#sane with music blasting though open cars' doors

[atomicladytimetravel]

Employees Only

Summary: No outbreak AU. Joel Miller owns Miller Contracting and you are his assistant. When Joel gets the bid from a huge client, he celebrates by doing what any sane man would do…banging the assistant.

Warnings: Porn with very little plot. Drug use (marijuana), Boss/Employee relations, Smut/Explicit. Contains sex under the influence of marijuana, nipple play/stimulation, oral (f and m receiving) light gagging, fingering, Joel’s a little cocky about his dick (pun intended). Joel is a simp for you. No physical description of reader, other than female.

18+ only - MDNI

Friday. Fucking finally. Not only is it the end of your work week, but it’s also the end of you spending longer evenings than usual helping your boss put together a bid for one of the biggest clients he could ever hope to acquire. You can’t do any real complaining though - Joel made sure you were well compensated for your extra time and (let’s just face it) he sure is fun to look at. Not to mention the, you know, huge fucking crush you’ve had on the man for…well, for probably about as long as you’ve worked for him. Suffice to say, you’d do juuuuust about anything Joel asked you to do.

You’re making your way to your favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant, the air conditioning in your car blasting to combat the sweltering Texas heat. You have to pass the small office building that houses Miller Contracting on your way to get to the Chinese place and, even though it’s damn near ten o’clock, Joel’s old pickup truck still sits in its usual parking space. Curious, you pull out your phone and select his name from your recent call log. He answers on the first ring.

“Now why are you callin’ me this late darlin’?” he drawls. His speech is raspy and a little slow; he sounds so fucking sexy.

“Oh no reason really, just wondering why I see your truck parked at the office,” you respond. He chuckles a little.

“You stalkin’ me or something?”

You smile and roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“In your dreams, Miller,” you retort playfully. “I’m on my way to get some food and I just so happened to pass by.”

“Well, I was gonna wait until Monday and tell you in person, but…Avalon Premier Hotels accepted our bid.”

You can hear the grin in his voice and you hear yourself gasp.

“Joel, oh my god! That’s incredible news!” you squeal excitedly. On the other end of the call, Joel thinks to himself that he would very much like to hear those first four words again in a much different context.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel has been smitten since you stepped foot in his office for the first time. He internally cursed his HR department that day for hiring the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But they had done just as he’d asked and hired the best damn person for the job. Joel has told you on more than one occasion that he has no idea how he made it without you.

“I’m just over here celebrating a little. The sound system Tommy insisted we put in the employee lounge outdoes mine by a long shot and I wanted to hear some music,” he explains further. “You should come join me. You know I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You look down at your outfit - a tank top, no bra and a pair of what are quite possibly the shortest shorts you own - and contemplate the offer. You remember you’re off the clock and think, “the hell with it, he can’t dress code me now.”

“Sure,” you accept. “You want some Chinese food?”

——————

When you open the front door to the office, you’re immediately hit by the pungent aroma of marijuana. Ah, now his slow, raspy speech makes sense. When you enter the employee lounge, you find Joel manspread on the couch, a fat blunt dangling from his lips. He’s changed out of the button up you had drooled over all day and into a Miller Contracting t-shirt that hugged his delicious biceps. Nirvana is playing loudly over the sound system and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you plop the food down on the coffee table. His eyes rake over your body unashamedly and you find yourself blushing under his gaze. He reaches for the remote and turns the music down.

“God damn sugar, I didn’t realize I’d be gettin’ dinner and a show.”

“It’s like 103 degrees right now Joel. Besides, I’m off the clock,” you remind him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hey, ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing,” he winks. You eye him suspiciously, but he just smiles innocently. He pats the couch cushion next to him and when you sit down, he holds the blunt to your lips. “You deserve t’relax a little, too.”

You take the blunt between your lips and inhale the smoke, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling through your nose. You’re not exactly a stranger to pot, but it has been a while since you’ve smoked any. It doesn’t take long at all for the foggy feeling to take over, your body feeling weightless. The munchies kick in soon after, and you and Joel practically inhale the Chinese food. As you eat, another blunt is passed back and forth and you’re soon the highest you can ever remember being.

Joel cleans up the remnants of your dinner and you sink into the couch cushions, your fuzzy brain content to just stare at nothing. When he returns, he sits so close to you that your thighs touch. He leans back and throws his arm around the cushion behind you. You’re close enough to smell his cologne and that plus the fact that he’s so close makes you want him, bad.

“This may have been a bad idea. Weed makes me so horny,” you say. You had wholeheartedly intended for that to be a thought and not something you said aloud to your boss. You’re mortified when you realize that the words actually came out of your mouth. Before you can even attempt to apologize, though, Joel responds.

“Oh yeah? You want some help with that?” He looks down at you expectantly and you stare back at him blankly for a moment before answering.

“I…y-yeah, yes,” you stammer. The next thing you know, you’re being pulled onto his lap; the fabric of your shorts is thin and you can feel just how hard he already is beneath the denim of his jeans. He kisses you with the passion of someone who’s been starved of affection. He holds you tightly close to his body, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

“Please tell me this is real,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“It’s real,” you giggle, resting your forehead against his.

“You are so pretty. Absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says softly. You kiss again, open mouthed and tongues swirling together. You grind your hips onto him, trying to relieve the aching between your thighs. He puts his hands on your hips to stop them.

“Ain’t gotta do all that now. I’ll take care of ya soon, understand?” he says sternly. You let out a tiny, pathetic whimper but nod in agreement. He shakes his head and uses his pointer finger to tap your lips.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, I understand,” you tell him.

“Yes what?” he asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Yes sir.”

“That’s a good girl. Fuck, I just knew you would be. You want to be my good girl, hm?”

The whole time he’s been talking, his hands have been roaming farther and farther under your tank top. His fingertips brushing against your skin makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Yes sir,” you reply in a voice barely above a whisper.

He’s cupping your breasts now, thumbs swiping repeatedly over your nipples. The urge to grind on him again is overwhelming, but you hold still. You whine softly when he removes his hands and he shushes you.

“Relax sweet thing. I just want to get this shirt off of ya is all.”

He pushes the shirt up your torso and you raise your arms to let him pull it over your head. He groans appreciatively at the sight of your breasts and pushes them together before burying his face between them.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles against your skin. He puts his mouth all over your breasts, sucking and nibbling and making you want to rock your hips so badly you can hardly stand it. You gasp softly when he latches on to your nipple, sucking until the bud has hardened. When he switches to the other side, you can’t help but roll your hips, craving some sort of relief.

“Ah, ah,” he admonishes, his hands holding onto your hips firmly. “What did I say?”

“I’m sorry,” you pout. “I just need you to touch me so bad sir.”

“Oh, is that all?” he teases, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He pinches both nipples between his fingers gently. “How’s this?”

“It feels good, but I need more sir.”

“Hmmm…no, I think I’ll see if I can make you cum like this first.”

No one has ever tried to make you orgasm this way, and you’re not even sure it’s possible. You tell him this, but he just shakes his head.

“Can I try? If it doesn’t work for you, we can move on, I promise.”

“Yes sir, you can try.”

He smiles softly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I’m going to squeeze a little harder, just let me know if you start feelin’ anything besides good.”

It feels amazing. Pleasure surges through you and you tip your head back, your hands gripping onto his shoulders to keep you steady. He alternates between pinching and rolling and you concentrate on the throbbing between your legs. He squeezes just a bit harder and it feels so good that a drawn out moan passes through your lips.

“Yeah sugar? How’s that feel?” he asks.

“Good. R-really good,” you respond breathlessly. “Maybe a little harder.”

“How’s this baby?” he asks as he pinches a little harder. There’s a little pain this time, but it’s a delicious kind of hurt.

“Oh!” you gasp, surprised to feel the stirrings of an orgasm. “Don’t stop please, it feels so good.”

“You’re doing so good baby,” he praises, leaning forward to press a kiss to your throat. He keeps the pressure and rolls your sensitive nipples between his fingers. Your eyes flutter and your orgasm is so close you can taste it.

“You’re close aren’tcha? What a good girl; go ahead and let it go baby.”

With his encouragement, an orgasm washes over you and you hear yourself shouting his name. With one hand still tweaking a nipple, he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady as you shake above him. When you come down, your eyes open to see Joel looking at you with a mix of awe and adoration.

“That was the most beautiful god damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he says before capturing your lips in a needy kiss. He sets you gently back on the couch and stands above you, squeezing the length of his cock through his jeans.

“God damn, I swear I stay hard for you,” he groans. “You know how many times I’ve shot my load thinkin’ ‘bout you?”

“Probably as many times as I’ve made myself cum thinking about you.”

“You mean we coulda been doin’ this all along?” he asks, still palming himself through his jeans. You lean back into the corner of the couch and press your middle finger to your clit over your shorts while you watch him; something about the action turns you on so much.

“You’re my boss Joel,” you point out.

“I also own this company doll. I can do whatever I want,” he reminds you. He pulls his shirt over his head and you finally get to see the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long. His shoulders are broad and his arms are thick. His midsection is soft, but you can still see v-lines disappearing into his jeans. He undresses down to his boxer briefs and you watch, mesmerized, when he slowly pulls his belt through its loops. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more turned on. He kneels in front of you and taps your hip, signaling for you to lift them.

“Up,” he commands. You lift your hips and he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. He drags them down your legs and is pleasantly surprised to see your lack of panties.

“No bra, no panties? What a naughty girl,” he tuts.

“Told ya I was dressed for comfort.”

He doesn’t respond, just tosses the shorts aside and admires your naked form.

“I can’t get over how gorgeous you are,” he says, shaking his head. He showers your body with kisses, sucking occasionally on your most sensitive places. You’ll be covered in hickeys later, splotchy red and purple reminders of how Joel worships your body. He places his palms on the insides of your knees and spreads them, giving himself a view of your glistening pussy. He spreads your lips with his first two fingers to admire what he considers a work of art.

“Look how pretty,” he murmurs. Before you can utter a response, he leans in and licks you from opening to clit. He alternates between this and kitten licking your clit and you have to fight yourself to not start riding his face.

“Fuck, you got the sweetest little pussy darlin’,” he groans into your center. He hooks his arms behind your knees and begins to eat you out with fervor. He swirls patterns on your clit with his tongue, dipping it into your entrance every now and then. You’re enjoying it too much to notice that he spells “J O E L” on your clit with his tongue, silently claiming your pussy as his.

“Mmm, fuck Joel, it feels so good,” you whine. You feel two thick fingers slide into your entrance and you buck your hips at the sensation. He flattens his free hand over your belly and pins you to the couch cushions. He curls his fingers into your g-spot as his tongue continues to flick over your clit and your moans mix with the wet squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Joel, oh my god!” you shout, your head falling back onto the arm of the couch. And there they were, those four words he’d wished to hear just over an hour ago. He’s never heard anything so beautiful in his life. You hear him moan and you lift your head to watch him. His eyes are hooded and his free hand is in his boxers stroking his cock. It’s undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Oh god I’m so close,” you moan. He sucks your clit once, twice and on the third time, you come apart for him. He can’t help the satisfied smile on his face as he watches you tremble, his name tumbling from your lips like a chant. When he pulls his fingers out, they’re shiny with your spend. He spreads them apart and a string of fluid connects them.

“Look at the mess you made for me baby,” he marvels. He brings his fingers to your lips and you open for him; you suck his fingers clean, never breaking eye contact. You hear him moan softly when you swirl your tongue around the digits. He stands and you can see how painfully hard he is through his boxer briefs. You can’t help but stare at the outline of his cock, wondering how he walks around with that thing between his legs. He sees you staring and smirks.

“You wanna see my cock baby?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” you nod, blushing a little at being caught staring. You watch in anticipation as he pulls his underwear down, cock springing free and practically smacking him in the stomach. Your eyes widen when you see his size. He’s thick and probably around eight or nine inches. He wraps a hand around it and strokes a few times.

“Think you can put it in your mouth for me? I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock,” he says, smoothing his other hand over your hair.

“Yes sir, wanna make you feel good,” you respond obediently, sitting up from your reclined position.

“Oh, what a good girl,” he praises. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck the precum seeping out.

“Oh fuuuuuck baby girl,” he rasps. You hollow out your cheeks and slowly inch him in your mouth. You put your hands on his hips as you bob your head back and forth. His hand flies to your hair when you pull all the way back to his tip before plunging him down your throat. You gag a little bit and pull back some, tears prickling at your eyes. You repeat the process until there are tears trickling down your cheeks.

“Shit baby, you give such good fuckin’ head,” he says through gritted teeth. “Look at ya, chokin’ on my cock.”

He lets you gag a few more times before he pulls your head back gently. He looks down at you sweetly and wipes the tears from your cheeks before offering his hand to help you up.

“You did so good f’me baby, gaggin’ on this big cock like a pro. I wanna stuff that pretty pussy now, though. Get on your knees f’me.”

You settle onto your knees, resting your palms on the back of the couch. A stinging smack lands on your right ass cheek and you moan.

“There’s that gorgeous ass I love to look at,” he says, squeezing it appreciatively. He lays his palm flat on your lower back, his other hand wrapping around the base of his cock. He pushes the tip into your entrance and your walls stretch around him. He’s a bit bigger than anything you’ve taken before and it stings for just a moment, making you whimper.

“I know it’s big baby girl. I’m gonna go slow,” he coos. He rubs his thumbs in soothing circles on your hips as he inches himself inside.

“You’re doin’ so good, takin’ me so well,” he praises.

“Oh fuck, I’m so full,” you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside you.

“Yeah baby? You like bein’ full of my big cock?”

“God yeah, it feels so good.”

He squeezes your hips affectionately as he sets a languid pace. He’s only been inside you for a minute and you know that no other man will be good enough ever again.

“Fuck, this is the best god damn pussy I’ve ever had,” he says, as if reading your mind. “Like it was made just for me.”

You begin to push back and meet his thrusts, your bodies moving in sync. His grip on your ass is so tight that you’re sure half moon shaped indentions will be left behind from his fingernails.

“That’s it baby, bounce back on my dick,” he grits out. He smacks your ass and groans appreciatively as it ripples underneath his palm. “Does it feel good baby, hmm? Tell me how good it feels, lemme hear you.”

“F-feels so good. You’re making my little pussy feel s-so fucking good.”

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you up so that your bodies are flush; he moves your hair aside and puts his lips to your ear as his thrusts become faster and more aggressive.

“I’m gonna destroy your pussy this weekend baby,” he says in a gravelly whisper. “I’ve been waitin’ so long. Might have to carry you into work Monday.”

“Oh god, please,” you mewl in response.

“Yeah baby? You’d like that huh, takin’ this cock all weekend?”

“Yes, oh god yes, your cock feels so good!”

He reaches around to toy with your clit and your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you pant. He rubs your clit faster, pressing a frenzied kiss to your lips.

“That’s it, give it to me baby girl. Cum all over my cock.”

You grab onto his forearm to steady yourself as you cum hard around him. He talks you through it, whispering lowly in your ear.

“There ya go baby, let it go. Doing so good f’me darlin’.”

Once you’ve come back to earth, he pulls out gently and sits down on the couch. He takes you by the hand and guides you to straddle him again.

“I wanna see you baby,” he explains. “You’re a fuckin’ goddess.”

You sink onto his cock and he rests his hands on your hips. He guides your hips back and forth slowly and it feels so good that you attempt to speed up.

“No baby, let’s go slow,” he says, looking into your eyes. “Just enjoy this with me, yeah?”

You smile softly, saying, “yes sir” before grabbing his face and kissing him. His arms wrap around your torso and he holds you close, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“I want you to be my girl. Tell me you’ll be my girl baby.”

You respond without hesitation, “I’m yours Joel, all yours.”

The two of you share another kiss; Joel can no longer hold back and he plants his feet firmly on the ground so that he can thrust up into you.

“Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he pants. “My pretty fuckin’ girl.”

“Oh god,” you whimper as he pounds into your g-spot. “Joel, fuck baby, I’m so close.”

“Me too baby girl. Should I pull out?”

“No! I want you inside me. Fuck, I want to feel you cum inside me so bad.”

“God damn, dirty little thing,” he grunts. “Gonna fill this little pussy so much.”

“Oh god, I’m cumming,” you announce, clenching around his cock. A chorus of, “fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck YES,” comes from your mouth. Joel makes a deep, guttural sound and spills inside of you, hugging your trembling body tight.

“Shit,” you giggle breathlessly.

“Yeah? Good?” he asks hopefully, just as breathless as you are.

“Good? Amazing. Incredible.”

He grins and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I could actually go again. How about you let me take you back to my place and I’ll put you in my jetted tub, hm? We’ll take a nice bath, maybe smoke a little more and then I’ll fuck you to sleep. How’s that sound?”

It’s your turn to grin and you give him a long, burning kiss.

“Sounds like an offer I can’t pass up.”

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou series #tlou smut

[sckyie]

song: driver’s license by olivia rodrigo

word count: 2.5k

genre + warnings: angst; swearing, fear of driving, reminiscing in old memories

pronouns used: she/her

a/n: this was orignially supposed to just be an imagine inspired by the song, not apart of the song series but it fits too well to not change oikawa’s song. i also wrote this for @kybabi​​ bc i love her :D n e wayz enjoy :) (part 2)

"So here you're going to turn and he'll make you do a parallel park in the street. You remember how to do that right?" Oikawa asked as he guided you to the next turn. As you turn the steering wheel, you spot a crowded curbside.

"No, can you please please park for me? I hate parallel parking," You pleaded.

"Only because you asked so nicely," He teased.

Ever since you told your best friend that you wanted to learn how to drive, Oikawa never let it go whenever you wanted to hang out. Having you drive him around for practice and giving you tips as you went. He's helped you a ton while you drove around, the only issues you had were parallel parking and merging onto the highway.

"Maybe we should try the highway again," Oikawa said after you two switched seats.

"Are you asking for a death wish?" You joked. "I drive too slow and I'm scare to merge into lanes."

"We can practice on smaller freeways if you want," He asks.

"No," You growled.

It was always a terrifying thing to drive on the highway. You always saw those horrid accidents and feared being in one. Oikawa would always put his hand on your thigh as you merged to calm you down. Just having him be there was enough to get you to get onto the highway. All your fears just faded with him beside you.

Just having this intimate driving lesson with him was enough for you. You grew to fall in love in your best friend. A cliché thing, yet you couldn't say anything. Only you and your girl friends knew about your big crush. It was a funny thing, falling for your childhood best friend. Iwaizumi always joked about you doing so but you never admitted to liking Oikawa. What would that do to your friendship?

Today was the day, it was your test day. The scariest thing you anticipated was finally here. The thing you practiced days on end with Oikawa. The thing that could either make or break you. Today, you'd either come out with your license or you'll be walking home.

The nerves crept up your body like spiders leaving a trail of anxiety webs. You bounced you leg as you waited in the lobby looking out for your driving instructor. As your sweaty palms go to check the time, you notice a text message from Oikawa.

butthead: hey! good luck on your test today!

That's what cooled you down. A simple saying of good fortune will help, right? Sure enough, the test was a breeze, minus the parallel parking as it was the one mistake you got. You happily drove home to tell the news to your parents.

"Have you told Tooru yet?" Your mom asked.

"I'll wait until my actual driver license to prove to him I got it," You smiled.

"You like him don't you?" Your mom gestured to the joy on your face. "I can tell."

"No," You looked away from your mom as she raised her eyebrow. "Okay, maybe but you can't say anything. I'm going to my room now." She chuckled as you dragged you feet to your room.

Two weeks passes and you finally received your license in the mail. You smiled happily down at your new card as you walked outside the school building. You looked up to search for your best friend. Your eyes scanned the courtyard before landing on Iwaizumi. Assuming Oikawa was nearby, you headed towards him.

"Hey Iwa, where's Oiks?" You asked. Iwaizumi raised up his hand and pointed across to the gate. You looked over to find Oikawa talking to Kasumi, a classmate of yours.

"He's asking her to go on a date with him again," Iwaizumi says.

Again? He's done it before?

"Are they dating?" You ask.

"Not yet, Oikawa wants to ask her to be his girlfriend on the date," Iwa explains. "What's that?" He points to your hands as you fiddled with the corner of your driver's license.

"Oh," You said solemnly. "I got my license."

You waved goodbye to your childhood friend before going into he parking lot. Without thinking, you started the car and just began to drive. Out of the school and onto who knows where. Your mind grew blank as you drove.

How could he not mention Kasumi to you? He used to tell you everything but lately he'd been so distant. Maybe that's why he hasn't texted you all week, you thought. Who could blame him for liking Kasumi? She's so pretty and not to mention how smart she is. She's the class representative and she's one of the nicest girls around.

You fell for the one man you shouldn't have. It was too late to even confess how you felt. He was already falling for another while you were left behind. You felt a sharp pain in your chest as you drove by familiar buildings.

The laundromat where you and Oikawa would go to help with the laundry. You both would end up messing around and your parents would have to kick you two out. You and Oikawa would go across the street to the convenience store to buy steamed buns.

He doesn't like you.

The library where you would wait for Oikawa to finish practice so you two could study together. He'd bring you a bottle of tea and some sort of snack to keep you from burning out. Those study dates where you'd stay until the library was closed.

Give up, stop thinking of him.

The ramen restaurant where Oikawa would take you if he won a game. It was a great celebration and you two had made so many memories there. You two had gone there so often, he convinced the owner that you were his girlfriend.

Let him go.

All the feelings you had for him began to ache in your heart as you reminisced in the memories. You gripped tighter on the wheel as you saw an highway exit. "Fuck," You whispered as you merged into the fast lane. Suddenly all those fears you had of driving, just disappeared. You felt this peace as your eyes locked on the long highway. It was like, nothing hurt anymore. Your tensed shoulders relaxed, yet you felt tears roll down your cheeks. You took deep breaths as you drove attempting to stop your tears.

Soon enough, driving on the highway had shifted from a phobia to an escape. Everyday after school, rather than meeting up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi before practice, you'd drive on the highway and on backroads. It was the only thing that kept you sane when you see Kasumi with Oikawa together.

You became accustomed to the fast pace of the highways. Occasionally you'd speed if you felt some type of pain grow in your chest. You'd blast music to drown out any thoughts or feelings you had. You knew Oikawa could never be yours, so why bother crying over him, right? The thought of being around him began to make you uncomfortable. If you kept your distance, you wouldn't get hurt. You wouldn't be considered a distraction.

butthead: hey?

you: what's up?

butthead: it's been a while since i've seen you :( i miss my best friend

you: are you sure you mean to text me or iwa?

butthead: you, y/n i miss hanging with you

butthead: you didn't come to the restaurant after our game

you: i was busy, sorry

butthead: :(

you: i gotta go, ill talk to you later

Oikawa sighed at his phone and looked across the table to Iwaizumi. "Have you talked to Y/n lately?" He asked.

"Yeah, she borrowed gas money from me," Iwa says before slurping his noodles.

"Gas money? She got her license?" Oikawa tilts his head. "How long has it been?"

"A month? You got caught up with Kasumi," Iwaizumi says.

"Hmph," Oikawa huffed as he sipped his drink. He'd been spending so much time with Kasumi that he forgot about you. Or was it, you started to forget about him? He glances at the window behind Iwa and noticed a familiar car parking.

You parked your car across the street of the restaurant next to a convenience store. You quickly got out and went into the store looking for something to drink. As you began to scan the fridge, you heard the door open. "Y/n?" You turned to find Oikawa.

"What are you doing here?" You turned back to grab a soda.

"Iwa came to eat with me since you didn't make it," Oikawa says. "He's still there, did you want to join us?"

"No thanks, I'm kinda busy at the moment," You say dully. Oikawa goes to speak but you had already walked to go pay for your drink. "Later Oikawa."

"Oikawa?" He watched as you left the store and into your car. He follows suit and watched you speed off. Oikawa quickly makes his way back to the restaurant and seats himself disgruntled. "Y/n called me Oikawa..."

"That's your name isn't it?" Iwaizumi raised his eyebrow.

"She always calls me Oiks or Ru, never Oikawa," He says. "Did I do something wrong?"

Iwaizumi shrugged even though he knew the answer well enough. After Oikawa had asked Kasumi to be his girlfriend, your demeanor had changed. Iwa was the first to notice too. Typically, after school you'd see the duo before practice started, yet since you learnt Oikawa had eyes for another, you stopped.

One day, Iwaizumi decided to follow after you when school was over. He trailed behind as you walked to your car door. You pulled open the door handle only for Iwa to shut the door immediately after. You turned to find Iwaizumi with scrunched eyebrows. "What's wrong with you?" He asked. "Why haven't you came by before practice?"

"No reason, I'm just busy," You lied.

"Liar, what's wrong?" He asks yet you remained silent. "I won't tell Shittykawa just tell me why you're being so distant...and also why your eyes are always puffy."

You paused before answering, "I'm just...upset with Oikawa...and Kasumi.."

"Do you..?" Iwaizumi implied. You nod and looked at the ground. "What have you been doing since you found out about them?"

"Driving," You sighed. "Just driving...It's keep me off my mind all week. I bear the fact that he looks so happy with her and not...me. God I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that-" Iwa started but you immediately lashed out.

"It's true! I was too late to confess! And I fell for the one boy I can't have!" You felt tears well up in your eyes. "I can't even drive by certain places without getting upset. I take backroads and I avoid them completely. I hate driving by his house but it's the only way to my own. He just treats me like another fucking fan girl! I'm just so stupid for falling for my best friend." Since that day, Iwaizumi kept to his promise. Not word about your feelings were said to Oikawa.

butthead: hey are you busy right now ?

you: no, what's up?

butthead: can you help me with something?

you: depends

butthead: meet me at the library so i can tell you more :)

You locked you phone and tossed it into your passenger's seat. You looked up to see the light change to green, allowing you to speed into the highway. Your hands rested at the bottom of the wheel as you drove. The slow, lo-fi music surrounded your car as you drove which let you get out of your trapped mind.

It was a crazy thought to think that you and Oikawa were so excited to drive together. Yet now all you want to do is drive alone. You turned up the volume of your music as you merged into your neighborhood. You leaned further back into your seat as you were driving around the suburbs. You glance at the white cars lining one street leading to the library. You scoffed at the sight as a repressed memory resurfaced.

"Why do you like white cars so much?" You chuckled.

"Because they look clean and nice? Sorry I don't like your basic silver car," Oikawa raised his hand to block your face.

"I'm basic? Says the one who wants an automatic," You pretend to throw up to mock him.

"For someone who can't drive yet, you talk big," Oikawa pats your head only to be smacked a few seconds late. Oikawa drapes his arm over you as you walked down the street to the library The entire walk was filled with mocking and talking about the future. "Let me teach you how to drive, that way we could go out together more."

You finally arrived at the library, spotting Oikawa before parking the car. He watches as you easily parallel park and is stunned by how casual you are as you drove. You set out and approach him. Oikawa holds out a snack to you but you politely refuse.

"Let's go inside?" He asks. You shrugged and followed him in. Rather than sitting beside him like usual, you sat across from him. You still had those feelings for him but you couldn't stand sitting next to him. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you anticipated his next words. "I was wondering if you could help me with Kasumi?"

Ouch.

"With what?" You ask.

"I want to give her a gift, right?" He starts. "A gift that goes along with me telling her I love her."

He loves her?

Your heart aches but you decide to move past that. "Isn't it a bit early to say I love you?"

"Well, we were long time friends before we started dating and I feel like it's the right time to, y'know?" Oikawa leans forward on the table. "Can you help me find a gift?"

This feels familiar. Helping him find a gift for a girl that isn't you. It seems like anytime he does have a crush he'd come to you for advice. This is the first time that you didn't want to give into his favors.

"No," You sighed.

"No? Wait why not?" He raised his eyebrows at you.

"Because," Say it. "Because I-"

"Because?" Oikawa tilts his head at your response.

"Because I can't keep doing things like this for you," You stood up and began heading for the entrance. Oikawa followed afterwards as he could see the pain in your voice.

"Y/n, talk to me, we haven't talked in forever. Tell me what's wrong," He says as you exit the library. You ignore his voice and reached for your car door. He grabs your arm but you shove him off.

"Would you just- leave me alone?" You snapped. "I don't want to help you, okay?"

"What did I do?" Oikawa was beyond confused at your response.

"I- You- Ugh! Just go away, I don't want to see you!" Your voice cracked as the suppressed feelings began to rise again.

"Why not!" Oikawa grabbed your arm again, this time you weren't able to break free.

"Because I fucking loved you idiot!" You yelled. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you stopped struggling in his hold. Oikawa paused and stared at you in wonder.

"You...loved me?" He asked.

"I still fucking love you! God, I hate you- I just- Let go!" You pulled off him. "I'm leaving. If you try to stop me, I'm never speaking to you again." You wiped your tears as you entered your car. Driving off into the neighborhood, crying at the red lights knowing you could've ruined your whole friendship.

Oikawa watched as you sped off. Those words lingered in his ear as he stared down at his hand where you let go. His mind was lost in thought, how could his best friend love him? Was he that blind that he couldn't see your admiration? "She...loves me?" He thought.

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme​ @d0llpie​ @elianetsantana @joy-laufeyson @kac-chowsballs

#haikyuu #haikyu #hq #haikyuu x you #haikyu x you #hq x you #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa imagine #oikawa angst #hss; sckyie playlist

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 5 “Drunken Fart Contest” [Episode List] After one of their usual nights out with their friends, Dave and another bud, Adam, end up being really drunk. Luckily, it was Tim’s turn to be the designated driver, so he’s perfectly able to drive. The two drunk friends, however, are really, really gassy…

Drunken Fart Contest

2:00 a.m. The party was getting out of control, as predicted. Almost everyone was completely drunk or confused. I heard some plates breaking in the kitchen: good thing this is not my house. Whose birthday was again? The music is still loud, playing through some speakers carefully placed in strategic locations of the room as some dizzy guests danced –or, more precisely, staggered to the rhythm of it.

Whatever was going to happen next, I didn’t really care: it was my turn to drive, so I was literally the only sane guy at the party. My pals asked me to take them out of there around 1:30 a.m., but since we were having fun, we lost the track of time. I eventually found both Dave -you know him, and Adam, another friend of mine, around my age as well. They probably had alcohol instead of blood in their veins by far.

“You’re such a cock-blocker!” Adam hissed at me, since I –according to him- ruined every chance with a girl he was hitting on. Too bad this girl passed out 15 minutes ago and my tipsy friend didn’t seem to notice at all. Oh well, it’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

Dave was definitely more collaborative: he had this silly smile drawn on his face, probably because he made out with some hot girl in the other room. His sweat-soaked shirt was partly unbuttoned too, so maybe he was heading second base without even noticing.

“Ok guys, here we go…”

We eventually reached my car, parked just outside the loud house. Some fellow guests were lying on the grass in the front-yard, either laughing or smoking: they were fine, some of them even said ‘hi’ to me as I walked past them. I opened the rear door of the car on and forced Adam to go inside, who muttered something about how I ruined everything with the woman of his dreams. He then tripped and fell in the car, lying on his stomach, looking more like a corpse.

“He’s dead…” Dave simply commented. Not very helpful.

Adam’s place was our first stop. Our houses weren’t really far away from each other, but I tend to drive slowly, especially during weekend nights, for obvious reasons. Adam, still lying on his belly, probably passed out. I checked on him via the rear-view mirror, unwillingly triggering my gay senses: all I could see was his grey skinny jeans sagging, exposing his black underwear, the latter hugging his surprisingly bubbly butt.

I ignored that vision and turned to Dave, my co-pilot and the guy in charge for the music. He was fine, better than my other friend, that’s for sure. We chatted a bit, as he noticed that I was tired, keeping me focused on the street. After a while, however, he chuckled and lowered the volume of the radio, almost setting it to mute.

“I think you’ll like this song more, listen…” he said, with his well-known smirk.

I knew what was going to happen. I was actually surprised that it was only happening now, considering that alcohol always made Dave really gassy. He spread his legs a bit, visibly pushing one out and glanced at me one last time before the “thunder” almost made me swerve.

The sound was loud, even though it was partially muffled by the (lucky) car seat. It was very dry-sounding and manly, almost like a long, enormous morning fart.

“Aw… come on…” Adam muttered, as Dave’s flatulence literally woke him up.

My gassy friend laughed as he leaned a bit. He was basically indirectly farting in my face, not even caring about the presence of our friend. I had to keep my eyes on the road, trying not to admire my friend’s denim-covered ass. The fart lasted around 14 seconds, one of his longest blasts I believe. It was followed by his friendly laughter as he gently patted my shoulder, as if he every time wanted to make sure that he was ok with me, my weird fetish and that I had nothing to worry about; and I always appreciate his gentle mannerisms, despite the rudeness of his manly rips.

The smell hit us all soon, especially because the windows were locked. Bad choice. It was already too disgusting even for me, a nose-killing stench mixed with the already awful aroma from our sweat-soaked shirts.

“You’re disgusting, Dave!” my other friend said from the back seat, trying not to laugh.

“Thanks, Ady! Glad you appreciated!”

Dave leaned a bit again and ripped another loud toot, lasting only a couple of seconds this time. Truly a proud farter, indeed. Adam clapped his hands sarcastically, laughing a bit.

“Sure… really impressive…” he said, still lying on his stomach.

A moment silence, then another fart begun, but it was not from Dave. Maybe it was the dizziness, the alcohol, but Adam started to rip one too. I checked again on him via the rear-mirror and I could see his bubbly butt erupting this extremely loud, high-pitched fart. It started kinda weak, only to become louder and manlier as seconds passed. Dave laughed, knowing that I was living both in a nightmare and in a beautiful dream at the same time, visibly amused by my weird situation. As the blast continued, Adam slowly wiggled his butt left and right, the tone of the fart changing a bit; he laughed as his 12-seconds rip started to fade into silence.

Now it was Dave the one clapping his hands. “Bravo!” he commented, as we all bursted into laughter. I didn’t know if it was because of my boner or the farts, but the car’s temperature seemed to raise a lot so I had no choice but to lower the car windows, also because the smell was getting too unbearable (yes, even for me). I felt the colder wind from outside brushing through my hair, my nostrils still sensing Dave and Adam’s farts.

Seconds passed, but the smell was, strangely enough, still there, all around my face. As I heard my friends’ laughing almost to tears, I understood why; I couldn’t hear it at first because of the sounds of the traffic, but they both started ripping one big fart at the same time the moment I rolled down the window; once I noticed it, I heard the sound too: it was insane, out of this world; two giant farts being ripped at unison. Dave pointed his index finger up as the farts continued, as if he was some kind of orchestra leader, and looked at me with a smirk, knowing that I was enjoying every moment of that gassy jam session.

I didn’t even know how much time passed this time, maybe 20 seconds. They laughed again, finally ending their unusual fart concert and complimented each other. I wish the trip lasted longer. I was ridiculously aroused. Was this a fart-contest? Because I’m pretty sure they’re both won.

Eventually, we arrived to Adam’s place; he was feeling better as he got up on his own, adjusted his hair a bit and patted his hands on our shoulders. “Thanks for the lift, cock-blocker!” he said, punching my shoulder in a friendly manner.

We made sure he got into his house safely and then headed to Dave’s. Only a couple of minutes later, I parked in front of his garage, both listening to some more music from the radio before ending the night-out. We kept chatting about the party, the host’s poor taste in music, but it was getting really late and the we didn’t want to wake up the entire neighbourhood.

“Alright, Tim. See ya tomorrow I guess…”

We bro-fisted, more than aware of how cheesy that was, and he opened the door.

“Oh, by the way…” again that smirk. “I am the fart master…”

He got out of the vehicle and closed the door behind him. Dave then squeezed his butt in loose jeans, almost sagging, through the car window a bit, and proceeded to rip yet another loud fart, this time just for me. I didn’t even time to react as I felt the warm gas engulfing the entire car, the smell becoming once again unbearable; it sounded like a loud chainsaw and lasted about 8 seconds.

My friend was just as surprised as me by the blast’s loudness and quickly got his butt out of my car, as some of the neighbours’ dogs started barking, hilariously annoyed by Dave’s fart.

“Oh my…” we both muttered, laughing.

I immediately started the car as my gassy friend rushed inside the house (this time he didn’t forget his house-keys). As I drove back to my house, I couldn’t help but smile the whole time: my best friends are gassy idiots; and that’s perfect. But Dave… well, he’s the best of all, farts or not. Whether the case, I really should plan a road-trip with him some day. And just thinking about that made my dick aroused again…

End of Episode 5

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

[five-rivers]

Cold Case

So, this is a continuation of Interview With a Ghost, my corpse AU.  Sort of.  Lots of outsider perspective.  

But, I’m too lazy to hunt down the tumblr links.  So.  Here’s the AO3 link to the series.  

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McGee braced himself before getting out of his car and walking into the precinct.  He’d heard all the jokes before, all the mindless digs at his name, and he liked to think that he’d grown a thick skin in response, but part of him still flinched every time.  

Plus, there was a reason he’d been sent to Amity Park.  That reason being the incredibly suspicious crime rate.  That is, the just shy of nonexistent crime rate.  Also, the billionaire mayor that had popped up out of nowhere.  And the high road repair and park maintenance bills.  

Oh, yeah, and the giant murder investigation that had just.  Disappeared.

The county wanted answers.  So, they sent McGee.  Of course, they didn’t tell the Amity Park Police Department that.  As far as they knew, he was just a transfer. Someone being shifted from one department to another.  

So, yeah.  Bracing.  Just like the wind.  Ouch, it was cold.  McGee wrapped his coat more closely around himself and began jogging through the otherwise deserted parking garage.  

The… underground parking garage.  Wind?  

McGee stopped and turned in place, trying to see where the breeze could have possibly come from.  There weren’t exactly any windows down here.  

Feeling more cautious, but not knowing why, McGee made his way more slowly to the elevator door and hit the call button.  The doors opened immediately.  Inside, a speaker tried to play music, but what came out of it was mostly ear-tearing static.  

Well.  If APPD was getting paid off by a mob or the town was skimming from road funds, they certainly weren’t using their ill-gotten gains on the elevators.  

When the doors opened, McGee was hit with a blast of warm air and Christmas music.  He kept his face carefully blank.  It had only just become December, and the police station was… it was… Well. McGee would have to call it ‘decked out,’ no matter how much he abhorred the phrase.  

… Why were there so many menorahs?

“Hey, are you John McGee?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said McGee, turning to face a remarkably plain man in a button-down shirt and a pullover sweater.  

The man had a pair of novelty felt antlers on his head.  They were decorated with bells.  How unprofessional.

“I’m Collins.  We’ll probably be working together at some point.  Same department.”

“Homicide?”

Collins raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t know what you were told, but we don’t have enough homicides to warrant a dedicated homicide department.  We get a one or two mysterious deaths every month, but it always turns out to be, like, anaphylaxis or something.”  He brought a mug to his lips and sipped slowly.  “Mostly we do vice, theft, fraud, and missing persons. Not much of that last one, either. Oh, we had an arson one time.  But it turned out it wasn’t really arson. Anyway, let’s get you checked in, and hopefully Patterson will be here by the time Captain Jones is done with you.”

“Patterson?”

“My partner.  You know, you being here gives us an odd number of detectives.  That’s going to be weird.”  He sipped from his mug again.  “Maybe we’ll promote someone.  Not Cameron Daily, though.”  Collins stared into the middle distance.  “No. Not Cameron Daily.  Love that man. He’s got to stay in tech support.”

“The captain?” prompted McGee.  

“Hah.  Yeah. You have to brave the secretaries, first.”  Collins patted McGee on the shoulder, and McGee suppressed the impulse to shake him off. “Good luck.  At least this is going to be a quiet month, right?”

.

McGee spent what was probably far too much time pondering what Collins had meant by ‘it’s going to be a quiet month.’  Did the APPD’s arrangement with the local criminals (because there had to be an arrangement) include forewarning concerning the crimes they did deign to investigate?  Or did they have statistics that indicated December was a low-crime time for Amity Park?

Orientation was highly typical, as far as these things went.  The only oddity were the advertisements and promotional pictures for the local tourist trap tapped up all over half the captain’s office.  Was the man a fan?  Did he believe in that ghost nonsense?  Was it some kind of bizarre joke?

At least the Christmas plague hadn’t made it this far.

“Right, now that we’ve got that part out of the way, let’s move on.  We normally like an even number of detectives, but the county moved you over so fast we couldn’t get you a partner, and no one is retiring.”  Jones rolled his shoulders and fixed McGee with a very sharp gaze.  “Do you know why the county was so… insistent with your transfer?”

Ah.  So, the captain was suspicious.  Time to put that backstory to good use.  

“Honestly, sir, I embarrassed someone, and I think they just spun the wheel on how to get rid of me.”

“Mhm.  See, usually when they do that, they pick from departments that actually put in requests for extra personnel.  We haven’t.”

“I think the main concern was just to keep me away.”

“I see.”  The level of suspicion in the man’s eyes did not change.  “You’re going to be with Patterson and Collins until you get your feet under you and we decide what to do about the partner situation. If the county will even let us out another detective on payroll.  Consider yourself on probation as far as whatever it is you’re doing with the county. Don’t put my detectives in danger.”

“Sir—”

“Whatever excuse you have, I don’t want to hear it. Go talk to Collins.  I know you met him.  Patterson probably isn’t here yet.”

.

Collins stood next to a woman in a coat with a long dark braid.  Both of their backs were to McGee.  He could see that they were talking to one another, making tight little gestures with their hands near their chests.  All the other occupants of the room stared at them without a modicum of shame.  

“—until he sees his first fight?  We’re supposed to babysit him until January?  We won’t be able to talk about anything!”

“Well, if you’d been on time, maybe we could have convinced the captain not to—”

Someone behind McGee cleared their throat. Loudly.  Collins and the woman turned, sheepishly.  

“Oh.  McGee. McGee, this is Patterson. Patterson, this is McGee.  You’ll be working with us, apparently.”

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to get out of your hair before too long,” said McGee.

“Don’t count on it.  How long have you been in town?” asked Patterson.  

“Only since yesterday.  Why?”

“We’re showing you around,” said Patterson, snatching the antlers from Collins’s head.  

“Consider it your last bit of freedom before you’re condemned to paperwork,” said Collins.  

.

Amity Park was odd, McGee decided.  

It wasn’t just the clashing but equally enthusiastic Halloween and Christmas decorations, the omnipresent construction, and the worrying number of holes in the road (really, there was no way the road repair budget was actually getting used on the roads).  There was something else.  Something McGee couldn’t put his finger on.  Something—

He did a double-take.  Were those two cosplaying the Ghostbusters?  Why?

How seriously did these people take their tourist trap nonsense?

“What are Jack and Maddie doing out?” asked Patterson.

“I don’t know,” said Collins.  He tilted his head to one side and pulled into a nearby convenience store parking lot.  “You’d think they’d be told; December is a quiet month.”

“Mhm.  Maybe they didn’t believe it?”

“They can be stubborn sometimes,” mused Collins. “But it would be nice if there was some action.”  He pulled the parking brake.  “You want to introduce McGee to the local celebrities?”

A look of indescribable disgust appeared on Patterson’s face.  “Why don’t you introduce them?”

“I did that last time.”

“No, you didn’t.  You rang their doorbell and then ran like the coward you are.”

Collins, without any hint of repentance, shrugged. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“This is different,” she protested.  “This isn’t just any new resident.  This is a coworker.  A coworker who isn’t going to see that kind of action for a whole month.”

“Action?” asked McGee.  This felt perilously close to what he’d been tasked to find out.  

“You’ll find out in a month,” said Collins. “Assuming you last that long.”

McGee frowned, and decided to take another risk and prompt the pair further.  “I know you have a low crime rate here,” he said, “but I’m sure there will be something for us to investigate before the end of the month.”

“Well, yeah,” said Collins.  “We don’t get paid for doing nothing.”

There was a sharp rap on the window, and everyone jumped.  God. It was just some kid.  McGee put a hand over his heart and tried not to think too hard about the time he had almost been killed in his car by a dirty cop and his gangster friends.

Collins rolled the window down, letting in a gust of frigid wind.  

“Hi, detectives!” chirped the teen.  “I heard you got a new guy!”

Oh.  That was interesting.  Was the local gang using children as in-betweens?

“Yep,” said Patterson.  “This is McGee.  McGee, this is Danny, the only sane Fenton.”

Danny tipped his head to the side and squinted. “I think that title needs to go to Jazz.”

“Danny, I hate to break it to you, but your sister is a lunatic,” said Patterson, completely serious.  

“Come on, you’re just saying that,” said Danny, staring openly at McGee.  

Did this kid blink?

“Anyway, I’ve introduced McGee to one Fenton, you get to do the others,” said Patterson, poking Collins in the ribs.

“Danny doesn’t count,” protested Collins, squirming. “He’s sane, like you said.”

“You’ll have to be fast.  Mom and Dad are like three blocks down the street chasing…”  He trailed off.  “Well, they think they’re chasing something, anyway.  Transient noise on their latest EMF reader.”  He rolled his eyes and finally blinked.  

“Think they might actually get anything?” asked Patterson.

“Nothing with a mind,” said Danny.  “Might have to play animal control soon, though.”  There was a loud crash and a squeal of rubber, followed by distant but still deafening engine noises.  Danny winced.  “Can you please give them a fine for driving around in that thing?”

“They have a special permit,” said Collins, shrugging.  “Straight from the mayor.  Nothing we can do.”

“I will bribe you to do something.”

McGee choked.

“With what?” asked Collins.  “You’re a penniless middle schooler.”

“Excuse you,” said Danny, crossing his arms. “You know I’m in high school.”

There was another crash.  

“Are you sure they haven’t found anything?” asked Patterson, leaning forward.  

“Absolutely positive,” said Danny.  He sighed.  “I should probably go, though.”

“Okay, have fun, Danny!”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of introductions, Patterson,” grumbled Collins.  

.

“Alright,” said Collins, opening a narrow door and turning on the buzzing yellow light within.  “Your kingdom awaits!”  He gestured grandly, disrupting clouds of dust.  “You’ll be entering old cases into the system.  Did Cameron Daily show you how?”

McGee’s lips twisted at the memory of the computer tech.  “Yes,” he said.  

“Yeah, Cameron gets that reaction,” said Collins, thumping McGee on the back.  “If it makes you feel better, he’s usually in charge of keeping track of the cults. Did he tell you about the VHS evidence?”

“The cults?”

“Yep.  You’ll learn about those later.  VHS?”

“Yes, he told me how to handle the VHS.”

“Great.  So, Patterson and I will be working on case paperwork in the main room, if you have any questions, come get us, okay?”

“I will,” said McGee.  

Collins nodded.  “If we wind up being assigned a case, we’ll come get you.”  He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder.  “The captain probably won’t give us anything today. Oh, and if Mayor Masters drops in, redirect him to the front desk.  There’s no reason for him to be back here.”

There was a good deal of hostility in Collins’ tone. Interesting.  

“Do you not get along with the mayor?”

“We get along fine,” said Collins.  “He just oversteps his authority, sometimes.”

“I… see.”

“Not yet you don’t,” said Collins, softly, before turning to walk away.  A “Good luck” was tossed casually over the man’s shoulder and seemed to echo in the air despite the hall being far too small for that to happen.  

McGee turned to his work and smiled.  They shouldn’t have left him alone with the records. This was where he did his best work. There was always a paper trail somewhere. ��

He opened the department-issued laptop and brought up the digital filing system.  

It was odd, though.  He’d spent years in the police, and he’d never heard of Fenton & Foley Information Systems.  

.

The department computer filing system was a miracle.  McGee meant that completely, as a connoisseur of filing systems.  He wondered if he could get the county to adopt it, assuming it didn’t tie back to the mob or something equally unsavory.  

On the other hand, it was only a couple months old, by the looks of it.  It was, therefore, mostly empty, as compared to the almost infinite number of filing boxes in the record room.  

The record room was not well organized.  In fact, it was barely organized at all.  Several of the boxes looked like they’d been beaten with a bat, others were singed.  A few dripped with something sticky and green. One or two looked as though they’d been drenched in water and then left to dry in a dark, damp room.  Only about half of them were labeled.  

To top it off, towards the beginning he’d found a post-it that had said: Boxy, if you steal these again, I’m going to leave you in the thermos for a week.  -Phantom

The people here were way too into their tourist trap shenanigans.  Unless they weren’t just tourist trap shenanigans.  Unless they were a front.  

He’d put that on his list of things to investigate.

But first, first, he was going to find the records for the murder that was recently swept under the table.

The newest boxes, despite being reasonably intact and therefore unique, weren’t easy to find, but he was able to drag them out and sit down with his laptop.  He could enter as he searched, and thereby give the illusion that he was a completely normal transfer more credence.  

Except.

Except.  The records for that murder didn’t seem to exist.  Not even in the cold case box.

“Hey.”

McGee jumped.  Patterson was standing behind him, holding two paper coffee cups.  

“How’s it going?” she asked.  “I know these records are hell.”

“Fine,” he said.  

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”  He took the offered cup from her.  “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but when I was working up at county, I heard that you had a murder case here, recently?  You dug up a teen’s body?”

“Oh, yeah.”  Patterson was unperturbed.  “Yeah, that was pretty exciting.  Collins and I were on that.”

“I can’t seem to find the records for it.”

“Yeah.  Well, there wasn’t any foul play.”  Patterson shrugged.  

“Wasn’t he found buried in a public park?”

“Well, aren’t you informed,” said Patterson. She sipped her coffee aggressively through the plastic stirring straw.  

“So, you found an illegally buried teenager’s corpse and just… dropped it?”

“We investigated it,” said Patterson.  “There wasn’t anything there.  Case was cold even without that.”  Another long, aggressive sip.  She couldn’t possibly be getting any coffee up through that straw.  It had to be mostly air.  

This was the most bizarre intimidation tactic McGee had ever come across in his entire life.  This was saying something.  Once he’d worked with a man who’d pretend to have the flu during interrogations.  

“You should still have records for the investigation.”

Patterson shrugged.  “You’d have to ask Captain Jones about that.  Anyway, I brought a bunch of tapes for you, too.  You’ll have to rewind them by hand, though, when you finally get to them.”  Another sip. “Are you planning on doing the salvage boxes?”

“The what?”

“The salvage boxes.  The ones that got fished out of the lake.  Wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t.  Just curious.”

“I’m- They were in a lake?  Why?”

“Stick around and find out,” said Patterson.  “Did Masters come bother you yet?”

“Mayor Masters?”

“The one and only,” said Patterson, raising her coffee in a mock toast.  

“Why would he come here?”

“Because you’re new, and theoretically a weak link. Oh, yeah.  One more thing.  I know your check-out time is in half an hour, but come back around eight, okay?”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

“Are you hazing me?”

“That’s what the salvage boxes are for,” said Patterson.  “Come back at eight.  Bye.” She waved as she left.  

Great.  What was he supposed to do about that?

.

He didn’t go home after checking out. Instead, he walked around town.  Patterson and Collins’ tour had been… interesting. Not terribly informative.  They had given him an overview of various restaurants, ‘paranormal hotspots,’ and places where dumb kids gathered to experiment with drugs of dubious legality.  

But they had avoided certain parts of town.  McGee had noticed.  

True, some of that was likely coincidence, but McGee had never heard of a public cemetery that wasn’t the site of something shady. Sure, a good caretaker would chase off anyone messing around in daylight, but cemeteries and graveyards just attracted trouble.  Even if that trouble was just the local goth kids running around while high out of their minds.  

But this cemetery, evidently, is different. Because there’s an unholy amount of people there for something that supposedly hallowed ground.  Is this also part of the weird ghost-theme the place had going for itself?  Were those tourists?  In the graveyard?  

That seemed to be in remarkably poor taste.  

McGee pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and lengthened his stride.  This whole town was in poor taste.  

Oddly, everyone seemed to be gathered around the same grave.  Maybe it was a funeral?  No, the ground in front of the headstone was long since patted firm, and the headstone, while obviously fairly new, had some evidence of weathering even from a distance.

Had there been a celebration today?  Memorial Day wasn’t today, was it?  McGee always lost track of those fiddly little holidays.

Huh.  The headstone was blank.

“Excuse me,” he said to a nearby woman.  “Do you know who was buried here?”

“You… don’t know?” she asked, eyes wide with surprise.  

McGee grinned.  “I’m new in town, I’m afraid, and I just saw all these people here… I’m curious, I guess.”

“Oh,” said the woman.  She looked away, every part of her body language screaming that she was coming up with a story to feed him.  A lie.  Or, at least, deciding which lie to use.  “Well, there was a body found a few months ago?  No one ever identified him, so… He was buried here?  We just, um.  It was sad, you know?  You’ll probably hear more about it if you stick around.”

Despite almost everything she said being a statement, she still managed to make everything but the last sentence sound like a question.  

Even if it was a lie…

“I hadn’t, actually.  Can you tell me what happened?”

… Maybe it was just what McGee needed.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 5/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be the best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible. 

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was normal, even if Eddie wasn’t skating. 

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his life, without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin. 

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — really listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen. 

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks through him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to this place?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways. 

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know why they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting married, Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He does stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go big, creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like this, never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re rooting for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too.”

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he needed to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his family, and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove right for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to be.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, really good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — right again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him. 

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable. 

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it. 

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really want to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s everything to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else. 

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he knows this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is great, actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck is happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a relief — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it: 

[from: Eddie] I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s good, that he deserves all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth. 

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better. 

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s really not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe from himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win. 

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share. 

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows exactly what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows now — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just stays with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t deserve this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I still do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You are good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s everywhere, his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that he put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t want to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything but Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to know he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a lot of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“We’re stupid?”

“Okay, I’m stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to convince you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers. 

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #fs au #ficcery #there's still so much figure skating drama left i hope y'all are psyched

[poisonedapples]

Lasting Impressions - Chapter One: Three Hours Before

Summary: Virgil makes a good friend at the weirdest time of day; four in the morning, where everyone and their dog is fast asleep. However, deciding to befriend that person ends up getting him into a lot more trouble than he could ever suspect. His new friend ended up going missing that same night. And Virgil was the last person to see him alive.

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, missing people, nightmares and anxiety, mentions of death, mentions of murder (regarding Disney characters), blood, mentions of drunkenness/alcohol, and swearing

Pairings: Familial Royality, platonic Prinxiety that still flirt with each other in this chapter

Word Count: 4,307

Notes: Heed the warnings, as this story (although not mentioned a lot in this chapter) will contain missing people, kidnapping, and its fair share of violence as we go along the story. Always read chapter triggers before you dive in, and if there’s a chapter or scene you can’t read, you can always DM me for a less graphic or trigger free version of it.

It was 3:51 AM when Virgil felt himself jolt awake in a cold sweat.

He frantically turned his bedside table lamp on, ignoring the pain of the blinding light on his adjusting eyes. It wasn’t often he got nightmares anymore, but God when he did, they were horrible. He could always barely remember what it was about; something with not being able to scream and a weird creature chasing him, but nothing more than that. Instead he was left to shake in his bed and attempt to breathe in for four seconds.

In for four...hold for seven- fuck, wait-...four...hold for seven…come on! In for four...sev- Are you fucking kidding me!?

Virgil jumped out of bed, ignoring the weakness in his legs and shakiness of his arms and threw on his hoodie and a pair of jeans. He only bothered with putting on a sports bra, instead of trying to breathe in his binder, then stuffed his phone in his pocket and walked out his bedroom door. He was careful not to slam it to not alert his roommate Elliott, instead quietly scooting himself to the front door of their apartment. Despite his haste, he double checked to make sure he locked the door before going down the apartment steps. Like always, Elliott would be none the wiser.

Virgil walked out to the front of the apartments and took a left down the block. His body was still shaking, but the fresh air always helped.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

...It’s gonna be another one of these days, isn’t it?

Virgil sighed. Anxiety was always the worst. Sometimes, all it took was for you to wake up in a certain mood and hope it was gone by the next day. He’d certainly gotten better over the years when it came to nightmares and having to run away at terrible times in the night, but disorders never completely went away. Not that he’d heard of, at least.

The air had a different feeling to it outside. Fall was cooling the atmosphere and giving Virgil a kind of contentment he could only reach in this time of year. Halloween decorations had filled store shelves before September ended, though none of those stores were open at this time in the early morning. Instead, Virgil walked down the street and occupied himself with looking at street lights and the occasional car passing by.

The very, very occasional car.

Virgil plucked his earbuds out of his hoodie pocket and plugged them into his phone, putting a random playlist on scramble to drown out the eerie silence. Everything was so quiet at this time. Usually in the city, the streets would be so noisy Virgil was more at risk of a sensory overload than being this kind of uneasy. In a way, walking alone in the dark was the worst way to recover from a nightmare, no matter how many times it became his solution. He felt watched.

...Shut up, no, don’t think like that. No panic attacks for you. Not in the middle of the damn street.

Virgil pressed his earbuds deeper into his ears, as if that could muffle his thoughts the same way it damaged his hearing.

At least the air was a nice change of pace. Fresh air always helped him when he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and now the chills in his body could be explained with a different reason. Even if it really wasn’t that cold outside.

Virgil felt the cold bring a sudden wind to the back of his feet. He almost jumped three feet in the air as his mind raced with thoughts of someone’s chasing you, but as he looked around, no one was there. 

He saw something move in the corner of his eye and jumped again. 

Virgil kept deathly still, like any sudden movement would bring this mysterious shadow to kill him. The only thing keeping him sane was the emo music blasting through his earbuds, the rest looking like something out of one of his horror movies.

He saw something in the corner of his eye again, shooting to look at the black blob right next to his foot. He took a sudden, sharp breath to stop himself from screaming such a sketchy time of night and darted his head around to find the source.

Underneath Virgil’s feet was a very offended looking squirrel. Before he could smack himself in the face for being an idiot, the creature scurried away and disappeared in a dark alleyway.

Virgil rubbed at his eyes. Jesus, he thought, I’m really on edge. It’s just a damn squirrel.

Still, Virgil turned around and walked faster until the alleyway was out of his sight. He sighed and attempted to calm himself down a little, but his chest still felt ready to burst from all the fear. He breathed in deeply, then out again.

His hands still shook, but it was okay.

Everything is alright.

He paused his speed walk long enough to continue his breathing patterns. He focused on the feeling of nighttime air instead of the what-ifs. He looked up to gaze at the dim stars, barely visible from so much light pollution, but still a soothing presence. With each time he counted a second of breathing in, he counted another star in the sky. The sight of twinkling lights with a bright moon in the sky was more than calming. It reminded him of the nights he’d spend on his parents roof, looking up and not bothering to think about what was down on Earth.

Up there, everything was quiet. Peaceful. There was no sound or responsibility. No student loans or nightmares, only emptiness with chunks of rock and gas. The chaos was too far away for you to really be bothered with it, you could watch from afar and be completely safe on your own floating rock. Out there, nothing mattered.

Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Everything is quiet. Everything would be okay.

The peacefulness was all that really mattered.

“Why hello, handsome!”

“Fuck!”

Virgil’s whole body jolted like an electric shock when an unexpected hand touched his shoulder. He yanked his earbuds out and turned to his attacker with wide eyes, fully ready to fucking slice the dude.

The idiot only smiled and waved. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you so badly! Are you alright?”

Virgil blinked. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.”

Before he could put his earbuds back in, the guy put both his hands on Virgil’s biceps and pulled his arms down. Virgil was fully ready to knock his teeth out and make a run for it, but before he could reel his arm back, he noticed blood and scratches all over the guy’s face.

Virgil did a double take at him long enough for the guy to get his damn hands off of him and smile. “I mean more than you being okay after I scared you. You seem to be quite on edge in general.”

Bitch, why do you care? “Well, it’s the asscrack of night, better be safe than sorry if you don’t wanna get murdered.”

He laughed. “Fair point, fair point. And what are you doing out at a time you call ‘the asscrack of night’, as you so elegantly worded it?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “How about it’s none of your business?”

The guy put his hand on his chest in feign offense. “So cruel to me! Here I was, trying to be a humble citizen and help you out, and this is the thanks I get?”

He rolled his eyes. “Get used to disappointment. The only reason I didn’t pummel you is because you look like a wreck.”

The guy put a hand to his face. “Is it the blood?”

“It’s definitely the blood.”

“Ugh, I suppose that’s what I get for trying to have a good time so late in the night! I’ll admit, I’m exhausted and also a little buzzed. So maybe trying to befriend a cat at 3 in the morning wasn’t my greatest idea.”

“It looks like that cat wanted to gut you alive.”

“... I’m not the best with animals.”

Virgil couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh. Something about a tipsy guy trying to flirt after being attacked by a cat was hilarious. “You sound like an idiot.”

“Just a little bit! But that’s what’s so endearing about me, I like to imagine.”

“You keep imagining then, Princey.”

The guy seemed to freeze in place. “... Princey?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, awkwardly coughing to try and play himself off as collected. Damnit Virgil, play it off! “Well I don’t know your name, and you sound like a spoiled, dramatic prince, so… You’re Princey now.”

The guy chuckled. Nailed it. “I guess that makes sense, I am very dramatic. But that’s just what makes me wonderful.”

“You tell yourself that.”

Virgil started to walk ahead of Princey, only for him to stumble over his feet to keep his pace with Virgil. At least he wasn’t too drunk, and he certainly didn’t seem harmless. Of course, Virgil hadn’t known him that long, but right now he just seemed like a major dork who wanted to talk to someone.

Relatable, honestly.

The guy kept his pace next to Virgil, though staying a reasonable distance away before standing up proudly and smiling again. “Though if you want to know my real name...it’s Roman. Roman Goldsberry.”

Virgil hummed. “S’up Roman. I’m not telling you my name, though.”

Roman gasped. “Why not!?”

“Because I’m not gonna make it that easy for you to find where I live and murder me.”

Roman shrugged and nodded his head. “Okay, fair. I guess.”

“Maybe if I meet you in a less sketchy place, I’ll consider telling you my name.”

“I suppose I’ll have to call you something else until then. Something that suits you.”

“Oh really? What do you think suits me?” Virgil asked.

“Something dark and brooding, maybe with a dash of paranoia. After all, that hoodie you have is quite the emo aesthetic.”

“You picked up my vibes pretty quickly there, damn.”

“I have many talents! Now, as for something to call you…” Roman seemed to think about it for a long time, “...I think I’ll call you Emo Nightmare!”

Virgil reeled. “...Thank you. Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Roman pouted like a toddler who dropped their candy. “Compliment!? Well now I can’t call you that! If you’re going to be so rude to me, then I should be able to be rude back!”

Virgil smirked, “Really now? Go ahead then, make a nickname that offends me.”

Roman seemed to think about it again, “Gerard Wayward?”

“Clever, but I don’t think you know what wayward means.”

“I’m only warming up! How about Brad Pitiful?”

“That one’s just funny.”

“Count Woelaf!”

“My feelings have yet to be hurt.”

“Surly Temple? JD-lightful? Incredible Sulk?”

“Literally where the fuck are you getting these?”

Roman put his hands on his hips. “I’m good at improv! Oh! What about Henry Ravens-brood?”

Virgil put an offended hand to his chest. “Now that one is mean. Congrats Princey, you just offended me.”

Roman clapped his hands together. “Fantastic! I knew I could- wait...you know Phantom Manor?”

Virgil shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a Disney fan.”

“You? A fan of fairytales and magic? I find that hard to believe based on your everything.”

“You barely even know me dude, don’t give yourself so much credit.” Virgil tried not to smile at Roman’s dramaticized offense. “And that’s way too much of an oversimplification for Disney. I mean seriously, Constance Hatchaway fucking murdered ten of her husbands! Who even marries that many people?”

“I’ll have you know that she had five husbands, not ten! Also that hardly counts, it’s a ride all about ghosts! Of course people have to die!”

“Doesn’t mean she had to hack them to death. They could have toned down the axe murdering part.”

“Please, that’s nothing compared to the scene where Mufasa gets trampled. It’s not like you watch the murder happen, you only see it implied with the paintings and when her bouquet turns into an axe on the ride!”

Virgil smirked. “So you admit that Disney can get dark sometimes.”

Roman scoffed, seemingly at a loss of words. “I never said that!”

“You literally just said that Mufasa’s death scene is really dark.”

“It was a necessary part of the plot! Simba would have grown up to be a selfish king who only cared for power if he didn’t have to save everyone from Scar!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s super dark and not just ‘fairytales and magic’, Princey.”

Roman did an overdramatic, offended gasp as his hand went to his chest once again. Is that the only emotion this dude knows? “I can not believe you! Twisting my words in such a fiendish way!”

“Seriously dude, are you a clown or some shit as your day job? Because the way you act is kind of hilarious.”

The offense dropped from Roman’s face almost immediately, replaced with a soft, yet still prideful smile better fit for this time at night. “I’m going to ignore the clown part and say that actually, I’m an actor for the community theater only a couple blocks from here. That usually tends to explain my behavior to people.”

“Sounds about right, yeah. You any good?” Virgil asked.

“I like to imagine so! In three days from now, I’ll be playing the lead of Fiddler on the Roof for our fall musical! I’m usually too busy to make the bigger shows, but I tried my best to find the time this year.” Roman’s proud smile faltered for a moment into something softer, more sad. Like he was suddenly grieving a lost memory. “...Though I might end up having to miss it after all.”

Virgil tilted his head to the side. “Why’s that?”

Roman shrugged, and for a second, Virgil could see past the dramatics and pride. He looked lonely, almost. “Personal stuff. Since you won’t even tell me your name, I believe I’m inclined to keep that information to myself.”

“You always tease people this much?”

Roman chuckled. “Not usually. But I am exhausted, so maybe I’m a little slap happy.”

Virgil pulled out his phone to look at the time. 4:19 AM. Holy shit. “Yeah, no wonder. It’s late as shit, and I gotta wake up at eleven today.”

“I think maybe you should go home then. I would offer to walk you, but considering you won’t say your name, I doubt you’ll let me know your address.”

“You got that right. You should go home too, before someone kidnaps you.”

Roman stopped suddenly, right below a street light. He turned around to face Virgil with such a sad smile, but Virgil couldn’t tell if that was from exhaustion or not. He looked at Virgil so softly for a long moment in a way that made him feel vulnerable. “Perhaps you’re right, but don’t worry your angsty heart about it, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, fair.”

“Though, you are making me think, Emo Nightmare.”

Virgil tried his hardest not to blush. “Think about what?”

“Maybe you would like to see the show?” Roman asked, “I won’t be able to participate, but I’d love to hear how it went. And if you like Disney, maybe you can appreciate a classic musical as well.”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, maybe. What days?”

Roman straightened his maroon polo and brushed nonexistent dirt off one of his sleeves. “If you go to the Sanders Community Theater website, it’ll show you all the details. I would tell you myself, but it’s a lot of information, and I really need to be heading out, sadly.”

Virgil took one last look at Roman. Even with a scratched up face and knuckles, he still looked like the softest person Virgil could ever meet. He was dramatic yet funny, and he didn’t seem to actually want to cause any harm. If anything, he just seemed like a humble idiot who wanted to make a friend late at night. Considering Roman also called him handsome, maybe he wanted a little bit more, but Virgil didn’t really mind. For someone who was tipsy and exhausted at four in the morning, Roman seemed like a good guy.

Maybe he’s not so bad.

“I’ll, uh…” Virgil hesitated, “I’ll be sure to check it out if I can. We all need a break sometimes.”

“We do.” Roman whispered.

“Yeah, so go home and get some sleep. I know you’re tipsy, but don’t get yourself murdered by being out here all night.”

Roman let out a tired sigh, looking behind himself as if to check if he could see his destination from where he stood. “You’re right about that, Jack Skellington. But I have one more pit stop to make, so don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

“If you say so, I guess.”

Roman turned back to Virgil. “Though, if you’re interested...maybe you and I could swap phone numbers? So you can tell me about the show if you see it, and so our destined crossing on a raven black night doesn’t go to waste?”

Virgil snorted. “Raven black night?”

“I’m tired, shush. Let me be my own type of poetic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, I guess.”

Roman took out his phone and pressed a couple buttons before handing it to Virgil. Virgil stared at it before taking it with a smirk. “...Android, huh?”

Roman didn’t just roll his eyes, he rolled his entire head. “Oh, shush and put in the darn number!”

Virgil laughed but did as he was told anyway, putting in his number and saving the contact as Emo Nightmare before handing it back to Roman. 

Roman smiled at the name so fondly Virgil’s heart almost broke. This dude’s gonna be pretty damn disappointed when he finds out my name is fucking Virgil, of all things. “Do you mind if I send you a text to make sure it works?”

“Nope.” Virgil said with a popped p.

Though, instead of sending a random letter or a hello like a normal fucking person, Roman posed under the street light and held his phone up for a selfie. He ran his hands through his hair in a fruitless attempt to fix its messiness but eventually gave up, smiling for the camera and dropping the pose long enough for Virgil to feel his phone buzz in his pocket.

Virgil pulled it out:

Unknown sent a photo

Unknown: Make sure to remember this beautiful face :P

He shook his head with disapproval, but also to hide his smile behind the safety of movement. “Seriously?”

“Don’t you worry Beetlejuice, you’ll get used to it after knowing me for long enough.” Roman tried to flip his hair back, but considering it was way too short to do so, it was a fail. “Though if I don’t respond to any texts you may send these next few days, don’t worry too much about it. I’m going to be awfully busy and won’t have my phone on me.”

“Alright, noted.” Virgil sighed and put his phone in his pocket. “Talk to you later then, Princey?”

“I sure hope so. Though, Brad Pitiful?”

“Pretty sure you already said that one, but yeah?”

“It’s 4:24 AM right now. Don’t forget that number. Considering it’s the time you last saw me, I’m sure it has some kind of luck to it.”

Virgil almost physically facepalmed at that. “You have such an ego.”

“It’s what people love about me!” Roman laughed as he dropped the overexaggerated smile for a second to replace it with seriousness. “Though, I am serious about you seeing the show. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I’ll look into it at least, promise. Though for now, I’m fucking tired and I gotta go.”

Roman hummed, and without another word, the two turned in opposite directions to head to their next destination. Which for Virgil, was straight to bed until he woke up wondering if all of this was a fever dream. He did hear one last thing be called out to him: “So long, Dark and Stormy Night!”

Virgil didn’t respond, he only waved behind himself and hoped Roman saw it. When he turned the corner and was for sure away from Roman’s sight, he pulled out his phone and went to his contacts.

New contact added: Prince Underarm Stink

Satisfied with himself, Virgil walked the next couple blocks back to his apartment. Once he opened the door, he crashed onto his bed without bothering to change, letting sleep overcome his body as fast as it had woke him up in the first place.

I’ll text him tomorrow morning, he thought, just to test it out. Even if he doesn’t respond.

That was the last thing Virgil thought before he fell right to sleep.

***

It had been three days since the night Virgil met Roman. He’s sent one text every morning since then, but had yet to get a response to any of them. Considering Roman said he would be busy, he wasn’t too worried. If Roman didn’t respond in more than a week, though, he would consider himself ghosted.

Oh well, it was a stretch thinking the cute guy I met at 4 AM would text me back anyway.

On the third morning, Virgil sent a text saying You there yet??? Lol, before packing up his stuff and starting to walk to his classroom campus.

The walk was normal, nothing but other college students bumping into each other on the street and in the hallways until he made it to his classroom, leaning back in his seat and checking his phone.

No text messages, but he did have a couple notifications on Tumblr. Not surprising, but it was still something to occupy himself with.

A few more kids entered the classroom, stopping in the doorway right behind Virgil. “D’you know anything about this?” One of them asked.

“Nope. The guy doesn’t look familiar.” The other said.

“Damn. A ten thousand dollar reward would do wonders for a college loan.”

Virgil slowly lowered his phone back into his pocket at the sound of cash. With this amount of eavesdropping, he felt like a cartoon character with their ear growing five times in size.

“That could pay one year’s worth of a dorm. Ten grand doesn’t do shit for loans anymore.”

“Still dude, that’s ten grand you don’t gotta work for. I wish I had that.”

“Then go looking for information on this guy, I guess.”

The first guy laughed. “Maybe! I hope they find him, though. It’s always sad to hear about missing people. They usually find their bodies, like, a month later.”

“Yeah, well, people are fucked up. Now come on, I need your notes.”

“Again!? Dude, you’re a damn mooch.”

The two voices faded away to Virgil’s left as they walked away. Once the two guys sat down, Virgil turned around to squint at a paper he hadn’t noticed when he first walked in, even getting out of his chair to take a better look.

Though the moment he got closer, Virgil felt his stomach fill with lead.

Missing: Roman Goldsberry. Last seen October 2nd. Virgil stared at it for a suspicious amount of time. His eyes were widened like a bug ready to be squashed, ripping the paper off the wall and taking a closer look. No matter how many times he squished the paper to his face and examined every letter written, the facts were logically unmistakable. This is the guy I met.

The guy I met on October 3rd.

Virgil wanted to vomit. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t be. Stuff like this doesn’t just happen, you don’t meet someone only for them to go missing that same fucking day!

Is this why he wasn’t responding to his phone!? Because someone grabbed him off the street and locked him in a truck!? Because he’s somewhere in the middle of the woods, probably being tortured right this second!?

It isn’t him. It can’t be. I’m remembering it wrong. Missing people just freak me out. They’re not. The same. Person.

Virgil felt a lightbulb go off in his head. The photo.

Roman took a photo of himself before they parted ways. He’d even said not to forget his face with that stupid egotistical smile that made Virgil wanna roll his eyes so far they went into the back of his head.

Grabbing his phone was like trying to grab an ice cube off the floor, but Virgil managed it, shakily opening his phone and going into his recent contacts.

Picture, picture, picture...there!

Virgil put his phone and the paper on his desk and compared them. Same hair color. Same hair style. Same smile. Same eyes. The only difference is the clothing.

He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to pick apart every possible difference in the photos until he somehow managed to convince himself they were different people. But there was no way. Even in his hysteria, there was no way he could ignore that he had seen someone hours before their possible demise.

...He couldn’t stay here listening to a lecture. He didn’t care about his grade tanking because of a zero on attendance, or about the homework he’d miss turning in if he left, he had to do something. He had to help somehow, even if Virgil didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

The professor had just stepped in front of the class and started to speak. Virgil grabbed his bag and didn’t hear a word that was said.

He ran out the door and didn’t come back.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts roman #roman sanders #lasting impressions #blood mention #kidnapping #nightmares #anxiety #death mention #murder mention #alcohol mention #drunkenness #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts sides

[princess-of-riviaa]

Little Lady: Chapter 4

Prologue + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Series Summary: Vixen “Vix” is a lady of the night. Clark Kent, a centuries-old vampire, has a compelling interest in her.

Chapter Summary: Natalie takes a lesson in self-discovery.

Warning(s): mentions of drugs and alcohol, dirty dancing, mentions of sex

Word Count: 1,860

The paralytic spell breaks, but nothing between Clark and me changes. I don’t remember anything, don’t feel any sort of timeless connection to him. Disappointment makes my stomach knot and my chest hollow. And then I feel dumb for wasting all this time, for even believing all of this man’s bullshit to begin with.

“I’m leaving,” I spit, getting up from the couch.

In the time that has passed, Clark has taken a seat on the couch beside me. He watches me rise to my feet now. His face falls. “Why?”

“Because not only are you insane, but you’re a liar,” I growl. “I’m leaving and if you follow me, I will call the police. You’re not allowed back at Lilith’s either.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t have much of an argument anyways. Everything I said is true: he’s nothing but a lying psycho. Even if he is hot.

I struggle to find my way through the house, since I wasn’t conscious when I was brought in here, but after one wrong turn I make my way to the front door. It’s not a house, I realize. It’s an apartment complex. And Clark owns the whole thing. Every floor is vacant save for the top one, the one that Clark and Diana are currently on, and the silence is eerie as I make my way through the lobby.

Traffic and pedestrians buzz with noisy activity outside. It’s such a stark contrast to the empty silence on the other side of those apartment doors. I make my way to the end of the street and wait for the crosswalk light to flash.

“Natalie!” someone shouts from behind me.

I spin to find Clark coming after me. Is he serious right now? I told him not to come after me. I begin walking away from him, into the street--

And that’s when it happens.

Everything moves so fast. The car honk registers in my brain first and I turn towards the sound. A taxi is hurtling towards me. Though the driver had slammed on his brakes, he won’t stop before he hits me, and at the speed he’s driving, I won’t survive the crash. It’s stupid, what I do next: I put my hands out in front of me, as if that will save me from the car. I put my hands out and I brace for the hit--

It never comes.

I count four, five seconds. Nothing. I open my eyes to see what happened--only to gawk at the sight in front of me. Everything--the cars, the pedestrians on the sidewalks, even the birds in the air--is frozen. Everything except me. I look back at the sidewalk to find Clark frozen mid-sentence, his mouth pursed as he forms words that won’t come out. There’s no way this is possible. I’m dreaming. That’s it. Clark gave me some sort of drug with very vivid dreams as a side effect. That’s the only explanation. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way time is stopped right now.

I look down at my hands, still outstretched in front of me. I begin to lower them. As I do, time slowly picks up again. I tense up again and just like before, everything goes still. I lower and raise my arms over and over, realizing the unexplainable connection between my body and the time alteration.

You’re a time traveler, Clark had said.

Amidst my confusion and disbelief, I manage to gain enough self-awareness to walk back to the sidewalk. When I lower my arms again, the taxi that would have hit me screeches to a stop. The cars behind him honk, but the driver ignores them and looks at the street incredulously, like he could have sworn he was about to hit something.

“You just did it, didn’t you?” Clark asks, now by my side.

The look in my eyes is answer enough, which is good because I don’t think I can speak right now.

“Now will you come back inside?” Clark asks, his voice calmer, soothing.

I nod and follow him back into the apartment. “Clark,” I say once we’re in the elevator, “how the hell did I do that?”

He clenches his jaw, looking disappointed. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. The gift of time manipulation is only understood amongst those with the gift. I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried.”

“I almost died,” I say. Hearing the words out loud is… startling. I should be in pieces on the street right now, but somehow I’m still in one piece. “I almost fucking died.”

“But you didn’t,” Clark counters. “You’re still here. You’re safe. That’s what you normally try to focus on--the good things that come out of your gift. It’s the only way you’re able to stay sane.”

Clark wasn’t lying, I realize. He wasn’t lying about any of it.

I look up at him, suddenly afraid. “You’re… a vampire. Like, a blood-sucking, undead vampire.”

He winces. “Undead is a, um, sort of derogatory term amongst my kind.”

“Oh,” I say as my face warms. “I’m sorry.”

He gives me a soft smile. It meets his eyes and I swear the way his eyes shine… it makes my toes curl. I want him looking at me like that when I kneel in front of him.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “If you were telling the truth, then why isn’t our bond thing working? I mean, we’re supposed to feel something, I’m assuming. And I don’t feel a single thing.”

He sighs as the elevator dings and comes to a stop at the top floor.. “I don’t know. That’s what we’re going to find out. Diana will have the answers we need.”

The floor is shaking when we step out of the elevator. Actually shaking. Someone is blasting music from the floor below enough to make the building vibrate.

“What’s that?” I question.

“Diana, probably,” Clark answers without having to think long on it. “She has a party tonight.”

The sophisticated woman I’d met when I’d first woken up here didn’t seem like the partying type, but I guess I should know better than to judge a book by its cover. I turn back around and press the elevator button.

“Then let’s go talk to her,” I say.

“She’s preoccupied,” Clark protests. He says it like attending her party is the last thing I want to do. “Natalie--”

“We’ll ask her our questions and then leave her to her business. It’s not like we’re crashing the party.”

The elevator doors open again and I step inside. Clark stays in the room, hesitant.

“Are you coming?” I wonder.

“No, and neither are you,” he protests.

“We need answers--” I begin just as the doors start to close.

“Get off the elevator!” Clark exclaims. “You’re not going down there!”

I don’t have time to reply before the doors shut and I’m brought to the second floor. The doors open and I step into what can only be described as a rave. There’s glowing lights, music so loud it’s deafening, and people running around like they’re high. The smell of smoke is strong in the air and I begin to cough. Someone bumps into me as I move further into the room. Their drink spills onto my clothes and I turn to glare at whoever spilled it, but I can’t find the culprit. Suddenly someone’s hand wraps around my arm and yanks me through the crowd. I nearly trip over my feet as I’m roughly dragged along behind them. I turn to see that it’s Clark. He doesn’t stop until we’re inches from the door to the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” I scream over the music, rubbing out the ache in my shoulder.

“I told you not to go down here!” he yells back, his blue eyes colder than ever.

“We need answers--” I argue.

“Those can wait,” he insists. “You’re not safe here.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means the smoke in the air is a drug and every second you stand here breathing gets you higher,” he explains.

I frown--and then become so lightheaded I nearly collapse. The air in my lungs feels thinner, crisper, and something deep inside of me opens its eyes after a long slumber. Something that feels like power courses through me. I feel capable of anything, completely unstoppable. I could do anything I want.

I want to dance with Clark.

“Shit, you’re already high,” Clark realizes as my expression changes. He reaches for my hand. “We need to leave--”

I let our fingers intertwine, memorizing the way his hand molds with mine before I drag him towards the center of the room. I begin to sway my hips, not bothering to look if he’s dancing too. The music pulses through me, mixes with my blood, becomes the air I breathe. My body moves easily along with the music. I’m lost in a trance under the lights and the sounds of this place. I never want to leave.

Suddenly my back is flush against Clark’s chest and I’m bringing his hands to wrap around my hips. I don’t know when I moved to be pressed up against him, but I have no complaints. I grind my ass into him, feeling him begin to grow hard.

“I want you to touch me,” I tell him, dragging his hand down my body. A heat so intense it’s electric travels between us, igniting every part of my being. I want him alone and naked and on top of me, fucking me hard. I want him buried inside of me, stretching me out--

“It’s the drug,” Clark whispers in my ear, his voice drowning out every other sound around me. “It prevents you from controlling your basic desires.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” I turn around to face him, our chests brushing as I lean up to kiss him.

His mouth is hot and smooth against mine. Though he’s hesitant, he doesn’t pull back or push me away, especially not when my tongue sneaks it’s way between his lips and collides with his own. Clark’s hands grab onto my hips, pressing me against him. My body burns as my heart hammers in my chest. I want him to fuck me--I need him to fuck me.

“Fuck me, Clark,” I moan. “I need to feel you inside of me.”

He growls against my mouth and the sound makes my toes curl. “I will,” he promises before wrapping his hands around the back of my thighs and picking me up. My legs wrap around his torso automatically as I lean in to kiss him again. He kisses me back eagerly as he somehow manages to get out of the crowd at the same time. Only when we’re back in the stairwell, the music fading behind the closed door, does he pull away from me.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says again. “But you’re going to be in your right mind when I do it. I don’t want you forgetting a second of me being inside of you.”

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira​ @hnryycvll​ @littlefreya​ @celestial-vomit​ @lestersglitterglue​ @watermeloncavill​ @honeychicana​ @penwieldingdreamer​ @mary-ann84​ @elixasays​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @noz4a2​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @omgkatinka​ @lunedelorient​ @aphrodites-punch​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iloveyouyen​ @deathonyourtongue​ @utterlyhopeful​ @wondersofdreaming​ @tsukuyomi011​ @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken​ @jayismz @emelinelovesjc @palaiasaurus64​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @henrythickcavill​ @secretlyactivated​ @madbaddic7ed​ @persephonehemingway​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @thedarkplume​ @spookypeachx​ @pensieveforyourthoughts​ @aletheladyinred​ @littlemissthistle

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#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #clark kent #clark kent imagine #clark kent smut #clark kent fic

[reidimagines]

Concequenses for tomorrow

(a/n): okay so I’m starting another ‘series’. well, you can read each one individually, they’re not connected. basically, kiss series. i have an app that picks a name, so that’s how i’m picking the characters. if you want a certain character, you should let me know and i’ll make it happen!

Drunk/ sloppy kiss with Aaron Hotchner

Kiss series

“I need a drink,” Emily said, rubbing her forehead. You slumped down next to her, sighing. 

“I need ten.” It had been a hard case, and while it had ended okay, you felt defeated. 

“Come on,” Morgan said. “I’ll see who I can convince to go to the club. We all need at least one drink.” 

He wasn’t wrong. The case had taken a toll on everyone. The best thing would be going to bed, but everyone knew that wasn’t an option. The sleep wouldn’t even be okay, not without a whole lot of drinks. 

No one needed much convincing. 

A little less than an hour later, you were lined up at the bar, watching your friends dance with a cheeky grin. You liked watching them dance in a totally not creepy way. You liked seeing them a bit relaxed, laughing and enjoying themselves. 

“You know you can join them, right?” Hotch said. 

You grinned at him. You knew you could, but you were perfectly happy with his company. “I’m good here,” You shrugged, pretending as if moment like these didn’t mean everything to you. 

You knew you definitely shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help but be helplessly attracted to your boss. It didn’t interfere with your work at all, but in moments like these, relaxed and not working, it was hard to fight it. You took another shot. Maybe you should go dance, give your mind something to do- 

“Well, what if I asked you to dance?” 

You couldn’t believe your ears, was sure you were having a fever dream until he looked at you, expecting an answer. “I’d love to.” You managed, your voice small and strangled. In all your time here, you’d never expected Aaron Hotchner to ask you to dance. He did sometimes dance, although a bit awkwardly, and shortly, but asking you to dance, that was something else. 

You noticed JJ and Morgan looked at the two of you joining the group, more like stares. Especially when the both of you moved a bit away from the group to dance. It wasn’t an intimate dance, more a clumsy, drunk dance. Bodies were bumping into the both of you, forcing you closer and closer, until you could just feel your face burning up.

“I need another drink,” Hotch said over the music after the second song. A bit rilled up, you smiled at him. 

“I’ll come with you,” You yelled over the music, wrapping a hand around his arm so you wouldn’t lose him. It had become busy quite fast, and while you enjoyed it, you knew you’d need air at some point. 

You watched him order his drink from one of the standing tables, your cheeks flushed with heat, alcohol, and the thought of Aaron close to you. 

He returned, placing a drink in front of you. You smiled, thanking him and drinking in silence. There wasn’t much to be said, and even if there was, there was too much noise, anyway.

You felt the alcohol, felt yourself become a bit giddy, knew that if you could, you’d probably say things you regretted. You tried never to get too tipsy when you were out with the team, it wasn’t you intention now, but it had happened, and there was little you could do about it. Your common sense seemed to be fading as you sipped the cocktail Aaron had bought you with a grin, although there was no reason for it. 

“What’s so funny?” 

You looked at him, the grin changing to a lazy smile as you rested your elbow on the table, resting your temple on your hand. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

It was true. He couldn’t. It wasn’t even funny, per say, you were just… happy, enjoying the quiet company. It never felt like that when you were working together, when you were sitting together and talking on the jet. It never felt quite like this. You knew it was probably because you were both intoxicated, a bit too drunk to feel responible for things as silly as feelings and attraction. 

Even though he was probably feeling the alchol, too, you doubted he felt the same as you, doubted he felt the butterflies dancing to a crazy song, doubted he even knew what was happening inside of you. 

“You’re staring,” He said. You barely heard him over the music that was still blasting. You’d lost track of where the others were, and even though you were in a busy club, it felt as if you were the only people on the earth. A delicious kind of loneliness. “Are you okay?” 

You knew your face was telling him something, because if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have asked. Or maybe he would, you didn’t know him as well as you wished you did. “Sorry, I think I need some air.” 

You drank the last bit of your drink, and moved through the crowd to the door. Once you were out, you knew you couldn’t go back inside, but it was fine. The little room was too pressing, too suffocating. You stepped out, feeling the cool air on your skin. You shrugged your jacked on, moved a bit further, where it was calmer, and leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. The world was spinning when you closed them, but somehow it felt good. You needed to actually feel how much you drank, and force yourself to not do anything stupid. 

“Hey,” You opened your eyes, and soon the world was calm again. Aaron was standing near you, and you smiled again. 

“You didn’t have to come,” You chuckled. “I’m old enough.” 

“I know,” He said. “I told the team I’m bringing you home.” 

Home. Such a vague concept. Was it really a home if you were always itching to leave again, to not spend another night alone, and to hear at least something. “Why?” In a way, it felt… weird. You could easily take a taxi by yourself, why did he want to come with you? You were sane enough to throw a punch if a doucebag approached you, too. 

He seemed taken back, you usually just agreed, shrugged, never minding the company. It wasn’t like you weren’t glad now, it was just… different. “I don’t know,” It was probably the most honest answer he’d ever given you, and for once, you could read it off his face. 

“Are you drunk?” You asked, because if he was… well, certainly nothing could happen. You wouldn’t let it, but if he was sober enough-

“I’m sober enough,” His voice was holding something, but you couldn’t pinpoint what. You wondered if it really mattered what his voice was trying to hide. 

Despite yourself, you giggled softly, pushing yourself from the wall and moving towards the street, hoping a taxi would pass soon enough. “Good,” You said, turning back around, your back towards the road, as you grinned once more. “Me too.” 

You didn’t know what to expect, although you did have a few scenarios you wouldn’tl mind happening at all. He moved closer, and when you thought he might do the unthinkable, something you’d rarely dared to dream of, he pulled you away from the road and signaled a taxi. 

You were blushing on the sidewalk, barely a step behind him. A taxi pulled up, and, like the gentleman he was, he let you in first. 

It was silent after you’d given the driver the address, but eventually, he turned to you. “Why did you ask-” 

You interrupted him, sober enough that you knew you had to say something, but tipsy enough to dare and speak what had been on your mind for a long time. “Be honest,” You took his face in as you paused, licking your lips. “Why did you follow me?” 

He looked at you for a long moment, you could see the internal battle of what to say. “I hoped maybe I was courageous enough to break the rules.” 

You would do something, anything, if you were sure he wanted it. You moved closer, it was only a bit, but it was enough to get the message across, you were sure. “Are you sober enough to be sure?” 

“Are you sober enough to face the consequences?” He shot back, making you grin. 

“Sounds like a problem for tomorrow,” You whispered, finally daring to glance at his lips. You let your hand slip closer to him. “I’m sober enough to know I’ve waited long enough.” 

That seemed to say enough, because if he hadn’t leaned over, you would have. It was awkward, kissing in the backseat of a car. The seatbelt was digging in your chest and neck, but you didn’t care, not when he kissed you hard, the taste of beer still in his mouth. His hand found the back of your neck, tugging you closer. 

Moving feverishly, you undid your seatbelt, sliding in the middle seat without breaking the kiss. Your mouths moved fast, there was so much tension that was finally being released. You let your hands move over his chest, eventually gripping his jacket when he kissed you in a way that made your knees weak. 

You tugged him closer, and his hands travelled over your body, moving over your back, slipping under your shirt, as if he couldn’t touch enough of you at once. 

The car stopped before you even realized how much time had passed. Lost for breath, you both pulled back, a bit disorientated, a bit lightheaded, and very happy. “Want to come in with me?” 

He chuckled, he actually chuckled. “Consequences are for tomorrow, right?” 

You nodded, paying the driver and getting out. He followed you. “It’s what I live by.” Any other day, you wouldn’t have said something like that to your boss, but he seemed happy to hear it. 

“Lead the way.” He said with a need in his voice, one that you were happy to hear. You smiled, taking his hand and moving to the door of your apartment block with a full heart and a mouth full of laughter and happiness.

#kiss series #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (3/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,861

masterlist

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

three.

On Monday, Emily took Carrie to her first day of school. Hotch had wanted to come, but he had to take Jack to nursery. Secretly, Emily was pleased to have this moment alone with Carrie. She remembered all too well the feeling of starting a new school, getting used to a whole new set of customs and rituals.

She had called the principal yesterday and received her express assurances that Carrie would be able to start school mid-year. Her credits would transfer over, but Emily knew that wasn’t the difficult part. It was starting classes when everyone else knew each other’s names, when they had silently picked a seating chart and knew who they’d partner with for group projects.

Carrie had insisted on finding the school office by herself, although Emily had offered to come with her. She had suggested (facetiously, knowing Hotch would never tolerate it) that her FBI badge might help smooth things over, which had drawn a much-needed laugh. She had also suggested that Carrie should think about taking some honors classes, but decided to shelve the conversation when she saw the obvious flashbacks her request had caused.

They pulled up in front of the school, an imposing brick building that reminded Emily of the quintessential high school from every teen movie. Students were already streaming into the building, chattering as they went along. 

Emily searched for the right words to assure Carrie that she was capable of doing this. She was sure Hotch would have made an eloquent speech, but heartfelt sentiments were never her forte. She settled for flashing Carrie a smile and a thumbs-up.

Carrie smiled back and reached across the console to hug Emily, who reciprocated with only a moment’s hesitation. Two hugs in almost as many days was new territory for Emily, who tended to receive them more on a bimonthly basis, but she had a feeling it might become the new normal.

Emily watched Carrie walk towards the school until she had disappeared through the front doors. The honks of cars behind her informed her that she was holding up the carpool line, but Emily didn’t feel even a little sorry.

~

By Wednesday, Emily knew the jig was up. JJ had been shooting her and Hotch strange glances all day, looking as if she was trying to resist blurting something out in front of the entire bullpen. As Emily passed by JJ’s office, she felt a hand dart out and grab her wrist. Before she could respond, Emily was pulled into the darkened office.

“What do you want?” She knew, of course, but it was better to let it play out. There was a chance, albeit minuscule, that JJ simply wanted Emily’s help in planning a surprise party for Rossi. 

“Is this true?” JJ thrust the paper into Emily’s face. It was the address change form that she had just submitted. Damn. She and Hotch had been hoping the paperwork would pass to Strauss unnoticed, but they should have known JJ was never anything less than thorough.

“Yeah, it is.” She’d answered the question, technically, but they both knew that wasn’t what JJ was really asking.

“But you’re not attracted to men.” Emily had come out to JJ during one of their “girls’ nights,” while Garcia was fetching another round of drinks. JJ had been talking about some guy at the bar who she thought was cute, and Emily had felt something snap in her. She didn’t want to have to hide anymore: she knew JJ would be accepting even if she didn’t fully understand. And so Emily had blurted it out before she really knew what she was doing. JJ, to her credit, had blinked once before asking Emily if there were any girls at the bar she thought were good-looking. 

“Thanks, I know.” She hadn’t meant to sound so peeved, and regretted it immediately when she saw a look of hurt flash on JJ’s face.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Some days it felt as though that was JJ’s real job, caring for the team and trying to remind them not to lose sight of the mundane life they were fighting to protect. It was mostly futile, and they all knew it.

“I know,” said Emily, smiling at JJ and reaching out to squeeze one of her hands. 

JJ looked horrified as a thought came to her. “Hotch didn’t make you do this, did he?” At that, Emily nearly doubled over with laughter.

“God, no. If anything I forced his hand.” JJ looked confused, and Emily didn’t blame her. Present situation included, there were very few worlds in which Emily would voluntarily ask Hotch to move in with her.

“So, remember when you said you could see me with kids?” JJ nodded, realization beginning to dawn on her face. “Well, Hotch is currently helping me take care of Carrie and neither of our apartments was suitable for two adults, a teenager, and a very energetic toddler.”

“Does he know about…” JJ gestured vaguely at Emily. “...you?” This time, Emily didn’t bother pretending innocence.

“No,” she said. “And I don’t plan on telling him. There’s no reason for me to do so. Even if our marriage is a sham, that doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on him.” Emily had been firm in that belief since she had hatched this scheme. Hotch was a man who took fidelity seriously, and she couldn’t do that to him, especially after Haley.

JJ clasped her other hand around Emily’s and squeezed. “Don’t get hurt, okay? And if you do, tell me so I can kick his ass into next week.”

Emily grinned. The fierceness of JJ’s love reminded her of how lucky she was to have found her place at the BAU. “Just, please, keep this between us,” she entreated JJ, before walking to Hotch’s office to inform him that they had been made.

~

Apparently, two year olds don’t usually attend school full-time. Emily had, but Hotch’s horrified look when she told him conveyed to her that this was yet another example of Elizabeth Prentiss’s less than superb parenting. Jack went to preschool three days a week, but the rest of them he spent with either Hotch or Haley.

On Thursday, Hotch was called away to an early morning meeting. The higher-ups were making budget cuts again, and Emily knew he and Strauss would have to fight tooth and nail just to avoid losing a member of the team. Carrie had already decided that she would prefer to take the bus to school, which left just Jack and Emily. She had the day off, courtesy of Hotch, providing no urgent cases arrived. At noon, she was supposed to drive Jack to Haley’s house, but right now they were enjoying a quiet morning together. 

As she finished up her paperwork, Emily kept one eye on Jack, who was playing with his extensive dinosaur collection. She sighed when she signed the last form, relieved to be done so early. There was a new sci-fi anthology that she had been meaning to read. Emily shut her eyes, intending on resting them for a brief moment before starting her book, but opened them again when she heard movement beside her. Jack had clambered up on the couch next to her and was staring at her intently. 

“Read?” he asked, gesturing at a picture book on the side table. Emily picked it up.

“I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it.” She was still getting used to living with a toddler. So far, she had managed to avert any world-ending cataclysms, but being alone with Jack was an entirely different situation. This time, there was no backup.

“Read,” he insisted, so Emily did. Jack wasn’t shy about informing Emily when she did things wrong. Apparently she read too fast and she didn’t do the voices like his Mommy did. When Emily completed the first book, saying “The End” in what she hoped was an appropriately dramatic tone of voice, Jack pointed to another one. Before she knew it, it was time to take Jack to Haley’s.

She had only met Haley a few times, but Emily harbored an intense dislike for anyone who would hurt Aaron Hotchner. They may not be the best of friends, but watching Hotch’s face fall every time Haley informed him that he would arrive in DC too late to see Jack would make any sane person sympathize. This was only compounded upon actually meeting Jack; he would stay up as late as possible if it meant he could see his father.

Emily strapped Jack into his car seat, struggling briefly with the buckles. She didn’t understand how Hotch could make it look so effortless. As soon as they left the neighborhood, she began blasting Melissa Etheridge, not caring what other people could hear. Her day off, her music. 

She turned the music down as they arrived in Haley’s neighborhood. The cookie-cutter houses reminded Emily of her and Hotch’s neighborhood, but this area was much more affluent. Even with a lawyer’s salary, she would bet Hotch and Haley had taken out a large loan to afford to live here.

Haley was already standing on the front porch when they arrived. Emily checked her watch: five minutes early. Good. She looked surprised to see Emily clamber out of the car, though Hotch had already cleared it with her. Emily sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening as the straps to Jack’s car seat came undone easily. The last thing Hotch needed was to have Emily look incompetent. 

Jack refused to walk the two hundred or so feet to Haley, so Emily scooped him up and headed towards the house. When she reached the porch, Emily set him down, and he toddled over to give Haley a hug. She beamed at him, and the wrath clutching Emily’s heart loosened slightly.

“Thank you,” Haley said. Emily smiled thinly at her. 

“Hotch will be by to pick him up tomorrow.” Safer to stick to business. It lessened the chance Emily would say something she’d immediately regret. She waved at Jack. “Bye, kiddo. See you soon.”

“Bye, Auntie Emily!” he chirped in response. That was new. She had just been Emily so far, or ‘mily if Jack was especially sleepy. She’d have to check with Hotch that the nickname could stay, but Emily found she quite liked it.

Jack walked through the open door, and though Haley turned to watch him, she didn’t go inside. Emily loitered on the porch, sensing their conversation wasn’t finished. She was right.

“Does he make you happy?” Haley’s voice lacked malice. Emily supposed she was curious; it must have been a long time since Hotch had made Haley happy.

She considered the question. Obviously, there was a right answer, given the pretend nature of their relationship. But as Emily thought about Hotch’s kindness towards her and Carrie, the way he was willing to risk Jack, the best thing in his life, so that Emily could have a chance to care for a child the way he did, she realized it was also the true answer.

“Yes.” Haley headed inside without a response, and Emily couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or irritated. It didn’t bother her either way.

~

When Emily poked her head into the living room, she saw Carrie sitting calmly on the couch. It was late and she had assumed that Carrie had already gone to bed, but apparently this was not the case. When Carrie noticed her staring, she motioned Emily to sit with her. Emily settled on the ottoman facing Carrie.

“What’s up?” she asked, feeling strangely as though she were the child in this situation, as if Carrie were the one summoning her for an intervention.

“Where’s Hotch?” A neat sidestep, and one that only served to further intrigue Emily.

“Getting ready for bed, I suspect.” Although Emily’s experience living with men was somewhat limited, Hotch took more time in the bathroom than any other man she’d met, although she respected that it meant she didn’t have to see him change.

As if summoned, Hotch emerged, freshly showered and wearing pajamas. He smelled like shaving cream, Emily reflected as he sat down next to her, and something else she couldn’t place. Although she made no move to initiate contact, Emily nevertheless felt more solid with him next to her. Whatever Carrie had to say, they could deal with it, together.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Carrie started. “For taking me in when no one else would.” 

Emily reached out to clasp Carrie’s hands, squeezing them tightly, but it was Hotch who spoke, his voice clear and words familiar. “Carrie, there’s no need to thank us--”

“But you don’t need to pretend anymore.” Emily and Hotch exchanged a look, but it was not a glance between friends (or whatever they were). It was the same look they exchanged when an unsub revealed crucial information during an interrogation. What did Carrie know?

“What?” Emily had learned early how to feign innocence. It had saved her more times than she could count, from escaping the wrath of Elizabeth Prentiss to baiting a suspect to pretending to not be so fucked up when pretty girls hit on her in bars.

Carrie, however, was having none of Emily’s act. “You know what I mean. You expect me to believe that you’re married to a man who you don’t even call by his first name?” 

Emily felt again like a chastened child, called out with one hand in the cookie jar. She looked to Hotch for moral support, but he looked as blindsided as she felt. When he turned to face her, she could see mounting rage in the way his body tensed, although his face remained impassive as ever. Then Emily remembered their one rule: don’t lie to Carrie. 

“You got us there,” said Hotch. Emily marveled at the way he could switch from angry to personable in a moment, although the glare he first shot Emily made clear that they were going to talk later. “Was it just the names that gave us away?”

Gathering information on their tells, that was smart. 

“The names were definitely a giveaway.” Carrie considered them for a moment. Mostly, though, it was the lack of touching. I can see no kissing --maybe you’re just very private people-- but you don’t even hold hands and I’ve only seen you hug once.” She gestured at them. “Even now, you’re sitting with a couple inches between you.”

Right now, Hotch would probably prefer they sat even farther away, Emily thought bitterly. 

“But I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re upset about.” With that level of perception and intuition, Carrie would make a grade-A profiler. Not that Emily would wish their lives on anyone.

Emily still didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded as Hotch spoke again. “Thank you for trusting us.” He checked his watch. “It’s late. Are you going to bed now?”

Callie responded affirmatively and slipped out of the room, leaving Emily and Hotch in stony silence. When Hotch spoke again, his voice contained undisguised anger. “Prentiss, what the hell was that?”

The use of her last name only stoked in her a desire to fight back. Emily might break down crying, but Prentiss wouldn’t. Prentiss wasn’t vulnerable, wouldn’t apologize.

“Don’t yell at me,” she hissed. Hotch stiffened, then softened at the look on Emily’s face.

“I’m sorry. It was out of line for me to speak like that, but what you did was also out of line. We agreed no lying to Carrie.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. Self-loathing welled inside her. How could she have ever thought she was good enough to be a parent when she couldn’t even keep a basic promise?

“Emily?” If she lifted her head there would be no denying the tears in her eyes.

“I tried to. It just… I just…” failed, she finished mentally. Couldn’t deal with the idea that what was maybe my only chance at motherhood could disappear. Although she wasn’t willing to verbalize those thoughts, she still felt she owed it to Hotch to try and explain. “I got scared. And I know you’ve heard this a lot recently, but I’m sorry.”

Hotch didn’t tell her she shouldn’t be sorry. She had messed up, and they both knew it. Now the only question was what he would do. Never trust her again, Emily supposed. Their partnership had seemed so promising, but of course she had ruined it. Outside of work, she could never do anything right.

“Next time, Emily, I just need you to tell me.” After years spent under the thumb of the Catholic Church, finding someone with a true capacity for forgiveness always surprised Emily. Hotch had surprised her again and again. 

“I will, Aaron,” she said, trying out the unfamiliar name on her tongue. It still felt a little too strange, not natural enough for casual conversation, but she could work on it. “I won’t let you down.”

It was a tall order to live up to, but Emily had to try.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #queerminal minds #*mine #*fic #these are ties that bind

[nicomacheannothing]

11-26-2020

It has officially been the weirdest Thanksgiving ever. In this weird way, I feel like the “2020 Numb” is kind of keeping me sane.  I was up until 2:30 baking cookies the night before. It would’t have taken so long if we had gotten started earlier, but we needed apple cider and caramel vodka. The vodka was sold out everywhere except this one party store on Drake where they had one bottle left. The cider mill was closed, so we ended up driving all over creation looking for cider too. Austin’s parents wanted us to pick up pizza so we could have a quick dinner, then also have leftovers for when Mady and Julius came into town. I got confused and ordered the wrong pizza. I felt bad about that so I used my own money to buy them the one they actually wanted. That was kind of annoying cause I’ve been spending waaayyy too much money lately on Holiday stuff. It was my fault though. Oops. So after pizza we made cookies; my first time ever making cookies from scratch! We did chocolate raspberry espresso chip and apple cider. The chocolate ones were amazing, but the texture of the apple cider ones wasn’t quite right because we messed up the glaze. They tasted good though!  The next morning (Thanksgiving morning) I got up before my parents and I rearranged the living room to set it up for Thanksgiving festivities. I decorated the dining room table with flowers and lights and I set up a pin board covered in family photos. I wanted my mom to wake up and see all of that stuff and be cheered up. She had a hard week and she gets little sad around the holidays anyway. 

She loved the decor, but told me that Ben might not be coming home after all because he was still waiting on the results of his COVID test. That would suck, but we hadn’t started cooking yet, so we could just make a smaller batch of food and then FaceTime him for dinner. NBD.... then, as I sat down in my room to eat breakfast, my mom knocked on my door and poked her head in. “Ben has COVID”, she said.  At first, I thought I had heard her wrong. My whole family has been so, so lucky up until now. I didn’t hear wrong though. Ben got his test results back that morning and he was positive. We immediately FaceTimed him to see how he was doing. He confessed to us that he had actually been feeling really sick for the past couple weeks, but didn’t think it was COVID. He’s on medication for ulcerative colitis that prevents inflammation. Lung inflammation is what causes a lot of the nasty respiratory symptoms of COVID and Ben’s medication prevented that from happening. He thought it might just be some other bug that he caught at one of the handful of gigs he played last month. Nope. It was the Coronavirus. He was optimistic, saying that he was feeling better recently and thought he was at the end of the illness. Of course, this meant that he couldn’t come home, obviously.  My parents and I decided to skip Thanksgiving and drive to Detroit to drop Ben a care package. It kind of evolved into 3 boxes of groceries haha. Dad and I both went to the store. I walked home with what must’ve been 15 pounds of stuff because Ben wasn’t going out and was low on food. Dad also bought him a Star Wars lego set to play with. I bought him a “Happy Thanksgiving” balloon to attach to the pile. One of the most amazing things about my family is that, if one of us in trouble, the rest of us spring into action, no questions, no conditions, no complaints. It’s just always been like that. We always make things work like that... we threw all of our stuff and the dog into the car and hit the road. My Thanksgiving dinner ended up being a piece of leftover cheese bread from the pizza I had with the Browns. I guess it was good that we had extra.  When we got to Ben’s apartment, we dropped the boxes off on his doorstep and FaceTimed him as he opened them. There was a moment, as I was heading back to the car, where Ben opened his door so we could see each other for a second from 6 feet away. I was happy to see that he was ok, but it was also sad and weird that we could only communicate from behind a door. I know that we’re still really lucky, but it’s one of those moments that I never in a million years expected to have. 

Ben liked all the stuff we got him of course. Especially the Legos :p  He told us that he was planning on getting another test this coming Monday and, if it was negative, he would come home next weekend. I really hope he’s right and he’s at the tail end of the infection. He told us about how weird it was to not be able to smell or taste. He just wouldn’t eat because everything tasted like cardboard, then he’d feel worse from not eating. Horrible shit. 

When we got home, my parents were tired and basically just chilled for the rest of the night. I did make myself a caramel vodka apple cider drink and had a piece of pie... cause it was still Thanksgiving and I needed to have something fun haha. Then, I started baking and cooking for the Thanksgiving “party” I was going to have with the Browns the next day. I made carrot cake cupcakes and these crispy parmesan potatoes. Both turned out really well. 

The party was a blast too. We played Fireball Island, but turned it into a drinking game with Fireball whiskey. :p I also danced a lot cause Mady and I were DJ-ing the whole night. :p Austin and I crashed at, like, 2am and I ended up falling asleep in his old childhood room... which is still exactly as it was when he was in high school in the early 2000s. His mom wants to change it up and make it another guest room, but I love that room. He and I were laying in there until 6am talking about music and plasma TVs. I was still pretty drunk, I think, but there was something magical about the whole scene... it was like something out of a movie haha. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back to the rest of my life with all of the stress and worry. I just wanted to lay there in the teen room with him forever. But that wasn’t possible, of course.  When I got back home, my parents had accidentally locked the storm door, which I don’t have a key to. I had to climb into my bedroom window, still living my best adolescent life, apparently :p  It was a weird weekend, but there were some amazing moments. Ben told me on Saturday that he’s feeling better. Hopefully his test tomorrow will come back negative and he can come home. COVID sucks. I’m so sick of people not wearing masks and acting like fools. It’s a real thing, people. I just want to Pandemic to be over. At least I have a good circle of people that I can spend time with. We always find ways to make things bearable. My parents take action and do things to change the situation... the Browns just say “fuck it, let’s just have fun while we can”. I need a little of both in my life, I think. I’m really glad that I have it. I’m really thankful for both of my families <3

#personal #personalblog #blog

[youre-in-the-jungle-baby]

can I please have more poly!crüe? that thing you did where Vince was dyslexic was so lovely!

really there’s no such thing as too much of this ship??

Nikki’s apartment is pretty basic in his opinion, not much happens outside and his neighbors are pretty good about keeping to themselves and not bothering him, noise or otherwise.

And that’s fine because he’s out most of the time, working or at the bar, and when the paycheck comes in maybe nosing around the music or record store.

His apartment itself doesn’t do much but give him a place to write his music, sleep, and try to push his not so successful musical side-job into something more exciting than the nine to five that he currently has to deal with. He’s fine with that though, standing on his own two feet is good enough for now.

That is until the nice little old lady who shakes her head at him and sometimes tells him to cut his hair and stop getting tattoos (okay, maybe not so nice, but still) moves out.

No big deal, right?

Until he sees who are new neighbors are.

The first time he meets them is when one of them, who Nikki immediately decides is a literal kid on a sugar high, knocks on his door and tries to introduce himself. Except it’s two am on a Wednesday night.

The next day he meets the second one, who can only be described as very, very blonde, as well as very, very short who also takes it upon himself to greet Nikki while standing there in a denim jacket with no shirt underneath and faded jeans. Nikki makes a joking comment that he looks like he’s been living out of a van, and he gets a nonchalant, “Oh, no man, not my van, Tommy’s van.” Before he shuts the door and prays that they never have to talk again.

For now, he refers to them as dumbass #1 and dumbass #2.

They quickly take Nikki’s title or resident asshole with the constant crashing, noise-making, yelling, music blasting, and Jesus christ singing- the walls are too fucking thin for Nikki’s sanity. And how the fuck has no one complained about them yet?

There’s a few more attempts at contact over the next month, one plate of burnt cookies left outside his door, a pack of cigarettes, a potted house plant, cheap bottle of liquor, and one-note apologizing for the party last Friday signed with a smiley face and an unidentified food stain.

They fall into some sort of routine where Nikki minimizes time spent having to see them in the hall and maximizes time out of the complex altogether. It sort of works, he does end up learning that the tall one if Tommy and the short one is Vince, and Vince was, in fact, living in a van with Tommy for a while.

He learns to tolerate them, and the random visits they try to spring on him as well as invitations to come over. They’re kinda assholes but so is he, so how can he really judge?

He even finds himself feeling bad when he finds Tommy sitting on the steps outside the building, cigarette in one hand, picking at a rip in his jeans. He goes inside without saying anything before he starts feeling like banging his head against the wall and goes back out to see if he’s okay. Not because he’s going soft of anything.

He wasn’t looking to sign on as Tommy’s therapist but this kid clearly needs one right now with the way he starts talking as soon as Nikki asks what’s wrong.

So he lets him into his apartment, feels a little self-conscious with the way Tommy is peering around at everything before he sits down on the couch.

Nikki gives him a beer and starts to feel like he’s counseling one half of a married couple with the way that Tommy is talking about Vince. Still, he gets the impression that they’re definitely not together yet anyways (as if the rather steady flow of one night stands that ended up getting thrown out of his neighbor's door didn’t give that one away).

He’s going to need another drink because it sounds like Tommy is absolutely whipped and he doesn’t even know it. Which is kind of a shame because he would be lying if he said Tommy wasn’t cute, and well, Vince could definitely get it too. And no, he’s not going soft.  

He sends Tommy off shuts the door and wonders what the fuck he thinks he’s doing right now before he opens a bottle of something harder and then falls into bed.

A week later Vince is leaning against the wall in the hallway staring at a closed door. Once again he almost just minds his own business, but instead, he sighs and barks out a quick ‘what the fuck happened to you’ that ends with Vince also sitting on his couch while Nikki shoves his groceries into the fridge.

He comes to the conclusion this time, that both Tommy and Vince are: a- literal dumbasses, b- confusing dumbasses, and of course c- they’re attractive dumbasses. Not what he needs right now.

For a little while, he doesn’t see much of them, which bothers him more than it should, but he’s fine, it’s all fine, and he shouldn’t be missing the idiots next door that he doesn’t even talk to that much.

That night he can hear Vince singing in the shower again, and he falls asleep on the couch with the TV muted.

When he can’t take it, and something clicks in his head that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to talk to them, he picks up a six-pack of beer and knocks on their door the next Friday night.

The whole place looks a lot cozier than Nikki expected, posters on the wall, little knick-knacks scattered. Messy, but nice and welcoming if you ignore the dirty laundry, dishes, and overflowing ashtrays.

It’s nice enough and it feels a lot more like a place that someone would live in.

It’s easy to talk to Tommy, about bands and music and whatever else comes up. Vince is a little prickly, but Nikki is 90% sure it’s just an act.

Over the next month, he ends up going over and watching shitty movies and letting Tommy drool on his shoulder and watching Vince steel a sip out of his beer when he’s already finished his own.

He even lets them come over to his own apartment and they spend a while shuffling through the ever-growing collection of CDs, cassettes, and records he has.

Inevitably, he has a bad day. A real, shitty and fucked up day that makes it feel like everything in his life just hit a brick wall.

His car doesn’t start, it’s a piece of shit, but today isn’t the day to be late. He misses the first bus, takes the second and knocks into a lady who spills her iced coffee all over him. He gets to work and realizes his bag is sitting in his car with his phone. 

Then the mistake of thinking that things could literally not get worse, which means that they now, by some law of the universe, have to get worse.

Because nothing makes your day better like getting fired while your pants are still wet from a spilled iced coffee that ends up making it look like you just pissed yourself.

When he gets back home he gets the real cherry on top of meeting Tommy and Vince who were walking out while he was walking in and praying that no one looks at him let alone talks to him.

He either looks like he’s about to cry to punch something. Maybe both, because Tommy looks torn between running away and hugging him. And really, two sane people might have walked right on by that hot mess, but of course, they don’t. Tommy is asking him what happened, and Vince is talking over of him at the same time which is really loud.

He doesn’t know how he gets lured back to their apartment, but he’s pulled inside and sat down in the kitchen. Tommy brings him tea, why the fuck do they have tea? He’s never seen them be able to do more than make cereal without catching something on fire.

And Vince offers up a pair of sweatpants (they’re probably Tommy’s) when Nikki mentions the coffee, despite the fact he could get up and go grab a pair from his apartment.

Tommy begins to look increasingly worried about the fact that Nikki hasn’t done much more than stare at his own feet and procedes to sit him down on the couch and surround him with various blankets that he had dug out of the little closet in the bedroom.

Vince and Tommy both hover around like they don’t really know what to do until Nikki absolutely loses it and just starts crying. He’s tired, and now he doesn’t have a job, he’s a failure as a musician, his car isn’t working, there’s just nothing going right for him and then there’s Tommy and Vince.

To their credit, they handle this surprisingly well, scooting him around on the couch so Tommy can hug him and Vince nods along when he starts talking from sitting on his other side. It feels really nice to get hugged, which makes him cry harder because fuck when was the last time someone’s hugged him?

Vince cautiously starts to play with his hair and let him lean on him more. When he calms down enough he feels so tired that he falls asleep with Tommy quietly talking to him. 

The last thing he remembers is someone kissing the top of his head before he drifts off. 

#izzy writes #poly!crue #this may be really cliche #i'm cheating on my other polly crue fic rn?? i promise i didn't forget it!! #Vince Neil #tommy lee #nikki sixx #Motley Crue #Mötley Crüe

[lachlantrash]

"We need to talk about what happened last night."

"Hey, Preston!" You call to your friend over the loud music blasting. "Have you seen Lachlan? I haven't seen him in awhile and I know he's been drinking a lot tonight, I think I'm gonna take him home." You say quieter now that Preston's in hearing distance.

"I honestly have no idea where he is, he went to the bathroom awhile ago but I haven't seen him since." Preston shrugs. "I'll give you a shout if I find him though." Preston offers. You thank him before walking off, trying to find Lachlan so you can get the two of you home and take your damn heels off, pay your babysitter, and go to bed.

"Do you know where Lachlan is?" You ask Rob, seeing him passing by you in the hallway of the house you're at.

"Uh, yeah..." Rob trails off, making you confused.

"Well, where is he?" You laugh. "I'm kinda looking for him, I want to get him home because he's been drinking a lot, and honestly I just want to call it a night."

"Well uh, he's um, I saw him in that room over there, but he had a girl with him..." Rob trails off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"He has a girl with him?" You ask slightly panicky, watching as Rob nods hesitantly. "Alright... Um, thanks." You murmur, heading to the room Rob pointed to. You're hesitant to open the door, but as soon as you think about what could possibly be going on behind it you impulsively open it. You're shocked to see Rob was right, Lachlan does have a girl with him. He's sitting on the bed in the room, a blonde girl sitting in his lap making out with your husband, moans flying out as she tugs his hair and he trails his hands on her hips, guiding her grinds.

"Hey, hey you! Get the fuck off of him, Jesus Christ!" You say, taking a few steps towards the bed but stopping, not knowing whether you want to fight the girl or burst into tears at the sight of your husband cheating on you.

"Um, who are you?" She asks, clearly confused as to what you're doing.

"I'm (Y/N), I'm his wife. Can you just, please just leave, oh my god I just, please." You stutter out, not sure in the slightest how you're going to handle what's going on. Obviously this girl doesn't have any clue on who Lachlan is and she must've missed the wedding band on his finger, but you're in an extreme amount of shock and you have no idea how to respond to the situation at hand.

"Omg, I'm so sorry like I promise I had no idea he was married and-" She cuts herself off, watching you shake your head with tears starting to build up in your eyes. "Alright yeah, I'll just, um, go..." She trails off, getting off of Lachlan's lap and basically running out of the room.

"Hi (Y/N)!" Lachlan laughs excitedly, standing from the bed and walking towards you. "How are you, baby?" He asks drunkenly, going to grab for you but stops as you step away from him.

"I'm just fucking dandy, Lachlan." You hiss, trying to figure out your thoughts right now. You have a kid together, you're married!

"You sound upset." He pouts, obviously confused at what's going on.

"We need to go home." You dismiss his comment. "C'mon, go." You say, stopping in the doorway and waiting until you know Lachlan's following you to leave the house. You open the passenger door to your car silently, letting Lachlan get in before shutting it and going to the driver's seat.

"Are you mad at me?" Lachlan asks, looking at you confusedly as you're driving, tears silently streaming down your face.

"I don't know, Lachlan. I honestly don't know." You say, biting your lip to hold back all the things you want to say to him right now. You don't know how to react, he's obviously extremely drunk but even in your most drunken state, you never would even consider making out with another guy.

"What did I do? I'm sure I can make it better." He whines, going to grab your free hand which you yank away from him, making him pout even further.

"You just need to go to bed right when we get home, okay? I don't want to talk to you right now." You tell him honestly.

"Alright babe, I can go to sleep." He sighs, eyebrows furrowed as he still doesn't recall what he could've done to make you mad, but willing to do the simple task you request of him.

As soon as you get home, Lachlan wastes no time in going upstairs and stripping down to his boxers, getting into bed and under the covers. "Are you coming?" He mumbles out, looking at you over the comforter.

"I don't know, just go to bed." You say, going into your three year old son, Sawyer's room. You find the babysitter you hired sitting in the rocking chair, shooting her a fake smile as you pay her for watching your son. As soon as she leaves, the tears start freely flowing down your face as you sit in the rocking chair.

"Mumma?" You hear from the bed, looking to see Sawyer awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stumbles out of the bed. "Mumma, you okay?" He asks, pulling your hands away from your face as he sees the tears streaming. "No crying." He says, crawling onto your lap.

"I'm sorry Sawyer, mumma just, mumma just got hurt, that's all." You say, having no idea what to tell your son.

"Hurt?" He repeats, watching you nod. He gives you a kiss on the forehead, then one on both of your cheeks. "I make it better?" He asks, making you laugh because that's what you do whenever Sawyer has a booboo.

"I love you so much Sawyer, but I don't think kisses can fix this kinda booboo." You murmur, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Can mumma sleep in here tonight, baby? Can I sleep in your bed with you?" You ask him, not wanting to share a bed with Lachlan tonight.

"Okay, you had a bad dream?" He asks expectantly.

"Yeah, something like that." You sigh, making Sawyer look relieved for a second. He knows cuddles help him when he has a nightmare and he's assuming that's whats going on right now. "Mumma will be right back, I just need to put my pajamas on." You tell him, planting a kiss on his forehead before carrying him to his bed. You move back to the master bedroom, noticing Lachlan passed out in bed as soon as you walk in.

"What the fuck am I going to do with you." You sigh, feeling a fresh wave of pain roll through you as you look at him. You're honestly considering calling it quits, considering putting your wedding ring on the bedside table beside him and taking Sawyer to a hotel tonight and coming back to get your shit tomorrow, taking Sawyer back to Florida with you. But you know you'll never be able to do that, you could never leave Lachlan and even if you were strong enough to do that, you'd never take his son away from him. You go into your closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and one of the baggiest hoodies you have before going into the attached bathroom and doing your nightly routine as quickly as possible. In a last minute decision, you put a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table next to Lachlan before sneaking off to Sawyer's room, getting into the twin sized bed with him.

"Goodnight mumma, no more bad dreams, okay?" Sawyer says to you, patting your head twice before laying down.

"Alright Sawyer, I love you." You murmur, glad you have one person you have to protect to keep you sane right now. If you didn't have Sawyer, you're certain you'd be on a flight to Florida right now and Lachlan would have to go there to try and talk things out, but you have a son you have to be strong for tonight, which is what you're telling yourself as you pull the little boy closer to you, making both him feel comforted and you.

~~~~In the morning.~~~~

"Shh daddy, mumma's still sleeping." You hear Sawyer say, shaking you out of your sleep.

"Why is she in here?" You hear Lachlan say, obviously hungover.

"She had a bad dream. I gave her cuddles to make her all better." The little boy beside you says. The bed dips as he gets out of it. "She's sad, daddy. I don't like mumma crying." You hear Sawyer say, making you feel guilty for showing him you were upset.

"Well why was she crying, buddy?" Lachlan asks.

"Hey uh, I'm awake now." You announce awkwardly, not wanting Sawyer to be dragged into this any further.

"You feel better, mumma?" Sawyer asks, walking back towards you with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Yeah, I feel much better buddy. Thank you for letting me sleep here last night." You tell him, pulling him into a hug that you know you're going to need to get through your conversation with Lachlan. "How about you go watch some Pokemon downstairs so I can talk to daddy, okay? I'll make pancakes when I'm finished." You tell Sawyer, wanting him to miss this conversation. He quickly nods, running down the hall without another word as the excitement of pancakes takes over him.

"Why'd you sleep in here last night?" Lachlan laughs, sitting in the rocking chair. "Were you as wasted as me? I honestly don't even remember how we got home, I'm hoping you called us a cab." He laughs, looking at you as his smile falters, not seeing any sign of humor on your face.

"We need to talk about what happened last night." Is all you say, standing from the twin sized bed and going down the hall to the master bedroom.

"Okay... What happened last night?" You hear Lachlan who trailed in behind you, seeing you sitting on the bed playing with your wedding ring.

"Do you want to be married to me?" You blurt out, making Lachlan extremely confused.

"Of course I want to be married to you, I wouldn't have proposed or gone through with the whole wedding if I didn't. Why are you asking?" Lachlan asks, sitting on the bed beside you and only growing more confused as you stand up, moving to the window seat.

"I don't know, Lachlan. I just can't think of any other reason I would've found you making out with a girl at the party last night, unless you don't want to be married to me." You say, taking your eyes off your ring and looking at Lachlan.

"I... What? Making out with some girl?" He asks, seemingly stunned at what you're telling him.

"Yeah, I walked in to tell you we should head out... And you just... You were sitting on the bed and, you were... You were kissing her and she was, she was sitting in your lap and just, you were making out with her..." You say frantically, vividly picturing the scene from last night, Lachlan's hands on the girls hips as they were making out on the bed, the girls hands in his hair.

"Hey don't cry, hey now!" Lachlan says, breaking you out of thought. "I don't, I don't remember any of that, (Y/N). Are you sure you weren't drunk last night?" He asks, making you scoff.

"Are you really accusing me of making this up, Lachlan? I'm fucking, I can't handle this. I think I'm gonna, I'm gonna take Sawyer and fly to my mom's for awhile, alright? I can't talk to you if you're gonna think I'm lying, I need a fucking drink or something." You sigh out, angry tears rolling down your face as you get off the window seat, pacing around the bedroom trying to figure out what to do.

"No, no no! You're not taking Sawyer anywhere and you're not leaving, okay! I'm not accusing you of anything, I just honest to god do not remember making out with anyone last night." Lachlan says as he stands from the bed, going to walk towards you but stopping himself once he sees the hurt in your eyes as you make eye contact with him.

"Well I remember it, Lachlan. It's all I can fucking remember, it's like each time I close my eyes all I see is you sitting on that bed, this fucking blonde girl sitting in your lap as you hold her by her hips and she's tugging away at your hair while she grinds herself against your crotch, and you two are kissing and you, you let out a moan and I just wanted to punch her and I just want to fucking punch you even now, and I just, I want to cry and I want to leave but I don't want to fucking leave I just can't handle having seen that and I just, if you want a divorce just tell me, okay?" You say, breath hitched as you finish, tears freely rolling down your face now.

"I... I'm sorry. I know that means literally nothing, I just can't remember a single thing from last night after you left to go talk to Mitch at the party. I don't remember any blonde girl, I honest to god don't. But if you want to punch me, I get it. Feel free to. Just, please don't leave (Y/N). I don't want a divorce, all I want is you and Sawyer and our family. I only want you guys, okay? I don't know why I would make out with someone while I was drunk but I can't even begin to imagine what it must've felt like to walk in on it. If I ever found you like that, if the situation was reversed, I think I would've fucking murdered the guy. I can't believe you were even capable of driving my drunk ass home, I'm so sorry for whatever happened last night but if you feel like we need to get divorced, that's going to fucking suck so much, but I won't argue it if this is your reason for it. I fucked up so bad last night, I literally fucking cheated on you, if you can't find it in you to forgive me and want to call it quits I have to respect that, but just know I fucking love you no matter what, okay? I love you and Sawyer more than I love anything in this fucking world, and I don't know what the fuck went through my head to make me jeopardize that." He says, voice cracking multiple times as he begins to cry.

"I don't know what the fuck to do, Lachlan! I want to believe it was just a drunken mistake, but I know I would never even fucking consider making out with a guy while drunk, I could never do that to you. I want our family to be fine, I want to be able to burn the sight of her on your lap from my mind, but I can't shake it out of my head. It's like I'm being fucking tortured with it, and I just want to cry. Can you, can you go to the recording studio today? I need a break, I really do. I need to fucking clear my head, please." You say, burying your face into your hands to hide your tears.

"I'm sorry I broke you, (Y/N)." Lachlan says, crying himself now. "I'll go I just, when I come back you and Sawyer will still be here, right? I don't want to come home to an empty house." He sniffles.

"I'm not going to take him away from you." You say, trying to wipe your tears away to put on a front for your son.

"What about you, will you be here when I get back?" He asks, having begun to collect himself too.

"Yes. I don't know where we'll be, you and I, but Sawyer and I won't leave the house today." You say. "I want you to take this today, I don't want to have it on right now." You say, starting to tear up again as you take off your wedding ring and place it on the vanity.

"I am not going to take your wedding ring, no fucking way." Lachlan argues. "If I take that, then it means that we're not gonna get through this, and I really want us to get through this, please keep the ring." He practically begs.

"I can't, Lachlan. I can't keep the ring on, so many promises made on that ring were broken last night, I don't even want to see the ring it symbolizes so much." You say, trying to stand your ground.

"Fine I'll take the ring with me, but just, you know that means nothing, right? We can still get through this, we can work on this. I can, I can stop drinking. I'll never touch another beer in my life, right? Then I'll never blackout again, and we can stay together. Or, we can just drink here. I'll never go to another party, ever. I will block every girl I know online right now, but I just don't want you thinking everything is over because you took the ring off." He says, throwing ideas out left and right.

"I need to think Lachlan, when Sawyer goes to bed tonight we can talk again." You mutter quietly, walking into your closet and shutting the door to show that right now, this conversation is over. "Tell Sawyer to come up here and get me when you leave, please." You say, changing into a pair of yoga shorts and another baggy hoodie, moving to your bathroom as you wait for Lachlan to leave.

"Mumma?" You hear a few minutes later, a knock on the closet door. You open it, and immediately pick Sawyer up to hold him to you.

"Mumma loves you so much, Sawyer. No matter what happens, I love you. You know that, right?" You ask, placing kisses all over your toddlers face.

"Yes, mumma. Stop the kisses, make pancakes." Sawyer giggles, lightly pushing your face away from his.

"Alright, let's go make pancakes." You say, grateful for the distraction.

~~~~Later on.~~~~

"Goodnight Sawyer, I love you." You murmur to the sleeping toddler, pressing a kiss to his head before leaving his room.

"Is he asleep?" Lachlan asks you as you enter the master bedroom.

"Yup." You sigh, going into the closet without another word to change into a set of pajamas before going to have the dreadful conversation. After changing, you step into the master bedroom and make home on the window seat since Lachlan is on the bed.

"I want to start by reminding you that I love you, and that I will do anything possible to keep our family going, you know that?" Lachlan asks, and the only response you give is a nod of your head.

"So obviously I've done some thinking since you went to the recording studio. Sawyer helped a lot, I mean obviously I didn't tell him what was going on, I would never want to tell him regardless of his age anything that could make him hate you. But I gave him an extremely pg version of what happened, how his daddy really hurt my feelings a lot, how in a way I guess we're fighting,"

"We're not fighting, we're going through something extremely fucking difficult, but we're not fighting. I admit what you saw me doing was so fucked up, there's nothing to fight about." Lachlan says cutting you off. "Sorry, continue." He says after you glare at him.

"I love Sawyer. He's probably the only reason I even came back here with you last night, in all honesty." You sigh, seeing the worry take over Lachlan's face. "I asked him what I should do, I asked him what he thinks. I gave him a few different options, y'know because he's only three, he's not gonna get the seriousness of the situation. I asked him if I should leave and take a break, I asked him if his mumma and daddy should have two houses instead of one. I asked if I should just kick daddy out, and he laughed at that one. He found it hysterical. I asked him if I should just forgive and try to pretend nothing happened, and then I asked if I should try to move past this slowly, take my time for my booboos to heal. He told me that I'm mumma and I always pick right so it was my decision, and I started crying because I didn't know what to do, I still don't know if I even picked the right thing to do." You say, a bitter laugh leaving your mouth.

Lachlan's sitting on the bed silently, trying to read your facial expression for any hint of what you've decided on. He's only hurting himself more at the sight, because all he sees when he looks at you is how hurt you truly are. He's thinking even if you do forgive him, whether it be now or in the future, he doesn't know if he'll ever truly forgive himself. He can't believe he even would make out with someone other than you, and he can't believe the immense pain he's caused you. He knows if roles were reversed he wouldn't be able to sit here and even consider taking you back, he'd be too far down a bottle probably to even be able to be around. He doesn't know how he's ever met someone as strong as you, and he doesn't know how in a drunken state he risked everything.

"I decided I need time, Lachlan." You sigh out finally, looking over at him. "I'm not going to fly back to Florida, I'm not going to move out, I'm just, I need some time before we're okay, okay?" You say, looking at him and trying to make eye contact.

"So... You aren't going to divorce me?" He says a few minutes later, a huge sigh he was holding in leaving as he speaks.

"No... I'm not going to divorce you. But I'm not taking the ring back yet. I'm not sleeping in here yet, I'll sleep in the guest room I guess... I don't think I can share a bed with you right now. I don't want you to try and kiss me or touch me or do anything romantic, okay? I need to figure out how to get the images out of my mind before any of that happens... I just want to be platonic right now. I want us to speak as though nothing happened, I want us to look like we're still happy for Sawyer, and I want us to work on us. Is that okay with you? Is this alright so far?" You question.

"Yeah... Yeah, I don't really have a say in this. I'm just, I'm honestly just happy you aren't throwing our marriage away completely." Lachlan says immediately, wasting no time in getting you to continue.

"But I also have a few rules. I'm sorry, I know I promised you I'd never be the wife who makes rules for her husband, but I think I have to. I don't want you drinking at parties, Lachlan. Obviously even with me there it's a concern if there are other girls there, if you're drunk out of your mind you get disconnected from reality, as we found out." You say, trying not to become emotional as you speak. "I mean, if we're at like, Jerome and Mitch's house or something and it's just us, Jess, and a few of the guys that's fine, you can drink whatever you want. But at a party with a lot of people there, with girls I don't know... I really don't want you to drink. At least right now. God, I sound so controlling I'm so-"

"Don't apologize, I get it. I told you I'd do anything, remember? I meant that. I'm going to do anything to show you that I want us to work, I'm going to make us work. I deserve any rule you set and will follow it without question right now, okay? Whatever makes you feel more secure in our relationship, I'll do it." He cuts you off again, not wanting to hear you apologize for anything.

"I don't want you shut in a room alone with any girl I don't know. Even shut in a room with another girl seems wrong, but please for my sanity never with a girl I don't know. Even if I walked in and something innocent was happening, I think it would open this wound right back up." You say, watching him nod before continuing.

"I want you to let Sawyer know everything's okay. This one is extremely selfish, but I want you to figure out what to tell him if he asks why you and I don't cuddle or aren't sleeping in the same bed." You say, becoming quiet as that was the last rule.

"Is that all?" Lachlan asks, and you nod. "I'm surprised there aren't more." He says, a small smile being thrown your way. "I'm going to promise you right now, I'm not going to parties and if you decide to drag me to one, or if there's just one I can't miss, I'm not going to drink. I need to put my priorities in order, and on the top of that list is you and Sawyer. The state I was in last night does not benefit either of you in anyway and it jeopardizes so many things, I can't let myself get into it again. I know my promise means nothing right now, but I'll prove it. I'll hold onto your ring and as soon as you feel right wearing it, it's all yours. The only thing I'm going to fight is you sleeping in here. You've done nothing wrong, you take this bed. I'll set the air mattress up in here and sleep on it if that's okay, so Sawyer won't think anything of it." Lachlan says, standing off the bed to motion to it as yours.

"Alright, if you really would rather sleep on the air mattress." You say.

"Of course I would, sleeping on the air mattress with you staying in the house is better than sleeping in the bed without having you. I'll be back with the air mattress... Goodnight (Y/N)." Lachlan says, disappearing out of the room. You crawl into the bed, already missing the nights where Lachlan would hold you to him. You know the physical break is needed, if you don't have it you know all you'll be envisioning is whether the blonde was a better kisser, whether Lachlan's thinking of her when he's cuddling you. Eventually Lachlan gets the air mattress set up on the floor, and he has you toss him his pillow from the bed before turning the lights out in the room. You sit in the darkness, continuing to think.

"Lachlan?" You mumble out into the darkness.

"Yeah, (Y/N)?" Lachlan responds immediately, fearful you've reconsidered and you're going to ask him to leave.

"I still love you. I know I probably shouldn't, but I just had to let you know before you fell asleep that I still do, because if anything were to happen... I just want you to know it." You sigh, and Lachlan's nerves fall.

"I love you, (Y/N). I messed up, but we'll get through this." Lachlan says with desperation in his voice, his words soothing you as you start to drift off.

#lachlan #lachlan power #lachlan imagine #lachlanpower #lachlanyt #lachlan x reader #lachlanxreader

[crazymarvelsuperfamily]

Stole his Heart

another super fluffy iron dad fanfic! POV Rhodey, so a little different. Please leave any comments/feedback/suggestions - just really wanna get my writing a lil better :)

Tony and his adopted son had promised to turn up to a charity evening event, but as usual, Rhodey has to come and drag them out of the lab.

word count: 2057

general audiences

The AC/DC music was blasting from below. Rhodey could feel the floor shaking from the instant he arrived at the compound. He rolled his eyes; the boys were down in the lab again messing around. He guessed they completely forgot about the charity evening Tony promised they’d attend. Although this would never surprise him, he always hoped for the day when Tony would turn up to an event on time and leave that damn workshop for just a couple of hours. A few years back, he would have been worried about Tony, knowing that he was spending too long down in his lab; but now, it brought a smile to his face. He knew his friend wasn’t alone down there anymore, drinking himself to death in a hole of reckless self-pity.

 Now he had Peter with him, Tony was a changed man. He still spent days at a time down in the workshop, but instead, he spent it with Peter. Hours would pass by with the pair tinkering away at some science project, or working on equations, or even just doing math homework. Peter was the best thing that could have happened to Tony, and he came into his life at just the right time. The boy crept into the frozen heart the man had forgotten was there and thawed it completely. Rhodey might even go as far as to say Tony was getting soft. He was there for the kid whenever he needed, he picked the boy up from school, helped him with his homework, even cooked the occasional meal. The man had finally remembered how to love someone properly and had devoted his life to caring for his adopted son. More importantly, he realised how much Peter needed him in his life and started to live up to his responsibilities: he actually slept at least a couple of hours each night, he started to eat in a fairly healthy manner, and he had finally quit the destructive binge drinking. Rhodey was proud of his Tony. And he hadn’t been proud of his best friend in a long time.

  The music grew louder as he walked down the spiral staircase to the lab. How on earth can anyone sane work with this racket? He thought as noise from the speakers was literally close to defening before he remembered: Tony most definitely was not sane… and neither was the kid that runs around Queens in spandex for that matter. He punched in the code for the lab and the glass doors slid open. He almost double took when he first saw the duo in the lab with their backs to him. Both of them were wearing oily stained jeans and t-shirts. Tony was bare-foot while the kid wore ironman bed socks, each with a pencil behind their ear and Peter had a spanner in hand as a microphone. They were jamming out as they worked; Tony working his hips as he fiddled with the engine of a car, and Peter theatrically handing parts and equipment when prompted. At the back, one of the ironman suits was playing the air guitar. Oh man would the others pay to see this! Rhodey stifled a laugh as he got out his phone and videoed the pair for a few seconds.

“Hey FRIDAY, turn down the music please”

“apologies Colonel Rhodes, but I cannot hear you above the noise.”

“THEN TURN IT DOWN!!” screamed Rhodey. Suddenly the music dropped to a much more reasonable level. “thanks.” He replied to the AI, instantly more composed.

“Aww Underoos, Uncle Rhodey has come to spoil the fun.” Tony joked as he and peter turned simultaneously and pouted.

“You two have grown so similar it’s frightening.” Rhodey grinned at Peter. “I really wouldn’t plan on taking after Tony much more – if you’re not careful you might develop his ego, then your head would be too big to fit into your funky spandex outfit.”

“Dude, I’ve already said – they’re nanoparticles not spandex!” Peter pouted harder, slightly embarrassed by the comment. Rhodey shoved the kid playfully before fluffing up his soft brown curls.

“I know kid, I’m only messing. Tony, d’ya mind telling me what time it is?”

“Ugh, like 8?” Tony scratched his head. He knew he was probably meant to be ready for some party he promised to show his face at.

“Yeah, and what time did you say you’d be ready for Happy to take us all to the charity gala ball?”

“balls” Peter mumbled under his breath. He knew Tony never bothered about being punctual for events, but Peter was always a bit nervous and preferred to arrive on time. Normally, he would be the one to tell Tony to get ready, but he had been so completely absorbed into the lab work this evening, he had completely forgotten.

“Yeah kid. The ball. Well, the correct answer was 7:30. Now, you guys, shower quickly, meaning no more singing. And into your suits please. I’ve taken the liberty to lay out a tux for each of you in your rooms.

“well, aren’t you a saint.” Tony sighed, putting down the blowtorch he was holding and sauntering off to the elevator.

“FRIDAY, get Dunce over there to clean up this mess please. And Underoos, get a move on, Uncle Rhodey is worried that if we don’t get to wherever we’re meant to be by midnight we will all turn into pumpkins again.”

“Coming Tony, but when have we turned into pumpkins before?” The kid jogged to catch up with Tony, approaching the elevator. Rhodey smiled to himself, seeing how the kid looked up to Tony. He really was the boy’s hero.

  “Awwwwww! Look at you Underoos, don’t you brush up well.” About 15 minutes later Rhodey was dragging everyone to the car where Happy had been waiting impatiently for almost an hour. Tony pinched Peter’s cheeks, which were glowing bright red in embarrassment.

“Tony! Stop!” Peter laughed as his almost tamed hair was getting fluffed up again. “I just brushed that. It’s always so curly, and you messing it up all the time is not helping its cause!”

“I know kid, but I like the curls – they’re cute!”

The car journey lasted about half an hour. Rhodey passed Tony a few note cards with a hastily written speech scrawled on them. “Hey, please try and follow them for once – you really don’t need to do anything but thank the charity heads for their work and give a brief life update for the media.”

Tony nodded tucking the cards into his jacket, making a mental note to chuck them at the first bin he came across. “Yeah, yeah Rhodey, I know the deal – have been dealing with this all my life and stuff…”

“you still never follow the cards…” Rhodey shook his head, knowing he was trying to fight a battle that had been lost long ago.

“Oh, and kid, you know the deal – don’t leave the venue, no drinking, no smoking or drugs, and please leave this party as a virgin.” Tony laughed as Peter’s eyes widened and he flushed crimson.

“um… Tony, I wouldn’t… do…” Peter shifted uncomfortably.

“I know Underoos, its just funny watching you being embarrassed. I’m just messin’. Though saying that, I am dead serious – you will be in trouble if you do any of the above.”

 They eventually pulled up at a large building, where the party was obviously taking place. People in their evening attire were scattered around the outside, taking in the beauty of the gardens at dusk. Through the huge windows and open doors, Rhodey could see there were probably thousands of people gathered for the gala evening. He glanced over at the kid and felt bad for him: he wasn’t a fan of these kinds of events – he always found himself much too socially awkward and going everywhere with Tony Stark always drew a lot of unwanted attention. The evening air was muggy, and Peter looked awkward and panicked as he stepped out of the car. Tony put his hands on the boy’s shoulders from behind and steered him towards the door.

 It was only a matter of seconds before the press swarmed them, pointing microphones into their faces, bombarding them with questions. This had happened to Peter on several occasions before – some as Spiderman and some just as Peter when he was with Tony, but he still wasn’t used to it. Even Rhodey’s head was spinning wildly as he tried to compute all the voices interrogating him, he had no idea what hell the kid had to be going through. He heard the endless clicking of cameras, as all the papers and magazines tried desperately to snap a photo of the world’s most famous engineer and the boy he mysteriously adopted. Tony stepped in front of the boy, shielding him from the journalists and speeding up, trying to lead Peter inside as fast as possible. Rhodey followed behind, repeating over and over that none of the group wanted to answer questions regarding either personal or professional life and would they please be courteous and respect privacy. They reached the entrance, where the professional TV crews were covering the evening. They all forced smiles and waved briefly as they quickly disappeared into the building.

 Within five minutes of arriving at the party, Tony disappeared off into the amass of people and Rhodey guessed they wouldn’t really see him for the rest of the evening. Rhodey knew that although he had matured a lot in recent years, Tony still partied hard, and it was best to keep Peter away from a partying Tony. So, Peter spent most of the evening with Rhodey. Despite his usual rocky start, for once the kid seemed to be enjoying himself a lot more. Rhodey guess the kid felt a little more at home at an event celebrating a generous donation to a physics society – friendlier people, and lots of scientists and mathematicians. He introduced himself to the important faces of the charity and spoke briefly with Rhodey’s friends regarding some of his recent works with Tony in the lab. Without giving any key details away, he outlined how they were working to further increase the power of the arc reactor and how its purposes can be used in a wider range of things as the building cost is ever decreasing. Actually, the kid isn’t half bad at the party scene – Tony was never this good at small talk. A few journalists were dotted around the hall, but Peter generally managed to avoid them. He eventually snuck off to hang around the buffet table, planning to just eat his way through the evening. At one point, someone gave Peter a pint of cider, he had barely started to sip it before Tony swept in and removed it from his hands. Rhodey couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Tony for the first time that evening, the second Peter gets his hands on some alcohol.

“what did I say about drinking?”

“I haven’t seen you in more than two hours! How on earth do you swoop in like that the second I start to break a rule?”

“I have my secrets…” Tony slurred, evidently drunk.

“If you put FRIDAY into my watch I swear to God”

“language… you’re getting pretty fucking close… wait shit!” yup, Tony was pissed.

“Hey Tony, I really think you’re the one that should lay off the booze a little?” Peter reasoned, ever looking like a lost puppy.

“Not a chance kiddo…” Tony shook his head, then suddenly in a much soberer fashion, “You ready to go home kid? I think it’s probably about time – you’re looking a little peaky.” He cupped the boy’s cheek as Peter nodded. “M’kay, Imma get Happy to take you back to the Tower. I’ll be home before 3… or maybe 5… I dunno, at some point before your breakfast… I love you kid”

“Love you too Tony, see you in the morning.” Peter whispered as Tony pulled him into a close hug.

 Tony had never said “I love you” before to Peter, or to anyone before really, for that matter. And maybe Peter had brushed it off, recognising Tony was drunk, but Rhodey watched the two, and he knew that Tony really meant what he said. Peter had crept right in and stolen his heart.

#iron dad #spider son #spiderman #tony stark #peter parker #precious peter parker #tony stark has a heart #tony & peter #mcu #mcu fanfiction #rhodey

[apotatomashedbybts]

I'll be your Knight

[ GENRE: fluff, slight angst

Pairing: Jimin×Reader , Taegi

Soulmate!Taehyung, best friend!Yoongi

Word count: 2k+]

[Summary: When Y/n met Jimin she knew that it was a love at first sight. But she didn't expect the consequences that came with loving him. After their unwilling separation will Y/n be able to do what it takes to get him back?

A story of love, loss, fight, dreams, and friendship...]

Chapter I: My Best Friends

The hustle bustle of the airports never failed to amaze me. The Incheon Airport was no exception. Landing here I realized how much I missed my hometown, the air, the people, the stories. I hoped nothing much changed in my two years in UK. It's my last year in university. The university conducts a student exchange program for the last year students every year for six months and I was lucky enough to get transferred to SNU.

                                 I breathed in the air and looked at my watch. My best friend Taehyung was supposed to pick me up from the airport. I told him that I'd call him once I have landed but I was in no hurry. Spending time and observing people in populated areas is one of my favourite things to do. So many people and each one of them have so many stories to tell. 

                        My thoughts got cut off in the middle by the beeping sound of my phone.

After waiting for about half an hour I saw the signature boxy smile that I am so much used to since childhood approaching me. I felt the warmth spread in my heart in this chilly winter. He crossed the crowd with much efficiency and hugged me tightly. After hugging me for good five minutes he let me breath. I saw his eyes twinkle with mischief.

"So, I may or may not have a surprise for you." Tae said giggling.

"You gotta be kidding me! I have a surprise for you too!"

"Wait! Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat? You never cover your hair like that. It can't be what I think it is!!"

With one swift movement Tae removed both of our hats revealing our hairs and I knew that we shouldn't be surprised but still we were. Both Tae and I had dyed our hair the same colour, frosty chestnut with green highlights.

                                    We have been best friends and soulmates too since childhood. There were enough evidences about that since we met. We both were born on the same day at the same time. I don't know if this could be considered as a soulmate sign or not but I do believe it as one. Our first meeting was not that eventful though. Tae moved into our neighborhood when we were in kindergarten. We became friends and as days went by we became inseparable. We can tell what the other is thinking about a certain matter whether or not we look into each others eyes about almost everything. If one of us is extremely happy or sad or any other emotion is really strong then the other one of us can feel it, the distance doesn't matter. One can think that may be we are in a relationship. That's true though, we are indeed in a relationship, the soulmate relationship. Soulmates don't always necessarily have to be lovers, do they? No, we are not lovers, we are best friends.

                     Seeing that I realized how much I missed Tae. I hugged him once more tightly as a drop of tear trickled down my cheek. In my heart I could feel that Tae too was feeling as heavy and at the same as happy as I was.

                        On our way back we kept on arguing on who looks better with the hair colour. After we got in the car the ride was like the normal ones Tae and I have always had. Tae blasted the car's music system and we sang and screamed along with it. Our daily car ride routine also included stopping at multiple ice cream and candy stores. Today wasn't any different.

                 All these took us an hour before we arrived home. When mum opened the door I literally jumped into her arms. Dad was standing behind mum smiling and signalling me to hug him too. Gosh! I missed this warmth and homely feeling too much. The coffee shop near the university campus was the only place where I could confine whenever I felt homesick.

                Taking a quick shower I came down to the dining room. All of them were waiting for me. A person was missing though, and I know where he was.

"Yea! Finally strawberry pie!!" Tae screamed like a child. Mom and dad laughed at his antics as they always do. I am so used to these things that I just rolled my eyes and smacked him, but deep down I smiled as I always do.

  "Yah!" He cried and then whispered in my ear "that didn't hurt~!" and made faces at me. I made faces at him back.

Mom said controlling her smile," yah! You two! Stop bickering and eat!"

           Looking at his plate, Tae whined,"You promised me that you'll give me a whole pie! That's not fair!"

           Mom couldn't control her laughter. She said,"Calm down Mr. Tae Tae, I made another two pies, give one to your parents and treat yourself one. Ok? Are you happy now?"

                 Hearing this Tae grinned from ear to ear and giggled like a baby that he is.

                         I hoped that evenings like these were permanent in my life.

                      Suddenly mom jerked me,"Hey where's your mind? You still didn't comment on the pie!" 

I made my eyes as much big as I could and said," You know what the bubbles in my stomach are saying after eating this pie? Unbeliebubble."

                   Dad laughed so hard at this joke that I was startled at first and then I started laughing too. Mom didn't know how to react to this and Tae facepalmed saying," ISTG! If you don't stop hanging out with Seokjin hyung then I'll find myself a new best friend."

"You can't do that because no one is going to survive your insanity like I do. Besides Jinnie is my only closest friend back there who can keep me sane when I miss you all like crazy!" I replied hugging mum. And Tae made the perfect guess,"I bet you spend more time in Jin hyung's cafe than any other places in the campus!" I looked at my mum and smiled sheepishly.

"You should tell Jin to visit us someday here. He is a lovely boy!" Mom said while putting the dishes away. "Of course mum, he is the loveliest boy!" said this mischievous best friend of Tae while sticking out a tongue at him.

                         Suddenly I remembered and asked Tae, "Hey aren't you going to the underground club today?"

"Which day is it?" asked a calm Tae.

"Saturday, you dumb head!"

"Oh shit! I can't miss Yoongi hyung's performance! Go get ready quickly, we are leaving in fifteen!"

                            Our friend circle is incomplete without Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the parent in our group of three, the protector, the rapper, the brilliant musician and our best friend. Missing him had always made me realise his role in our lives and his qualities distinctively. Since childhood whenever Tae and I got into any problem Yoongs protected us.

                             When Tae and I first started going to middle school we used to get bullied a lot. Specially me because I was really weak looking and in order to save me Tae also got bullied. After the third month Yoongs noticed us and told off the bullies. For some reason they were all afraid of him. But we knew that he was one of the sweetest person ever. After that Tae almost everyday began to hang out with him and seeing Tae me too went to hang out with Yoongs. In spite of being two years older than us he became a permanent and vital part of our group. And surprisingly enough his home was in the same neighborhood.

                             Four years ago when Yoongs started performing at the underground club "Youth" we never missed his performances. As his friends we were his greatest supporters and Tae was his biggest fanboy. Even after I went away Tae never stopped attending and he always took videos so that I never miss a single performance. But videos and video calling is a thing and seeing everyone and everything in person is another.

                         I hadn't told Yoongs that I was coming back today and told Tae to not tell him. "It's a surprise!" I smiled thinking about it. I noticed that there was something unusual when the car didn't take the turn it was supposed to take. Instead it was going to the middle of the city. Well, I love surprises so I controlled my curiosity. When the car stopped in front of "Young Forever", one of the biggest underground clubs in Seoul, Tae noticed me while laughing that I couldn't close my opened mouth. I was too shocked to say anything. I never ever imagined that I could come here. Now I realized why Tae told me to dress up properly and why did he stopped at his house to change too. It was like a dream come true specially for Yoongs.    

                                  I clearly remembered whenever we used to have a sleepover in any of our houses we would build blanket forts and in all those sleepless nights Yoongs would go on about his dreams, Tae and I would stare at his starry eyed and wonder what it would be like to dream and achieve. I guess dreams do come true, sooner or later. And this was just a start for Yoongs.

                      Tae got special passes from Yoongs by which at least two people could get inside. So we were let in with a bow. This treatment made me feel as if I was a royal. I smiled to myself and told Tae,"So this is what feels like to be a royal, like a princess!"

Tae was about to say something but we were already in front of the stage and Yoongs performance was about to start. He had changed his earlier stage name from Suga to Agust D. Except the habit of saying "Suga" so much had changed but I wasn't ready for THIS! This level up was on another level.

We hyped him from the audience as we have always done. But I clearly felt a tinge of a feeling that one feels when you're really happy seeing someone whom you really love and I clearly knew where that feeling was coming from. I looked at him and noticed the heart eyes he was giving to Yoongs.

"Does Yoongs even know about this?" I thought to myself. "I have to do something about them!" and I facepalmed mentally.

                    Yoongs' performance ended after an hour and it got the most applause from the audience. He didn't even notice us while performing. We went to the backstage and Yoongs looked at us as if he was totally expecting us, tch tch, expecting Tae. But when he realised that it was me beside Tae, he looked as if he had seen the sun rising from the west. "I'll be damned." was his first response. I have never been fond of gummy smiles other than his.

                                 "Can I have an autograph please Mr. Min Yoongi? I am a really big fan of yours."

  "Yah! this kid!" Yoongs tilted his head slightly and shook his head smiling. No one calls us kid other than Yoongs and we love that, totally.

"Today's my treat, let's go to aunt's restaurant. After you left we almost stopped going there." Yoongs said while hugging me.

  "So you are rich now! We have been saved from poverty oh God!" I exclaimed dramatically.

  "Will you ever stop being so dramatic? And FIY I am not that rich, not yet, and that's why I am treating you there at aunt's place. Plus the club  is going to pay me a decent amount on the days I perform here, you know high class priorities and all."

                  Tae snatched Yoongs from me and with the boxy smile permanent on his face he rushed us out.

       The ride to aunt's kimchi place was a total insane one. We recorded Yoongs' performance at the club, so we played it all along the way on car's speakers and jammed and screamed loudly with it while bopping our heads with every power in our body. Yoongs was scolding us as loudly as he could while driving but I knew he was happy, a lot. 

Other chapters

A/N: So, another story, another au, a new series. I hope you guys will like it. Please do leave reviews. Thank you for reading. The next part will be uploaded a few days later. Love you 💜💜💜

And a special thank you to @indecisivefangirling for making me realise that soulmates aren't necessarily lovers. Love you sweetheart 💜

#jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #bts #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts stories #love story #fluff #jimin fluff #taehyung #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #soulmates #best friend #bts yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi #bts fake texts #jimin×reader #jimin ff #ibyk au #i'll be your knight #series #i'll be your knight au

[ktheist]

darling, we’ll be okay

pairings: yoongi x reader word count: 2 360 genre: fluff i guess

concept: do you ever feel, for whatever reason be it as small as having absolutely nothing cute to wear to screwing a job interview, you want to disappear from the world and bury yourself in blankets and netflix and chill? it’s okay to do that. even the avengers need a break after battling an army of alien invasion.

You thought that if you’d stayed put, wrapped in your blanket like a burrito with only a flock of bird’s nest visible on one end, who ever’s knocking on your door would get that you’re not home. Since not many or at all would get why someone wouldn’t get the door if they were, unless they’re in the shower or have the stereos blasting in their rooms until they went deaf by the music.

But your walls are paper-thin and even a sneeze from the farthest room in your apartment could travel through the narrow hallway, into common area and past through the crevice under the door. So no, you don’t have the volume at its highest and you aren’t dancing on the bed with a pair of faded shorts and fader t-shirt of your favorite band you got off their website when you went to see them two years ago and you’re not in the shower thus you won’t be getting out of it anytime soon if they’re planning to wait until you do.

I mean anyone sane enough should leave and come back another time, or give you a call on your cellphone and leave a voice message after the beep once they realize their hand could be falling off their wrist and the door still won’t be open, shouldn’t they?

Amidst the debate between what kind of headstrong person on your door and whether you should take it as a sign from life telling you it’s god-knows-what hour and get your ass up and get some decent meal, AKA the leftovers from the fridge that you knew would come in handy, the incessant knocking stops. Completely.

And since your walls are equivalent to the thickness of a cardboard which, isn’t very thick, you hear the clipped clicking of the lock, the ominous creak that your door tends to make as it reminds you that the hinges need oiling before you get locked out of your own apartment for good. But you’re willing to give it another five years, give and take, before the metal keeping the door and door frame intact completely rusts in its place and requires you or whoever moved in by then to shoulder-shove and foot-on-the-wall yank it to make it open and close.

In a sense, you should be alarmed that someone’s found the spare key you stored under the mat and abandoned all common sense of privacy to get into your apartment to drop off god-knows-what they couldn’t just leave on your doorsteps.

Your intruder struts in with a steady pace that goes against the urgency brought by the drive of coming in uninvited, their footfalls echoing louder in the hallway until they stop by the bed which you are currently rotting away under the layers of blanket.

Against your better judgement and lack of will to face the world and people, you grasp the end of the blanket and yank it down to your nose, just enough to pry one eye and see the figure towering over you with all black and smelling of coffee, something delicious and fresh laundry. The latter, you haven’t had the luxury of donning.

“What time is it?” Even you’re surprised of the toad-like voice that scratched your throat, all the more reason to get off the bed after who knows how long of netflix and chill.

Judging from the lights pouring through the smallest of gaps from the blinds, the sun must be high over your head and shining brightly for a day’s worth of errands and for Yoongi to also be barely awake at this time of the day. Yet here he is, fresher than the morning dew and in your apartment instead of his.

“Three in the afternoon give and take,” he shrugs, “You’re not answering you phone or texts, how’d the interview go?”

He sits himself on the bed, his thigh pressing against your blanketed arm though he can do without the contact since the empty sides of the bed is big enough with you forming a lump on the center. But you’re not one to complain as you find the warmth of another being much more welcoming than what your blanket offers which really is just your body heat accumulated under it.

You look over the handbag on the floor by the door where your phone has been since you got off the plane, dropped carelessly last night in your lack of care for the world and immense urge to detach yourself from it which is saying a lot since you rarely separate from the device, checking your social media accounts every five minutes out of habit and sometimes seeing a new post from one of your friends while other times, the dashboard remaining the same in its content since you last saw it.

“Good,” you take your bottom lip between your teeth in ginger contemplation, staring at Yoongi’s softened features and feeling a familiar knot in your stomach at the recollection of how things went not even 24 hours ago, “not good, not really.”

You pry the blanket waist-level as you drag yourself up, your joints feeling a whole lot less enthusiastic about the movement after having been constantly buried under a pile of blankets for 12 hours.

Yoongi hands you a cup of coffee, the circular emerald logo on it signifying your favorite place to get a quality caffeinated drink which just sends your heart flipping in your chest. He doesn’t just check up on you, he’s making sure you have your morning dose of awakening and judging from the suspicious paper bag next to the cup holder on your nightstand, Yoongi is making sure you’re getting the most important meal of the day as well. 

“What’s wrong?”

You take an appreciative gulp of the bittersweet beverage, your arm pressed against his not in a compact, no-space kind of way like when you’re packed in a car with four people instead of three in the backseat but rather a nice, comforting human contact kind of way where you can feel his own muscles relax against yours, shoulders slumped as you both lean against the headboard, staring at the baby blue wall in front of you.

Yoongi’s eyes are barely open like they usually are even though he’s probably already finished his own coffee on the way here. The corners of his mouth are naturally pulled down, giving him the signature blank look he wears most of the time which anyone would have guessed him to be bored, disinterested in fact, despite the serious question.

But having been friends with Yoongi for over three years and noting that he’s more observant than he lets on, you know your answer, however ridiculous it may be, Yoongi will not be one of those people you decided against confiding because you know how they’ll react and brush off your anxiety like dust on a broom.

“I stuttered,” you mumble against the rounded carton rim, hands encasing the cup like the only beacon of strength you have left, “more like choked on my words which is worse honestly and fidgeted in my seat.”

Another sip of the liquid is just an excuse for you to soak in what you’ve said yourself, recalling the moments you wish badly to forget through reruns of Criminal Minds with a bowl of cheetos. Whilst you would have flashbacks at the most random times and wish to hit your head against the coffee table just to tell your memory storage to stop giving you unnecessary remembrance, Luke Alves, for the most part brought you back to the present and how he profiles the unsub.

“And blabbered on and on,” the panelists’ faces are clear in your head as you tell him whilst holding the urge to face-plant into the pillow and scream until your throat hurts and you can project a screech no more, “It was a mess, I’m pretty sure I failed, no, I know I failed.”

“You don’t know for sure,” Yoongi takes the beverage when you hand it over to him to place it back on the nightstand, deciding it’s lost its sugary sweetness to the bitter aftermath of overflowing thoughts,” not until you get a notice whether you got it or not.”

His hand wraps around your now empty hand whilst the other fetches the paper bag and drops it on your lap, thumb pad caressing the back of your hand and sparking electricity with every minute stroke like a match on emery. Your hands fit together perfectly, yours a tad smaller but perfect, you think as you trail the green vein protruding under his skin, disappearing under the sleeve of his cardigan.

“I heard them laughing as I leave the room,” Though uncurling the top of the bag serves to be more of a struggle with one hand, you manage to straighten it out and peek in, the smell of sausages and bacon instantly hitting your nostrils as your stomach all of a sudden decides it’s hungry, “I mean, if I don’t get the job, I at least get to be an amusement, right?”

You bite off a strip of bacon, relishing in the wholeness of an actual food since yesterday’s lunch; last night’s cheetos doesn’t count as a meal and despite the nonchalance you put on, your hand twitches just the slightest bit, gripping Yoongi’s a tad tighter for the briefest moment and you can only hope he doesn’t feel it, “Not the mean kind of laugh, more like, an adult watching a baby’s reaction to broccoli kind of laugh.”

The only sound resonating off the walls is the crippling of the paperbag as you dip your free hand into it, opting for a sausage next as Yoongi leans his head against the board, sight averted to the ceiling instead of the wall; his thumb is still caressing the patch of skin near your knuckle. You’re not sure if he’s doing this mindlessly or if he really knows how much you need it more than you do from the years you’ve spent, mapping each other’s faces, rubbing off one another and learning the little things about the other.

“How are you feeling now?” Judging from the comforter draped over the couch, the bowl of half eaten cheetos and a few kernels that missed your mouth and are now lying on the floor and the laptop on the coffee table next to said bowl, not to mention your excessive lethargy to getting the door, Yoongi’s bound to catch on and ask the million dollar question, in spite of the joke and unaffected tone.

Your biting stops, the food going down forcefully as you lose what’s left of your appetite. For half a second, you’re recalling every minute you spent in the room you were interviewed in from the moment you stepped in to the moment you humiliate yourself with your nonsensical babbling until you're led out.

Yoongi brings you back  with the sparks of his touch, not realizing what effect he has on you as he peers down at your reverie-stricken self with those down turned lips which can only mean two things which a) he’s attentively listening and right now it’s the silence that’s speaking so loud and b) he’s debating whether to tell you about the pinch of bacon stuck in your teeth.

You’re assuming it’s the first.

“Not okay,” you release a long sigh and lean your head against the dashboard as well, uncaring if your tightening grip is almost uncomfortable and causes him to want to pull away but you need this, you need him even just for a second to remind you that you’re back home, away from the nerve-wracking interview, done, “I feel like I made a complete fool of myself and all I want is stay in bed all day long, sleep and just forget about everything.”

Yoongi lifts his head and looks at you in the eye, dark brown exploring the depths of your messed up soul and yet instead of feeling as though every layer of your skin is being peeled until you’re reduced to a throbbing piece of organ that’s bare for the world to judge and laugh at, you’re safe from the prying eyes, sarcastic inquiries that only builds up to letting you down and everything that leaves scars and bruises over these hands.

“And that’s okay too to want to want to take a break from life and binge watch crime shows all day so you won’t overthink,” he bops his forehead with yours, the gesture too brief to be believable but the fresh blaze on your cheekbones and ears tell you otherwise as you refrain from covering where he bumps your forehead with your own hand as you play it cool, “so long as you invite me.”

Yoongi already has his head back on the dashboard, shoulders slumped and looking as relax as he can be except he’s not staring into nothing; he’s looking at you and he means every word of it, understood the struggle of waking up to face the world, the frightening notion of facing a society that deems staying in and wanting time for yourself is nothing but laziness.

Your heart fill up with something warm and not so foreign when it comes to Yoongi and his all black wearing self, his unsmiling and then gummy smiling the next minute self, his absolute passion for sleeping in and his subtle ways of making you feel a whole lot better about yourself.

“Well,” you flip your wrist so that your palm is facing upwards and Yoongi’s is facing downwards as your own thumb mimics his, acknowledging the handlock for the first time, “since you brought me food and coffee, consider yourself invited.”

In the quietude of the sword-clashing and order-barking from The Magician, you sit side by side with your arms pressed together the way you would despite the fact that it’s a three person couch, immersed in something that sets your mind at ease and even the remembrance of the interview couldn’t make you to want to change that with a head-bang or a pillow scream.

note: this is something really personal for me, and it’s not as fluff centered as the standard oneshots on here but if you’ve come this far, thank you for reading. or even just checking this out.

#bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #networkbangtan #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi scenario #bts scenario #bts au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi au #bts #bts images #yoongi imagines #bts oneshot #yoongi oneshot #yoongi drabble

[deputysaint]

👫 gimme gimme

      @housesmadeofglass  //  radio call    [ always accepting ]

   1. a part of deacon has always known that rachel’s life was complicated. he wants to say it’s the familiarity of her gaze, of the way she holds herself when he first comes across her in the woods, like she has nothing to fear as the county collapses around her. but nothing really clicks until the church, until he catches the tale end of john’s bragging over the radio. jacob, i have her. i have your wife, your daughter. in the seconds it takes before he is grabbed, before he is knocked unconscious, he looks at her and knows the truth of her, knows why her daughter looked so familiar and dangerous despite her cherubic features. jacob’s daughter. a seed.    ( he hopes she sees the forgiveness in his eyes when he wakes to the feeling of a needle piercing his skin. he hopes she knows that he understands her plight. but he never tells her, never has a chance to sit her down and tell her that it’s not her fault, and that he understands. )

   2. despite only meeting a handful of times, there is a connection between them that neither really acknowledge. a connection of loss and remaking. rachel has never quite been broken, not like deacon has by the end of the collapse. but she knows his plight, the way the world has molded him into something not quite sane. they are both tied to the seed family, though to different men, and they are both tied to broken, mad men. they are alike in more ways than they are different, and it’s why he goes to her for comfort when the new world is too sharp, and why she always opens her door to him without question.

   3. it is rachel who first refers to him as uncle d to her children, something that breaks a little piece of deacon and causes him to weep. he remembers his sister, her wife, the soft little baby that had been his nephew. he sees a lot of all of them in the mess of a family jacob has left behind, and it helps to recenter the former deputy, makes him remember that he is more than a tool or a silent judge or a silent shadow to joseph, that at one point he had been a man, a brother, an uncle. he doesn’t know where his family is now, but rachel allows him into hers, and for that, he is grateful.    ( it’s not a substitute, or a replacement, but something shiny and new, and he loves her for that. for giving him a new start in a world that has been created from the sins of his past. )

   4. wrath is a sin he still bears, something evidence by his reaction to the highwaymen crashing into hope county. they come on cars, blasting music from over a decade past, and they wield weapons and anger and destroy everything they touch. when he first hears of their destruction, he leaves joseph’s side for the first time in a long while, treks across the remains of hope county to where rachel and her family have made their own home. he fights with them, at first using a bow, then using other weapons, things he has not touched since the world had burned around them. he presses his fingers so deep into a man’s eye sockets that he screams, uses his helmet as a bat, beats a woman half his size to death with his bare hands. he soaks in their sudden fear of him, relishes the sharp taste of sudden panic as they realize he is more monster than man.    ( he wields his wrath like it is a weapon, like joseph had always told him not to. but deacon would burn the whole world over again to ensure the safety of his new sister, of the nieces he’s watch grow. and he makes sure the intruders know this. )

#housesmadeofglass #unfiled. ( tbt ) #radio. ( askbox )