped out the door, the cool Brooklyn Air billowing around you softly.

“You clean up nice, Barnes.” You said, turning from him to lock up. “I take back what I said at the park today.”

He let out a shaky chuckle, was he as nervous as you suddenly were? Or were you imagining things? “You’re not looking to bad yourself, Doll.”

“Oh I do try,” You joked, carding your hands through your hair as if to fan it into his face. Deciding against it, you turned to find the street in front of you empty, he hadn’t ridden his bike here, but there wasn’t a card either. “So, are we walking over biking tonight or…?”

He smirked, this time the annoying shift in facial expression shaking you to your core. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to your carriage.”

Holding his hand out to you, you hesitantly put your hand into it, enjoying the comforting squeeze he provided. As you descended the steps, he pulled you closer, looping your hand through his arm as you rounded the corner. It took far too much free will to stop yourself from leaning into his warmth, the musk of his cologne inviting you closer. With the heels you had on, you rested at the perfect height to lean onto his shoulder, you mused, but he had stopped before you could test the theory.

Standing in front of you stood a Limo, with the girls hanging out of the moon roof to let out a bunch of “OOOOoooohs” at you or him, you couldn’t tell, clearly people had pregamed far harder than you did, something you’d be catching up on presently.

You looked from your friends, the guys visible as Vis stepped out to hold the door for the two of you, to Bucky. His expression, as always was unreadable, but there was something less confident in his stance that was absent at the park this afternoon.

“Not having second thoughts...are we, Buck?” You teased, pulling him behind you to get into the very crowded car. “You seem more surprised by this than I am.”

“More than likely because Peter texted him at the last minute.” Gamora stated, slipping down to meet us. Her hair had been pulled into a beautiful fishtail braid that covered the exposed shoulder on her one sleeved number that matched the purple of her hair beautifully. Her joyful face turned severe as she looked at her boyfriend. “Like right at his doorstep last minute.”

“Hey, I was I supposed to know he lived so close to Okoye?” Quill argured, his burgundy number complimenting her well, while also giving him a look that screamed 80’s nostalgia. I wasn’t even the one who got his address, it was Clint!”

You felt your eyes narrow as you looked to your neighbor. “And how did you get that information, might I ask?” Especially given that you didn’t even know what it was yourself.

Looking wearily to his own date, he straightened his grey suit and purple tie so that he didn’t have to meet anyone’s gaze. “I may have gotten it from a friend we have in common, aside from you, of course.”

You smirked yourself this time, making eye contact with Buck. “Nat.”

He rolled his eyes, rubbing at his scruff in thought. “Well, that’s either going to get her extra closing duties or dish detail...I’m not sure which yet, but I’m sure she’ll remember to not mess with me after.”

“Well, if everyone’s settled, I do believe we can head towards our dinner.” You shifted as Vis moved back into the seat where Wanda was waiting for him. “Shall we?”

“We Shall!” You all shouted, causing Bucky to shake his head at the group while you drove towards the restaurant that stood right next to the gallery. You were proud of being able to get reservations there so close to the opening, and had even gotten yourself seated right next to the exit, the glass room, looking over the gallery as you ate.

“So…” Laura started, reaching for her club soda. “Tell me, how did you two meet?”

“Oh well…” You rubbed at the back of your neck looking to your ‘date’ in hopes of being freed from an unplanned question. “I don’t know if it’s really a story to tell....”

“You only say that because it’s embarrassing on your end.”

He teased, launching into the story of how you two literally met, which you could only remember in the fuzziest of details on. You had been at the bar with Clint doing trivia or something, when you got bored with him flirting with Nat -a detail Bucky mercifully left out- that you’d moved to the back to hear the DJ better as well as get better drink service. You didn’t have work the next day, so you didn’t really care to think that you’d had enough, or pay attention to where you were going. That is until you were bumping into the bar, and grabbing the hand of the muscular man behind it to get a drink.

“She couldn’t even say what she wanted.” He remembered, glancing down at your reddened face with glee. “She justed wanted that drink named after a part of the state and had tea involved. And to ‘make sure it’s with the good stuff, since my friend’s paying’ I believer were her exact words.”

“Hey! If it was that late into trivia night, you can’t blame me for not being able to explain a long island iced tea!” You remembered this part of the night, but not much else. “Besides, if I remember correctly, it sparked a somewhat interesting game of twenty questions, right?”

“The one time in your life you asked the right questions, and I bet you can’t even remember the answers, can you, Doll?” Mischievous eyes glanced over your face and you felt your breathing stop slightly as he brushed a stray tendrel of hair from your face.

“You know I can honestly say that I can’t.” You muttered, turning yourself from him, suddenly very interested in your Alfredo dish. “Did I give away anything terribly embarrassing, as I’m sure you’ve memorized that night.”

This led him to detailing every answer to every question he gave, including some of the less than polite dinner conversation ones that sent your whole group into a frenzy. Everything from your worse Middle School Memory to your favorite position, and you couldn’t even remember how you had told these to a complete stranger at the time. The part that had you feeling the warmest however, wasn’t even the shame of your answers, but the confidence in which Bucky answered them all, his face taking on one of fond memory as he shared your life in a manner of twenty randomly strug queries. He didn’t make a single one up, though there were asides where others provided their answers, leaving you even more scandalized. You hadn’t even realized that the check for your food had come and gone, until you felt Bucky stand next to you.

“I do hate to break up with lovely chatter, but I have to meet the artist to save him from his own anxieties about tonight. So, if you don’t mind me stealing (y/n), we’ll meet you over there soon.”

“She failed to let us know you knew Mr. Rogers.” Wanda stated, smiling around her wine glass. “Though when it comes to you, she fails to tell us much.”

He brought your hand to his lips as he kissed it lightly before looping your arm through his, an easy smile crossing his face. “That’s because she knows I like to keep an air of mystery about me.”

You smiled, a shy smile that worked hard to cover up the blush that was threatening to appear from his easy displays of affection. “He also failed to tell me that we’d be meeting him beforehand. I should have prepared my tape recorder.”

“No reporting business here, (y/l/n) just a friend calming another as he makes his Debut.” He patt your hand lightly before leading you away. The others shooed you off with jeers and teases, which prompted Bucky’s next comment to hit you like a ton of bricks. “I’d say they’re falling for it pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, the frown threatening to spill over pulling the skin between your teeth. “Yes, yes I’d say they are…”

The two of you walked quietly, him letting you go as soon as you were out of eyeshot. Part of you wished he hadn’t, but you wanted to respect his boundaries as well, it was the least you could do after the performance he’d just put on for you. Even though you were questioning each micro expression to see if he felt even slightly the same way about you. As always, you couldn’t read his face, and he had a smug air about him as if he knew and enjoyed it.

The walk to the Gallery was short, both of you let in as soon as Bucky gave his name. Most of the canvases were covered, or in the process of being uncovered, no one wanting pictures to be taken before the event. You kept your eyes Bucky’s shoulders, following him meekly until you reached the green room so to speak. There, you pressed yourself against the wall opposite him, not sure how far he wanted you to go with this. He didn’t seem to notice, and knocked on the door, lightly, and in a rhythmic beat that you could almost swear was morse code.

The door burst open and a frenzied man with sharp features and kind eyes opened the door. You knew from your research into the gallery opening that this was not Rogers, but his agent, and other best friend, Sam Wilson. Relief flooded his severe expression as he took in the sight of Bucky, giving a toothy grin that almost made you want to smile too.

“Oh thank God you’re here man, I don’t think I can say anything to make him sto-” He paused, as Bucky brushed past him. “And of course no time for pleasantries, just off doing your thing.”

He moved to close the door in front of him, but then his eyes swept towards you. His expression pinched in confusion, then furrowed in suspicion. Then he saw Bucky’s Jacket, which he had insisted on putting around your bare shoulders, and he gave a small, close lipped smile.

“You’re Barnes’ date to this thing?” You nodded trying to shrink into the identifying fabric. “Damn, I’m sorry for you then. Come on in, I’ll get you a drink while he does his magic.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should-” You started, but stopped when Mr. Wilson suddenly appeared before you. Placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, he gave you that contagious grin you saw earlier, and you relaxed. “Is suppose it’s better than waiting for him alone in the hallway.”

“Yeah, don’t want Stark’s security guy to catch you, dude takes his job very seriously.”

“Wait, Stark’s? I thought that Stark passed on sponsoring Roger’s work? Said it was too old school for a tech mogul.”

“Well, gotta give him some credit, he brought a girl who knew what she was talking about for once.” Sam rubbed his chin in thought as he led you through the doorway. “Tony’s just big into the optics of things, he was always going to support our boy, but he wanted to generate a bit of buzz for it.”

“Only Tony Stark…” You mused, your lips twisting upward at the comparison to other girls Bucky has dated or taken to such events. “Though I suppose it makes sense for him to support the gallery when it’s from an investee of his father. Even if he isn’t open about it, the press loves to eat him alive for his Daddy Issues.”

“H-yeah they do.” Sam paused, tilting his head towards you as he called out to the two huddled figures by the bar. “Yo, Barnes, where did you find this girl, and better yet, how did you convince her to come as your date?”

“It’s a real funny story, Wilson.” Buck turned, his eyes narrowing at the joke being mad. Seeing the worry cross your face, he snapped his gaze back to Sam. “It’s on a ‘need to know’ basis, and sorry, but you didn’t make the cut.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re being paid to be here.” Sam muttered as soon as Bucky turned away. “I would hate for him to stoop that low. Even he has to have some lines.”

“Mr. Wilson, I do think I am offended by that comment.” You said, moving away from him with a frown. “I happen to be invited here under a press badge, which won’t be used until the event starts.” You added quickly, not wanting to seem like you were using Bucky to get an exclusive.

“Oh, now I see, he’s found someone who can match his wit, and use words in that stabbing way he does.” Sam gave a shrug, shaking his head. “I better not see anything from this interaction in whatever publication you work for.”

“Cross my heart.” You said, tracing your pinky in an X over your collarbone. You slipped your clutch out of Bucky’s jacket pocket and threw it towards Sam. “And have some collateral.”

“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, but I admire your honesty.” A calm voice declared from next to you, making you jump. “Sorry miss...didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You turned only to find yourself looking into the near perfect blue eyes of the man of the evening himself, Steve Rogers. Though he was build the same way that Bucky was, he seemed to lack the confidence his friend had, slouching slightly as if to make his presence less intimidating. He was dressed in a way that mirrored Buck’s everyday look, but with softer colors and his hair was a striking blonde that swooped in a 40’s era fashion. Everything about this man gave off a comforting aura, but you could also feel the panic that he was trying to keep at bay.

“No, it is I who should be apologizing, Mr. Rogers, I’m intruding on a time meant for you and your friends. We don’t even know each other, and yet here I am, before your event even starts and-”

You paused as Bucky put a hand on your lower back, hovering next to you. Your nerves seemed to vanish in that moment, and all you could feel was his hand. The heat was so intense you almost jumped away from the burning sensation. You could feel your face flush, with embarrassment and the redistribution of that concentrated searing sensation. It was just a moment, but it felt like it had been stretched for days. Finally, after a year of seconds, he laughed, brushing his face next to your ear.

“I think he gets the point, Doll.” He murmured, the vibration of his voice dizzying as he rubbed your back soothingly. “Just take a breath, it’s fine.”

You shifted slightly, moving only until the very second your eyes met. Was this part of the act? Was he telling Rogers to just go with the lie in case they ran into your friends? Or was he lying to his best friend on your behalf. How far was this going to stretch. So many questions filled your head, and you started to choke on the air around you.

“(y/n)?” Bucky’s voice turned worried, but sounded distant as everything around you blurred. “(Y/N)!”

His hand slipped from your back as you crumpled on the floor, overcome with what you’re lie had done to everyone around you.

#stanclub2500 #writing challenge #bucky x reader #bucky au #fake dating au #mcu #marvel au #fanfic #writing #Scriptures of the Mystic #idk what to even tag this as #first writing challenge leggo #Hope you Like Amanda!#stanclub

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Frozen Peas (2/2)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Okay, they kind of are. Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not friends either. Okay, maybe they kind of are. Honestly, Emma’s not sure what’s up and what’s down when it comes to Killian Jones...well, that’s also not true. She knows one thing that’s up.

Rating: Mature (it’s cocktoberfest peeps)

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part two of my contribution to @cscocktoberfest! This brings us to completion, and I hope that it’s a satisfying one. No part of me expected the reaction I got from everyone on here for part one but WOW, and I really, truly hope that you guys feel the same way about part two.

Chapter one on Tumbler found | here |

Entire story along with everything else I’ve written found on ao3 | here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @mayquita @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @cs-forlife @branlovesouat

Everybody still hate me from how I ended the last one? Maybe we can change things this go round. If not, I’m at work and totally won’t see any yelling until later ;D

Three months ago:

“Emma, w–what are you doing?”

She looks up from her position perched by his hips, her mouth still fully encasing his length, thank goodness for morning erections, so she can’t talk, can’t respond without releasing him and she’s not going to do that. So she just hums around him, making his cock throb in the wetness of her mouth and making Killian throw his head back against the pillow while thrusting his hips slightly up into her. He’s still got control of himself, the siren of sleep still calling to him more than she is, and that just won’t do.

She is much more interesting than sleep.

It’s not very ladylike, at least judging by what she’s picked up from her more demure friends, but she’s never been one to follow social norms. She loves the way he tastes on her lips and her tongue, the saltines of the velvety skin something she craves in the light of the early morning when the rest of his body hasn’t woken up yet so the only things he feels are her mouth around him and her arms resting on his legs, fingers trailing along the soft hair that covers the muscles of his thighs to keep him from canting his hips up into her mouth.

“Love,” he groans when she releases him only to run her tongue flat against his length from his base until she’s circling his tip, slowly dragging the tip of her tongue against him as she adds her hand to his base, twisting and turning lightly to work him higher. “Oh, gods, Swan, you’ve gotta –”

He can’t finish his statement because she’s encasing his cock with her lips again, bobbing her head as she tries to take him in further, and the way he’s breathing and moaning has her absolutely aching with no real relief coming when she clinches her thighs together in search of something.

From her peripheral she sees Killian’s arm twitch, his fingers clinching at his side, and she knows he wants to put his fingers in her hair, guide her to the perfect rhythm, but he always holds back. It doesn’t matter how many times she does this, how much she encourages him to take what he wants, he always holds back until she gives him permission.

Trying to be a gentleman when she’s giving him a damn blowjob.

So she reaches her free hand forward to grab his clenched fist as she hollows out her cheeks and moves to take him in as fully as she can. She thinks Killian might die from pleasure from the way he’s whimpering. The frustrating man doesn’t get the hint until she’s literally putting his hand in her hair and he’s running his fingers through the base of it, pulling at her strands until he gets her in the perfect rhythm for him, a quick up and down motion that takes both of their breaths away.

He’s quiet this morning, not muttering as many of his usual encouragements that she longs to hear, but she doesn’t take it as an insult. No, he’s quiet because he can’t speak because of the pleasure he’s taking from her mouth, just soft little grunts and groans that have her constantly clenching her legs together at how much his reactions to her turn her on.

He really fucking turns her on. It’s insane just how attracted she is to him all the time, especially now when she looks up to see the trail of black hair that goes from his hips and over his abs, all the way up to his chest. His eyes are blown wide, locked on her as she scrapes her teeth gently against him, wishing he was the slightest bit smaller for things like this…but not at all for when they get down to the real thing. She winks at him before going back to pay attention to the task at hand…or at mouth.

“Love, you’ve gotta – ah fuck – I’m not going to be able to hold on if you keep going.”

He’s panting, and instead of heading his words, she keeps going, increasing her pace until he doesn’t have control of his hips anymore and he’s spilling himself into her mouth as she sucks him dry.

He once told her there were few things he loves more than spilling himself into her, no matter how it happens, and just the thought of how husky his voice was when he muttered those words has her almost ready to come.

This man does incredible things to her.

When she finally releases him, a loud, wet popping sound accompanying her, she almost immediately feels the need to brush her teeth, but Killian’s pulling her up his body so that he can slant his lips over hers as his hand traces down her spine, light touches as he taps his fingers against her skin until his palm lands on her ass, squeezing it ever so softly before grasping the cheek with more conviction, his nails likely leaving crescent moon imprints.

She wants to whimper at that.

She does.

“What did I do to deserve that this morning? I thought my birthday was yesterday.”

“It was,” she purrs, moving to give him several chaste kisses, each one getting longer than the last while her foot runs along his calf, his hand still palming her ass, “and now that I think about it, while that was a wonderfulway to start both of our mornings and while we’re definitely not finished, I really want some of the leftover cake in your fridge from your party last night.”

“Oh yeah?” he questions, rolling them over so that she’s on her back, kissing down the side of her neck until he reaches her shoulder, resting his head against the skin there and breathing her in as she does the same.

He smells like a mixture of sweat and his cologne from the night before, and she loves it.

She thinks she might love him, and she doesn’t know what to do with that information. Would that be crazy? To love him?

Sometimes he’ll look at her like every strand on her head is full of magic and like the lines of her face are lines he’d be content to trace for the rest of her days. He’ll look at her like she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he’ll look at her in a way that makes her actually believe it.

But then other days they’ll get in these knock down, drag out arguments over something stupid like him not telling her he got hurt at work. Okay, that’s not stupid. That’s serious, but she’ll find the cut running against his stomach and the stitches healing it and be fucking pissed that he didn’t tell her. Maybe that makes her believe she loves him, too.

She’d walked into his apartment one day with her hands full of pizza and beer only to find him laid out on his couch with his shirt off, his abs on display right next to the ugliest gash she’s ever seen. She drops the pizza and the beer, thankful the bottles land on the rug and don’t shatter.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Tis nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

He stares up at her for a moment, and she can see him fighting himself on whether or not to tell the truth. “I went out into the field unprepared, and this drug dealer I’d been helping track, you know the guy with one eye, he snuck up on me and stabbed me in the gap of my vest before fleeing.”

“When did this happen?”

He grimaces, and it’s not from the stab wound.

“Two days ago.”

He fucking got stabbed two days ago and didn’t tell her. They’ve talked several times in the past two days, and he somehow didn’t think to tell her? Now she’s pissed when she should be sympathetic, kind, and probably anything other than pissed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got fucking stabbed, you idiot?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“And me coming over onto find you laid out on the couch with an angry red slash in your skin means I won’t worry?”

“No, it means you’ll worry after I know everything is okay so there’s no need for you worry.”

“What if things hadn’t been okay, Killian?” She’s pacing now, her hands raised in the air as her mind races. She is not overreacting. He has a fucking knife wound. “What then? You would have died, and I never would have known until I came into the precinct one day looking for you only for your partner to be, like, ‘sorry, Detective Jones was murdered last week.’ What the hell kind of logic is that?”

Oh God, she’s going to cry. She doesn’t want to cry, but she can feel the tears stinging in her eyes even as she swipes them away while they fall to her cheeks.

She feels his arms around her before she can try to blink away the tears that keep falling. She immediately buries her face in his shoulder, her nose nuzzling into the place where the scar from where he was once shot remains. Damn, his job is dangerous, and it shouldn’t be like that. He should be safe. She needs him to be safe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair while his fingers rub her back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t do the right thing. I should have called you as soon as I could. I promise the next time I get stabbed or shot or punched in the face I’ll call you before the bloody knife is even out of my body.”

A watery chuckle escapes her while she shakes her head against his shoulder. “Maybe you could try not to get hurt again. I’d want that over anything else.”

“You know I can’t promise that.” She feels him shift his head to kiss her hair, but she can’t feel the kiss. She wishes she could feel the kiss. She really wants to feel the kiss. “But I’m going to do more behind the scenes work now, okay? You know I love paperwork.”

“You hate paperwork.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got some things in my life I’d like to stick around for.”

“Yeah?”

He pulls back and pushes her forward so that his hands rest on her shoulders while he smiles down at her, his blue eyes the slightest bit watery.

“I just bought a kick-ass Camaro.”

Now his grin is as cheeky as can be before he dips down and captures her lips, his tongue immediately swiping at the seam of her lips while she whimpers in response, so relieved to simply be connected like this again.

“What about me?”

“I thought that was obvious, my Swan.”

She’s pretty sure that she loves him, and she knowsthat he loves her. She guesses that’s what scares her. He so obviously loves her, and if she fucks up, she doesn’t just mess with her own feelings, she messes with his.

He doesn’t deserve that, even if she knows that she’s hurting him every moment she doesn’t let him acknowledge those feelings, even if he hasn’t brought that up in the past few months. She’s scared, okay? It doesn’t matter how irrational it is. Love is scary no matter what, and Emma has decided to hide her feelings away to keep herself from being terrified, no matter how awful that course of action is. She can have Killian this way, and it seems to be going just fine.

“Yeah,” she finally answers to Killian’s question, running her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck before crawling out from underneath him and slipping one of his t-shirts over her head and walking to the kitchen.

Cake beats sex just this one time. It’s really good, okay?

That��s where he finds her several minutes later, eating the cake straight out of a container while propped up on the counter, legs swinging beneath her as the taste of buttercream icing fills her mouth.

Is it too dirty for her to say that this is the second best cream that’s been in her mouth all morning?

Is she really worrying about if the jokes she’s making in her head are too dirty when she just gave a good morning blowjob?

She’s twenty-eight years old, and she can eat cake for breakfast if she wants to.

Cake and Killian apparently.

And she can also make those dirty jokes if she wants to.

“I’m not sure if this is better or worse than the pop tarts you usually eat for your morning nutrients, Swan.”

Killian steps between her thighs, moving her legs over so that he can stand nestled in her embrace.

“Better,” she mumbles, sticking another forkful in her mouth while looping her legs around his waist pulling him closer to her so that she can feel the heat of his body, “much more like a delicacy because I don’t keep cake in my apartment.”

“Do you want to use a plate? You know, for sanitary reasons?”

Emma just glares at him before rolling his eyes. Sometimes his neat freak ways go too far. “I think if anybody can stomach eating after me, it’d be you of all people. We’re not exactly ones to shy away from sharingthings with each other. Besides, you don’t even like cake.”

“I like the icing.”

“Duh, that’s the best part, Jones.”

A beat passes.

“So how does it feel to be thirty-one? Firmly in your thirties and all that. Do you feel old yet? Like your life is on a downhill spiral to gray hair and Sunday night bingo?”

“Not so much this morning,” he admits, lips ticking up on one side as he places his hands on the countertop on either side of her, leaning down to kiss her shoulder through the cloth of her – his– t-shirt. She loves when he does things like that. “And as you can see, I’ve retained my youthful glow.” He chastely pecks her lips before leaning his forehead against hers. “How long do I have you today?”

“If you let me eat this cake off of the tray without grimacing every time I lick my fork before getting another bite, you can have me until you have to go to work tomorrow. Then maybe after that, too.”

“Deal.”

It’s the perfect lazy day. They keep the curtains in the living room closed all day so that no light pokes through, the entire place shaded in darkness that’s only eased from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the light of the television. Neither of them get dressed, Emma in just the t-shirt and Killian in his boxers, and it makes for an easier time when Emma finally gets to ease the ache in her thighs from where she didn’t get to earlier.

Cake only beats sex for so long.

They’re lying on the coach, her back pressed against his front with their legs tangled together, the sensation of his leg hair running against her bare legs causing a slight tingling sensation as she languidly rubs her legs over his in return. She’s about to doze off, sleep calling to her, when she feels Killian’s hand snake up underneath her shirt, fingernails tracing against her skin until his nail circles an areola, slowly, torturously,wonderfully.

“Killian,” she moans, reaching back to run her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer so that his head moves closer to her neck, and she can feel the heat of his breath.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your breasts, Swan?”

Heat immediately coils in her belly.

“A few times,” she admits as his nail moves to her nipple and his lips move to press sloppy kisses against her neck.

“They’re bloody glorious, love. The weight of them in my hands,” he cups her breast before moving his hand back to her stomach, pulling her back so that she’s nestled further into him, no space between them, “is so perfect. Your pink nipples call to me, and I know that you love when I run my tongue against them, tasting you.”

She can’t say anything, just whimpers as he runs his tongue behind her ear and his hand down to her folds, fingers teasing the wetness that’s already pooled there from the way they’ve been languidly touching all day.

“Lift your leg over my hip, darling.”

She complies, not even questioning his intentions as she feels him pull his boxers down, his cock hard as it lands against her folds, slapping at her clit.

“Fuck,” she moans just at the sensation of him lightly touching her.

He has to lift her leg higher over his hip so that he can slowly slide into her, the gradual fullness making her breath hitch because she has to adjust to his size in this position.

Well, every position, but especially this one.

“You feel so good like this, Swan,” he groans, snapping his hips into her at a leisurely pace, his hand still harshly palming her breast, “so bloody tight around me. So wet around me, for me.”

“Killian,” she whines as he continues at the slowest pace she’s ever experienced in her entire life, and it’s wonderful. He slips out of her for a moment, the sensation of being empty not one that she likes, but then he’s sinking back into her with a deep thrust and reaching further around to continue fondling her breasts underneath her t-shirt, his calloused fingers heightening the sensations as he finally moves to toy with her right nipple. He was right. She loves when he does things like this.

“Being inside of you is one of the great wonders of the world. I never want to not be like this.”

She can’t speak. Hell, she can barely breathe.

It’s totally worth it.

She can feel every movement inside of her, the contracting of her walls as his velvety length pushes and pulls and pulses inside of her, gasps wracking her body and causing her to pant as Killian softly grunts with every thrust until she turns her head and captures his lips with hers, their tongues running over teeth and against each other, a slick, wet slide of increased sensations while Killian continues to slide into her slick heat.

Killian Jones, well, falling into bed with Killian Jones has got to be one of the best decisions of her life. She’s never experienced sex like she does with him, like her skin is constantly burning but never burning out. He’s magnificent, and he knows it. He’s magnificent, and sheknows it. She knows it and feels it all the way down to her toes as his grip on her breast tightens, walking that fine line between pleasure and pain as his thrusts become more insistent, more powerful in their strokes.

Oh God, she’s on fire.

It’s just not hot enough quite yet.

The entire thing is a slow burn, a continuous build up to a peak that she doesn’t think she’s going to reach. But out of nowhere, it’s there, her heartbeat pounding as she falls, Killian coming soon after with a few hard thrusts as the sound of their skin slapping each other and their harsh pants reverberates throughout the apartment.

They lay tangled together for awhile, his breath brushing against her neck as her hand strokes through his hair, a soothing embrace that has the two of them lulled into a comfortable silence until she feels Killian almost completely soften inside of her, and he has to pull away from her, peppering kisses across her face and her stomach when he gets up to go get a towel.

It’s only after he’s cleaned them up and nestled back behind her that he speaks again, his low, dulcet accent curling around his tongue and into her ear. “That’s my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?”

“My favorite position, my favorite pace. I like the slowness of it all, the way I can feel every slide and every flutter, the way you whimper with every movement. Don’t get me wrong. I love when I’m thrusting into you so harshly that you scream my name in pleasure, but there’s…there’s something special about what we just did. That’s why it’s my favorite.”

“Mine too,” she admits, twisting her head back so she can capture his lips between hers, neither of them pushing to make it anything more than just a simple slide of their lips together before Killian pulls a blanket up over their bodies and nestles his head on her shoulder and his arm over her waist.

They end up watching some cop show that’s on cable, neither of them bothering to find the remote even with Killian complaining about how inaccurate everything about it is.

“It’s just not feasible,” he groans, running his fingers across her stomach again, but this time with no intent of taking it further. “They’re breaking so many laws and none of this is protocol. And don’t even get me started on how everyone has fucked each other. That just doesn’t happen.”

“It’s a tv show. It’s not supposed to be entirely accurate.”

“Yeah, but this is what people think I do.”

“People think you break the law to solve your cases and then go at it with your super hot female partner in the interrogation room?”

“Not what I meant, Swan.” He presses his fingers into her stomach, pulling her back into him and pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck that sends tingles down her spine. “Though the hot bail bondsperson who works with them is entirely accurate.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re bloody gorgeous. I know for a fact that every cop at work wants you.” She knows the words he doesn’t say are but I get you. “Though, they don’t know how brilliant you are,” he kisses her neck again, “or how witty, always keeping me on my toes,” his fingers dance across her stomach, “or how you dance when you’re waiting for food to heat up in the microwave because you refuse to use the oven unless I’m cooking,” he nuzzles his nose into the back of her hair, “and they definitely don’t know that you’re so bloody fierce that you could probably take all of our jobs. I know those things, though, darling.”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to her. The only things that come close…well, Killian said those things, too. A part of her wants to run, to untangle herself from his grasp and to run away because of the strength of his feelings for her…and hers for him. But she doesn’t trulywant to. She just wants to have a day where she can be happy and content and not have to worry about anything.

So she just twists her head so that she can chastely press her lips against his and then kiss his throat, right over where she can feel his heart beat, before turning around and cuddling back into him, the warmth of his skin making her entire body experience some kind of slow burn.

Always burning. Never burning out.

“I think you’re brilliant, too,” she whispers in the dark of the night, the television show having long ended as infomercials flicker across the screen.

He’s quiet for a moment, his hold on her waist tightening as he kisses her shoulder in the spot she’s come to call his spot. The spot that mirrors the scar on his own shoulder. “Yeah?” he whispers, the deepness of his voice making it louder than he intends.

“Yeah,” she answers, turning in his arms so the she can face him, nuzzling her nose against his. “And I’ll kill you if you tell anyone I said this, but you’re the funniest person I know, even when most of your jokes are dirty.” He kisses her forehead before kissing her nose again, and she can’t help but smile. “And I like that when you’re in a good mood, you smile with your entire face. You have smile lines around your eyes, and even though you think it’s just because you’re old, I think they make you more handsome. And I like that you cook for me so I don’t have to use the microwave except to heat up the leftovers.”

He kisses her then, soft and sweet before pulling back to look her in the eyes. His are so, so blue. It’s not fair. “Thank you, darling.”

They don’t speak anymore that night, just Emma making a simple oomphsound when Killian lifts her off the couch and carries her back to his bedroom, nestling back into her and pulling her backside into him with his hand resting over her chest, over her heart.

By the time she wakes up the next morning, Killian is already at work, but a piece of cake (on a plate) is sitting on the bedside table next to her with a piece of paper underneath.

Emma,

I didn’t want to wake you, beautiful, but I had to go to work. The past few days have been wonderful. Thanks for spending them with me and making it one of my best birthdays. One of my best days, really. Turns out you can have your cake and eat it, too.

xoxo Killian

Now

He wasn’t in his apartment when she woke up then, and he’s mostly likely not here now. Though, the two different mornings, while on the surface similar, feel entirely different. He’s not in the bathroom, and he’s not in his living room. She was right in her suspicion. He’s nowhere to be seen. On other mornings like this, even if he’s not in bed with her, he’s in one of those places, but he’s not anywhere to be found.

Instead of finding Killian, she finds her phone on the kitchen counter, placed next to a note that she must have missed in her frantic (not that she’ll admit to that) search for Killian.

Swan,

I got called into work early. I don’t know when I’ll be home so you don’t have to bother waiting. You know the drill. You’re welcome to anything you want in the kitchen and the Netflix account on the television.

Jones

She doesn’t know the drill, though. Besides the one time, he’s never left her in his apartment before, not without the promise of coming back with coffee and something to eat. A part of her wants to stay, to lounge on his couch wrapped up in his shirt until he gets home, but it feels wrong, dirty almost. The tone of his note not obviously harsh, but it is for Killian. She knows him well enough to know when he’s pissed, even when she can’t see the tick of his jaw or the clench of his teeth. So she finds some of the clothes she keeps in his closet, slipping into jeans and a t-shirt before slipping out the door.

She doesn’t see him for the rest of the week. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text unless she texts him first, and then his responses are curt, so different than the flowery language he usually uses. She offers to come over one night with takeout from his favorite Chinese food to try to clear the air between them, but he texts back that he’s busy with work, his go to excuse lately. He’s never worked this goddamn much in his life. She tries not to overthink it, tries to convince herself that whatever he got called into work for is important, and he really is just busy this week. But she finds herself missing him, and while it’s not a foreign feeling, it’s weird knowing that if she calls, he might not answer. That’s never happened before.

He’s always been there for her.

Without fail.

She’s fucked up.

By the time their weekly dinner rolls around, she’s sitting on the edge of her seat, Mary Margaret telling her about some of her students from school while Emma listens to see if she can hear movement outside the front door. When that movement never comes, she realizes that Killian isn’t either, and it hurts even more than she was expecting it to. And she was expecting it to hurt.

She can’t tell Mary Margaret what is going on, and she desperately wants to. She wants to tell her that she’s been sleeping with Killian, and now he’s not talking to her.

And she wants to tell her that she thinks she’s fallen for Killian, too, but she can barely tell herself that most days. She hasn’t let herself really think…those words…since Killian’s birthday a few months ago. She won’t let herself think them now.

Instead she goes to a bakery and buys a small birthday cake to eat, and it’s quite possibly one of the saddest things she’s ever done.

It’s even sadder when she eats it in the dark of her living room watching a marathon of the cop shows she and Killian love to hate.

It really is the saddest when she goes into her room and finds one of his plaid shirts, wrapping herself in it as the tears fall down her cheeks and the sobs make her body shake.

She loves him. She finally admits it to herself when it’s three in the morning, and she’s eaten almost all of the cake and consumed almost half of a bottle of rum. And she’s the biggest idiot in the world for not telling him and not letting him love her in return.

But he was the one who left.

She’s the one who fucked up by making him push his feelings aside because she was ignoring her own, but he’s the one who left. How is she supposed to make things better if he won’t talk to her?

In a move that she’s not proud of, she purposely finds a skip that requires her to slip into a little black dress, this one with a neckline that exposes almost every bit of her breasts because Killian is most definitely a boob’s man, and apply red lipstick to her lips before going out. Handcuffing the guy is easy, and she’s at the precinct in no time, paperwork filled out in the blink of an eye. She figures that tonight Killian will finally get out of this funk he’s in and at least talk to her, but as she saunters over to his desk, making sure that her hips sway with her steps, he’s not there. Instead he’s very hurriedly going through the doors she’s not allowed through, not a glance in her direction even though she knows he saw her, a flash of blue before he disappears from sight.

Something rises in her throat, and she pushes it down before it can become a thing, not even bothering to wait for him to come back. He’s obviously not coming back.

They don’t talk for three more weeks. She sees him when she brings people in, but they don’t talk. He doesn’t call or text at all, even when she texts him. There’s no Killian at dinner. He always mysteriously disappears as soon as she walks in the doors at the station, and she idly wonders why he’s continuously working the night shift. He usually only does it twice a week, but he’s got to be working overtime every damn day. He’s obviously pissed at her, and she’s too stubborn to really, truly do something about it. Instead letting him stew by himself as she refuses to acknowledge that him avoiding her is killing her.

She cries more often than not when she’s awake late at night and can’t sleep, so maybe she does acknowledge that this is killing her.

She’s scared that she’s lost him for good, and he really is going to be the guy who sits across from her at weekly dinner (if he ever shows up again) who she acts like is nothing but a casual friend.

She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he acts the same way in return.

But she’s not going to change her work life just because he’s upset with her, and frankly she’s pissed as hell at him at this point, so when she needs to fill out the paperwork to make sure she gets paid for this asshole who managed to get a right hook on her before she got handcuffs on him, she still goes to her favorite precinct. She can already feel her eye swelling, the purple bruise coming to light against her pale skin, but it’s not a big deal. She’ll just put a bag of frozen peas on it when she gets home.

It’s as she’s getting ready to leave that it happens. He must not know that she’s in there tonight because all of the sudden she’s face to face with him for the first time in a month.

“Hi,” Emma squeaks, throat suddenly dry as she looks him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. They’re that same blue, but they look almost hollow, like he hasn’t been sleeping. She hasn’t either.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” Killian scowls, reaching his hand up to touch the bruising under her eye like it’s instinct for him to touch her, to comfort her. “What happened? Are you alright, darling?”

Killian’s obviously forgotten that he’s mad at her, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue while the pad of his thumb brushes against her bruise, two kinds of tender mixing together.

“I’m fine,” she sighs, wanting to yell at him that it’s none of his business but not having the energy to even deal with this right now. She wants him to comfort her, even if she shouldn’t. “It’s not like it’s never happened before.”

“You need ice,” he snaps, softness suddenly melting away as he comes to his senses and backs away from her, hands moving to rest on his belt buckle.

“I know,” she sneers, slowly inching back from him. “I’m going home to get it.”

With those words, she walks out, not even bothering to look back.

She really wants to look back.

When she gets home later that night, the first thing she does is shimmy out of her dress and her heels, changing into a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms that make her look more like a twelve year old boy than anything else. But she doesn’t care. She’s just going to put that bag of frozen peas on her eye while she watches TV.

She must fall asleep, tonight and the past few nights catching up with her, because when she wakes up there’s a pounding at her door that has her running to her bedroom to grab her gun before approaching the door, the pounding calming into more of a gentle knock.

“Emma, love, open the door.” It’s Killian’s voice on the other side, and she immediately unloads her gun and puts it in the table drawer by her front door. She’s fucking pissed at him, but she’s not going to shoot him. That would be excessive even for her.

She flings the door open, only stopping it before it slams against her wall.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead moving in to cup her face, lips soft and warm and fullwhen they press against hers. He’s such a goddamn good kisser that he’s able to dissolve her into gooey mess within seconds, her head empty except for the thought of how wonderful this feels and the noises he makes when she slants her lips over his.

But then she remembers that she’s damn well pissed at him. He’s acted like she didn’t exist for an entire month, and now he’s in her apartment kissing her like he’s allowed to do that.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Killian?” she repeats, pushing against his chest and crossing her arms over her own chest.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You did that at the station, remember?” she huffs, anger at him heating to the boiling point. “And I don’t really think that sticking your tongue down someone’s throat is a way to make sure their black eye is okay.”

He’s running his hand through his hair, the black strands sticking up like a madman. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like the natural thing for me to do, and I had just missedyou. Seeing you hurt like that did something to me.”

“Yeah?” she asks sweetly, taking a step closer to him, their lips almost touching. She can hear the way he’s trying to regulate his breathing, the way he’s trying to keep himself under control.

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe,” she ghosts over his lips, “you shouldn’t have fucking ignored me for a month.”

She slaps him then, not in the face, though she had to resist the urge, but right across the shoulder where she knows he’s got a sensitive scar from a gunshot wound, where she used to kiss to greet him good morning or wish him goodnight. It’s cruel and it’s petty, but he doesn’t get to act like he can just kiss her and care about her after leaving her in his apartment and then avoiding her for weeks.

A grimace crosses his face that gives her some kind of sick sense of satisfaction.

“Well, hell, Emma,” he spits out, hand already reaching up to massage his shoulder. “You acted like you didn’t want me around last time I saw you, so why the fuck would it have mattered if I didn’t talk to you?”

“Where the hell did you get the idea that I didn’t want you around?”

“Maybe from the fact that every time I try to have a goddamn conversation about the two of us doing more than some kind of secret shameful sex you either close off from me or seduce me into shutting up.”

“That’s because you want to take something that’s just ‘secret shameful sex’ and turn it into a relationship when I’ve told you a million times that I don’t do relationships because I always get screwed over.”

“You’ve been in a fucking relationship with me for two years, and you don’t even realize it. Or maybe you do, and you won’t accept it. I don’t know what’s worse.”

“You and me,” she points between the two of them, “are not in a relationship.”

She’s lying, and she knows it. But she doesn’t care.

“When’s the last time you slept with someone other than me because I seem to recall having a conversation about how that wasn’t happening anymore?”

It’s amazing how even when he doesn’t yell, his voice still shoots to her very core, anger practically rolling off of him in waves as he controls his temper.

She’s got an answer on the tip of her tongue, but it never seems to pass through her lips. Instead she says, “Sex does not equate to a relationship, Killian.”

“No, but the fact that we spend almost every other night together, have meals together, talk every day, share about our days and our lives and our pasts does.”

“So what? You think that we should be in a relationship? You’re the guy who fucked me and then ignored me for a month. That doesn’t exactly seem like someone who wants that.”

His jaw ticks and his teeth clench. That’s Killian 101 for pissed. Good. At least he feels something.

“I didn’t want to keep doing what we were doing and have it go nowhere. I was pissed at you that night, but I was also pissed at myself. So I savored what I thought would be one last night with you because if you didn’t want anything more, I couldn’t just stay around as your play thing. I have fucking done that before, and I’m not doing it again. I most likely handled it wrong and handled tonight wrong, and I’m just bloody sorry, okay?” A sigh passes through his lips as his hand runs through his hair that makes it stick up in a way that has Emma feeling…things. “I once told you I’d do anything to keep the girl I like around, even if it kills me.Emma, it was killing me to be with you without reallybeing with you, and I didn’t know what to do so I left. I left because I was in pain, like my heart was physically breaking.”

He pauses again, and she can literally see the tension leave his shoulders as the anxiety rolls in instead, his hand moving to scratch behind his ear. That’s Killian 101 for nervous, and wow, she really does know him. She just didn’t know he was going to say that words he does next. “I love you, Emma. I love you more than anything in this whole goddamn world, but if you don’t want me, I have to respect that. I can’t fight for someone who doesn’t want me to fight for them.”

“Of course I want you,” she admits, anger cooling to the freezing point. He just told her he loves her, didn’t he? She heard that correctly, but she can’t quite believe it. They’ve got things to talk about, things to work through, but she doesn’t think she can do all of that right now. “I’m sorry, too. I know I fucked up with you. You deserve better than me. I just don’t know how to handle things like this. Like you and me. We’re like two fuses ready to blow, and I don’t want to be left as the carnage. I mean, look at us now. You just told me you love me for the first time after we were fighting.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I care about you too much to lose you.”

“Emma,” he pleads, taking a step closer to her, their faces just inches apart, “what about me and you makes you think we’re just going to blow up?”

Her breath hitches before she shrugs her shoulders, and she’s pathetic. ��That’s how it’s always worked out for me before…and I, uh – I love you. I love you, and I don’t think I could survive without you. This last month has been awful, and everyone I’ve ever loved before has betrayed me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

She knows that. She’s always known that, but she’s an idiot.

“I know.”

His face changes then, something softer with wide blue eyes and a smile that curves his lips just the slightest bit upward as he places his hand on her hip, squeezing it.

“You just have to take the leap, darling and trust that fighting for what both of us want is worth it.”

She does.

“Killian, please kiss me.”

He does.

It starts off slowly, just a simple press of his lips against hers, but even if emotionally it’s going to take her some time to come around to fully accepting these changes that are inevitably going to happen and that she wants him and doesn’t have to run away, her body knows that she wants him. And she wants him sooner rather than later.

A month without is a month too long.

She needs more, more of him, so she opens her mouth and gently presses her tongue against his lips asking for the entrance she knows they both want. Once her tongue enters his mouth, the slide of his tangling against hers, making them both whimper and groan in a way that has him digging his fingers into her back so that her hips can press against his.

The noise he makes then, something akin to a growl, well, she’s going to remember that forever.

Killian moves his hands from her back, one going to wrap around her ass while the other moves to cup her face, fingers planting themselves at the roots of her hair.

“Ow, shit.”

“Not the reaction I usually like from a woman when I’m trying to romance her.”

A soft laugh escapes from Emma’s lips before she presses her forehead against his, his breath still warm against her lips. “You can’t touch my face. The – the bruise, the swelling hurts.”

“Fuck, Swan, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Just keep kissing me but avoid the eye, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s no preamble before his tongue thrusts into her and his hands move to wrap just below her ass, fingers digging into the skin there as he’s lifting her up so that she can wrap her legs around his waist and begin rolling her hips. When he kisses her, she can’t think about anything else. It’s like the noises and the lights around them are muted and muffled and there’s nothing else but the feel of his lips against hers and their bodies melding together.

He’s moving her, but she doesn’t know where. He can’t touch her face, but she can touch his, so she runs her hands across his scruff – it’s longer now, and she fucking loves it – and into his hair, tugging at the soft strands so that Killian hums into her mouth and so that she can feel more of him, while he walks them to what she thinks is the couch.

When he settles down on what’s definitely the couch, he moves his lips to suck at her pulse point, and oh godshe really can’t think when he does that, but she has to move her legs out from underneath him or else she’ll never be able to walk again. He gets what she’s doing, lifting his hips so that she can straddle his lap, but when he lifts his hips they lightly brush against hers and fuckshe can feel his growing hardness against her thigh.

She missed him, but she also missed that.

She can’t take this not having her skin against his thing, so she reaches down to pull her sweatshirt off, the room suddenly too hot to have anything on her that’s not Killian.

His hands immediately go for her exposed waist, calloused fingers inching up her skin until he gently presses his hand against her breasts, palming them while she kisses across his jaw, only stopping when his thumbs run over her nipples, and she literally feels them go hard beneath his touch.

“I missed you, Killian,” she sighs against his neck as his fingers start to twist and pull and tease at her peaks. “I can’t ah fuck– ” She can’t even speak right now, her senses heightened at ever touch and every movement of their hips together, wetness pooling at her core, and she really, desperately needshim right now. She needs him so she pulls back from his neck and kisses him again before attempting to take off her pants, struggling because of the way Killian’s got a hold on her.

“You’re bloody amazing,” he moans as he finally helps her take off the rest of her clothes, slipping her pajama pants down her legs until she’s completely bared before him, his darkened gaze not helping the heat she’s feeling.

“Not to be cliché, but you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Aye,” he confirms, reaching back to grab the material at the nape of his neck, pulling the material of the shirt up until his chest is exposed to her, the strong lines covered by the wiry dark hair that she didn’t realize she missed so damn much until she runs her fingers through it, feeling the beat of his heart in his chest.

Before she knows it he’s kicking his jeans across the floor, and she’s placing her knees on either side of his hips, teasing his smooth tip through the wetness of her folds. They don’t need much foreplay, the month of not seeing each other and the admission of love dissolving into an almost immediate need as soon as she sinks down onto him, moving her hips slightly to the side so that she knows he’ll hit her just right when she starts to move above him.

Oh God, right there.

“Fuck,” Killian hisses out, throwing his head back against the couch as she leans forward to quickly brush her lips against his, resting her forehead against his shoulder to just savor the moment because they haven’t even started and it’s almost too much.

She begins to move, using her thighs to help her move up before sliding back down, the way he drags inside of her making her want to cry out in relief. She must not be going fast enough, the friction not enough for him because he’s grabbing onto her hips and helping her move, thrusting his length up into her wet heat as she moves down.

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, letting her ride him in a way the she knows he loves. He’s so responsive to her, always giving her physical signals or encouraging words to keep her moving against him as their moans mix together and fill the room. “That’s mygood girl.”

Any verbal response she has to him is stuck in her throat, everything she has is focusing on trying to keep moving at the same pace while also being able to breathe. But she’s gasping for air, the way his length is moving inside of her makes it impossible for her to think let alone be conscious of what she’s doing, and her legs are basically a quivering mess at this point.

Killian must realize that she’s having a difficult time keeping up the pace, her entire body now a quivering mess at the pleasure of it, so in a much practiced move, he flips them so that her back is against the couch cushions and he’s hovering over her.

She clenches her muscle to keep him from slipping out, and Killian mutters a “bloody fuck” against her breasts, biting at her nipple in a way that has her muttering a similar “holy fuck” against his chest.

She’s close, but she’s not close enough, so when Killian angles his hips so that he brushes against her clit with every thrust, she thinks she might combust, little bursts of pleasure running through her and causing her vision to blur as he moves above her.

“Oh god,” she moans when he lifts her leg over his shoulder, the angle now absolutely perfect while he pumps inside of her, his body heat everywhere. “Right – right there. Don’t stop.”

Suddenly, she’s on the verge, wrapping her arms around his back and feeling his muscles strain as her nails dig into the skin to bring him closer. He’s fantastic at this. It feels so goddamn good, and how did they go an entire month without doing this?

Never again. Never again. Never again.

She can feel her body tense, the heat rising through her stomach, and with four more thrusts, she’s falling apart, the only sign of her orgasm is the pounding in her ears that must be reverberating throughout the entire apartment complex. Maybe even the damn parking lot.

The fluttering of her muscles around him must have pushed Killian over the edge because through the pounding in her ears and the pounding between her thighs she hears him groan out her name quickly followed by the hot feeling of him pulsing deep inside of her as his seed spills into her and he collapses on top of her, the weight totally and completely welcome.

“You’re amazing, Emma,” he presses kisses against her face, anywhere he can reach before lightly brushing his lips against the bruise that’s come into full effect. “Bloody amazing. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He kisses that spot on her shoulder, and she whispers her love to him against his skin. “You’re not too bad yourself, detective,” she sighs, running her hands over the scratch marks on his back, a weird sense of satisfaction running through her over the fact that she put those there.

She can feel Killian softening inside of her, so he pulls out with a slight hiss, and she immediately feels empty even when he’s heading over to the kitchen and giving her a view of his ass as she tries to clench her legs together so his cum doesn’t get onto the couch. Luckily Killian is back with a warm washcloth and wiping her down in a move that’s not new but suddenly more gentle than usual.

When he’s pulling away she has to tug on his wrist so that his lips meet hers, just a chaste way to say thank you for simply being here. And, you know, the mind blowing sex.

“Killian?”

“Yes, my love?”

The corners of her lips tug up at the ‘my’ in front of the love as she reaches to caress his face. He looks happy. She’s happy. She hopes that he is, too.

“Can you put the peas on the coffee table back in the freezer and get me the other bag? As much as Ienjoyed that, my eye did not.”

Killian looks at her so tenderly, the black desire of his eyes from earlier fading into a much softer blue more similar to the ocean than anything else. “Did I hurt you?”

“Killian, no. That was fucking fantastic. We are never going that long without doing that again.”

“Oh yeah?” he questions, leaning down over her so that his lips are mere centimeters above hers, his breath intermingling with hers.

“Yeah,” she sighs, quickly capturing his bottom lip between hers, “I might even let you do it in public.”

“Swan,” Killian gasps, pulling back from her to put his hand over his heart, lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”

He’s got a throw pillow in his face before she finds the words to respond to him. “I meant that you can kiss me in front of people…in front of David. In front of whoever the hell you want.”

Killian’s eyes light up, round saucers that make him look ten years younger because of how joyful he looks. It only lasts for a moment, though, before his features are schooled and he looks as if he could be doing his taxes. She’s confused, her head pounding a bit from her black eye, and doesn’t understand how he could switch between emotions that quickly.

“I was really looking forward to the exhibitionist thing, though.” He’s falsely pouting at her, the corners of his mouth ticking up just the slightest bit, seemingly without his permission. “Think about it, Swan. We could do it at the station, right there on my desk in the middle of the bullpen, possibly with handcuffs. Yours or mine. It doesn’t matter. Or maybe even at the grocery store…right next to the frozen peas you seem to love so much.”

At that, he walks out of the room, formerly frozen peas in hand on his way to get a new bag for her eye, and suddenly she’s got an image of the two of them going at it like animals next to the frozen food aisle in a Whole Foods.

Talk about filling a different kind of hole.

#frozen peas #cs cocktober #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff

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fuck-customers · 6 years

Text

Fuck managers and fuck one specific coworker

So i have this coworker....he's an ok guy and an ok friend. But he is the shittiest employee/coworker. He and I are both CSMs and he calls in allllll the time and most of the time its a bullshit excuse. "My cat died!" But when i asked him about his dead cat 2 months later he's like "....what cat?" And then theres "my roommates are fist fighting right now! Theyre like my family i cant just leave them!" Yes you can. Theyre not the ones paying for your bills. If theyre really your family they'd understand that you gotta go to work to keep your job and that they are old enough to handle themselves. And now I've just realized that this was also a bullshit excuse bc he actually lives with his parents. He probably calls in once every week which i know sounds like its not a lot but when you consider that if someone calls in more than 9 times in a 6 month period they'd be fired by now. But he's not. And then theres the fact that i had to beg to be promoted bc they didnt want to promote me bc im always late and yet they promoted someone who almost never shows up. And on top of that he is now dating one of our cashiers. He is supposed to be demoted by now since he's got such bad absences but....it hasnt been made official. But at this point I'd say its time to full on fire that hoe. He apporved this lady's bogus return for almost $1,000 AND ACCEPTED A GIFT FROM HER. We are not allowed to accept gifts from customers and thats an automatic termination. Yet he is still here. Either they just favor him so much or they're just too lazy to fire him but its so unfair to the rest of us who are working our asses off.

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thelureofadventure · 6 years

Text

Midnight Fight

Teen Sam x Reader

1589 words

The coldness stings the bruise that was already forming in your knuckles, black and blue alike. The adrenaline, of course, had died down since the incident that happened an hour ago. Sighing, you look lovingly at Sam as he tries to get a new batch of ice cubes from your fridge. Good thing your parents are currently out of town for some business trip, seeing you in this state would only devastate them, knowing their only elegant and precious princess who can't handle herself is apparently some thug. You prefer the term street fighter, it's cool.

Silence hangs in the air as Sam carefully put the cubes in the towel. Your nerves are sending you over the edge as to why he was suddenly giving you the silent treatment. For all you know, you just punched some asshole at that diner.

"You know there's a new place I would like to try out next week." You tried to open up a conversation with Sam but failed when you saw that his lips are in a tight line. Silence continue to hang in the air, starting to suffocate you. It was never comfortable for you to be in a situation like this.

"We can even sneak out Nate and bring him there. My treat. Next Tuesday." You tried once more hoping he would relax a little just by hearing the name of his brother. But still, to no avail, he just stood up and left the handkerchief on your bedside table, along with the used towel. His feet were light as he goes to the bathroom to get the antiseptic from the medicine cabinet, tending to your cuts next. You were a pretty clumsy person, so you always have a complete medkit in your room just in case any severe stupidity and clumsiness might occur. This time however was not a case of either.

With a heavy sigh, you laid down your bed. Mixed emotions swirling around your head as you tried to process everything. Anger, disappointment, confusion, and even hunger were the ones consuming your mind. That reminds you, you never really got to finish those pancakes you ordered a while ago.

"Man, pancakes would be amazing right now, paired with some hot chocolate." You said, mainly to yourself as you feel your stomach grumble. Of course, it's half past midnight, but it's always a good time to eat breakfast. On the other hand, you're probably banned in that diner.

"If only you didn't caused a scene awhile ago, we could've eaten those pancakes peacefully." Sam snapped, it's the first time you heard his voice since the both of you arrived at your home. You were confused why he was so mad at what you did. Sitting up, you snatched the antiseptic in his hand and started to treat the cuts you caused yourself.

"Quit the sass, do you want me to say sorry for punching some asshole who was picking on you? He deserved it, I wasn't even done beating the fuck out of him." You rolled your eyes, starting to get pissed at Sam for scolding you for something you did to defend him.

"I did it for you, so why the hell are you mad at me?" Hurt dripping from your words.

You decided to catch some midnight meals at your favorite diner just around the corner as both of your shifts ended. It was one of the shops that are open until 2AM. They had the best chocolate milkshake and pairing it with pancakes would be absolute heaven.

You ordered the usual for the both of you, as you sat in the booth near the window. "Hey Sam, do you think you could help me with my geometry homework?" You asked as you played with his hands.

"Geometry? Are you kidding me Y/N? I'm horrible at math!" He chuckled, thinking why the hell would you ask that, but still found it flattering. You continued to play with his hands when a familiar voice boomed inside the diner.

"Well if it isn't Sammy boy and Y/N." A ex-coworker who got fired yesterday, which you clearly don't know his name, started to pick on Sam. You noticed that he would tease the man whenever he had the chance but Sam never did anything to him, that you know of. The both of you, of course, ignored him, seeing that he is completely drunk as he sways towards the counter taking a seat. You heard him take an order and continued his shit talking towards your booth. He was obviously calling him names, which you still don't mind because you don't have the energy to stoop so low; but to be honest, it's starting to piss you off.

What put you over the edge was when he started talking shit about Sam's parents. "Is that why your parents left you? 'Cause you're a useless piece of shit. A dumb one at that too. I don't even know why Y/N puts up with you when I'm clearly the better one." He slurred, clearly drunk.

Sam knew it best to ignore the hurtful remarks than to make a scene that could make the both of you lose your jobs. So he silently chewed on his plate as you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

As you start to walk towards the bathroom, the guy made another remark. "Coming to your senses now doll? Running to me huh?" That's it, you thought. You started to throw a hard punch at his fuckface, and another and another and another until you felt his nose broke. "Shut it or I'll start breaking your jaw too." You spat, rage completely taking over you. The staff were stunned and shocked that they didn't do anything other than to stare at the scene. You started to throw another punch when Sam grabbed a hold of your arm, immediately dragging you out of the diner.

Your feet started to drag you towards the kitchen, aimlessly opening the fridge without a particular task at hand, a habit you annoyingly had. You left Sam in the bedroom as your emotions started to get the best of you. You were starting to get upset as to why he was mad at you. Upset, and confused, upset, and confused, like that one time where your mother forgot to fetch you at school, leaving you to wait for an hour or two. Defending him from that piece of shit asshole meant a lot to you. Deep inside, you knew Sam was hurt but for the both of your sake, he didn't do anything that would escalate the situation.

Your hands then stumbled upon an unopened cereal box on the counter. Weird how you love eating cereals but hate drinking those fresh milk in the cartons, Sam found it funny somehow.

Sam suddenly hugged you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder as he sways you side to side, leaving butterfly kisses along the way. Reminding you of the tree that was just outside of your window, swaying along with the gentle winds. Your heart warmed at the gesture.

"What's the sudden affection Drake?" Sadness slowly seeping as you whispered. "Finally came to your senses?" You quipped, still feeling upset. Pouring the cereal onto a bowl and the chocolate milk after. Chocolate milk, you can deal with this.

"Hey, hey look at me." He spun you around, grabbing your bowl and placing it again in the counter. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just afraid of you getting hurt 'cause of me. I can't understand why you would risk something like that. You shouldn't have. I'm not that worth it." He looked down and stroked your knuckles gently, as if they were shattered glasses. You looked down seeing the black and blue bruises along with the small cuts. Gently smiling, you held his hand.

"Hey, look at me." You whispered softly as you cup his right cheek, careful you would break him. You saw the sadness in his eyes, reminding you of the moon in a cloudy sky.

"Samuel Drake, you will always be worth it. I may get into a thousand fist fights because of you, I'd do it in less than a heartbeat, because you are enough and you always will be." You gently smiled, assuring that you'll always be by his side through thick and thin. These were the rare moments where he shows how vulnerable he is, just like any other human being.

"I love you Y/N." He looks at you deeply and leaned into your hand as you gently stroke his cheek. Wiping the stray tears that were falling. He looks like an angel in this light, you thought. You looked outside your kitchen window and saw that the moon is at its' brightest. You turned back to him, smiling.

"It's you and I against the world Drake. I love you." You smiled, tears threatening to spill.

"Now why won't we continue our breakfast-midnight date?" You offered.

"How about I offer you a slow dance first my princess in the shining armor?" He chuckled, grabbing your hand and leading you to the living room. Slowly, you settled your arms on his shoulders as he gently placed his hands on your waist, still swaying back and forth, like before.

"You gotta admit, I'm good at fighting Drake. I'll defend you from all the bullies we get to meet in the future." You winked, earning a chuckle from the man.

Tagging:

@jodiereedus22

#uncharted #uncharted 4 #sam drake x reader #nathan drake #samuel drake #sam drake #uncharted imagine #uncharted fic #uncharted x reader

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endlesshero1122 · 6 years

Text

Heat Wave (Hero Fanfic Chapter 5)

All rights go to Pixelberry. I only own my MCs. Sorry for the long post. Enjoy!

@ladyseaheart1668 @endlessflame @toglidethroughlife @mariussage @countrymusicandncis-blog @sceptilemasterr

On the other side of town, a small squad of police cruisers pursued the black getaway van through the city streets. The young man in the leather jacket swore under his breath as one of the cruisers rammed into the side of the van, forcing it into a dead end. The rest of the cruisers crowded behind the van, effectively blocking the exit.

“We’ve got you cornered!” one of the cops called out as they got out of their cars.

“Well, no shit!” the man called back sarcastically.

The cops readied their guns in response. “Come out slowly with your hands up!”

The door opened an inch…

Then another…

“What the hell is taking so long?!”

“You said slowly!”

The door was forcefully jerked open before a hand grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt and threw him onto the pavement. He grunted in pain as he pushed himself up to his knees only to receive a swift kick to the ribs.

“Think you’re being funny, smart ass?”

In spite of his pain, the man smirked. “A little.”

“Still don’t know how to respect your superiors, do ya, kid?” another cop snarled as the rest of the squad circled around him.

The man’s face twisted into an ugly scowl as he glared up at the cop. “It’s Caleb, and you’re not my superior!”

A third cop lunged at him, driving his fist into Caleb’s stomach. The others laughed as Caleb sank to his knees, gasping for air.

“We’re the ones who have the power,” the first cop sneered as the rest took turns beating Caleb down. “And you’re just one of the pieces of trash that we have to clean off the streets.”

“You’re nothing,” a third cop growled as he backhanded Caleb across the face. “Nothing but a pathetic nobody no one wanted. Bet no one would notice if you just happened to disappear tonight…”

Neither of them noticed the crystal hidden in Caleb’s jacket began to pulse with an otherworldly glow; the light grew brighter as his blood boiled with hate and anger.

He groaned in pain and doubled over; something inside him was burning as if a fire was growing inside him. It burned brighter and brighter until…

“What the hell?!”

Caleb looked down at his hands as they burst into flames. The fire continued to spread across his skin until his entire body was ablaze. Caleb stared down at his hand curiously; the flames weren’t burning him or causing him any sort of pain for that matter. In fact, he felt strangely at ease. A wicked grin curved his lips as he turned towards the cops. The sight of them quaking with feel gave him a sense of pleasure.

“You scum always use your power to oppress those weaker than you. You fill them with fear, bringing them to their knees, putting them at your mercy.”

He raised his hand, the flames burning so brightly they were almost white.

“Now it’s your turn.”

The Next Morning

“Man, I never loved coffee so much in my life!” Dax sighed as he downed his fifth cup of coffee. Kameron smirked as he slowly sipped his third cup while Marjorie and Santiago watched in astonishment. The four of them had decided to meet up at their favorite coffee house, Starbeans Coffee, for their morning break. Alyssa was not present due to leaving with Grayson earlier that morning to meet the candidate for the position of manager at the old cabaret the former had recently purchased.

“How can you two stand to drink that much? You’ll be up all night!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Santiago, that’s kinda the point,” Kameron stated. “Working late nights is no joke, especially after what happened last Friday.”

“I still feel it’s unnecessary for you to work overtime,” Marjorie said, giving Kameron a pointed look. “After all, you do have… other responsibilities.”

Kameron frowned. He didn’t miss Marjorie’s subtle hint.

“Alyssa knows how to get home safely. She’s always been able to take the train and call or text me right when she gets home. Besides, it’s not like she’s helpless. I gave her pepper spray and showed her a few basics that she can use to defend herself.”

“Please. The girl jumps when she sees her own shadow and has clumsiness down as an art,” Marjorie scoffed, though there was a slight quiver to her voice. “Besides, I highly doubt she would use those ‘basics’ even if her life depended on it.”

“I gotta side with Marjorie on this,” Santiago spoke, his face grim with concern. “We all know Alyssa’s too gentle to hurt anyone. Hell, she wouldn’t even hurt a fly! And I mean that literally; you all remember her first day at Prescott Industries, don’t you?”

“Mmm, yes; she spent an hour shooing that fly out of the building,” Marjorie chuckled. “And that butterfly a month later… and that ladybug about two months after that.”

“Don’t forget about that baby bird from last week,” Dax cut in. “She waited outside with it until its mother came looking for it.”

Kameron rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, message received. Alyssa is a cinnamon roll who’s too pure for this world, what else is new?”

“We’re serious, Kameron,” Marjorie snapped. “I’m only hard on the girl because I have to be, but all of us, including me, worry about your sister.”

“And for good reason,” Santiago growled lowly, nodding towards the TV in the corner. Kameron and the others followed his gaze as the news switched to the topics of supers.

“A man of stone, then bronze, and now one on fire, all of whom appeared out of nowhere just last night,” the news anchor was reporting; Kameron and Dax exchanged worried glanced at the mention of the ‘man on fire’. “With these three supers roaming freely through the streets, we have to wonder: how many more of them are out there, and are they a threat to public safety?”

“Wait, why would they say Tombstone is ‘roaming freely’?” Dax asked Kameron in a hushed tone. “The cops apprehend him and his crew, didn’t they?”

Kameron glanced discreetly at Marjorie and Santiago; their attention was diverted to the news segment, completely tuned out of the private conversation between the two engineers.

“I honestly doubt there’s a cell the police force has that could hold Tombstone for long,” he answered, careful to keep his voice down. “Even without his powers, he has military training; at the very least, he’d know to pick a lock. The Man on Fire, on the other hand…”

Dax gave a halfhearted shrug. “Maybe he’s friendly…?” he suggested unconvincingly.

Kameron gave him a skeptical look before the two turned back to the TV; the news reporter, Katherine, had shoved the microphone right in DA Meiko Katsaros’s face. Kameron honestly didn’t blame the DA for looking slightly annoyed by Katherine’s obvious lack of respect for personal space.

“DA Katsaros, you just instituted a new campaign against these supers,” Katherine was saying. “Are you sure the police force is up to the challenge?”

Meiko took a deep breath, most likely trying to swallow her irritation, before answering in a cool, firm tone.

“I understand the public’s concern with the police force’s capabilities to handle these super criminals, especially given the fact that a small group of officers was hospitalized after encountering the so-called ‘Man on Fire’—”

“Ooookay, definitely not friendly,” Dax shuddered.

“—but rest assured that we will be working tirelessly to return this city to order. And as for these vigilantes…” Meiko’s expression hardened. “I’d advise you to stay out of our way and let the police do their job. I don’t care if you’re made of bronze, steel, or flesh and bone: your powers do not put you above the law. Try not to forget that, unless you would like to be branded as a criminal.”

Genuine shock crossed Katherine’s face. “But don’t you think it would make more sense for superheroes to fight super-villains? I mean with Talos around to protect us--”

“The police are the ones who protect Northbridge,” Meiko hissed, silencing Katherine’s feeble attempts to sway her opinion. “Powers or no powers, Talos and others like him should decide whether to respect the law or be persecuted. That is my final say on the matter.”

The coworkers turned to face each other as the camera cut back to the news anchor.

“You see why we’re worried?” Santiago stressed to Kameron. “The city is dangerous enough with the rising crime, and now you want Alyssa walking home by herself after dark with super-powered maniacs are running around causing mayhem at free will?!”

Kameron had to agree with Santiago. Powers or no powers, he didn’t like the idea of Alyssa walking home alone.

Marjorie let out an audible sigh and shook her head. “Even so, these people are dangerous, and we’re only aware of those three so far… the only thing putting me at ease is that one seems to be on our side.”

“You mean that Talos guy?” Santiago snapped, his face hardening. “If you ask me, he’s worse than those other two; parading around, acting like he’s king of the world with his powers. I doubt he hardly cares about the public’s safety as much as cares about the attention he’s getting! People with egos like that are dangerous, especially when others get caught in the middle!”

Once again, Kameron found himself agreeing with Santiago. Not only did Talos take credit for apprehending Tombstone, something his sister was injured for, but he soaked up the fame and glory like a narcissistic celebrity rather than a hero.

“Maybe you guys are right,” he conceded. “There are criminals with superpowers appearing overnight, the police don’t have the means to keep them contained, and the only guy who isn’t tearing the city apart is too busy posing for the cameras to bother actually trying to protect anyone… much less my sister.”

Dax placed a hand on Kameron’s back. “Kameron…”

“I already lost my dad… I can’t lose Alyssa, too.”

Santiago and Marjorie exchanged troubled glances as Kameron gazed emptily into his unfinished cup of coffee. Suddenly, despite his new super strength and bulletproof skin, he felt small and helpless… just like he did when he sat by Alyssa’s bed at the hospital. Was he enough to keep her safe… was he ever?

“I… I think we should head back to work,” Marjorie spoke softly.

The others turned to her as she stood up, straightening herself out.

“There’s still plenty to do, and worrying about the future isn’t going to change anything. We’re all just going to have to adapt and hope for the best… after all, that’s all we can do.”

***

Meanwhile, Grayson pulls his car up the curb in front of The Grand. He turned off the engine before stepping out of his car and circling around to open the door for Alyssa, who was fidgeting nervously.

“Are you sure I look okay?” she asked Grayson as she tried to straighten out the invisible wrinkles in her clothes.

Instead of her usual work outfit, she was wearing a mid-sleeve yellow shirt with a white laces collar and a navy blue skirt decorated with yellow flowers that matched her top. Her hair had been woven into a braid that fell past her shoulder, which she stroked nervously as she followed Grayson to the door.

“You look fine, Alyssa,” he assured her. “And you don’t have to impress anyone.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?”

Grayson smiled softly. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t. It’s impossible not to adore you.”

Alyssa smiled shyly and bowed her head as Grayson took out the key and opened the doors. The two were immediately assaulted by a thick cloud of dust, causing them to cough and cover their eyes as they blindly staggered into the building.

“Guess the —ack!— guess the place hasn’t been cleaned out in a while,” Grayson coughed as he waved the dust away.

Alyssa copied him and looked around the room. The dust was by far the least of their worries. A few floorboards were missing, leaving gaping holes while broken stools, tables, and old posters laid scattered what was left of the floor; for Alyssa, it was no different than a maze of land mines. The scraps of wallpaper that clung to the walls were fading in color and peeling away. Whatever part of the walls the paper no longer covered wore thick coats of grime, along with the aged curtains that framed the stage. The bar was littered with empty, dusty glass bottles and the chandelier above them had come loose from its hanging, swinging just mere inches above their heads.

“It’s kinda sad that something this important to the town was just left to fade away,” Alyssa spoke as she carefully stepped around the gaps in the floor. “I’m glad we’re bringing back to help people around here— whoa!”

Alyssa gave a startled yelp as she tripped over the leg of a fallen stool. Grayson whirled around to catch her, but someone else beat him to it.

“Careful, now!”

Strong arms wrapped around Alyssa’s waist, pulling her close to a well-built frame of a young man. She tentatively looked up at his face, heat flooding her face as she gazed into a familiar pair of grey eyes.

The DA’s son flashed her the same dazzling smile he had when she fell into his arms at the gala, chuckling in amusement.

“Huh… déjà vu.”

Alyssa stammered a quick apology as she pulled away from him, her face flushing from embarrassment.

“Alyssa, this is Kenji Katsaros,” Grayson said, carefully stepping around the stool. “He was at the gala with his mother, Meiko Katsaros, the District Attorney.”

Alyssa nodded mutely, refusing to look Kenji in the eye or at all; she remembered their first encounter all too well.

“Kenji, this is Alyssa, my executive assistant. I take it you’ve already met…?”

Alyssa risked a peak up at Kenji, only to quickly whip her head back down when he shot her a playful smirk. “We might’ve… bumped into each other at the gala.”

Alyssa pressed her lips together to prevent herself from wailing in despair.

Grayson gave her a sympathetic look before turning his attention to Kenji. “I know the place doesn’t look like much, but with some hard work and TLC, we can get this place back to its former glory.”

She peaked back up at Kenji as he cocked an eyebrow at Grayson, giving him a wry grin.

“Its former glory? Why stop there when this place can be so much more?”

Grayson smirked. “You could make it much more… if you’re interested in the job. I hired a remodeling crew to clean up the place, its reputation is your responsibility. That is if you can handle it.”

Kenji’s lips curled into a cocky smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“... Maybe.”

Kenji’s eyes gleamed. “In that case, I’ll consider your offer. Though we do need to discuss a few things first… my rate, in particular.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll let you discuss that with Alyssa,” Grayson replied as he placed a hand on Alyssa’s shoulder.

The young girl looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Wait, what do you--”

“I gave Alyssa ownership of the club, so you’ll be working with her directly if you accept the job.”

Kenji smirk grew wider as his eyes rested on Alyssa. “Well, that does sound tempting…”

Alyssa flushed furiously as Grayson gave Kenji a faint smile.

“Oh, believe me; it’s a privilege to be able to work with her. I have to head back to the office, so I just need to have a quick work with Alyssa before I go.”

Kenji gave him a slight nod before walking over to one of the booths in the far corner. Once he was out of earshot, Grayson turned to Alyssa.

“I’m really sorry to drop this on you, but I do need to get back to Prescott Industries,” Grayson said quickly. “I’m all for hiring Kenji, but I’d appreciate it if you could convince him to lower his rate. Think you can handle it?”

Alyssa glanced nervously at Kenji, biting her lip nervously. “I guess…”

Grayson gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine. I gotta go now, but I called Poppy earlier to take you home, okay?”

Alyssa gave him a small nod. After giving her a quick hug, Grayson headed out of the building, leaving Alyssa alone with Kenji.

Kenji smiled up at her as she cautiously approached the booth he was resting in. “Hey.”

“Hi…” Alyssa muttered softly, fidgeting with her hands nervously.

Kenji nodded towards the seat in front of him, inviting her to sit down. Once she was seated, he gave her a playful smirk. “So… shall we begin?”

“Um, s-sure,” Alyssa agreed. “I… I, uh… w-well, you should know that Grayson has other candidates in mind for the job.”

“Is that so?”

Alyssa nodded, hoping she was convincing. “Y-yeah. And compared to them, you obviously have less experience with handling this type of job.”

Kenji arched an eyebrow at her. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m up against a bunch of old guys for this job?”

Alyssa bit her lip and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I guess…”

Kenji gave her a long, searching look, then grinned. “You wouldn’t happen to be trying to get me to lower my rate, now, would you?”

A dark shade of lavender tinted Alyssa’s rosy cheeks. “I-I… well—”

“How old are you?”

Alyssa blinked at him, caught off guard by his question. “Um, e-eighteen.”

Kenji tilted his head. “And how long have you been working at Prescott Industries?”

“About a year and a half.”

“Did you work somewhere else before?”

Alyssa tensed at the question, her eyes drifting down to the floor. “I… no. I was actually having trouble finding a job.”

“So how did you end up at Prescott Industries?”

“...Grayson and my brother were friends in college. When my brother started working for him, he mentioned that we were having trouble saving up enough money to send me to college. I didn’t want to be treated like a charity case, so he offered me a job as his executive assistant.”

Kenji furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re only eighteen, and you’re the executive assistant for the son of the most powerful man in Northbridge?”

Alyssa hesitated, then nodded shamefully.

“...and you haven't even started college yet?”

Another shameful nod.

“I’ve got to admit... I’m pretty impressed.”

Alyssa glanced up at him nervously. “... Really?”

Kenji nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Well, I don’t know how many eighteen-year-olds can put ‘executive assistant for Prescott Industries’ on their resume before even attending college. Might look good on college applications, too.”

Alyssa bit her lip. “I mean, it sounds nice when you say it like that… but I really don’t have much hope for college anymore.”

Kenji frowned. “What do you mean?”

Alyssa shrugged sadly. “Even with the pay I’m getting from Grayson, plus my mom and brother saving money on the side for me, I barely have enough to pay for the first quarter of college.”

“You seem good at your job,” Kenji ventured. “Hasn’t Grayson offered you a raise or some sort of offer to help cover the tuition fees?”

Alyssa let out an exasperated sigh. “He has, multiple times… Working here is actually one of his offers. But I’m only interested in the job, not the money.”

Her voice quivered slightly as she continued. “The only reason I agreed to Grayson’s offer is that this is supposed to help a lot of people, as whole generations of families who’ve lived in Bayside since their great-grandparents moved here in the 1900s. I can’t turn down an opportunity to help them when Silas is threatening to throw them out of their home and tear it down so he can replace it with a bunch of skyscrapers, especially when life is hard enough for them already.”

She took a deep breath to steady her voice, her face set in stone as she met Kenji’s eyes. “I know you know that Grayson is committed to hiring you; he just wanted to see if we could get to accept the job on a lower salary so the rest of the funds can go to protecting the town from being demolished. If you think he won’t pay you enough, you can take whatever he’s offering me as part of your rate. I’m just here to help the people who live in Bayside.”

Kenji studied her for a moment, mulling over what Alyssa had just told him. After a moment, he shrugged. “Okay, I’m in. You and Grayson can work out my rate. I trust you’ll both be fair.”

“Great!” Alyssa beamed. “I’ll let Grayson know and I’ll get you the paperwork first thing—”

“Under one condition,” Kenji asserted, cutting her off. “You have to accept whatever pay Grayson is offering you.” He gave Alyssa a firm look as she opened her mouth to protest. “It’s not charity, and I’m not taking no for an answer. And as for Bayside, I’ll make sure this club can fund both the town and your tuition.”

Alyssa threw him a half-hearted glare, then huffed. “Fine.”

Kenji held out a hand towards Alyssa, flashing her a cocky smile. “In that case, I look forward to working with you.”

Alyssa took his hand, expecting him to shake it. Instead, much to her surprise and embarrassment, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. He shot her a cheeky wink as she hid her face behind her hands.

“So… now that we’re coworkers, shall we talk business?”

Alyssa gave a meek nod, still flustered by Kenji’s teasing.

“Well, since we’re supposed to boost this place’s popularity with the public, why don’t I throw a secret party here tonight and invite the hottest people in Northbridge? It would definitely build up a reputation for The Grand before it even opens.”

Alyssa glanced around The Grand skeptically; it definitely didn’t look like the type of place to host a party…

“Are you sure people will even come while it still looks like this?”

Kenji gave her a lopsided smile. “I can call a few friends to clean the place up a bit before I send out the invites. Besides, if you ever want to experience the real nightlife, this is exactly the kind of place to do it. The hottest parties are the ones at condemned parking structures, warehouses, deserted buildings, places like those. Of course,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, “I bet a pretty girl like you would already know that first hand.”

Alyssa shyly looked down at her feet. “Actually… I’ve never been to a party before.”

“All the more reason have one,” Kenji declared, undeterred.

“I don’t know Kenji…” Alyssa hesitated, still feeling unsure. “I think we should at least ask Grayson for permission…”

“I’m sure he won’t have a problem with it,” Kenji told her, waving his hand dismissively. “He did say it was my job to boost the club’s reputation, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“But what if we get in trouble…?” Alyssa asked, still worried.

Kenji’s expression softened. “Listen, if anything goes wrong, it’ll be on me. I’m the one throwing this party, so anything that happens is my responsibility, okay?”

After a moment of thought, Alyssa nodded. “Okay. But I’d feel better nothing does go wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of everything. Feel free to invite your friends, too. I’d love to meet them.”

Alyssa was about to reply but was startled by the sudden sound of a car engine roaring from outside.

“I take it your ride is here?” Kenji guessed.

Alyssa offered him a sheepish smile. “Yeah... I better get going.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t want to keep your ride waiting. I’ll see you at the party tonight, around 10:00?”

Alyssa nodded and started towards the door.

“By the way,” Kenji called, causing her to halt, “I love that outfit on you. It’s cute.”

Alyssa shyly straightened out her skirt. “Thanks…”

“Am I right to assume you like flowers?” Kenji asked, gesturing to the flowers on her skirt.

“Um, yeah, I guess…”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“... Promise you won’t laugh?”

Kenji smirked as he drew an X over his heart.

Alyssa blushed. “... Roses.”

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t what Kenji said next.

“Well, that’s a relief. Would’ve been embarrassing if you thought they were cliché.”

It took Alyssa a full minute to understand what he was hinting at. She was out the door in a split second, her face burning with more embarrassment at that moment than she had felt in the last eighteen years of her life.

***

“And you just ran out?”

Alyssa moaned and hid her face in her hands.

They were both in Poppy’s apartment, getting ready for the party at The Grand. Alyssa had informed her about the extended invite after the blush had faded from her face (which took about an hour according to Poppy), which the junior editor immediately texted Dax and Kameron about. Poppy then told the boys to meet her and Alyssa at The Grand while she took Alyssa back to her apartment to get ready and to get the younger girl to spill every juicy detail about her encounter with Kenji.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Alyssa wailed as she snatched one of Poppy’s pillows and buried her face into it. “God, I’m such an idiot!”

“Well, at least we know who K.K. is.”

Poppy was answered by a muffled moan.

“Oh, c’mon, Lyss! It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Alyssa looked up at her friend with a feeble glare. “Yes, it was! And I was already acting like an idiot before that, and now I have to work with him and see him every day and— uuuuuuuuugh!!!”

A thoughtful frown appeared on Poppy’s face as she watched her friend bury her face back into the pillow. She was no stranger to seeing Alyssa be embarrassed or so flustered to the point of not being able to function, but something was different about this…

“Deep breaths, Lyssa. Deep breaths…”

Alyssa took a few shuddered breaths before looking back up at Poppy.

“He… he saved my life, Pops. Him and Talos… and I didn’t even thank him! I was too busy tripping over my words and my feet and...”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks as she hugged the pillow to her chest.

Poppy gently rubbed the young girl’s back, smiling softly.

“If you want, I could give you some flirting lessons…”

Alyssa gave a light scoff. “Everyone knows I can’t flirt. Besides, it feels weird… It’s like teasing.”

“You and Kameron tease each other all the time. Maybe if you pretend that Kenji is Kameron—”

Poppy erupted into laughter as a look of horror and disgust crossed Alyssa’s face.

“Okay, maybe not the best idea… But just try to relax and be yourself.”

“I was being myself,” Alyssa grumbled. “My stupid, awkward, idiotic self…”

“First of all, ‘idiotic’ and ‘stupid’ are more or less the same thing.” Alyssa shot Poppy an unamused glare. “Secondly, that was you being shy, not yourself. I mean, sure, that shyness is a part of you, but it doesn’t define you. You’re compassionate, selfless, imaginative, and creative. And if that isn’t enough to make him at least respect you, I’ll slap some sense into him myself.”

A small smile tugged the corners of Alyssa’s lips. “Thanks, Poppy.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for: reminding my best friend how wonderful they are, faults and all, whenever she forgets to see it. Besides, it’s not like you have to date the guy.” A sly smile appeared on Poppy’s face. “Although… if this dashing knight in shining armor happened to sweep a certain princess off her feet—”

“SHUT UP!”

Poppy laughed as her friend smacked her with the pillow.

“Okay, okay! Message received! Now, we’ve got a party to get ready for!”

***

Poppy and Alyssa huddled together against the cool evening air as they stood behind the long line of people waiting to be granted entrance to The Grand.

“Is this line even moving?” Poppy asked, shivering as she wrapped her arms around her frame tighter. “And where are the boys? I thought we were the ones who were gonna make them wait.”

“In my defense, there was traffic and Dax drives five miles under the speed limit.”

The girls turned to see Dax and Kameron walking towards them.

“And in my defense, having Kameron backseat driving doesn’t encourage me to go faster!” Dax retorted, glaring at Kameron. “You know, you can take a break from nagging at people every once in a while.”

“He survives off of it,” Alyssa mumbled under her breath, causing Kameron to turn sharply towards her.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Kameron frowned as he looked closely at Alyssa’s outfit. She was wearing a short white and green floral dress with a pink leather jacket. Her hair was curled and hung loosely at her hip while a light amount of makeup had been applied to her face.

“So, I see you discovered the camo-mode I installed in your mask?” Dax grinned at Alyssa. “Figured you’d like it, especially now that you don’t have to wear your glasses to special events in order to see”

“Sure do! Thanks.”

“Isn’t that dress a little short on you?” Kameron cut in, already shifting into his protective mode. “You could've at least worn leggings…”

Alyssa frowned at him. “Poppy’s dress is short, too, and you’re not criticizing her outfit.”

It was true: Poppy had traded her regular outfit for a tight red dress that exposed her midriff. Her hair had also been curled, though she wore a little more makeup than Alyssa.

“I think they look nice,” Dax spoke, his cheeks flushing as he locked eyes with Poppy. “I mean, like, really nice… you too, Alyssa!” he added quickly, throwing a glance at Alyssa.

Alyssa only giggled as Poppy smiled bashfully.

“Thanks, Dax.”

Seeing that Dax wasn’t going to take his side, Kameron crossed his arms and huffed, but said nothing else.

“This guy has a liquor license, right?” Dax suddenly said, a hint of worry in his voice. “Just wanna make sure we’re not participating in anything illegal...”

Alyssa was about to reply when a familiar voice came from behind her.

“May I just say that pink is now my favorite color?”

Startled, she whirled around to see Kenji standing behind her. He flashed her a dazzling smile as he examined her outfit.

“In all seriousness, though, that look suits you.”

Alyssa smiled shyly as her cheeks warmed with a lavender tint. “Thanks, Kenji…”

Kameron’s fists clenched tightly as Kenji chuckled. The fact that his sister’s cheeks were turning a darker shade of lavender by the second didn’t help either...

Kenji turned to address the rest of the group and held out his hand. “You must be Alyssa’s friends. Kenji Katsaros.”

Dax was the first to shake his hand. “Dax Darcisse, I also work with Alyssa and Grayson Prescott.”

“Pleased to meet you. And don’t worry about the license, pal. I’ve got a special permit for tonight.”

“Poppy Patel, Junior Editor of Motif,” Poppy spoke, shaking his hand next. “I’ve heard some things about you…”

She smiled slyly at Alyssa, who turned away to hide the blush on her face.

“All good things, I hope. I’m afraid my ego would be severely damaged if you’ve heard otherwise…”

“I’m sure it could survive the slight dent,” Kameron commented with a slight growl.

Kenji turned to him, still grinning broadly. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Alyssa shot her brother a hard look, not missing his less than friendly behavior.

“Kenji, this is Kameron. He’s my step-brother.”

Kenji offered his hand to the younger boy. Kameron didn’t take it.

“You’re the DA’s son, right? I remember you from the gala.”

Kenji shrugged. “My mom needed a plus one, and what kind of son would I be not to accompany her? Besides,” he flashed a cheeky smile, “the free champagne was a nice bonus.”

“I noticed,” Kameron stated flatly.

Kenji paid no mind to his insult as he turned back to Alyssa.

“So… What are we still out here for? Drinks are on me!”

Kameron’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone here is drinking free of charge?”

“Those of age,” Kenji replied. “The bouncer has special bracelets for those under the legal drinking age to let the bartender know not to give them anything with alcohol. Also, drinks are only free to those on the guest list. Anyone who isn’t on the list has to pay to get inside, and for their drinks.”

Dax immediately reached into his pockets, his hands fumbling nervously. “Um, you guys take cards, right?”

Kenji laughed and waved his hand, gesturing for Dax to leave his card in his pocket. “Hey, I’m not charging the VIPs of this party!”

“‘VIPs’?” Poppy repeated, her eyes sparkling.

“Well, technically, this little lady is the person on honor,” Kenji explained, throwing his arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. Kameron’s blood boiled as Alyssa shyly smiled down at her feet. “And since you’re all friends with the VIP, that makes you VIPs, too. Now, let’s party! ”

Poppy and Dax exchanged wide grins as they followed Kenji and Alyssa to the front of the line. Kameron hesitated, his blood still boiling, then followed after them.

After Alyssa received her bracelet from the bouncer, Kenji ushered them inside. The area had been cleaned up rather nicely: the floor was no longer littered with old posters and broken stools, and the holes had been patched up. Dust no longer covered every square inch of the area, and the bar had been cleaned and polished. The walls still wore the peeling wallpaper, but the party-goers seemed to pay no mind as a heavily tattooed DJ blasted upbeat music at top volume, causing the floor to vibrate. Kenji led Alyssa through the crowd and clambered onto the stage, pulling Alyssa up with him. The DJ lowered the music just enough for Kenji to shout out to the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, THE GUEST OF HONOR HAS ARRIVED!!”

Alyssa flushed as the room erupted into loud cheers, smiling bashfully as she shuffled behind Kenji. Kameron glowered as Kenji flashed his sister a charming smile before addressing the crowd.

“Everyone having a good time?”

The crowd cheered once again.

Kenji grinned broadly. “That’s what I like to hear! Remember, if you like this place now, be sure to come back when The Grand opens to the public! And be sure to tell your friends!”

The DJ turned the volume on full once again, nearly drowning out the partygoers' loud whoops of joy as Kenji led Alyssa off the stage and back to where Poppy, Dax, and Kameron were waiting for them.

“You guys feel free to grab some drinks. I gotta make a few rounds, but I’ll join you all later.”

“Playing club manager already?” Poppy teased, raising an eyebrow.

Kenji offered her a shrug, throwing a wink at Alyssa. “Gotta make sure my boss knows I take my job seriously.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

“You know, that guy is really working my last nerve,” Kameron hissed as the group walked over to the bar. “What was Grayson thinking? Hiring that playboy…”

Alyssa frowned at Kameron but was greeted by a cheerful young man before she could reprimand him.

“Hey there, little lady! Alyssa, right?”

Alyssa blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

The bartender flashed her a smile. “Kenji might’ve mentioned you… every minute or so while we were setting up the place. Plus, he said you were the main VIP of the party and announced your arrival.”

Alyssa blushed slightly.

“I’m Skylar, by the way. From what Kenji’s told me, you’re the boss of this place?”

Alyssa shrugged. “I guess… Grayson’s the actual owner of the club, but he asked me to take over for him.”

“Kenji mentioned that, too. So, what can I get you and your friends? Just keep in mind, you can’t order anything alcoholic.” He turned towards Kameron, Poppy, and Dax. “You guys are free to anything on the menu since you’re all of age.”

Kameron shrugged. “I’m not a real fan of alcohol. I’ll just have whatever she’s having.”

Skylar nodded and turned to Alyssa.

“An orange Italian soda, please.”

“I’ll take one, too,” Dax said.

“Same for me,” Poppy added, flashing a teasing smile at Alyssa. “Can’t have the ‘guest of honor’ feeling left out at her own party.”

Skylar laughed as Alyssa playfully stuck her tongue out at Poppy. “Sure thing.”

After preparing their drinks and pushing them down the counter, he turned back to Alyssa. “So, whaddya think of Kenji?”

Alyssa flushed slightly, causing Kameron to scowl.

“He’s… friendly.”

Skylar chuckled. “Teased you a bit, didn’t he? Don’t worry, Kenji’s one hell of a flirt, but he’s harmless... most of the time.”

Kameron narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Skylar shrugged, oblivious to the edge in Kameron’s voice.

“Kenji has a bit of a rep as a playboy and a showboat. He flirts with just about everyone, but nothing really beyond that.”

He turned to Alyssa. “Though I’ve never seen him this interested in anyone before. You should’ve seen him sooner; he was making a big fuss about having everything be perfect for the party.”

“Well, he said he wanted to throw the party to get people interested in The Grand before it opens,” Alyssa offered. “Besides, Grayson’s pretty serious about the club’s welfare. Kenji probably just wants him to know that he’s taking the job seriously, especially since we’re trying to help people.”

“Well, that’s the thing...” Skylar said slowly. “Kenji was worried about you not thinking he was taking his job seriously.”

A look of surprise flashed across Alyssa’s face. “Me? Why?”

“Kenji mentioned you were a little bit hesitant about letting him throw the party,” Skylar explained to her. “He said you were worried that you’d get in trouble if anything went wrong.” He gave her a curious look. “You know... he told me that he was only going to accept the job if Grayson agreed to whatever rate he demanded, but then you made him change his mind.”

Alyssa jumped at the sound of glass shattering; Kameron had clenched his glass so tightly it had burst into thousands of little slivers. He hissed as some of the needle-thin shards slash shallow cuts into his skin, his drink splashing onto the floor and his clothes.

“Kameron!” Poppy gasped, her eyes wide. “What the hell—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Kameron snapped as his face turned a light shade of red. “I just lost my grip…”

Fortunately, Skylar hadn’t seen him break the glass with his bare hand; all he saw were the shards and the spilled drink on the floor.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he assured Kameron as he passed him a napkin. “I’ll get this cleaned up. How about you guys find a booth to hang out in?”

Kameron muttered a thank you to Skylar as he followed after his friends to a nearby booth in the corner.

“It was nice meeting you guys!” Skylar called after them as he swept up the glass. “Especially you, Alyssa. I can see why Kenji likes you.”

That’s it!

“You guys go ahead,” Kameron told his friends and sister, trying not to let the pure rage coursing through his veins show on his face or in his voice. “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

They nodded and continued to the booth while Kameron scanned the crowd. He was able to spot Kenji in just a few seconds: his red leather jacket and yellow shirt combo stuck out against the dim colors of the stage. The partygoers shuffled out of his way as he wove through the crowd, careful to avoid his stained outfit. Kenji grinned up at Kameron as the young boy approached him, then frowned when he noticed his hand and shirt.

“You okay there?”

Kameron only scowled. “Dropped my drink.”

Kenji nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Skylar will clean it up.”

“Yeah… speaking of Skylar, he had some things to say about you.”

Kenji raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Nothing to damage my reputation, I hope.”

“Is that the playboy reputation, or the showboat one?” Kameron baited with a subtle note of snideness in his voice. “Or are those more or less the same thing?”

A frown appeared on Kenji’s face, but he quickly shrugged it off and replaced it with a cool smile. “Okay, I guess I deserve that.”

“You know, I was more interested in what you told Skylar about my sister...”

Kenji quirked his brow questioningly before realization dawned on his face. He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, look… I understand how you might’ve misinterpreted that.”

“Oh? So I’m wrong to assume you only took the job to see my sister?”

Kenji rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not the only reason…”

His eyes widened when he realized how his words must’ve sounded to Kameron. “Oh, shit! I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I know what you meant,” Kameron snarled, keeping his voice low. “I don’t have a problem with you thinking my sister is pretty or anything like that; I grew up with her, I’m not blind. I just wanna make sure you stay in your damn lane.”

Kenji held up his hands. “Hey, hey. I’m not looking to cause any trouble. I know I probably took the teasing a little too far—”

He only realized his mistake after Kamron looked at him with pure murder in his eyes.

“Wait, wait! That came out wrong—”

Kameron wasn’t interested in anything Kenji had to say. He roughly seized the dark-haired man by his shirt and slammed him into the wall. Kenji visibly winced from the impact but didn’t try to break free. Not like he could’ve; he had no super strength… or anything to protect him from it.

“I swear, if I hear another word about my sister out of your mouth, I’m gonna—”

“Kameron, stop!”

Both men were taken aback as Alyssa suddenly materialized between the two of them. She pushed Kameron off of Kenji, using her telekinesis for an extra boost of strength, before taking a protective stance in front of the DA’s son.

“Alyssa…” Kenji began.

“What the heck, Kameron?!”

The delicate features of Alyssa’s face had twisted into a spine-chilling snarl that caused Kameron to instinctively take a step back. He knew that look was only reserved to warn people they had one last chance to back off before things got ugly. It didn’t help that her eyes crackled with a faint pink flash of electricity.

“Cool off. Now.”

He let out an agitated huff, knowing he was defeated. “Fine.”

He threw one last glare at Kenji before storming off into the crowd. Angry, bitter thoughts swirled in his mind as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. The nerve of that guy! Prancing around like some spoiled prince, eyeing his sister like a piece of—”

“Hey!”

Kameron was pulled out of his thoughts as he crashed into a pretty young girl in a leather jacket, causing her to drop her drink.

“Shit! Sorry, I—”

Kameron paused mid-sentence as the girl cast her hand out towards the drink; it’s decent slowed to a near standstill an instant later. He stared dumbfounded at the girl as she swiped up her drink without spilling a single drop.

She flashed him a sly, bewitching smile as she took a sip of her drink.

“No problem, handsome.”

Recognition clicked into Kameron’s head as the girl sauntered off and slipped out the doors. Shaking his head to ward off the dazy spell the girl had cast over him, he followed after her.

“Hey! Hey, wait!”

He stepped out into the chilling night breeze, quickly following after the girl as she rounded the corner. Once he was close enough, he reached out to grab the girl’s arm.

“Wait a sec, would ya?”

The girl narrowed her eyes as she glanced down at the hand latched around her upper arm. “Fair warning, hon: either move the hand, or I will.”

“I just wanna talk, I swear.”

The girl raised an eyebrow at him, then regarded him coolly.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Kameron released her arm, watching her carefully. She had saved his life, his and Alyssa’s, but still…

“You’re that waitress from the gala.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “It that it?”

“What’s your name?”

A look of suspicion crossed the girl’s face. “Who wants to know?”

Kameron stared into her chocolate eyes, his gaze earnest. “The guy whose life you saved. His and his sister’s…”

The suspicious gaze melted into something softer. “... Eva.”

Kameron nodded. “Well, thank you, Eva.”

The girl, Eva, crossed her arms. She studied him for a moment, suddenly appearing more interested.

“What’s your name?”

“Kameron. Anyways, I—”

“Why else did you followed me, Kameron?”

Kameron blinked. “Excuse me?”

Eva smirked. “I’m sure my name wasn’t the only thing on your mind…”

Kameron raised an eyebrow, then imitated her smirk as he caught on to what she was trying to do.

Okay. Two can play that game…

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

Eva raised an eyebrow as she began to circle him, her movements slow and seductive. “Oh?”

“You’re not exactly the kind of girl that blends in...” Kameron drawled, his voice low and husky as he watched Eva sway her hips slightly. He had to admit, she was beautiful…

Eva leaned closer to him, her lips only an inch away from his. “Is that so?” she purred. Her breath felt warm against his skin.

“It is,” Kameron replied smoothly. He smirked as Eva’s lips grazed his own. “I don’t know a lot of girls who can slow time with a wave of her hand.”

Eva froze, her lips still barely touching Kameron’s, then pulled away with a smirk.

“Well played, handsome. Bet you have all the girls drooling at your feet.”

Kameron shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. You’re the first to catch my eye.”

Eva chuckled. “Careful, Kameron. You’re cute, I’ll give you that, but it’s dangerous to flirt with a girl with powers… especially if you can’t keep up.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem.”

“Oh?”

Kameron flashed her a cocky smile. “Nothing too impressive: super strength, bulletproof skin, the ability to fly… you know, typical powers.”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Kameron blinked as a wicked grin curled Eva’s lips. “In fact, it sounds like you might cause some trouble for me. As smooth as you are, I can tell you play by a certain set of rules; I, on the other hand, break them.”

Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

“On that note, I think it’s time I called it a night.”

Kameron wasn’t given a second to react before Eva cast her hand out towards him. The air swirled and swayed around him strangely as he tried to move; he felt like he was swimming in syrup.

“Don’t worry,” Eva laughed as she watched Kameron struggle. “It should wear off in about half an hour. I get the feeling we’ll be seeing each other again, Kameron. Until then…”

Kameron watched as she strolled off into the night, both annoyed… and intrigued.

***

Alyssa watched as Kameron disappeared into the crowd, feeling both annoyed and embarrassed by his behavior. She turned to face Kenji, her scowl melting into an apologetic expression.

“I’m really sorry about Kameron. He can be a little… protective.”

Kenji gave her a small smile as he straightened out his shirt. “It’s okay, really. That’s his job, right? Older brother and all.”

“Still… he didn’t need to get violent. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Kenji shrugged. “Nothing permanent. Gotta admit I was kinda impressed; your brother is a lot stronger than he looks.”

“You have no idea,” Alyssa muttered under her breath.

An awkward silence fell between them, causing Alyssa to fidget while Kenji rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“So… where are your friends?” Kenji prompted, noticing Dax and Poppy were nowhere to be seen.

Alyssa shrugged. “Dancing…”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

“I… I don’t dance,” Alyssa confessed, casting a wary glance towards the dance floor. “I never learned how, so…”

Kenji shrugged. “Well, there’s not really a right way to dance. You just… do whatever you feel the music is telling your body.”

Alyssa watched skeptically as the party-goers on the dance floor jumped up and down in and out of time with the music, flailing their limbs wildly.

“I think it’s telling me that I’ll either get hit in the face or trampled if I try to join in. Besides, I can’t take two steps without tripping over something.”

Kenji frowned slightly as Alyssa huddled closer to the wall. Now that he thought about it, she didn’t seem very comfortable in this environment. Quite the opposite, in fact: she cringed away when someone came too close to her, covered her ears and flinched when the music got too loud, he even saw her shrink away from the bouncer when he had led her to the front door.

“You’re not enjoying this, are you?”

Alyssa opened her mouth to deny it, then sighed and shook her head. Kenji’s gaze softened as a twinge of guilt twisted his gut. This party was supposed to impress her, to prove that he could handle the responsibilities as the manager. Instead, he had made her feel uncomfortable… come to think of it, the party probably wasn’t the only thing that made her uncomfortable.

Kenji glanced around the room, his eyes falling on a booth in a far, darkened corner. He gently nudged Alyssa, prompting her to look up at him. He gave her a soft smile and nodded towards the booth. “Come with me.”

She followed him as he led her to the booth. Kenji waited until Alyssa had seated herself, then slid in beside her. He smiled as Alyssa visibly relaxed, no longer overwhelmed by the loud sounds and crowded space.

“Better?” he asked.

Alyssa nodded. “Much better. Thanks…”

Kenji nodded. “No problem.”

He frowned slightly as his mind drifted back to their earlier encounter.

“Hey, about earlier… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything. I was just…” Kenji paused, wincing slightly. He was about to say ‘messing around’, but it wasn’t an excuse. Hell, it wasn’t a good reason.

“It’s okay,” Alyssa spoke, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Skylar says you like to tease, but don’t really mean anything by it.”

Kenji sighed. That definitely wasn’t the impression he wanted to make.

“Can we…” He hesitated, suddenly feeling nervous. “Can we start over? At least give me a chance, to be honest with you. I’ll answer whatever questions you have for me, promise.”

Alyssa shrugged and offered him a small smile. “Okay… what are you really like?”

Kenji hummed quietly, rubbing his chin in thought. After a moment, a bashful smile appeared on his face. “Well, I’m honestly not that interesting. I’m just a regular guy who works out, plays video games, watching music videos on YouTube… and I like to cook.”

Alyssa tilted her head slightly. Kenji chuckled at her obvious interest before continuing. “My parents taught me when I was little. I remember after they would be waiting for me at the front door when I came home from school, and the three of us would cook dinner together.”

“That sounds nice.”

Kenji nodded, his face falling slightly. “It was. The last time we cooked together was the night before my dad died…”

Alyssa frowned as Kenji fell silent, his eyes dimming slightly.

“I’m sorry…”

Kenji gave her a half-hearted shrug but didn’t smile. “Don’t worry about it… it was a long time ago. It just…” He took a deep breath, the sighed. “Things were so much easier when he was still around.”

Alyssa gazed at him imploringly. “What do you mean?”

Kenji gave her a small smile. “Believe it or not, I used to be a pretty quiet kid; stayed out of trouble, got good grades, that kind of stuff. But I still was a bit of rascal, too. Got it from my dad.” He gave a light chuckle. “The two of us would drive my mom crazy, but I don’t she minded that much, especially when we made her laugh. After he died, things weren't the same…”

A sad look fell on his face. “My mom just cut herself off from everything. She didn’t laugh or smile anymore… it was like all her happiness had died with him. I did whatever I thought would make her happy, or at least proud of me. When high school came around, I spent my Friday nights prepping for debate club and Model UN instead of going out with my friends… come to think of it, I didn’t really have that many friends, or at least that many who really cared about me. I don’t know why it took me a whole year into law school to see how unhappy I was… Maybe I wouldn’t have given my mom more reason to be unhappy if I had realized it sooner.”

Alyssa furrowed her brow, not quite grasping Kenji’s meaning. He noticed her confusion.

“I’m sure you noticed that my mom and I had a bit of a row at the gala about my dropping out of law school?”

Alyssa nodded.

“Well, I can’t help but think that if I had been at least a little rebellious in my teen years, she wouldn’t have had such high expectations for me to fail at reaching, or at least have not been too disappointed with my decision.”

A soft, sheepish grin appeared on his face as he tried to hide it behind his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he told her after a moment, looking back up at her. “I just… I’ve never opened up this much to anyone, not even to my relatives.”

“Then why me?” Alyssa asked, genuinely confused.

Kenji bit his lip, seeming uncertain. “Honestly, I don’t know… I guess I find you oddly comforting?”

He hid his face in his hand once again, but Alyssa could see the faint glow of his blushing cheeks in the dim lighting. She gently took his hand and pulled it away from his face, smiling softly.

“You know… that’s actually the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Kenji looked up at her shyly. “Really?”

Alyssa nodded. “Mmhm.”

She frowned suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” Kenji asked worriedly.

“No! It’s just…” Alyssa trailed off, biting her lip. “I never thanked you for what you did… at the gala, I mean. My friends and brother said you’re the one who carried me out of the building. So... thank you.”

Kenji nodded, his gaze soft. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

A sudden thought crossed Alyssa’s mind.

“Kenji… before I fainted, I saw something… or someone.”

Kenji gave her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

Alyssa took a deep breath. “I think… I think Talos saved me, too.”

Kenji visibly stiffened. “Are… are you sure?”

Alyssa nodded. “I saw him, Kenji; he pulled me out of the wreckage.” She turned to him. “Did you see him? When you found me, I mean...”

Kenji swallowed hard, his eyes not meeting Alyssa’s. “I… I, uh…”

A loud buzzing sound startled them both. Kenji blushed as he reached into his pocket and took out his phone. A slightly worried look danced across his face.

“It’s Grayson.”

Alyssa winced. Uh-oh…

Kenji gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before answering the call.

“Hey, Grayson,” he greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Kenji. Are you alone?” Alyssa could faintly hear Grayson’s voice ask. “I have to discuss something with you.”

“Uh, just give me a sec,” Kenji replied before pulling the phone away from his ear. “I’ll be right back,” he told Alyssa. “Just… wait for me here?”

Alyssa nodded. “Sure.”

Kenji flashed her a small smile before making his way to the doors and ducking outside, leaving the doors slightly opened. A few minutes passed, then a few more… Alyssa frowned. Whatever Grayson had to talk to Kenji about must’ve been very important. She just hoped neither of them was in any trouble. After a few more minutes, she stood tentatively. Maybe she should go check to see if everything was okay…

Someone screamed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She barely had enough time to register what was going on before another party guest shoved past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. A few more partygoers shoved past her before she was swept into the crowd flooding out the door.

“Hey! Hey, wait!”

Her heart pounded rapidly as her breath quickened as she was forced along with the crowd, the bodies closing in around her. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see… and it was becoming harder to breathe.

She gasped as she was suddenly pushed onto the hard concrete as the crowd dispersed. The smell of smoke reached her nose as bright yellow and orange lights danced across the street. It took her a moment to realize what was happening: the DMV was on fire.

“Look out!”

Someone’s arms wrapped around Alyssa’s torso and pulled her into their chest just as a car consumed in a ball of fire skidded towards her at top speed. The person turned their back to the car, pulling Alyssa close as they shielded her from the impact. She heard a loud grunt as the car slammed into the person’s back, but was surprised that her savior seemed unfazed otherwise. It was then that she realized that the person’s chest, which her head had been tucked against, was made of cold, hard metal… bronze, to be exact. She looked up to see none other than Talos, who stared down at her with white shining eyes wide with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked her frantically, carefully cupping her chin as he examined her for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no,” Alyssa replied shakenly. “I think I’m okay.”

Talos sighed in relief as he helped her to her feet. “Thank God.”

“How did this happen?” Alyssa asked as they stared at the flaming DMV. Thick fumes of smoke filled the air, blocking out the midnight sky.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think this was an accident,” Talos replied, his expression grim. “Find a safe place to hide, and wait for someone to come get you.”

He turned to go, but Alyssa caught his arm.

“Wait, I can help you!”

Talos turned back to her, a look of surprise etched on his bronze face, but shook his head and gently pushed her back. “It’s too dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“But—”

“You need to go, now.”

“I have powers, too!” Alyssa blurted as Talos turned away. He froze, visibly shocked, then whipped around to face her.

“What did you just say?”

“I have powers, too,” Alyssa repeated. “Please, let me help!”

Talos’s shocked expression melted away into a more pleading one.

“I need you to get to safety. Please, don’t make me ask again.”

Alyssa opened her mouth to argue but paused as Talos frowned at her. With a sigh, she took a step back.

“Thank you,” Talos sighed gratefully. “Now find somewhere safe.”

She waited until he had taken off, then ducked into the alley behind The Grand. She pressed her finger to the glowing halo on her bracelet, activating her suit, then did the same for her mask. After making sure no one had seen her, she darted out and headed towards the DMV.

Smoke filled her lungs as she entered the building. She tried to see through the thick, dark clouds suffocating her, looking for anyone who might’ve gotten trapped inside the building when it was set aflame.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” she called above the roaring of the flames. “Hello?”

She let out a startled gasp as someone roughly grabbed her from behind and slammed her into the wall. Fear gripped her heart as a man with his body set in flames sneered down at her with a wicked grin.

“Hello, cutie.”

***

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Kameron growled as the shimmering purple field of energy around him began to fade. He sighed in relief when he was finally able to move his limbs at their normal speed. “Finally!”

“Kameron!”

He turned to see Poppy and Dax racing towards him with panicked expressions.

“Where the hell were you?”

“It’s... a long story,” Kameron dismissed. He wasn’t in the mood to be chewed out for his stupidity at the moment. Besides, by the looks on his friends' faces, he could tell there were more pressing matters at hand. “What’s going on?”

“The DMV was set on fire!” Dax told him, a nervous edge in his voice. “It doesn't look like it was an accident…”

“And we can’t find Alyssa!” Poppy added, her eyes wide with worry.

“What?! I thought she was with you!”

“Hey! It’s not like you were keeping an eye on her, either!”

Kameron growled and waved Poppy’s retort aside. “You two get back to the lab, I’ll find Alyssa.”

Poppy and Dax nodded as they took off down the street. Kameron raced towards the DMV, activating his suit and mask. He was about to head inside the DMV but stopped when he heard a scream. It was cut short, but he knew who it was.

“ALYSSA!”

***

Alyssa felt her heart pounding in her chest as the Man on Fire brought his hand up to stroke her cheek.

“What’s the matter, cutie?” he sneered. “Am I scaring you?”

Alyssa turned her face away from him. The man gave a low growl as he roughly grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look him in the eye.

“Answer me.” Alyssa gave a pitiful whimper as he tightened his grip. “Am I scaring you?”

She nodded as best she could.

The Man on Fire chuckled. “Now, was that so hard?”

Alyssa didn’t answer.

The Man on Fire grinned. “You know, I really should thank you for that little tip you gave me... The one about not picking on someone with powers.” He held his palm up just as a flame sparked to life. “It came in handy last night. Don’t think I could’ve gotten away from those cronies in blue if you hadn’t given me the idea.”

Alyssa flinched away from the flame, but the Man on Fire held her still.

“Ah ah ah! Hold still, please. Don’t wanna burn that pretty little face of yours... or do we?”

Alyssa shuddered as the man held the flame closer to her. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as it began to redden from the heat. After a moment of debate, the Man on Fire closed his hand, extinguishing the flame.

“Not yet, I think,” he murmured softly as he wiped her tear away with mock tenderness. “I wanna thank you for giving me these powers... and get a little payback for last night.” Alyssa closed her eyes and shuddered as he leaned in so that he could whisper into her ear. “What do you say, cutie... can you take the heat?”

Alyssa threw her arms out, using her telekinesis to push the man away from her, before making a break towards the door.

“Not so fast, sweetheart!”

Alyssa had only made it a few feet outside before something wrapped around her waist. He gave the fiery rope a sharp tug, pulling her back into his chest. He locked his arms around her shoulders, keeping her pinned against him. Alyssa opened her mouth to scream, hoping Talos or her brother would hear her, but it was cut short when the Man on Fire clamped his hand over her mouth.

“If it’s all the same to you,” the man hissed, “I rather not have anyone interrupt our little date.”

“Sorry to disappoint you then.”

The Man on Fire turned to see who had spoken. Talos stared him down with a murderous glare.

“Looks to me like your ‘little date’ is over. Now let her go.”

The Man on Fire smirked as he pulled Alyssa closer to him. “Let me guess: you’re the other hero wannabe from last night.”

“Actually, that would be me.”

The Man on Fire whirled around in surprise of the second new voice, one that Alyssa recognized instantly: Kameron.

The young man glanced briefly at his little sister before snarling at her captor.

“We could have done this the easy way, hothead. Looks like you chose the hard way instead... big mistake.”

#kenji x mc #eva x mc #hero caleb #choices fanfiction #playchoices hero

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kee-writestrashh · 5 years

Text

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Ao3

Summary:�� You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events...

Chapter 4: Friday Night Brawls

You adjusted your green and red elf skirt, placed your little hat on, and gave yourself one last look in the mirror. You frowned thinking of all the clothes and outfits you would probably never be able to wear again when summer rolled around.

You loved dressing up for holidays. Ramsay wasn't a fan, but money was money. This costume was a bit more modest as you wore tights under the skirt because it was cold as shit. Thankfully the snow had been put on hold.

You walked into the living room. Ramsay was sprawled out on the couch watching TV and biting at his nails.

"Alright, baby. I gotta go." You said stopping at the end of the couch.

"Take the Nova." Ramsay said, sitting up as you walked in. He held out the keys.

You narrowed your eyes, "why?"

"Because I said. Be a good girl. Don't argue."

You took the keys and leaned down to kiss your husband. He pulled you down into his lap and kissed you hungrily. You melted into him as he kissed across your jaw and worried what was surely a large and very prominent hickey on your neck. He often liked to mark you before you went to work. You were his and he wasn't about to let anyone forget that.

He finally let go of you. You smiled, giving him one last quick kiss. He slapped your ass when you turned around to leave.

"I'll see you later?" You asked, opening the front door and glancing back at your husband.

He simply nodded.

×××

You walked through the backdoor, hanging up your keys and then hanging up your purse in a locker, exchanging it for your waist apron.

"Oly! I'm here!" You called, glancing around. The bar didn't open officially for another thirty minutes tonight, so it was just you and Olyvar until the new girls showed up.

"Up front! Finishing the decorations!" Olyvar's voice called.

You walked into the cavernous, empty bar. Olyvar too was dressed as an elf, in his green tunic and red tights. He was standing on the counter hanging the last of the Christmas lights.

"Be a dear and plug them in?" Your coworker asked.

You followed the trail of lights to the outlet and plugged them in.

Olyvar jumped down from the counter, jingling as he did so from his bells on his slippers and hat, admiring his handiwork.

"Not too shabby." You said, looking around the festive place. "So, what company?"

"Lion Gate." Olyvar said, walking behind the counter, grabbing two glasses and pouring out two shots.

You felt a panic surge through you. Lion Gate was owned by Tywin Lannister, head of the Rampant Lions. The Rampant Lions and the Red Kings had been at war in the city and surrounding areas for a long time. While Ramsay was heir to the Red Kings, he had formed his own little gang, the Bastard's Boys that he kept busy with the most. If the Lannister's showed up, it was sure to be trouble. What were they playing at? They didn't hold any ground or footing on this side of town.

"What were you thinking? They can't come here. If Ramsay finds out..." You began as Olyvar downed his shot.

"We are one of the best places in the city of a Friday night. And, money is money."

Olyvar pushed the second glass to you, but you shook your head. "I can't."

Olyvar scrunched his brow before realization spread over his face and he practically squealed like a teenage girl.

"Oh. My. God! How exciting! When did you find out? What was Ramsay like? Tell me everything!" He said, smiling broadly.

Olyvar was one of your oldest friends. He had started working at the bar when you did, both putting yourselves through school. But when the bar owner died he had split the place between you both. Olyvar did work from time to time for Ramsay, selling things on the side. He was like a brother to you, and it didn't hurt that he was into men. You assumed this to be the only reason Ramsay never said anything about you talking to him, or being friendly with him.

You took a seat and smiled, "well, I found out yesterday afternoon after Ramsay left. I've been feeling like shit for like two months now. Cramps. Headaches. Constant upset stomach. And then remembered I hadn't had my period in months. So on the way here I picked up a test and it said yes. I was actually kind if afraid of how Rams would react. We had never talked about it before. So, anyway, I told him last night and he demanded we go get some tests. You know him. Well, I took four. They all said yes. I guess he's excited. But, hard to tell. He doesn't really express excitement. Then he made me an appointment this morning and the doctor said I was about eight or nine weeks. Heard the heartbeat and I wanted to cry. It was so amazing. I have an appointment on the third to get an ultrasound done." You gushed, glad to have someone to tell.

"Little baby Bolton. This city is not ready for that." Olyvar said with a laugh.

You laughed. He was not wrong. There was a knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock. 4:45. You got up from your stool and walked to the front door, letting Damon and Ben in. You gave them both smiles, which they didn't really return.

Ramsay probably religiously threatened them to not look at you. He was a very scary person when angry, or bored. Whichever.

"We're streaming the fight tonight. Sure we'll be fine with only four of us and the two in the kitchen?" Olyvar asked turning on the various TV screens.

"Yeah. I think. Sorry, I forgot all about the fight. But we've had bigger events with fewer. Maybe could have done with a couple extra hands in the kitchen though. See if you can get anyone else to come in to kitchen duty?" You said, as two girls walked in.

Roslin was a quiet college student, who was looking to make a bit of extra money. She wasn't overly pretty with her dull eyes and mousy Brown hair, but she wasn't ugly either. But you weren't sure bartending would be something she was cut out for. She was timid and you were afraid of men taking advantage of her innocence as far as the bar scene went. But you had hired her anyways. Remembering how you were when you had first come here. And now look at you. Wife to the heir of a multi million dollar organized crime family.

You had no worries with the other girl, Tyene. She was loud, wild, and more than capable of handling herself. She had been working here for a couple weeks now, and the men loved her. Her dark skin, hair, and eyes made her stand out. Made then men pay extra attention, and money. She was born to hustle and get what she wanted. If she proved her worth, loyalty, and cunning you may talk Ramsay into getting her in with the girls.

"Hey hey!" Tyene cried, putting her reindeer antler headband on.

"Glad to see we all dressed up." You said, grinning broadly, looking the two girls over as Tyene snapped on a big, red blinking nose.

Roslin flushed and gave a timid twirl in her Mrs. Claus dress.

"Alright, so it's us four tonight on the floor. Kitchen will be a bit understaffed, as it's only Mac and Dag, tonight unless we can get a couple more in. So only finger foods and appetizers tonight. Big party coming in, plus the fight. I'm assuming you advertised we were playing it?" You said, glancing at Olyvar, who gave a nod. You left him in charge of the Facebook page and other advertising outlets.

"Great. So, we will be crowded and busy. Anything you make you keep, other than prices of the drinks and food. Remember ladies, they can look, but they cannot touch you. We may not be a strip club, but we follow those same rules. Anyone gives you any problems just raise your fist in the air and Ben or Damon here will come to your aid." You motioned to the two burly men. "Don't let no man give you any shit. Feel free to drink, just remember to pay for it, and stay with it enough to do your jobs. By the time the night is over, you ladies will be very happy." You continued, clapping your hands and glancing at the clock. The two cooks walked into the bar and giving you thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen to let you know they were there.

As assumed, the bar filled quickly and the volume steadily increased with the flow of liquor, smoke, and smells of greasy buffalo wings, fries, and mountains of nachos.

When the Lion Gate group arrived you didn't recognize anyone that could possibly cause trouble. They seemed to just be regular employees, not gang members. But, you could be wrong. You weren't as good as Ramsay when it came to picking rival gang members out of a crowd. They were a very loud and rowdy group. Both your girls were pocketing bills like crazy, and Olyvar spent his time behind the counter mixing drinks and flirting with a couple guys.

The smoke, smells, and sounds were starting to get to you. Your stomach turned over and you suddenly felt nauseous. A headache was starting to form. You caught Olyvar's attention and mimed taking a 'time out'. He gave you a thumbs up as you disappeared to the safety of the back room.

You sighed, taking a deep breath. You pulled your phone from your apron pocket. It was almost ten. Only another hour.

You sat at a small table, resting your head on it for awhile, trying to compose yourself and fighting the urge to throw up when the police scanner in the corner sounded.

"All available units to seventy fifth and Trident. Multiple gunshot wounds. Back up requested immediately."

'No mans land.' you thought to yourself with a frown. What was Ramsay up to? Nobody every held that stretch very long.

After awhile you got a hold of yourself, stood up, and pulled a water bottle from the employee fridge, and chugged half of it before getting back to work.

"(Y/n)!" Olyvar called. You glanced over at him, who nodded to the corner to Roslin.

She was being harassed by a couple of men. Tyene was across the room cutting up with a group, and Damon and Ben were busy keeping a fight from breaking out. You frowned, clenching your jaw and stomping over to the corner.

Roslin's eyes were wide in pleading when you appeared at her side. One of the men grabbed her ass.

"Excuse me, sir. But you are not allowed to touch my girls. Release her and keep your hands to yourself or you will be asked to leave." You said, pulling Roslin away, and shielding her.

The man laughed, grabbing your hip. "Oh come on baby, it's just a bit of fun. Get into the holiday spirit. I could make it worth your while." He slammed a stack of bills on the table with a drunken laugh.

You stepped back, but his grip tightened. You narrowed your eyes at the man, "get out of my bar."

He laughed, releasing his grip and slapping your ass. You brought your hand up to slap him, but he caught your wrist.

"Or what, doll? You'll call the police?"

A hand landed on the man's shoulder and you looked to see Ramsay flanked by five men. He gripped the man's shoulder until the man squirmed in pain, fury painted all over his face.

"Unfortunately for you, we don't call the police around here." Ramsay growled as two of the men pulled the man from his seat and drug him towards the back exit.

Ramsay looked you up and down, "how many times did he touch you, baby girl?"

"Three." You said, watching the fire burn in his eyes. He gave a nod, gave you a fleeting kiss, and stalked towards the exit.

"(Y/n), I'm so sorry." Roslin squeaked.

You gave a glance at the other man. He was oddly calm, for his buddy being dragged away as he simply sat there, scrolling through his phone, pocketing the stack of cash. This made your pulse quicken. You hurried to the bar counter and then ran towards the exit.

You stepped into the alley to find Ramsay bouncing the man's head off the brick wall next door.

You averted your eyes and pursed your lips, trying to ignore the sick, crunching sound. "Rams, we have a problem. He's a Rampant. As was his buddy."

Ramsay stopped in his action, dropping the man, who fell in a heap. Ramsay grabbed the man's arm and ripped his sleeve back. On the man's forearm was a tattoo of a rampant lion in red.

Ramsay pulled a knife from his pocket. One of Ramsay's men stuffed a rag into the Lion man's mouth as Ramsay hacked at the tattoo until the skin came away. You watched in horror as Ramsay clutched the piece of skin.

"Make it clean, boys." Ramsay said, looking at the group of men. They all left quickly, pulling guns.

"Don't you make a mess in my bar!" You hissed at your husband. "The cops are already being nosy!"

Ramsay gave you a long look. "Not a drop." He said, walking past you and holding the door open.

You glanced at the severely injured man laying on the pavement. "What about him? You can't just leave him."

"Baby girl, don't worry yourself about anything. It will all be taken care of. They started it, coming to my kingdom. Now, get back in there and get back to work. The lions won't be back." Your husband said, rather impatiently.

You just gave a nod and went back inside. You hurried back to the counter, pulling Olyvar to you so you could whisper in his ear. "Volume up, lights down. Now." You hissed.

Olyvar did as you instructed. Nobody seemed to notice. They were all too absorbed in the fight and drowning in beer. You glanced around and gasped as a hand grabbed you. Instinct brought your hand up, but Ramsay's chuckle stopped you. You relaxed.

"Come on." He said, pulling you along.

You furrowed your brows, but followed him to the table the other man still sat at. Ramsay took the empty seat across from him, pulling you into his lap, as his group of men formed a tight circle around the table. He leaned forward, his wicked smirk in place.

"I believe you owe my wife an apology." He said casually to the man.

The man scoffed, "I didn't touch her, speak to her, or even look at her."

Ramsay tutted and rolled his eyes, "I said that you owe my wife an apology. I will not tell you again."

"Listen punk, I don't know who you think..." the man started, puffing up, but his words were lost as Ramsay slammed the crudely flayed tattooed skin on the table.

"Our blades are sharp." Ramsay breathed with so much malice the temperature seemed to drop.

Your stomach churned at the piece of flesh on the table. You frowned, closing your eyes, and saying a small prayer.

What happened next was a blur. You saw Ramsay pull his knife, but everything that followed wouldn't come into focus as you were on your knees, vomiting in the toilet of the bar bathroom.

"(Y/n)? Are you okay?" Came Tyene's voice.

You leaned back, heaving a shaky sigh. "Yeah, dear. I'm just... I'm pregnant. Apparently the little one didn't like what I ate last."

Which was true. Nachos had been a very bad idea. However, you weren't sure if seeing a man murdered in front of you or the morning sickness had made you wretch.

"Okay, well, your husband, I think, is waiting on you. Says you should go home and rest. I was confused at first. But now it all makes sense. Congratulations! You know, even if it's not the ideal position to be told." She said with a small laugh at the end.

Well, now you were confused. Didn't complete chaos just unleash in the bar?

You pushed yourself up, sighed, flushed the toilet, and stepped out of the stall. Tyene peered at you curiously as you washed your hands, vigorously.

"What's it like out there?" You asked, drying your hands.

"Normal? A few men were escorted out, but other than that, everyone seems to be having a hell of a time."

You sighed again. This time relieved.

Tyene held the door open for you and you stepped back on to the floor. Sure enough, it was like nothing had ever happened. Ramsay pushed his empty shot glass back to Olyvar and rose from his stool when he saw you.

He looked you over, and held out his hand.

"You sure you'll be alright without me?" You asked Olyvar.

He nodded and gave you a smile, "of course. You just worry about you. We've got this."

You nodded and let Ramsay lead you to the back room. He said nothing as he untied your apron, grabbed your purse, and the keys hanging up.

"Come on baby girl. Let's get home."

You turned to Ramsay, who was as calm as could be, lighting a cigarette.

"What the fuck just happened?" You cried, throwing your hands up.

"Business. Seat belt, baby doll." He replied simply, exhaling smoke.

"Business? I just watched you kill a man in the middle of a crowded bar and no one freaked the fuck out. Explain." You said, demanding the last part.

Ramsay gave a harsh laugh, "If no one hears, no one sees."

"What the fuck were you thinking? The cops..."

"Will know nothing." He cut across you.

"How many men did you kill?"

"Just the cunt in the alley and at the table."

"What about the others?"

"We saw them out and sent them running along with messages to deliver."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry, baby girl. Everything will be okay. You just worry about my child inside you."

You frowned. This city was about to become very unsafe. For everyone. Including the unborn child inside of you.

Fear and dread welled inside you as you burst into tears.

Ramsay raised his brows in surprise and gave you a quick look.

"This is not right! Everything is such a mess!" You sobbed, snatching your hat off and clutching it in your hand to cry into.

"Whoa there, little momma. Calm down. Everything is fine. It will be fine. I have eyes everywhere." Ramsay said, softly.

It wasn't a very reassuring voice. That wasn't him. He wasn't one to comfort.

You simply gave a sniff and nodded.

Neither of you said anything for the remainder of the trip home.

Ramsay opened your door and helped you out. He placed a kiss to your temple as he led you inside and straight to the bedroom.

You simply stood there as he undressed you, kissing each bit of skin he exposed.

"What do you want?" He asked, kissing along your collar bone.

"Something to make me forget the things I saw tonight."

"Oh come on now baby girl. It wasn't that bad." Ramsay chortled, grabbing your hips.

You rested your cheek on his chest and sighed, "Rams, I watched you smash a man's head into a brick wall and then cut his skin off. I watched you stab a man point blank across a table while I sat in your lap. You could have hurt somebody innocent. What part of that wasn't so bad?"

Ramsay placed his finger under your chin and brought your face up to look at him.

"First things first, baby girl. Nobody at a bar is innocent. Second, both of those men disrespected you. Therefore disrespecting me. I will not have that. At all."

You looked away from him. Maybe he was right. Or at least had a point. You looked back up at him and opened your mouth to say something when your breath caught. The cramps were bad enough. But the increasing nausea was getting really fucking annoying.

Ramsay raked his eyes over your face and frowned, pulling you to the bed. He undressed and slid into the bed next to you, pulling you close and running his hand through your hair until you finally fell into a deep sleep.

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 7 years

Text

Daughter Series - Roadhog pt. 2

Dedicated to the lovely and talented @zarcake-writes ! Seriously, go check her out. Sorry it took so long! It’s just over 2,600 words - which is a serious achievement for me. I hope you all like it!

More daughter series: Hanzo, McCree, Reaper, Roadhog, Soldier 76, Genji

Roadhog installments: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

masterlist

The past two weeks had been a struggle. Roadhog hadn’t been this stressed since he first started working with Junkrat – getting used to having a deranged demolitionist scuttling around the property was one thing, but now there was a girl living under his roof. Things were awkward. Most things. At least for Roadhog. He was constantly worrying about Daisy. Was there enough food in the pantry? Was it was the right kind of food? Was the house alright? Did the holes in the floor bother her? Or the scorched patches on the wall? Was it strange to be living with two men after more than two decades with just her mother? Was she getting enough privacy?

Well, Roadhog was pretty sure about that last one. Answer was no. Junkrat was not thoughtful enough for privacy. When the large man had heard Daisy yelp from across the junkyard he’d ran to her side like the devil was after him, ready to pummel anyone or anything, but it proved to be unnecessary. He’d found his daughter shoving Junkrat out of the bathroom and kicking him in the arse for good measure with a scowl. The blonde’s face had been bright red.

“What did you do,” Roadhog snarled.

Junkrat swallowed hard, “I, uh, I think Princess was changing in there.”

A chase ensued. If Junkrat hadn’t locked himself in the bunker, his bodyguard might have become his murderer.

However, despite this and a few other cringe-worthy instances, Roadhog couldn’t deny that he was happy, too. His daughter was wonderful. She had this painfully cute giggle that always made him smile. Her lips scrunched together when she was confused about something in an adorable way. The way her eyes lit up when she worked on her inventions was always endearing. He spent every moment he could with her. Hopefully he wasn’t smothering her . . .

She seemed to be doing alright, the masked man often reassured himself. Girly had definitely taken a liking to Junkrat, at least. They tinkered together for hours. Roadhog had been forced to remind them to eat more than once. If the two of them weren’t rigging up something dubious, Junkrat was usually telling the young woman a story about some past heist. She always hung on every word, but skeptically. It didn’t take her long to realize that the explosives expert was rather fond of stretching the truth. Daisy was always quick to give him a doubtful look or roll of the eyes when he got to be too much. She didn’t take his shit. Roadhog loved it.

Tonight was a dramatic retelling the time they trashed Paris just before fashion week. The loot hadn’t been quite what the two Aussie’s had hoped for, but the devastation had been hilarious. So many angry, posh assholes.

“You shoulda seen ‘em, Princess! This one bloke – a full grown man – was bawling over a pair of shoes! Shoes! It was downright shameful.”

Daisy laughed at the lanky man’s exasperated flailing about. “Why am I not shocked that you don’t care for style? Do you even own a shirt?”

“Nah,” he responded after taking a moment to think, “I usually just nab one if I need it.”

“Naturally,” she murmured through a yawn and stretch. “Fellas, I think I’m going to turn in. Didn’t sleep worth shite last night.”

“Bed okay,” Roadhog asked.

“Yeah, just got a new idea for a weapon mod that kept me thinking ‘til sparrow’s fart,” she grumbled. “I’m sure I’ll be out within minutes tonight.”

“Nighty, night,” Junkrat grinned at her.

“Good night, boss,” she replied with a gentle wave. “Goodnight, Roadhog,” she said softly, with more feeling. It made his heart swell.

“Night, Princess.” His eyes followed her until she slipped into the make-shift sleeping quarters they had rigged up for her. It was little more than a closet with a cot, but she swore it was just fine. Next time they went on a raid Roadhog would have to pick up supplies for adding on another room or putting up a new wall.

“Good kid.” Junkrat’s voice pulled the large man away from his thoughts. Roadhog grunted in agreement.

“I think she’s ready.”

“Ready,” the bodyguard asked.

“For her first heist, of course,” the demolitionist explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn’t ready to put his daughter in danger again. The memory of Gretchen’s pistol pressed against Daisy’s cheek made him queasy.

As if reading his mind, Junkrat started up again, “Don’t worry, big guy, we’ll start her out small. We can just pop over to one of the lil towns of normies and rob a bank. In and out. No biggie. Just enough to get her hooked on the feelin’!”

Roadhog sighed, leaning forward in thought. In the past few years, people had been slowly attempting to reclaim the poisoned land surrounding Junkertown, building settlements and scraping together businesses. Only foolish, desperate people seemed to live there. Easy pickings. But still . . . “I dunno,” he rumbled.

“Oh come on,” his companion moaned, “you know she’s a tough cookie, she can handle it. And you’ll be there lookin’ out for her! Even if trouble shows up, you’ll break its neck, piece of piss.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan. They could be back home by the end of the night, and any law enforcement would likely be piddily, but the hesitation wouldn’t go away.

“Roadie,” Junkrat said with a frighteningly serious tone, “you can’t keep her locked up forever.”

The big man scoffed. Since when was Junkrat the reasonable one? Squirrely little shit was right though. “Fine,” Roadhog huffed eventually, “but you gotta be careful.”

Junkrat let out a delighted giggle. “I promise! She’s gonna be so excited,” he cooed. “I’ll get the stuff together – we can leave first thing in the morning!” The peg-legged man was out the door before there could be any more protesting.

By the time everyone was loaded onto the motorcycle the next day, Roadhog was only marginally less worried about the whole endeavor, but how could he say no to Daisy’s enthusiastic wriggling? Now the trio was moments away from their destination and the big lug’s gut was in knots.

“Got the plan down, Princess,” Junkrat yelled to the newest member of their entourage.

“Got it,” she responded with a chipper air to her voice. Roadhog didn’t have to see her to know she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Atta girl! Just remember, if at first you don’t succeed . . . Blow it up again!” Daisy laughed just before Junkrat’s hopped out of his sidecar and readied his frag launcher. A series of blasts completely demolished the front doors of the bank while Roadhog grabbed his chain hook. His daughter whipped out her homemade pistol and a short-range taser she’d concocted. The handheld device was strong enough stop just about anyone in their tracks, making them easy pickings after, but they had to get close to her first. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

Thankfully, the personnel behind the counter of the small town bank seemed rather familiar with the whole robbery gig. Everyone’s hands were up before Roadhog hunkered through the low doorframe and the patrons were all tucked away in a nearby office, peeking through the window with an equal amount of fear and curiosity. Junkrat chucked a steel trap in front of the door making them all yelp and cower. Roahog shook his head – it was their own damn fault for trying to make a living out here. This place wasn’t for civilized folk. Never would be.

“You lot stay put, and I’ll play nice,” Junkrat cackled at the civilians. “And you,” he bellowed jumping onto the row of teller stations, “give me everything you got!”

The old lady with poorly dyed hair was not in the least bit fazed by having the wild demolitionist’s weapon in her face. She merely gave him an unimpressed scowl before emptying her cash drawer into a bag and grabbing her key fob. This skimpy smattering of houses and shops was dangerously close to Junker territory, so she had likely done this same thing a few times before, but her coworker? He looked new. Fresh-faced and terrified in his pastel green polo. Man was literally shaking. Junkrat was thrilled.

“Hurry up, kid,” the bomb maker teased, “you don’t want to make me get impatient. I’d hate to come a guster with all these grenades pointed at you.”

The wimp lost the color in his face and stole a glance at the back door.

“Hey, no! No! Don’t even – ” Junkrat began, but the guy was already booking it.

“Idiot,” Roadhog sighed before tossing his hook as if it were nothing but a game of backyard horseshoe. The teller screeched like a wet cat as he was dragged to the masked man’s side. Roadhog couldn’t help but chuckle at the fear in his eyes. “Squeal for me,” he snarled. And the man did. He actually squealed before fainting then and there. The lumbering thief was a suddenly unsure what to do with the limp body in his hand. Daisy was busting up next to the two of them, her gun still aimed at the woman unlocking the vault, just as Junkrat had instructed their young cohort to do. “Strewth,” the tall man mumbled before tossing the passed out man to the ground.

“Pathetic,” the woman behind the counter hissed before pushing open the heavy metal door and using a brick to prop it open. Junkrat nearly knocked her over as he barreled inside. She huffed and plopped herself down in a chair with an annoyed look. “Rude,” she snapped at Junkrat who gave her a dirty look in response, but his hands were too full of money to do much more than shake a fist.

“Such professionalism,” Daisy mused jokingly while watching the blonde clear the shelves and fight with a zipper on the duffel bag. Roadhog snorted with a nod. He looked down to her and was pleasantly surprised to see that she was keeping a careful eye on the prisoners and the gaping hole that was once the entrance. At least someone knew how to handle themselves, how to take things seriously. But she still looked like she was having a good time, too. Maybe she really would be okay living this sort of life. She was strong, smart, quick, on her feet. She could take care of herself. Not that Roadhog was going to stop watching her like a hawk.

Then sirens began to blare. The masked man groaned loudly.

“Town this size, I figured they’d be here sooner,” Daisy said with a furrowed brow.

“Let’s go,” Roadhog demanded, grabbing the two bulging bags of loot effortlessly.

“Just a second,” Junkrat whined before running out of the vault with a detonator in his hand. He hit the button without warning and a puff of dust fell from the shaken ceiling. The bombmaker clapped his hands merrily before heading right back into the smoke riddled back room.

“What are you doing,” Daisy called after him with a cough.

“This little hole-in-the wall had lock boxes,” he replied, “what kind of thief would I be if I left without busting them open?”

“Get a move on,” Roadhog snarled as the cops drew nearer.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Junkrat said emerging from the room with a disappointed look. “That was hardly worth the explosives I used to – hey!”

Roadhog was hauling both of his teammates out of the bank the next second, throwing them onto the motorcycle and heading for home with the police on their tail. Whatever ute’s their pursuers were driving were just as supped up as his hog, and they were gaining. Junkrat was firing frag after frag at them, but there were still two vehicles charging behind the three thieves.

“We gotta go faster, big guy,” the bombmaker said agitatedly. “They ain’t givin’ it away!”

“Get them off us,” Roadhog barked back.

“I can’t if you keep driving like a maniac!”

“You want to get shot?!”

“Enough,” Daisy shouted over them both. She’d never raised her voice at them before. They were both silent. “Junkrat,” she continued calmly, “give me one of your mines.”

“What do you need –”

“Now,” she snapped and the blonde quickly obeyed. “Roadhog, when I say I’m ready you gotta slow down and keep her steady so I can get a good shot, alright?”

“What,” the massive man asked frantically as the girl shifted to stand on the back of the motorcycle, grabbing the strap of her father’s vest to steady herself.

“Just trust me,” she said confidently.

Roadhog chanced a worried glance at Junkrat who was staring up at Daisy in shock.

“Now, Roadhog,” she ordered, and he did as instructed, half out of fear his Princess was going to rain wrath down upon him otherwise. The police cars neared, and from his rearview mirror Roadhog could see one of Junkrat’s mines flying through the air. There was an electric crack and a flash of light before the two vehicles spun out of control a split second before the bomb went off, obliterating both.

Junkrat’s maniacal laughter had never sounded so pleased.

Roadhog swung the handlebars and brought the bike to a jerking halt so he could watch the flames and smoke rise in awe.

“The fuck did you do,” the masked man muttered.

“My taser works like am EMP, so it takes out any supped up tech, like those ute’s central processors. I figured if I could make their vehicle’s stall out, Junkrat’s mine would do the rest.” The young woman was beaming. Her hair was jutting out in all directions from the ride, and her cheeks were flushed from the chase. And it was perfect. She looked so happy.

“Kiddo,” Junkrat gasped, trying to catch his breath from his fit of giggles, “you dunny fucking rat, that was the best thing I ever seen! Oh man, you are, by far, the best thing we’ve ever stolen!”

“Aw, thanks,” she said bowing her head with a timid smile. Her eyes drifted to Roadhog, who was still watching her in silence. A sheepish look spread onto her face. “I know I probably got lucky, and I know it was dangerous, but at least it worked, right?”

She thought he disapproved. That couldn’t be further from the truth. He let out a small laugh and offered Daisy a hand to hop off the motorcycle. There was still concern making her little mouth pout as she plopped onto the ground beside him. Roadhog wrapped a long arm around her and pulled her closer. “You did good, kid.”

Her smile sprang back two-fold. “I did?”

“Real good,” he assured her.

“Thanks,” she said resting giving his hand a squeeze with her own. He didn’t want to let her go. Junkrat made a strange, high-pitched nose to communicate his approval of the sweet little moment. Roadhog sighed aggravatedly, secretly glad no one could see him blush under his mask.

“Come on,” he said scooting forward on his seat, allowing Daisy to climb back on. “Let’s get this stuff back to the house.”

“Then we can celebrate,” Junkrat chimed in, “I’ve still got some fireworks we can light off! We can make a banner: ‘Princess’s First Big Score!’”

“I’ve never had a party thrown for me before,” Daisy laughed.

“Then we have to make it a big one,” Junkrat said throwing his arms up, “right, big guy?”

“Anything she wants,” Roadhog agreed as they took off toward home.

#mine #writing #overwatch #fanfic #overwatch fanfic #daisy #junkrat #roadhog #zarcake-writes #drabble #overwatch drabble #my drabble #daughter series

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