#I’m in jersey and can smell the smoke all the way over here

[donotfear-iamhere]

The air quality here has gotten so much worse than yesterday omgg

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby (eventually), mini slowburn, suggestive language, jealousy, nora & mel & ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parental death, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: hi everyone, waaaa thanks for all the follows! i appreciate you all sooo soo much. so sorry this was a day late! i don't really like this chapter and probably will come back and edit to be a little better. but enjoyx

(no y/n)

wc: 3k

The midterm season ended with many restless nights with Abby. She was satisfied with the amount of time you two were spending together but found it incredibly irritating it was only because of school. She wanted you to be hanging out with her because it was her. She remembered one night while you two were studying some dosage math how your face scrunched up at the problem. Your eraser nub started to become obsolete, scratching against your notebook, followed by the brush of an angry hand. She liked to see you struggle, she enjoyed those small grunts you let out as you pressed harder onto the paper, as if that would make the right answer appear. “Abby.” You groaned. 

She started to notice that she liked that too when you would say her name all frustrated but softly with a sleepy pout. She let you struggle so she could scoop in and save you from your own mental despair. 

“Look, pay attention. The order is 750 mg of Erythromycin, okay? On hand is 250 mg of Erythromycin capsules,” Abby writes the formula neatly. “Let’s do that math. You know it, I know you do.” 

She watches you press your fingers into the sides of your temples as if you could massage your brain. You begin writing out the computation. 

“Oh, so it was 3 this whole time.” You sigh. 

“Yes, you were close.” Abby smiles as she reaches out to rub your back. Even though you both were sitting here, after a four-hour study session, she thought you looked precious. 

A week later, you had fallen asleep on her shoulder while sitting on her sofa rewatching an old lecture. She analyzed your face as if it were a picture she was never to see again. Your bottom lip was glossy and hanging, eyes gently shut with your eyelashes wrinkling in the inner corners, the way your body pressed against hers; heavy and relentlessly. She could tell you felt safe in her presence and that warmed her so much that she began to sweat from anxiety. She didn’t want to wake you up, she knew you hadn’t slept properly and lived off of energy drinks the last couple of days. Your little open-mouthed snores made her smile, you were perfect in her eyes. 

She had dozed off for a bit too and noticed your head was now on the back of the couch, slightly over her shoulder. 

“Hey, hey. Come on, let me get you some sleeping stuff.” 

You blink to uncloud your vision. Embarrassed, you wipe your face and hold it in your hands watching Abby carry over blankets from her hall closet. You silently say thank you to her, not sure if she even heard you. She drags a pillow from her bed, encased in a dark green jersey material. 

“Just lay down. Please?” Abby knew you’d protest and walk back to your apartment, which made her demands even stronger. How could she tell you she wanted you in her bed right now? She couldn’t. 

You press your head against the firm yet soft surface and drag the blanket up to your neck with her standing over you. Almost admiring you.

“I’m going to go to bed too, if you need me…” Her voice trailed off.

God, this smells like her, you thought. The conditioner she uses is melted into the fiber and threads of this pillow. The piney scent of her skin has left traces on the seams and all you can do is sink into it more, imagining it was her chest. You felt the rhythm of her breathing calm you to sleep and her bolder arms tucking you into her side.

Abby lay in her bed, one pillow missing, helplessly wishing that you would waddle to her door and slip under the covers with her. But you never did.

Two weeks later, Thanksgiving break rolled around and you were due back home to visit your family. Abby was sitting on the edge of your bed watching you fold your clothes up and place them in your duffle. Nursing student's schedules were different from the rest of the university, so your break started today, on Monday. 

“You are a horrible folder.” Abby snorts. 

“Since you’re so good at professionally folding clothes show me.” 

She stood up and took one of your sweaters, facing it on the bed, tossing the sleeves over the torso portion, and folding the bottom to the collar. She stood with a stupid grin admiring her work with her hands on her hips. You nudge her in the rib cage and she shoves you back. The last month or so you two would get into these playful rumbles that ended up with Abby grabbing or pinning your wrists down under her body. 

“No, not today. Stop.” She says.

It’s obvious I’m flirting right, Abby thought. 

“Thanks for your help but I usually just do my way to everything, shirts, pants, sweaters, not my underwear though, who folds those?” 

Abby plops on the bed and raises her eyebrows as to say, Me, idiot. 

“Abby please don’t…” 

“Folded and color coordinated,” 

You couldn’t get the image of her ass in a black thong out of your mind now. 

“You have to take care of them, they’re delicate.” She shrugs. 

“I know,” you say opening your underwear drawer. “It’s just, look at them.” 

Abby was looking, she was looking hard. You’re holding up a pair of nude cheeky, lace panties out of a handful you removed from the dresser. She wondered if you had worn those the day of the house party, and how different things would be right now if she had been responsible for destroying them that night.

“Okay teach me your stupid foldy-thingy,” you say. 

Abby holds your panties like they are pure gold. She tucks the corners in and then folds the crotch to make somewhat of a roll and presents it to you after retaking her position.

“You excited to go home?” She asks.

“Of course, I’m helping cook this year, so that’s kinda fun, I guess. How about you?” 

“I was just gonna camp out here, catch up on some NCLEX stuff.” 

Abby watches your mouth fall open. 

“Abigail!” You yell, startling her. She loved the way her name sounded between your lips.

“I can’t just let you be here alone, what the fuck, let me call home and change my flight, I’m serious.” 

You reach for your phone that sitting in the center of the bed. Before you know it Abby has it in her tight grip, and tucks it behind her back. “Nope. I’ll be okay.” 

You shove your empty duffle off the bed and climb to wrestle the phone from her grip. It happens so fast but suddenly, she’s under you and your legs are wrapped around her waist. 

“Abby, give me my phone, now.” 

She knows this is playful but the way your voice dropped with such authority made her tense. Your ass was pressed against the top of her mound that was now beating. As you place your arms on either side of her head she gulps. 

“What if I don’t?” She pokes. 

You roll your eyes. “Abby I can’t let you stay her alone. Plus Ellie invited me to this thing…” 

There it was. This wasn’t about her, it was about Ellie. 

You lift up and Abby sits up with your phone in her lap, trying to hide her frustration and she wasn’t good at that. “Right.” 

“Abby, it wasn’t just because of Ellie,” you start folding to hide from her eyes. “I like spending time with you. You’re a good friend to me. I wasn’t going to stay just for her.” 

“You weren’t?” 

“Not at all. But now I want to because of you. I wouldn’t feel right going home and being around my family knowing you’re here by yourself studying NCLEX flashcards.” 

“I’m just saying, you don't have to stay.” 

“I’m not asking for your permission, Abby.” 

The following morning Abby spent all day cleaning her apartment energetically awaiting your arrival. Her hair was tied messily on top of her head, bobbing as she scrubbed the inside of her tub. Part of her was doing this to settle her jitters, although you have hung out plenty of times, it was different. You and Abby came to an agreement that you would make a meal together, and she wanted it to be perfect. After sweating the chemicals she inhaled out of her pores, she showered and washed away any worries she had. 

She undressed over five times trying to find the right outfit and brushed her hair into different styles, but nothing was satisfying her. But as soon as you knocked on the front door she fluffed it and left it down, which she rarely does. Abby decided on black chino pants, a black short-sleeved top, a gold rope chain peaking under, and small matching gold hoops.

The soft jazz music played through her apartment, bouncing off the walls that were decorated in warm light from a few lamps. There were several candles littered around the living room too. You noticed Abby put on a tinted chapstick and mascara, darkening her eyes a bit. She smiles at you without saying a word, just relishing in your beauty. As she closed the door behind you, she took an unsuspecting look at you. 

“Are you ready Chef Anderson?” You ask. 

“I am very ready, let me get you a glass of wine.” 

Your glasses clink and she watches sip on the velvety liquid which stains your lips beautifully. You couldn’t take your eyes off her, she looked radiant. 

“I got all the groceries from the list you sent me and I am ready to cook, I only have one apron though…” 

“Good, I’m just here to look pretty and sit anyway.” You add. 

She scuffs at you and laughs lightly. Abby didn’t mind cooking for you, actually she preferred it this way.

You settle on the couch, body facing the kitchen and watch her tie a blue and white pinstriped apron around her waist. Her ass in those pants was decadent, you watched her bend over to reach into the fridge and shamelessly watched her muscle fill the slacks in all the right places. Her toned arms began prepping various veggies, flexing and precisely slicing them. You walk up behind her to get a better look, body pressed against the outside of her back and arm. She smiles over her shoulder and just continues to chop with such precision as if she were a surgeon. 

“Wanna try?” She asked, lifting the knife to you. 

You set your glass on the counter and pick up the professional-grade knife that was just in her hands. You begin dicing the onions but they come out jagged compared to the cut of hers. 

“How do you—“ 

Before you could finish your sentence her hands were coming up to yours, hand around your wrist and guiding you on the proper level of pressure to use. Her hips were gently brushing your backside, forearm swooping on your back, looking over your shoulder, and whispering praises in your ear. 

Like that. Ahh Perfect. Good. Slower. 

“My sous chef.” She smiled, tilting her head at you, as she refilled your glasses. She wiped her hands on her apron and moved on to the next thing. She didn’t mind that you were watching her hands grip around the base of the knife, proctoring her every move. 

“Am I doing a good job?” She asked.

“Yes, a very good job.” 

You emptied her cabinets with the proper cutlery to set the table. Abby found herself observing how neatly you laid out the plates and napkins, it felt right. She recognized the feelings that she had for you in that moment were undeniable. It felt like she could do this forever with you. Make dinner after a long shift and sit and talk to you about any and everything, live together, and build a dream life. Once you noticed her watching and staring, she blinked to awaken herself from that fantasy.

“Ah fuck,” she muttered. 

“What’s wrong?”

“This is my cooking shirt, I’m going to go change into something cleaner.” 

She walked away hurriedly, nervous that you noticed her soiled top. She crossed her arms, peeling off her shirt, exposing the back of her red mesh bra to you. Your eyebrows lift as you wonder if she has the matching panties. She exchanged the black shirt for a white one, where the sleeves suffocated her arms and clung to her body in a seductive way. The traces of the bra were outlined in the fabric, exposing the intricate lacing on the top. 

“This looks really delicious.” You smile as Abby dishes up your food.

She grins at your compliment and serves herself ready to eat.  

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

You push your food around on your plate, suddenly feeling shy, and look up to her waiting for your words back. “I’m really glad I stayed. You know how to treat a girl right.” 

Abby bit the corner of her lip, you always made her lose her train of thought when you looked at her with those wide eyes. Halfway through dinner, with a few more glasses of wine, and a lot of food in, you really begin to feel a flutter in your stomach and wonder if Abby is feeling the same way too. 

“So, the whole Nora situation.” Your voice trailed.

Abby sighs. “Nothing came of it, I still never replied to that message.” 

“Why not?” 

Abby couldn’t read your face — was it jealousy, contempt, or something else. 

“Not really interested in her. I could force myself to be but it’s not really fair is it?” 

“I mean, she just wanted to sleep with you I’m sure.” You sip. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I just know.”

“From personal experience?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Anderson.” 

Abby stood over the sink wiping down the countertop after washing the dishes, and you did the same to the dining room table. “All done Chef.” You smile, tossing the towel at her. You walk towards her with a half-lidded, tipsy look and she just shoves you away playfully.

“Come dance with me Anderson.” 

“What? No.” She chuckles apprehensively.

She dries her hands on the towel thrown over her shoulder and strolls over to you. You roll your hips to the music and turn around slowly, so she can get a glimpse of you. Her eyes travel up and down your body, appreciating the view. 

“C’mon Abby, show me how you showed Mel.” You poke. 

She doesn’t hesitate to drape your arms over her shoulders and lace her fingers behind your back. You glance down to her cherry mouth and back to her eyes. Music was playing but you couldn’t hear it, she trapped you, and there was no going back. 

“I’m not the best dancer you know.” She says. 

“Well, I can see that.” 

You look at her body, stiff as a board. You remove your arms and switch positions with her, bringing her arms over your shoulders and holding her waist. Abby was surprised to see you take the initiative. She laughed at how large her arms were in comparison to yours, but she noticed your grip was strong on her hips. 

“I like when you guide me.” She whispered. 

“You do?” 

“A lot.” 

“I tend to prefer to take the lead,” You smirk. 

Abby loses her footing as you push her back to fall into a box step. She becomes flustered trying to find the rhythm in the music, watching your feet, attempting to emulate your pattern. 

“Eyes up.” You say, lifting her chin. 

Abby fell into the steps, her eyes concentrating on you. She saw her deepest desire play out in her mind, which was kissing you, and there was nothing stopping her now. She also didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“I got it.” She smiled. 

“See, now you can share this with whomever.” You say, pulling away. 

Abby scratched her neck. “What if I only want to share it with you?” 

Her words ring loudly in your ears, the combination of her touch and the wine was making everything sweeter. She stepped forward, wrapping her hand around the back of your neck, and pressed her lips against yours. The bitter grape taste swirled in your mouth as her smooth mouth found yours. You rest your hands on her waist, thumbs perched under her t-shirt, massaging her skin. 

Abby was embarrassed at how wet she became from just a simple kiss. Your fingers on her were cold but it was the warmest touch she ever received. Neither of you pulled away until you were fighting for air. It was the first time in Abby’s life that she made the first move on a woman she had an interest in. She grinned proudly after examining your sweet face.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to do that.” She said. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you glide your hands over the curve of her ass.

Abby’s stomach dropped through the floor as you gently toyed with her. She watched the ends of your grin curl, noticing how sensitive you made her. You lean in again, hovering in front of her lips. 

“You wanna do it again?” You tease. 

“I do.” She mumbles. 

You ghost your lips onto hers, barely touching, not even a peck. She huffs in frustration and pushes herself in closer, to which you pull away. She rolls her eyes and tries again, and you lean away. Finally, she grabs your face and doesn’t hold back. Your cheeks are crushed in her palms, her tongue is desperate in your mouth and searching for yours. Abby’s breathing heavily and walking you backward into the nearest wall. Without breaking contact, she grabs your wrists and puts them above your head. Her lips wrap around your tongue and she starts sucking without warning. Her thigh comes in between your legs, practically lifting you up the wall, and you gasp at the sensation. 

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

Having a little fun with this Price POV Ghost character study piece so here have a snippet:

Council flats are the same the country over. Damp-scaled walls, the smell of piss and stale cigarette smoke in the landings, the rude graffiti the only kind of color in the grey. It’s a homecoming in a certain kind of way, reminds Price of his own childhood spent in a block of flats very much like this in Hackney.

The Riley’s door is nondescript, the same as all the others on this hall: graffiti-marred and otherwise featureless. Flat 222. There's the low sound of a TV from inside, some kids cartoon program with the volume on way too loud.

He knocks. 

He isn't expecting the child that opens the door, is almost taken aback by him. He's a skinny thing, towheaded, freckles on his cheekbones, dressed in the style of every child on the margins: overlarge football jersey gone grey with poor washing, frayed trackies hanging off his skinny hips. He looks at Price, glares almost.

“who’re ya then?” 

“I'm here to see Mrs. Riley” he says, the guilt nearly suffocating “is she in?”

“Gran!” the kid shouts. He has the same gap in his teeth that Simon has, the same wide-dark deer-eyes “There’s a man here!” 

Simon’s mother is a slender woman, bony, her expression perpetually frightened like it had forgotten how to be anything else. Price had read the file, knows that Simon’s father passed away two years ago, but when you’ve been haunted for so long it’s difficult to stop jumping at shadows even when the sun comes out. He’d know.

“Ma’am. I’m captain John Price, of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service…” Price begins and then realizes he’s not entirely sure how to proceed. This has always been his least favorite part of the job and now, adding a lie on top of it, it’s almost unbearable.

She beats him to it, however, that same sharpness in her that Simon possesses, that same whip-smart mind. 

“It’s about Simon” she says “Isn’t it?” 

“I’m very sorry” Price says, handing her the little box with Simon’s dog tags nestled inside “You have my condolences” 

She takes the box from him and this is the place where these encounters can go off the rails. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they scream and try and beat him to death, sometimes - like Mrs. Riley - they go very very quiet. Retreat inside themselves and hide. 

“It’s better” she says after a solid minute of silence, and her voice is thin and shaky like she’s trying to convince herself “to know. I hope he didn’t suffer” 

“It was quick” Price says because what’s another lie on top of all the others?

She nods, opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else only to be interrupted by the presence of a man coming around the corner from the living room. 

He’s tall like Simon is, though less broad, has the addict’s thin-skinned-ness to him; heroin wastage despite nearly a year clean. Tommy, if Price had to guess, Simon’s older brother. 

“Mum?” he says, half a question, eyeing Price with distrust, coming up behind his mother primed to step between them should he need to. The child, who until this point had been lingering in the entryway, darts behind him to grip tightly to his belt loop and peer out at Price from behind the bulwark of his father's thigh.

“It’s Simon” she says, simply, quietly, and Tommy’s face crumples. 

“Can…” she starts and then shudders like the whole world just quaked beneath her feet, a faultline growing in the universe “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea, captain?” 

And they do this, sometimes, the mothers - freeze inside themselves and offer hospitality as though to pretend everything is going to be alright. The typical British belief that everything can be fixed with PG Tips and hot water. 

“No” Price says and his voice feels thick like someone poured treacle in his lungs instead of air “Thank you, ma’am. I have duties elsewhere.”

“Of course” she says, so pale suddenly Price is surprised he can’t see through her “Thank you, captain” 

Price can’t stay and watch, can’t intrude on the smoking crater he’d just made of a life. He salutes and walks away. 

He reaches the stairwell before the weeping starts. Before the door closes and all is quiet again.

And just like that Simon Riley is dead. 

Just like that there is only Ghost.

[masterwords]

probably lucky i'm alive

Summary: Derek drives Hotch home from New York (coda to 4x01 - Mayhem) and their car breaks down. It's a comedy of errors but they make the best of it.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 10.5k

Warnings: concussion, bomb mentions, death mention, grief, vomit...Hotch is a whole mess. It's all canon based so if you know the episode you probably have an idea what to expect. Except you know, Hotch is actually hurt in a more realistic way after having a car explode in his face so he is suffering.

Notes: Another Mayhem story. Yep! You're welcome. I think this is my favorite one to date, if that tells you anything. Thank you all for putting up with me! (I wrote this for the "only one bed" prompt for Day 5 of @criminalmindsweek but it took me forever and totally got away from me. They do have to share one bed it just takes 10k words to get there.)

Read on AO3: probably lucky i'm alive

**

Steam or smoke, that’s the game his mom used to play when her car would go on the fritz. If it’s steam, she’ll make it. Her car will be toast but she’ll probably get to her destination. If it’s smoke, she has to pull over right away before it’s in flames. They went through a lot of beaters when Derek was little, it was more economical for his parents to drop $250 on a new car that would limp them through a few months to a year than to fix problems that would arise on any of them. Fixing anything would have been more than most of the cars were worth.

After his father died, they just started taking the bus for a long time. They didn’t have to play the game with the city bus.

Derek hasn’t ever had to play that game with any of his cars. He’s made damn sure of it. But now he’s playing it with a government issue SUV that should be in tip top shape. He’s playing it on a long road trip back home after a really bad case, a road trip that really just needed to go smoothly. He glances at the dash, checks for indicator lights, checks the engine temperature and the oil pressure. Nothing is indicating that it’s an immediate thing, not yet. The car’s precious sensors haven’t registered what the problem is.

Hotch is asleep in the passenger seat. He’s been asleep since they crossed the New Jersey state line. They’d been talking, just awkward small talk that felt forced until he sort of went quiet. Got a faraway look on his face and then let his eyes drift closed. Derek was glad for it. They’d never had trouble talking before, hell they were practically inseparable from the moment they met but the last few weeks things have been challenging and it came to an explosive climax in New York. Derek thought driving him home might fix it. Or at least put them on the right path.

The trajectory they were currently maintaining was not supportable long term. Something had to give.

After a little too long convincing himself that it’s definitely steam and it’s disappearing, it’s fine, he’s absolutely certain that what is coming out from beneath the hood in fine little tendrils is in fact smoke. And those fine little tendrils are taking on more substance as the miles tick by. There’s no shoulder to pull over on, not here, so he angles the SUV toward the next exit and tries to get them to a safe place to pull over before the engine erupts in flames.

After the night they had, this is about the worst thing he can think of to happen.

“Smoke,” Hotch mumbles, shifting in his seat. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet but the smell has permeated the vehicle now. “Is that smoke?”

“Yeah, hold tight I’m finding a spot to pull over. Dammit.”

The last thing Hotch needs to see after last night is another SUV in flames and Derek is right, the minute the other man registers what is happening his entire body goes rigid. He’s doing his best not to show it and maybe if it were anyone but Derek they might not see it right away it but he knows better. He knows Hotch better.

“It’s all good, man,” he says in as calm a voice as he can muster when he knows he’s pulling them off of the highway in the middle of nowhere. It’s not really the middle of nowhere, they’re just in that stretch of no man’s land between townships, a place where cell reception is weak at best because you don’t stop here you zip right on through. Unless your SUV starts billowing smoke and making creaking, popping and hissing noises. Hotch squeezes his eyes shut and Derek worries that he’s on the verge of a panic attack but he quickly pulls himself back out of it and looks straight ahead. Trains his eyes on the horizon. There are a few sparse patches of trees among an endless sea of cropped green grass, buildings off in the distance but nothing nearby.

“That doesn’t look good.” Hotch deadpans it, but Derek can hear a little tremor in his voice. He manages to angle the vehicle off the road enough not to be a burden but he can’t justify driving it any further, they’re dangerously close to seeing flames. He can feel the heat against his knees. It would be just his luck to have it erupt while they were both still in it. Lucifer’s poetic justice.

“Yeah, okay it’s not good but we’re fine. She’s overheating. Probably a coolant thing. I’ll take a look as soon as it’s safe, just relax okay?”

Easier said than done. Hotch is watching the smoke curl out from the seams and the smell of it is making him sick to his stomach, taking him back to the night before. To standing on the street watching his vehicle burn. Derek puts his hand on Hotch’s shoulder, a reassuring weight, and squeezes.

“Really. It’s just the engine being a shit head. Nothing to worry about. Worst case scenario we call a tow truck and hitch a ride somewhere to wait.”

Hotch doesn’t move beneath the weight of Derek’s hand, and for a beat too long Derek leaves it there. “Come on, let’s hop out huh? I’m gonna pop the hood and let it air out, see if I can get a feel for it.”

“Do you know anything about this engine?” Hotch has his doubts, but ultimately he does trust that Derek won’t make it worse anyway. A smoking engine seems about as bad as it can get, at least with the vehicle still in one piece.

“I know my way around under the hood.” He smirks a little and catches Hotch doing the same, a brief but welcome change in mood.

He can tell where the problem is, and has a pretty good idea of what needs to happen, but he also knows he can’t fix it. They need a few parts and a lot more experience than he has tinkering around with broken old cars. Maybe if it was a Ford Pinto with carburetor troubles, he could manage it. A faulty alternator? Or a broken muffler that needs a patch job. He became his mother’s personal home mechanic at a young age, helping her limp her broken cars along until payday after his father’s death. Becoming the man of the house at 10 came with a steep learning curve, but as he pops this hood and the smoke obscures the world around him he can only cough and shake his head. Whatever is causing this much upheaval is beyond his limited mechanical abilities. These vehicles are all computerized, he’s

Hotch coughs and covers his nose and mouth with his forearm, turning away from the acrid smell before he really does get sick. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Derek poke around, hiss as the oil cap burns his fingertips and step back. He massages his aching shoulder and sighs.

“Gotta call for a tow. This old girl is toast.”

Hotch’s phone is broken.

Not just broken. Obliterated. It had been in his pocket during the blast and shattered on impact, he’s got a slice on his upper thigh from the broken screen. Derek pulls his out and frowns.

“Of course. No service. I’m gonna take a little walk, shouldn’t be too far. Just sit tight.” Derek starts walking right away, doesn’t even wait for Hotch’s response but he can hear uneven footsteps behind him. Limping, he’s limping and he won’t stop. “Hotch. Come on. Just wait here.”

Hotch scowls and it looks a little scarier with all the bruises and cuts on his face. Derek stops long enough just to lock eyes with him. “The last time you disappeared you drove an ambulance rigged to explode into Central Park.”

“Ahh, very funny. Good one. Thought I was gonna have to wait a year for you to pull that one outta your pocket. Feel better now?”

Hotch smirks and limps behind Derek for a few more steps, not exactly keeping up but moving away from the still smoking vehicle. He’d like to put a little distance between the SUV and his body.

“Hotch. Stay with the car, dammit.”

“No.”

“Hotch. You can barely walk. I’m just gonna go until I’ve got enough service to call for a tow truck, I’ll be right back. Just rest okay?” He no longer sounds sharp or authoritative, just pleading. He’s worried, there’s no hiding it now. Acute acoustic trauma and shrapnel in his leg. There’s no way that’s all of it, Derek can see it plain as day. “You need to take it easy.”

It’s true, he can barely walk. But he suspects Derek can see something that looks dangerously like PTSD in him when he looks back at the smoke plume emerging from beneath the hood of the SUV. And that changes Derek’s mind, he realizes why Hotch wants to move away from it. He can’t fault him for that. Derek doesn’t want to smell smoke right now either. They’ve both had their fill of vehicles and fire.

“Okay, man. You can come with. It’s not like we have anywhere we gotta be. Just tell me if you need to take a rest or something okay? I don’t know how far we’ll have to go to get a signal and you look like shit.”

Hotch won’t say a word. He’ll just limp along with his lips set in a grim line, forcing one foot in front of another no matter how badly it hurts. The further they go the slower he walks, and Derek is checking his phone almost obsessively, willing that stupid little triangle to fill with bars so they can stop. So Hotch will rest.

They talk about nothing. Just bullshitting. Hotch can’t hear very well, his ears are ringing and his head is pounding but he keeps up the best he can. It’s nice, he thinks, being alone with Derek when there isn’t anything really on the line. They’re easing back into that comfortable space again.

“Remember when our car broke down in buttfuck Idaho?” Derek asks, slowing his pace a little. He’s conscious about which side of Hotch he walks on, makes sure he’s near the good ear. The less bad ear, maybe. The one that isn’t crusted with flecks of dried blood. The one that Hotch doesn’t reach up and cover every time a car whizzes by on the interstate nearby. “On that huge stretch of nothing highway?”

“It was 98 degrees,” Hotch says quietly. “But it felt like 150 out on that blacktop. I remember thinking the soles of my shoes were going to melt before we got help.”

“It’s always you and me. Been on a hundred road trips with Reid, never a problem. A few with Em, with Jayj, even Rossi. But you and me? It’s like disaster follows us. My blisters were out of control.”

“Mine too. My socks were full of blood. Dress shoes and socks are not ideal for July in hell.”

“I’m not sure any shoes would have been ideal. That was a nightmare.”

It’s not hot now, the walk is almost pleasant. They’re walking on a stretch of road that butts up to an expanse of green, maybe grass, maybe something else. It’s autumn but the leaves haven’t started changing much yet. There’s a crisp breeze that keeps them comfortable while they walk, it’s nice and keeps them comfortable. Derek keeps checking his phone obsessively, every step he expects he’s moved into a sweet spot. It finally happens about ten minutes in and he stops abruptly.

“Got some bars, I’m gonna get us a tow truck. Pop a squat, man.”

Hotch listens this time. He lowers himself down into the cool grass in the shade of a small tree and leans his back against the trunk. It does feel good to take the weight off of his sore leg. The shrapnel tore through his shin and his knee is swollen, he isn’t even sure why. Maybe if he’d let the doctor really check him over he might not be so surprised when a new pain rears its ugly head...but it doesn’t matter. If he had let the hospital continue checking him out, they would all have died. For once his impatience with doctors, at hospitals, at all of it paid off. His stubborn refusal to play by their rules saved lives.

He doesn’t fancy himself a martyr, he didn’t do it for him, but the unexpected kickback wasn’t so bad.

“Okay. Half hour. We got time to hoof it back to no man’s land even at your snail’s pace.” Derek extends a hand and helps Hotch back to his feet, noticing the way he favors his knee. His entire left leg, really. It seems to be getting worse. “You good to walk back or you need another minute?”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure? I can piggy back you.”

“I’m fine Derek.”

Derek isn’t surprised to hear Hotch say that, he expected nothing else. If Hotch ever owned up to really feeling like shit, he would know they were all doomed. He could read the vocal inflections, though. There were certain tonal changes that he could detect easily, the words were superfluous at best.

“Good,” Derek says, but he starts them out at a slower clip and Hotch notices but says nothing. He appreciates the more leisurely pace. They’re really starting to find their way back now and it’s an easy, comfortable thing. He’s missed this comfort. Adrian Bale’s bomb blasted it to pieces and they never really bothered to put it back together, just mended what they could quickly and let the rest settle where it lay. Hotch didn’t realize until now how badly he really needed this, Derek’s friendship, this closeness. Someone who knows him intimately and more importantly doesn’t take his shit.

“Hey. I’m sorry about Joyner,” Derek says to break the silence. It’s on both of their minds and Derek doesn’t want Hotch thinking that he’s glad she’s dead, or that he isn’t busted up about it. She died on his watch and he’s feeling the weight of it. He’s responsible, culpable. At least in his own mind. They might have had some friction but she was a good Agent and he hated the way everything went down. That she probably died thinking he was a hot head, an asshole. “How well did you really know her?” He heard Emily and JJ talking of course, he’d heard it all but he wants to hear it from Hotch’s mouth. He wants to get Hotch talking, make him open up before he suffocates.

“She came over and worked in Atlanta during the 1996 Summer Olympics when she was with Scotland Yard,” Hotch says, slowing his pace a little. He’s worn out. Pain is exhausting. “She was young and eager, we share a lot of the same traits.” His head is swimming and his chest feels tight. He realizes he just referred to her both in past and present tense and there’s a squeezing sensation as his heart thumps that he doesn’t like. “I was a new recruit with the Bureau and volunteered for some security detail, it seemed like an interesting assignment and would pad my resume. I joined later than most people do, I guess I wanted to make up for lost time. We met at that time and became friendly. When I joined the BAU she called me for a consult on a serial killer she had in London, they didn’t have the resources on behavioral science that we did. I wrote her a letter of recommendation when she decided she wanted to join the FBI not long after.”

“Did you keep in touch?”

“Not well. Haley admitted that she was threatened by my friendship with Kate, so out of respect for her I didn’t pursue it. I wouldn’t have…”

“I know. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I think I do. I heard the way Prentiss and JJ were talking about Kate and I. And after the way things happened in New York, how the two of you...I owe you an explanation.”

“Nah. It’s good. Really. I never thought you slept with her, not if you were married to Haley. Now...whether you wanted to or not...well that’s none of my business, but I didn’t think you actually did.”

“Maybe an apology, then.”

“Yeah, I’d take an apology…” Derek smiles. He’s not sure he deserves to get one any more than he needs to give one, he thinks everything kind of came out in the wash. But if it’ll make Hotch feel better to offer it, he won’t turn it down. He’d been so angry. He could still feel the last embers of that fire in his belly, the way Hotch looked at him and told him to take a walk, told him it wasn’t his place...yeah an apology didn’t sound half bad.

“An apology then. I’m sorry, Derek. I should have been more open with you. Kate pulled me aside when we arrived and told me that they had their eye on you, that her job was on the line.”

Derek nods and picks up the pace when he sees that there’s a car pulled over beside theirs and someone looking in the windows. The road is deserted, there’s no reason for anyone to be out here unless they were broken down. He didn’t expect anyone to stop and couldn’t remember if he bothered to lock the vehicle. Wouldn’t that just be his luck? Break down on the side of the road and abandon a government vehicle full of case files and other sensitive materials with easy access. Like a big neon sign saying come rob me.

“Hang back a sec,” Derek says, and Hotch grunts his displeasure at being coddled.

“Derek, I’m perfectly capable of...”

“Dammit Hotch. Just listen to me for once okay?” He might be a little too sensitive, but after the case they just put a pin in he’s not sure he trusts anyone that isn’t on his immediate team. The world is fucked and he’s just trying to get them home safely. It feels like things are spinning wildly out of control, a car bomb, the ambulance, their SUV breaking down and now this guy wants to poke around in their business? He’s about to go off and he doesn’t even know what the guy is doing yet.

Derek’s hand is on his weapon as he approaches. He’s an open guy, loves to smile and make friends, but now is not the time. He might be feeling a little over protective of Hotch, and maybe that’s not even warranted but he’s going to listen to his gut right now and remain on alert.

“Saw the car pulled over, thought someone might need help…” The guy smiles, but his body language isn’t friendly. The way he stands tall feels like an attempt at intimidation.

“We’re good buddy. Already got a tow truck on the way. Thanks for checking.”

The man takes a step forward and stares Derek down. Even from his vantage point Hotch knows this is trouble – messing with Derek right now is bound to get messy. “How do I know this is your vehicle?”

Hotch’s head swims and his knees start to buckle. He stands there, comes completely still and he curses his body for its terrible timing. It takes this moment to turn on him? The smell of smoke still emanating from the car doesn’t help, it’s taking him back to a moment in time he’d rather forget. He plants his feet and considers reaching for his weapon too but for the time being, he listens to Derek. The sound of his voice. He’s still in control of the situation. The SUV is full of confidential documents, full of weapons, full of things this man shouldn’t see and he has no idea if he’s been picking through it. Derek is wracking his brain and for the life of him can’t remember if he locked the SUV before they left.

“It’s mine and that’s all you need to know. Back off.”

Derek and the other man are bristling now, too close for comfort. Derek produces the key fob and clicks it, flashing the lights on and then off with a sarcastic smile. Of course, it occurs to him a moment too late that now he’s clicked it he’ll never know if it was locked or unlocked when the interloper arrived. “See?”

“That don’t prove a thing. You coulda found those keys on the side of the road.”

Hotch is about two seconds from being sick all over the ground, and on sheer will alone he manages to produce his FBI credentials before he goes limping toward the two of them. His knees are about to buckle but he’s going to fix this situation without violence first. He’s in no condition to jump into a fist fight, let alone draw his weapon, but there will be no choice if the man goes after Derek.

“This vehicle is ours, sir. There’s a tow truck on the way to help us. I appreciate your concern but it’s under control.”

The man leers at Hotch, and then at his badge, and back at him skeptically. He’s a whole mess of a man with scrapes and bruises on his face, favoring one leg heavily, he looks like the kind of guy who broke out of a hospital. He wouldn’t be hard to take, and Hotch can see him calculating the risk while he studies the credentials. “We’ve got everthing under control.” Hotch repeats himself, a little more firm, rising up to his full height against the angry protest of broken ribs. Recognition flashes in the man’s features, he believes Hotch now. He looks like FBI, there’s not a question in the man’s mind as he takes in the suit and tie, the severity of his set features.

He hesitates though, one last flash of indecision. The items in the vehicle are tempting, whatever they are. And he wants to fight Derek, he wants to do that badly, maybe for no other reason than he doesn’t like his smug face. Still, he gets into his vehicle and drives off without another word, at least not another that either of them can hear. Derek rifles through their things, makes sure nothing is missing while Hotch collapses in the passenger seat with his head in his hands willing the lightheaded feeling and the intense screaming pain in his skull to pass. They never said he had a concussion but he’s no stranger to that, he knows exactly what it feels like.

“You locked it,” Hotch says quietly through his fingers, not looking up.

“You sure?”

Hotch doesn’t want to say why he’s sure, but his body knows he heard that sound. Every part of his body is certain. He felt it in his teeth. “I’m sure.”

Derek pops his head up from the file box in the back and studies Hotch curiously, like he’s putting it together somehow. PTSD. The letters float around and bash into one another in his head, they flash like a neon sign. Hotch is suffering and he doesn’t know how to help him, not out here. Maybe not at all. “You good?”

“I’m okay.”

“Does it ever occur to you not to lie?” Derek asks, sitting down on the edge of the bumper when he’s satisfied everything is intact. The SUV tilts his direction briefly and stabilizes. Hotch lets out a strangled laugh that makes his chest hurt. It would never occur to anyone but Derek to ask him a question like that. They might think it, but no one would ever say it. Not even Dave, he would just raise an eyebrow in that silent judgmental way he has but he wouldn’t make a peep. Derek blurts it out and damn the consequences.

“In my experience, it’s better this way.” He pauses and smirks. “Don’t profile that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He’s already doing it. There’s no way around it. But he smiles and shrugs like it’s nothing important, like everything is casual and cool.

It’s closer to an hour by the time the tow truck finally shows up and Hotch is reclined in the passenger seat with his arm thrown over his eyes, sick to his stomach. The smell of smoke has permeated everything and he can’t get far enough away, it’s in his clothes now. His best bet has become simply not moving, instead focusing on breathing in and out through his mouth. Moving makes his head swim, makes his brain feel like its come dislodged. They’d been talking at first, but after a while Derek quieted down, like he thought Hotch might get some sleep if he just left him alone. When the driver arrives, Derek catches him before he even gets halfway to the SUV. They go through the paperwork together at the end of the tow truck, far enough away that their voices don’t carry all the way to the SUV. He knows Hotch isn’t asleep but operating under the guise that he’s helping in some way makes him feel better about the situation they have found themselves in.

“Hey,” Derek says, tapping Hotch gently on the shoulder. “He’s about to hook us up then we’re outta here.”

“Thanks.” Hotch doesn’t move until the SUV rocks beneath him and the sound of metal grating against metal fills the air. With one hand pressed against a sudden pulsing in his forehead, Hotch falls out of the side of the car and stumbles away as quickly as his legs will carry him. He’s aware that it probably looks funny, like Igor lurching through Dr. Frankenstein’s castle, but he can’t get away from the sound fast enough. Every scrape and bang makes his skull feel like it’s coming apart at the seams.

“Hotch?”

He raises his hand, tries to keep Derek back. He doesn’t want to be touched right now, he doesn’t want anyone near him. He walks away faster and leans against a tree, breath heaving angrily in his chest. It’s getting hard to pull in enough and he’s aware of just how close he is to passing out. His vision has narrowed to a pinpoint.

“He okay?” the driver asks, thumbing in the direction of Hotch when Derek walks back. He’s concerned, rattled, but he’s got to mask that and pretend like it’s fine. Just get them out of there. That’s his only objective, get them the hell off the side of the road. His only consolation through all of this is that he’s glad it’s him and not Agent Davis out here with Hotch. She’ll be glad when he tells her about it, too. Tells her how she dodged a bullet.

“Oh, uh yeah. Rough night. You know how it is.”

The driver chuckles and shakes his head like he gets it. Like it was a night of hard partying. Derek is content to let him think it’s as simple as a hangover. He wishes it was just a hangover. That this could be fixed with some Tylenol and hashbrowns.

“You guys need a ride somewhere or you got someone coming for ya?”

“If you got one,” Derek says with a smile. “We’ll take it.” He sprints over to where Hotch is hugging the tree for dear life and grabs him, practically pulling him toward the truck. “Guy thinks you’re rocking a wicked hangover. Just go with it.”

Hotch nods, or tries to anyway but the movement is too much so it’s stunted and he stops, miserably resting his forehead against Derek’s shoulder for a moment. He leans heavily on Derek while they walk, willing his body not to give out on him, not here on the side of the road, not in front of a perfect stranger. Doesn’t have much choice though, if it’s going to it’s going to and that’s just how it goes. He’s about out of energy to control the way things go.

In the truck, Derek slides into the middle seat and lets Hotch take the window. He rests his head against the cool glass and closes his eyes, hands clasped in his lap. Giving some kind of an image that he’s got it together, that he’s not a dead man walking. As the day wears on, he becomes more and more aware that there is more wrong with him than he’s been willing to admit or explore. All he wants is a bed and a few hours of sleep, convinced that will fix the worst of it.

The engine is too loud and Hotch instantly feels sick when the pain strikes. He can’t get away from it, he’s trapped in the truck and the sound is a hot knife picking around in his brain. The driver smiles and turns the radio on, unaware of Hotch’s plight. He’s not going to say anything. “There’s a little motel next to the truck stop a few miles up ahead. They can fix your car up at the mechanic shop a little further down, you boys can stay the night at the motel if you need to and there’s a greasy spoon right there too. One stop shop.”

“Good deal, man. Thanks for coming out. You’re a lifesaver.”

It’s hard to rest in someone else’s vehicle. They’ve seen too much. Derek does his best to form a sort of human shield between the driver and Hotch, just in case anything gets weird. Hotch is vulnerable and it’s just radiating off of him, he can’t hide it anymore. It’s going to be pretty obvious it’s more than just a hangover soon and no Derek doesn’t exactly think the tow truck driver is a serial killer but he’s still on edge. It’s in his nature to be suspicious.

So, he talks. He strikes up every conversation with the driver he can think of until they arrive at the mechanic shop. It’s an hour before they get there, and he’s not sure if Hotch slept a wink but he didn’t say one single word the whole time. He was just lost inside of his head, willing the pain to settle, willing his body not to give out entirely before he has somewhere to crash.

The mechanic shop is small, derelict vehicles practically piled up all around it. Half junkyard, half mechanic from the looks of it and the land it sits on stretches as far back as the eye can see. It doesn’t instill confidence in Derek that the mechanic shop is surrounded by acres of junked cars and trucks but he doesn’t have much choice. “You saw the motel we passed? It’s nothin’ special but they got beds.”

“I did,” Derek says, not giving it much thought. They can just call someone back at Quantico for a ride but he’s not going to say that. The guy has been more than helpful, he’s been kind, he had great taste in music. Derek found himself enjoying the ride when he could stop himself from worrying about Hotch for a minute or two.

“Hope it don’t take them too long to fix you boys up. Feel better, buddy. Get you some gatorade and some greasy food. They got biscuits and gravy over there that’ll cure anything.”

Hotch doesn’t think either of those things will fix his problems but he thanks the man anyway. What he really needs is a bed and a week long nap. He’s starting to feel completely detached from his life. Like he’s just out here bumping into things, un-tethered, and everything hurts.

While the mechanic checks out the vehicle, runs a complete diagnostic, Derek calls Penelope. He knows he should probably call Strauss first, or Rossi maybe but he calls Penelope because he’s about as anxious as he can possibly be and he needs to hear her voice. She’s been sending him a barrage of texts all morning, most of which he isn’t even seeing until right now because he’s been in and out of service.

“I can try to send a car but it’ll be about 6 hours before they can be there,” she says. “They’re all being used right now. That is if Strauss even approves it. She’s going to throw a fit about you guys breaking this car after what happened last night.”

“Yeah, like any of that last night was our fault. Plus we didn’t break this car, we didn’t do anything but drive it.”

“Be that as it may, sunshine, light of my life, she’s going to blow a gasket. Much like your vehicle. Do you want me to try and get someone up there? Or if you don’t mind waiting I can drive up when I finish here...”

“Six hours?” he asks, frustrated. “Nah. I don’t want you driving all the way up here like that and I don’t think Hotch will fit in your car anyway. We’ll just stay the night, drive this car back if they can get her road ready or figure something else out tomorrow. I don’t think Hotch is up for any more excitement. He’s dead on his feet, I just need to get him somewhere quiet and leave him be.”

“That bad?”

“I think the sound of the tow truck hooking up our SUV almost killed him. He’s a wreck.”

It’s a slow walk to the motel, and Derek is avoiding telling Hotch that there isn’t anyone coming to get them. Right now Hotch just thinks they’re going to find somewhere to sit, maybe grab a bite to eat and wait it out. He’s got to find a way to break it to him that they’re stranded. The way Hotch is walking, it’s doubtful he’ll mind much when met with the alternative: a bed. Right here. The motel looks quiet enough, nothing fancy but it’ll have a bed and a shower and by the looks of it, blackout curtains. It all seems like a recipe for sleep if he can get Hotch there without a fight. He doesn’t look he has any left in him.

“Is someone coming to pick us up?” Hotch asks.

“Nah. It was gonna be like 6 hours at best, then we got 4 more hours in the car. Garcia offered to drive up when she’s off work but I figure we just stay the night here and get back on the road in the morning, that guy said it should be an easy fix, at least enough to get us home in one piece.”

Hotch isn’t keen on the motel thing and the “one piece” bit doesn’t instill him with confidence, but Derek does make a good point about waiting until morning. He’s beat and as much as he’d like to tell Derek he’s fine, that excuse wore itself out hours ago.

The motel room has pink floral comforters and turquoise carpets. It’s an eyesore. The blankets are scratchy and thin, and the rooms smell like cigarette smoke but Derek was right, the blackout curtains covered a multitude of sins. They could sleep the afternoon and the night away if they so desired. They were able to splurge with their per diem and each get their own room, adjoined by a thin door just in case. Derek insists that the door remain unlocked, just in case. Strength in numbers. He’s really just laser focused on the fact that Hotch isn’t as okay as he wants everyone to believe.

“You hungry? There’s a greasy spoon attached...I could go for a burger and fries. We can try to blow your hangover away.”

Hotch forces a smirk at that and nods. He is hungry, and the last meal he ate was long enough ago that he couldn’t remember exactly when or what it was. And if he eats then he can take the percocet the doctor so kindly prescribed. That should have been a dead giveaway that his body was a complete mess if the doctor, who barely had a chance to look him over, would prescribe such big guns.

The diner is small, only a few booths scattered inside of a dark room. The roar of the semi-truck engines outside the window echoes in Hotch’s head and he rests his head on his hand, covering his painful ear carefully. Trying to be casual about it so he doesn’t alarm Derek. The man has been making too much fuss today. Touching it hurts but that’s less than when sound enters therefore better.

“What happened in the ambulance?” Hotch asks, sliding a fry absentmindedly through his ketchup. He wasn’t as hungry when he sat down as he thought so he stuck with a turkey sandwich and a side of fries. A safe bet. Derek talks on the third pass through the red glob, waiting for Hotch to finally put the damn thing in his mouth instead of playing with it.

“Garcia blocked the cell signal with her crazy magic just long enough for me to get the ambulance away from people. I jumped out and booked it out of there just before the thing went up. Don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. You know those stories about the moms lifting cars off of their kids to save their lives? It felt like that. An out of body kind of thing I guess. I jumped and rolled and somehow got right to my feet and just ran like fuckin’ Forest Gump. Wish you coulda seen it.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m alright. A little sore but it’s all good. This is what I work out for, right? I got far enough away before it went up.” He pauses and sips his water, willing Hotch to just eat the damn fry. The poor thing is about ready to break off and sink into the ketchup like it was quicksand. “You would have died, Hotch.”

“What?”

“I know you were gonna do it and there is no way you would have gotten away from it in time. You can barely walk. As soon as we realized what was going on, I knew you were gonna try to drive it outta there and everyone would have let you. Hell, you drove it in, you already knew the thing, and you’re Hotch. Right? They all think you can’t get hurt, you’re invincible, nothing happens to Hotch. No one would have argued with you.”

“You would have.”

“You’re damn right I would have, but you know what happens then? We die arguing. Everyone dies. The arguments we get into get pretty epic. No time for that, man. I had to stop it before it got to that. If you want, we can go at it now.”

“I don’t.” He finally bites into the fry and Derek grins like he’s just won a prize.

“Not even a little? Come on...I know you’ve got something to say...”

“You already win.”

Yeah, Derek thinks. Hotch is in bad shape. Not even willing to argue.

Derek wants to say something else, something helpful or positive, he’s not sure exactly what but he’ll wing it...his phone buzzes just before he has a chance to open his mouth. Hotch takes the opportunity to drag himself out of the booth and limp toward the hostess stand to pay the tab. Derek sighs and glances down at his phone, not overly interested in answering it but it’s Spencer and he can’t let that just go to voicemail. He’d feel awful. Spencer has been sending him texts all day too, worried and kind of desperate ones.

“Are you okay?” he asks, clearly agitated when Derek picks up. He doesn’t even start with hello. His voice is a high-pitch whine in Derek’s ear. “Garcia told me your car broke down. I can come get you. Just tell me where you are.”

“It’s fine kid. We got this little roadside motel we’re gonna shack up in and our car should be good by morning. I think Hotch is glad not to be in a car. He probably needed another day of rest before travel.”

“Well a car did just blow up in his face. How is he anyway?”

Derek sighs and watches Hotch move slowly toward the restroom. He’s limping hard on his left leg, using the backs of the booths for support when there isn’t anyone sitting there.

“Not good. He won’t say anything of course, but he’s in bad shape.”

“Watch for signs of PTSD.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a little early, but I’m looking.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah kid, I’m fine. Got some bumps and bruises, found some grass and twigs in my boxers when I went to bed last night...looked like I got into a fight with Sasquatch or something but I’m good.”

“You guys are too much alike.”

“No, I’m serious. I’m okay. I got away from the thing before it exploded, ran like hell. I tumbled a little in the grass and breathed in some smoke but I’m good. Promise.”

Reid keeps him on the phone a little longer, and Derek is pretty sure he’s being profiled through their conversation but he lets it happen anyway. If it makes Reid feel better to do it, he won’t argue. He’s not hiding anything.

They walk back to the motel in amiable silence, hardly any space between them on the stretch of broken sidewalk between the diner and their rooms. At almost timed intervals, Hotch seems to dip, like his knee is giving out on him and Derek twitches, ready to reach out and catch him if he goes down. It’s not a fun game to play.

It’s hardly late afternoon, way too early for bed in Derek’s book but Hotch looks beat so he doesn’t argue about retiring in the daylight even if it makes him feel like a geezer. “What’s your plan?” he asks, fitting his key in the lock. Hotch takes a minute, fumbling with his own key and shrugs.

“A shower and sleep.”

“Yeah, shower does sound good. I can still smell the smoke on my clothes.”

Hotch nods and hopes that Derek won’t look too far into that himself, it’ll just make him come through that door that adjoins their rooms every half hour to check on him. He’s doing everything he can to avoid Derek’s scrutiny. It’s all well-meaning, he’s not doing it for work, he’s doing it because he cares but Hotch isn’t ready to address anything except the immediate pain in his head and the smell of smoke on his clothes. And even then, he’s willing only to do that in private.

“You get a hankerin’ for pie or something later, give me a shout okay? Doesn’t look like there’s much nightlife here but we could watch a movie or something.”

“Sure.”

Derek is in the shower before anything else. The minute his door is shut he’s throwing his bag on the bed and turning on the hot water. He’s not worried about anything other than just washing off the day. The smell of smoke and motor oil are pungent enough to make him gag if he thinks about it too long. Getting under the spray of water and forgetting, relaxing, is all he wants. Hotch is as safe as he can be tucked into his hotel room, and Derek can hear him on the other side of the thin wall moving around.

The hot water rushes over his sore shoulder and he rotates it, loosening angry muscles. No clicking. He’s not hurt, not badly, just sore. Exactly like he said.

At his feet, soap suds collect near the drain in little cloud mountains. The drain is slow and the tub is collecting a little more water than he’d prefer. As he stares down at the suds, he pushes his toes through them and over the drain cover to see if there is something obscuring it. His toe touches something with a lot more substance than bubbles and as he pulls his foot back, it moves. He tells himself that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. There’s nothing there.

But then it moves again and he takes a step back so he can bend over and get a better look. That was a mistake. He realizes it once he’s hunched over, catches a glimpse of something like a worm swish in the water and beady eyes blinking up at him, calm and collected. It’s a mouse, and it’s in the damn shower with him. He takes another step back but this one is hastier and he doesn’t pay attention to anything, his eyes are locked on the mouse.

He hears the snap before he feels the metal slicing his heel, scraping and pulling at the taut skin. A mouse trap, he’s just stepped on a mouse trap and now he’s crashing to the ground more out of surprise than pain. As he lands with a deafening thud, he does the only thing he can think to do. The only thing he’s ever thought to do in situations like this since joining the BAU.

It comes out so naturally it never occurs to him not to.

“HOTCH! HOTCH!”

He wishes he hadn’t done it immediately. Hotch is hurt, he doesn’t need this shit, but it’s done and he can already hear the door that adjoins their rooms flying open. It’s too late. All he can think to do is throw his hands over his dick, hide what he can before Hotch is in the bathroom and throwing the curtain back.

His gun is aimed right at Derek, right at his junk. “Woah, woah, hey,” Derek says automatically, turning away from the gun like that’ll do any good.

“What is it?!” Hotch asks, lowering his weapon, glancing frantically around the room to catch a sight of what could have scared Derek so badly. For a second he wonders whether he actually heard anything or if his mind was playing tricks on him. The thought chills him to the bone. If he’s just broken in on Derek in the middle of a shower for no reason…

“Sorry man, I’m sorry...there’s a damn mouse...I panicked…”

Hotch sees the twitch in the bubbles, sees the tail and reaches for it. His hand snaps forward, fingers pinching through soap suds and he comes up with the mouse dangling in his grip. The thing seems so calm and collected it doesn’t even flip around in his hand, it just hangs there. His lips twitch at the corners and he smiles, turning toward the door to walk it outside. Catch and release. Though he has his doubts about how long it’ll stay outside. A few minutes, maybe.

Derek’s chest heaves and he grunts, trying to sit himself upright with some dignity. There’s a mouse trap digging into his back dangerously close to his ass and he’s not exactly thrilled with this situation. Hotch comes back in once he’s gotten out and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“You’re bleeding.” There is blood on the floor behind Derek’s foot and he glances down at it, craning his neck to see the damage.

“The trap snapped my heel.”

Hotch waits for more, an explanation, a wild story, but he gets nothing. Derek is still on edge, staring at the tub like it might sprout legs and start walking around.

“There are traps in my room too,” Hotch offers finally. “I didn’t see any mice, but I called the front desk. They have an exterminator coming tomorrow.”

“They couldn’t say anything when we checked in huh?”

Hotch shrugs and leans against the counter for support. He’s been getting dizzy spells all day but they’re coming more frequently now. “She said she’ll comp our rooms.”

“This is fucked.”

Derek can’t believe how unbothered Hotch is over this entire ordeal. Before he has a chance to ask why he’s so calm about it, he hears a scraping sound behind him and looks back to find a mouse slipping down the sloped wall of the tub. “I can’t sleep here.”

“You can stay in my room. Strength in numbers.”

Then it hits him. The way Hotch stands with his hand planted against the counter, the way he sways a little on his feet, he’s taken his percocet. He’s half cocked on pain meds. The thought makes Derek laugh, and feel both jealous and guilty all at once. He was ready to zonk out in bed when Derek shrieked his name and even in the state he’s currently in...he came running. Damn that big softy, Derek thinks. He’s kind of cute in his slacks and t-shirt though.

“You sure?”

“Get your bag. Hurry up.”

Hotch’s room looks lived in. Torn apart. The blankets are pulled entirely off the bed and left in a heap at the foot, chair on top of the desk, the furniture pulled away from the walls where he could get it. It looks like Axl Rose and a bottle of top shelf whiskey got paid to do the housekeeping. Derek has to laugh at the absurdity. “You checked for mice huh?”

“There’s a trap beside the trash can, saw it right away.” His words slur just the smallest amount, and Derek detects a hint of the south in the accent that slides with it. “No mice. So far.” What Hotch doesn’t say, what he only implies, is that he’d planned to be passed out before any of them made an appearance. Out of sight out of mind.

“I’d say I’ll take the floor but that is not happening. We’re getting cozy.”

“Be my guest.”

Hotch falls asleep almost immediately. Derek finds the remote and clicks around aimlessly through channels, stopping for a while on jewelry infomercials and spaghetti westerns that hold his interest only mildly. Every so often he glances over at Hotch who looks almost peaceful with his head cradled in his arms against the thin pillow. He’s curled up beneath the papery sheets and the scratchy comforter like it’s the most comfortable nest in the world and Derek finds himself more than a little frustrated and jealous. He’s buzzing, he won’t be sleeping a wink, which really doesn’t work because he’s got to drive in the morning as long as their car is ready to go. No way Hotch is in any condition to get behind the wheel.

He’s certain he won’t sleep but eventually it does happen, he nods off while he’s still sitting up and watching a Jackie Chan movie marathon. His chin tucks into his chest and he leans slightly to the side as his eyes slip shut.

They sleep for hours while the world continues buzzing right outside. The late afternoon sun gives way to a deep orange blaze of sunset that melts like a popsicle on hot cement as it drips in beneath their blackout curtains. Derek is lost in some kind of fiery dream he’ll barely remember when he hears a thud and a whimper beside him. His first thought is mouse, huge fucking mutant mouse and his eyes shoot open.

“Hotch?” he asks, patting the empty place on the bed beside him when he realizes he’s alone. “Hotch where are you?”

He can hear it before his eyes adjust, Hotch dragging himself along the turquoise carpet miserably toward the bathroom while he gags, trying to fight off the sick. Derek leans over the edge of the bed and squints, watching the shadow of his friend move and then the bathroom door closes and he’s on the outside listening to it.

Hotch sounds miserable. There’s no hiding it, no pretending it’s anything but what it is. Derek knows that Hotch has a concussion and with that comes a slew of symptoms that neither of them has done a very good job of managing or even acknowledging.

When he comes back, he’s on his feet but just barely. Derek pretends he didn’t see him crawling, pretends he hasn’t spent the last fifteen minutes listening to him getting sick. His instinct is to once again ask if he’s okay, but that’s a pretty stupid question at this point and all he’ll get for his trouble is a lie.

“Rumble in the Bronx…” Hotch rasps through his raw throat, all but collapsing on his side of the bed. “Haley’s sister Jessica loves this movie.”

“It’s a classic.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t recommend you for the job,” Hotch says on the verge of tears, completely out of the blue. One minute it’s Jackie Chan, the next it’s a sob fest. Derek can’t keep up no matter how hard he tries. Hotch’s head hurts worse than it has all day, like someone is pulling his skull apart with a crowbar. There is no relief except what little he can do to distract himself, and sleep isn’t going to do the trick. Not now. So he’s going to try talking. “I should have. It was childish.”

“What was childish?”

“I didn’t want you to leave. It was never about Kate. I just don’t want to lose you…”

“Lose me?” Derek asks, his heart leaping into his throat. He’s a little concerned that this sudden outpouring of emotion means something is terribly wrong so he mutes the television and turns to focus on Hotch half-expecting to watch him having a stroke or something equally terrifying. But he just looks normal. Drained, half-lidded eyes sensitive to the small amount of sunlight seeping into the room but nothing alarming. “Hotch, all I ever do is fight with you. You’re gonna miss me being a pain in your ass?”

Hotch nods and lets his half-lidded eyes slip closed. He can tell Derek wants to argue, wants him to bristle a little. He wants to see that he’s okay but his head is splitting and he doesn’t have the energy to keep up with that. It’s an abrupt change of course, avoiding the inevitable argument and he just barely manages it. “Do you remember the room we got in Idaho? When someone finally found us out on that highway and gave us a ride to town?”

“Do I ever. That place was worse than this one. The water ran brown and there were cockroaches everywhere. They were in the fuckin’ fridge.”

“I’ll take mice over cockroaches,” Hotch whispers, pressing his face into the pillow. The pressure on his forehead feels almost soothing. “Your feet had to hurt as bad as mine, but you walked down to that gas station and bought bottles of water and a bag of ice and that styrofoam cooler so we could soak our feet in water that wasn’t brown.”

“Nothing ever felt as good as that ice. I’ve never had sex that felt better and I’ve had some good damn sex.”

Hotch smiles a little wistfully while his stomach knots. “We used the whole box of bandaids in my go-bag.”

“My feet never hurt so bad in my life.”

“Me neither. Derek,” Hotch says, rolling on his side. It takes all of his strength to make his body move that way and the pressure change in his head is instant and furious. He takes a couple calculated breaths before he’s able to continue. He just has to say this...it’s important and getting the words out might just kill him, he’s starting to get that panicky feeling that comes with the knowledge that the injury he’s been ignoring for days might be more serious than he wanted to admit. Either that or his mind is shot to shit. He has no idea. It could just be panic, it could be the sound of the trucks outside putting him on edge. He can barely tell up from down anymore. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You keep saying that you’re gonna lose me…isn’t it up to me if I even go? Who says I want that job anyway?”

Hotch looks up at him and offers him a sad little smile. The tears in his eyes might be from the swell of emotion or the intensity of the pain in his head, he’s not sure at this point. “I would be lost without you. Everyone thinks I can’t be hurt, you said it yourself. They all have this idea that I’m invincible, and I am only able to be that way because you’re beside me. Look what happens when…”

“None of this happened because of anything you did. You know that.”

“Maybe if my judgment hadn’t been so clouded, if I hadn’t been so focused on Kate keeping her job I would have seen what was happening sooner.”

“None of us saw it. This isn’t on you. We’re a team and we failed collectively.”

It’s not within Hotch to believe something like that, not when everything stacks up in his favor. But Derek is trying to cheer him up and he’s not in any shape to mope around, he’s got bigger problems than etching what-ifs into his conscious. He’s got a splitting headache and all he wants to do is sleep it off, his eyes are practically closing of their own accord now. It’s probably the worst concussion he’s ever had and that’s saying a lot, he’s had some real winners.

“Are we cool?” Derek asks, tossing the remote onto his nightstand. Hotch doesn’t have an opportunity to answer before two mice come darting out from beneath their bed at the sound and Derek nearly jumps out of his skin. He slides quickly to the center of the bed, crashing into Hotch’s prone form and Hotch can’t help but let out a small laugh. He thinks it’s kind of cute the way this big strong man who can face down the biggest monsters humanity has to offer is terrified of these tiny little creatures. Slowly he drags himself upright and rests his aching back against the headboard.

“There’s one on my side too,” he adds, figuring Derek will want to know that. He saw it when he fell out of bed and dragged himself to the toilet. There’s at least one mouse between them and the bathroom and that seems like a pretty big deal now that Derek is practically clinging to him. “They have us surrounded.”

“I’m never sleeping. It’s all I can hear. I can’t close my eyes.”

“You should have stayed a little closer to the ambulance when it exploded, your hearing could be ruined like mine. I don’t hear anything, and even if I did the headache makes it impossible to think about anything else.”

Derek makes a sarcastic ha-ha-ha and leans against Hotch. They’re cool, he knows it now. Whatever weirdness had settled between them was gone now. “You remember how we passed the night in Idaho?”

Hotch gives Derek that little smile that only shows some of his teeth, it’s a little devious and not many people get to see it. Derek likes to think that this smile belongs to him. “I might need a refresher. Head injury and all.”

“Oh. Yeah. Head injury...you gonna milk that all night?”

He really wants Derek to kiss him right now. It’s all he can think about, the only thought rattling around inside his skull. It bypasses the circuits of pain and takes center stage. After everything he’s done and said, after everything with Kate, he can’t be the one to reach out and make that first move. It’ll be too much.

Derek knows it too. He knows it and he wants it, but he’s having a little fun teasing. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and whispers something Hotch can feel against his lips but he can’t hear. And Derek knows damn well he can’t hear it above the high-pitch ringing in his ears. Asshole. Hotch swallows hard and decides he’s going to take the bait, whether he heard what Derek said or not.

He’s right there. No space between them, nothing else to do with this moment. He’s got a bruised jaw and a split lip, a headache that’s bordering on emergency level pain even for him...what he really needs is another painkiller and some sleep but what he wants is Derek and at this point he thinks he’s made that pretty damn clear.

Derek gets to it before Hotch decides to. The contact is soft and sweet, a little hesitant until he feels Hotch move with him, hears the small strangled sound in the back of his throat that tells him all he needs to know. He’s gentle, hand cupping Hotch’s jaw, his lower lip sliding between teeth, all breath and heartbeat and Hotch can feel the warmth spreading down the length of his spine. He’s trying to play it cool but Derek can sense it, the way Hotch presses harder into the touch. Like it’s inconceivable that Derek could let him go, could break the connection. He presses into it like it’s giving him sustenance.

“Ringing a bell?” Derek asks between kisses, one hand sliding down Hotch’s arm, gripping his wrist, pulling him in. Hotch hums and nods, smiling into the litany of small kisses that he hopes are leading to something bigger, deeper, something that’ll erase every memory and every sensation that isn’t Derek.

“Getting there…”

Derek is content to spend all night reminding him of that time in Idaho, a time when everything was simpler. Hotch and Haley hadn’t been married yet, they’d decided to take some time apart before taking the plunge. Carefree time to explore what else was out there, just in case...and Hotch found Derek out there and that was good, so good, but too complicated. He isn’t sure it isn’t still too complicated. It’s probably worse now, he’s got an ex-wife and a child and more responsibility...but he’s also got a newfound appreciation for how quickly it can all be taken from you, too. He lost Kate and nearly died himself the night before, and if that isn’t enough to tell him how fast things change he’s not sure he’ll ever learn that lesson. Derek is here right now and his kisses are just as intoxicating now as they ever were, and he’s pretty sure that the New York job will remain unfilled for the time being...so, complicated or not, it’s a chance worth taking.

They’re content to continue this slow, quiet reintroduction to their past while ignoring the mice that skitter around in their carpet. In the morning they’ll call Penelope and ask her to send them a car and a driver, neither of them will be in any condition to drive...instead, they’ll sit in the back seat and sleep all the way back home.

And after that? Who knows. They’re not going to make plans, they’ll just wait and see. Things change pretty damn fast.

[fayythe]

Divine Love: Prologue

Henry Cavill X OFC Summary: Rhylan Daines property of the United States Government, the training she took on, the beating, and pain was all manipulating her to loose her body autonomy, they tell her to eat a certain way, talk, walk, act. Nothing is hers, how can she escape the torture her life has become? Now an semi-active black ops Navy Seal working for the CIA struggled to make peace with her past.  She was always told that every life she took, every person she tortured, and every soul she crushed was for the greater good, but how is more violence supposed to help the world?  How can acting help her stop being forced to kill?  How can finding love help her find herself? Only time will tell...

Trigger warnings: Slight Alcoholism, Assault, Kidnapping, Blood, Skin Branding, Heavy Depression, Drugs, Undiagnosed eating disorder, Forced Eugenics, Talk of Genocide, talk of war, talk of gore, Hospitalizations for medical reasons, Mental Health issues, Hitman/murder unrecognized by law, Profanity, Military Brutality, torture, terrorism, violence, scars, seizures.

Rhylan's Tattoos

Rhylan's Body Scars Diagram

“Trust is like blood pressure. It’s silent, vital to good health, and if abused it can be deadly.” —Frank Sonnenberg

Prologue

  I watched the snowfall on the iced sidewalk; the sky was so dark only a few stars peaked so far away. I sighed, blowing out the smoke from the cigarette I inhaled. The nicotine filled my lungs with a slight burn, then the smell engulfed me as it slowly disbursed through the air as I exhaled. I rarely smoke, only when I’m stressed and today is one of those days.

My arms were visible, my coat tied tight around my waste protecting me from the wet wood bench. I didn’t know what I was doing here, in front of this little diner in the small city of Saint Heller Jersey, I should be back at the safe house trying to find another way to complete my mission.

Part of me knew that I should, but another part of me didn’t want to move. I was constantly moving, always traveling, always finding a lead no matter where it takes me. I just want to sit down, even if it’s for a few minutes.

I flicked my cigarette, “You know those are terrible for you” I looked over from hearing a rough raspy British accent and saw a tall guy with curly brown hair bundled up in a winter coat, boots, and a green rugby hat. I rolled my eyes, I don’t do very well with the people from the countries I’m stationed at, it’s not like I’m trying to be mean, I just don’t want to say too much and ruin my cover.

The cigarette still burning between my pointer finger and middle finger was halfway finished, in looking at the man once more before throwing the smoking white filtered stick to the ground and crushing it with my foot. I made sure to pick it back up and tuck it into my jean pocket. I’m probably going to accidentally wash the cigarette bud with my jeans, I thought.

The man smiled, “See that wasn’t that hard” I chuckled, his smile was nice, endearing, but also curious in a way. Since I didn’t say anything he spoke again, “What are you doing out here so late at night, especially without a jacket on?” He questioned, I thought about giving the honest answer and thinking whatever, never going to see this guy, again right? “I spend a few months in Russia off and on, this is nothing to me” I wasn’t lying, not exactly, of course, there are more details but there’s only so much I can tell him. He started walking towards me and gestured to the open seat of the bench next to me, I nodded. “American? What are you doing here, not many Americans I know who would vacation in Saint Heller?” His tone sounded curious, but you could also hear the slight rattle of his teeth as he shivered from the cold. 

I chuckled, this poor guy sitting out in the cold to speak to me on the frozen bench. “I’m on business, and you’re right this isn’t my first option for vacation.” My eyes wandered to my hands as I twisted my thumb. “Then what would be your first option for vacation?” I looked at him confused his piercing blue eyes almost carved into my soul, “You don’t even know my name and you’re trying to get to know me?” I asked as my southern draw poked through my words.

I had no problem with him trying to talk to me, I’m a better person to speak to at night anyway: it seems as if I’m more of a night person than a morning person. Trust me after being woken up at four in the morning every day for nearly three years, you’d learn to hate the morning—his voice interrupted my thoughts swirling, “Oh right! Name, I’m Henry, and you are?” Henry held out his right hand for me to shake, Fuck it, “I’m Rhylan”

“Well, Rhylan, what do you say we go somewhere to warm up, there’s a good diner down the road.” I looked at the blue-eyed man sitting next to me. I smiled, “Will you let me frisk you first?” I joked.

Nobody I knew liked that joked, yet he smiled. Maybe he is different.

--

The diner was small, quaint but cute. It was quiet in the booth we sat at in the back of the diner, that I got to get to know him more.

I smiled as I watched him slowly walk to the booth with two cups of hot liquid in his hands, one with a large whip cream swirl on top. I smiled at his cute hitchhiker walk trying his best to not let the cups spill, “One large hot chocolate for the pretty lady” He spoke in a more elaborated British accent while setting the hot glass in front of me and then setting his coffee across then sitting down.

“You should’ve let me pay, I feel bad now” I stared at the large hot chocolate, debating on whether to drink it. It just looks so pretty, with the whip cream and cinnamon, I caved once the whipped cream started melting into the dark chocolate, “Don’t worry about it, also do you even have any British pounds?” He questions.

To be completely honest, I didn’t even really think about the negative consequences to answer this question, I just felt so open around Henry like I’ve known him all my life. “Only about ten thousand” my face was still in the mug of hot chocolate as I said it, to cover what I said and make it seem like I joke I smiled, when I put down my mug he was smiling as well.

“Well pretty lady, did you rob a bank?” He asked, I saw the slight rise in his eyebrow as a curious gleam spread across his face—yet I could still see that charming slight smile. I decide to just go with it again, “No I infiltrated a drug terrorist rink down at some abandon docks” I laughed again, maybe if I place the truth in plain sight it will make me feel less guilt about lying to him. This time it didn’t play through as I wanted, “I’m joking, I swear” I covered nervously, thank gosh he changed the subject.

“So where are you actually from” He took another large sip of his hot coffee, I still don’t understand how he can drink this so late at night and still be able to sleep. “What do you mean?” He smiled, “You’re American, yes, but from what state?” “Texas” I didn’t even think about the consequences of telling him where I am from, my captain would be so angry with me. “That makes since, the funny accent really stands out” “My funny accent you should hear yours” I said in shock, “Would you like some tea or a crumpet?” I tried my best to imitate his accent and we both burst out laughing, “Oh really--- you want a beer with your fried chicken” We laugh harder, “Hey don’t judge you’ll never understand the love of fried chicken.” I spoke as we both started to catch our breath.

He shakes his head, a smile spread across his lips, “I’ll never understand the need for America to fry everything” “Because it tastes better” I shrugged.

It wasn’t very long after when we both left the café together; it was late nearly two in the morning. But we continued to talk and walk through the snowy park.

“Alright! Bad habits?” He questions.

I cringe, “Only one?”

Henry stops in his tracks and looks at me, “How many do you have?” I sighed and smiled “Too many,” we started to walk again. “Cigarettes, uhm- you saw that. I don’t smoke often, once, or twice a year. It’s complicated.” I continued, “All types of junk food, straight vodka—not the shit stuff that tastes like acetone, but like the good shit.” I paused, damn I have a lot of bad habits I thought, “I can’t think of anymore.” I shrugged, we continued to walk again the snow picking back up this time I put on my jacket, not that it does much.

Henry laughs, “I admire you can eat junk food and stay in shape.” I shook my head, “I don’t, heredity obesity actually runs in my family I just end up working out two to three times a day, it’s my go-to when I’m stressed, and so is alcohol, but working out is my first option.”  I explained, checking the blocky waterproof watch on my wrist at two-forty-five a.m. “Jeez, I thought my job is stressing.” I continued without even thinking about what he said, “What do you do—wait, how do you know it’s my job that’s stressing me, I could be a single mom with five kids.” I chuckled, I’m not, but how could he know that. “You’re not, you look about nineteen,” Henry put his gloved hands in his coat pockets and looked down at me on the side of him. “Quadruplets?” I questioned, seeing if he would believe it, he just shook his head and smiled, “Fine you’re right.” I frowned, “But hey! You didn’t answer my question, what do you do?”

This is the time Henry lit up, it seemed like he enjoyed talking about this topic. “Aspiring Actor” He smiled wide. “Really?” My words were longed in a shocked tone, “In anything good yet? I question, my eyes wondering to his brown hair, snow in the soft curls. He shrugged, “I’m getting there I hope…” He smiled at me, I looked at my watch to avoid the melting feeling his eyes give me. Nearly a quarter past three in the morning, I need to get back to my post.

I paused walking, and smiled at him as he turned to face me, “It’s getting late, we both need some sleep” “Fine---when can I see you again?” I shook my head my eyes following to my hands as my fingers tangled into themselves.

“One day, if fate is working on our sides” I smiled. Henry looked a little disappointed, but he didn’t push on it any farther.

“Well, it was great talking to you, Rhylan” He smiled, I could still see the disappointment in his eyes though.

I smiled and nodded, “Thank you for the hot chocolate”

“Don’t worry about it”

I checked my watch again and then looked back at Henry. “Now listen to me carefully, I wasn’t here, you don’t know my name or any information I’ve told you. You’ll tell nobody of me, it’s up to your safety.” I spoke with no emotion in my voice, I couldn’t show him that I felt anything for him, I just met this man.

“Rhylan—what are you talking about?”

I took Henrys hands into mine, “Just trust me”

“Close your eyes” I spoke my voice softer.

Just like that I was gone, that was the last time I saw Henry.

Little did I know fate was working with us.

Looking back at that day, I didn’t know much about love, life and hope. I didn’t know meeting Henry my change my entire life, with one mission, one moment, and one spark of life in my hardship. Then the thought of finding love was absurd to me. The thought of sticking together with one person for life never even crossed my mind.

But it was the moment I wouldn’t change ever again. Other than the savior of America, Henry was my purpose in life other than to become the drunk I was headed onto.

Instead I had something to look forward to, something to think about when I was down, or my many hospital visits, when I was on leave, I could only let my mind ponder about what could’ve been, what could’ve been made. I once thought, love, life, and happiness wasn’t in store for me. Little did I know.

[love-toxin]

always smelling like/having something of the four’s on you :( wearing Steve’s blue jeans or jerseys that fit ever so slightly bagging on you to the point you always feel engulfed in him even though he’s away. wearing Robin’s rings and jewelry that always make her hands so pretty when she holds you or cups your face before a barrage of kisses. stealing Eddie’s leather jackets/band tees because they smell like sweet tobacco smoke and late night giggling with notes of tender love. always having Nancy’s back-up tube of lipstick or perfume roller in your pocket for when she wants to touch up from completely ingraining her skin and lips against yours. :( I’m so soft

Bonus points for: Jonathan’s camera with the worn straps, Argyle’s hats with little doodles drawn on the undersides of the brims, Chrissy’s kitten-soft cardigans and sweaters, and Billy’s sacred Polaroids of the west coast with dates and memories scribbled on the back :( miss Ellie I love all of them sO MUCH-

IM GONNA SOB. ANON UR ADDING YEARS TO MY LIFE ♡

Steve's blue jeans are classic, well-worn, denim soft to the touch. He pulls them up and fastens them for you on your hips, his fingers lingering there once they're set and the denim bunches up around your ankles. These ones are yours, your pair, that you can stretch or shrink or belt or do anything you want with. Splatters of paint on the shins from when he helped Dustin paint his bedroom, smelling strongly of his cologne--he sprayed a little extra on them so it'll stick to you. His smile brightens the room when he leans back to take a look at you, so soft and pretty in his pants. He knows you're gonna keep stealing his anyways, but if he minded, he wouldn't leave his closet open whenever he wanders away to use the bathroom or get a drink when you're over. It's worth it to have to dig in his father's dusty closet to find something to wear if he gets to see you in his clothes forevermore.

Robin has so much jewelry you don't know what to make of it all. Rings, necklaces, watches, bracelets--they make up a little ocean of silver and gold across the top of her dresser, a cracked mirror propped up for her to check them all out. They're unorganized, some a little tangled together. Easy for you to sneak something here and there just to wear it when you're both out together. It's a way for you to hold hands without your fingers touching, some divine show of ownership. You wear her rings, fiddle with her necklaces, you show off the glitz and glitter of her jewelry like it's a crown marking your royal status. It sometimes doesn't occur to her that you're wearing them until she's too close to hide her shyness, her cheeks a rosy hue as she swallows at the sight of her favourite pendant hanging around your neck. So pretty, you're the prettiest in the world--and you can have as much as you want, so long as she gets to see those gleaming gold and silver accents contrast your glowing skin.

Eddie's leather jacket is sacred. Pins piercing the fabric in perfect array, leather frayed in the way it's supposed to for it to fit perfectly. It carries the scent of tobacco and pot and the smell of his hair, both shampoo and cologne a sickly sweet-musky combo that floods your senses when he puts it over your shoulders. It's heavy for that frame of yours, but you keep it up, and he's struck with pride. What he wouldn't give to rip all those clothes off and leave you in nothing but his jacket. He could wear the stains of your sweat on the inner lining, could lift it to his nose and inhale the smell of you and instantly feel that head rush that's better than any special shit he could get off Rick. That thought is what pushes him to let you have it, to zip it up and tell you to keep it safe. Your doe eyes when you ask him if he's gonna do something dangerous, something scary, again. And he just laughs, despite knowing how worried you really are. Because Eddie knows he'll never run away again--but he also won't leave you to fret and cry at the thought of losing him, never again. Not his little angel.

Nancy's lipstick leaves a stain wherever she kisses you. Smudges, smears, blurs, brightens her skin when she's dragging you up and down against her lips, angling you so she can get every inch that she wants to mark. Prim, proper Nancy is also the martyr Nancy, the same hands that apply her lipstick with a delicate touch also wield the guns and fire and violence that you owe your life to. Her breath raises those goosebumps to your skin, lips pursed to suck one harsh, defining bruise in your skin through her teeth. One small, purplish splotch ringed with scarlet lipstick, made permanent only in your dreams as Nancy finally pulls herself off of you. Fishing in your back pocket, she produces those two tubes that she knows she'll always find on you--and with a practiced hand, she reapplies her lipstick and uncaps her roller to dust her throat with perfume, ensuring an image just as pristine as she arrived with when she wipes those smudged lines from her fair skin. Perfection.

Jonathan has little else but that. His camera. Beat up and old, cracked lens replaced with a cheaper but unbroken one, leather straps thinner than they were but still holding strong. There's no hope in affording a brand new one, much less a nice one, but the smile on your face when he bashfully gifts it to you makes it feel like he gave you the world. You don't have to take it, it's a piece of crap, I just thought you might want something to start--and you're kissing away those mumbled worries from his lips, eyes glowing with adoration as you hold it close to your chest. The strap fits perfectly around your neck, leather sliding against your skin and soft, already broken in by years of use. The first photo you take, lens held up with careful fingers, is of him. Off-colour and standing nervously, smile shy but sincere. You'll keep that forever, that one and many more framed up in the house you'll share one day.

Argyle loves many things, and few of those love him back. You slot into that category, he's sure, which is how he finds himself drawing out his love on the brim of his most precious cap. The underside, of course, to keep it secret--but almost nobody would decipher the symbols that represent you. A sun, a flower, a cluster of stars, a line of poetry he read once in school that fits you perfectly, makes the words stick in his head because they always make him think of you. His heart thuds against his ribs like it's trying to break out when you put that Surfer Boy visor on your head, plucking it off his own just to giggle and spin it to wear it like you've seen him do. Your awed gaze turned upward to survey those doodles when you notice them, and the smile you show off when you take it off to look at them closer...that's enough in itself. More than he could ask for, yet only a snippet of what he'll get when he finally brings himself to admit who those lovelorn drawings are for.

Chrissy's sweaters are a statement. Cheerleader. Princess. Hawkins' Sweetheart. When you wear each one, they spell out her love on your sleeves, her devotion to give you things so precious that she wouldn't hand over for anything else. Baby pink and mint green and pale yellow, blue and white and lavender and peach and all the colours that crystallize in the sky when a rainbow forms after a storm. That's what you feel like to her, that's what you are--a precious, pretty splatter of colours in her comparably dull world, the reward she's been blessed with after a life of locked doors and tears and a churning stomach. Your skin spells out so much more when the soft fabric of her clothing bristles against it, more than anything she ever hoped for herself. You wear them, and all she sees is love.

Billy can recall the dates with almost complete accuracy. Each polaroid pinched between your delicate fingers has a story, a life behind it that you've never seen, but one that Billy remembers with relative fondness. Some are punctuated with painful memories, but those ones he glosses over and you move on to the next. He sits by your side on the floor, leaned against his bed, a cigarette perched between his lips and music playing quietly for once in the background, and you hold out each of the photos spread out in a vast array between both of your legs. Smoke stings your lungs but smoothes the ache in his chest, the burn that flares up when he's faced with image after image of that beach, those waves, and that smiling blonde in the sunhat that he was forced to leave behind. It didn't dawn on him before, but your piqued curiosity and the giggles and "awww!"s you fill the room with at seeing his baby pictures spark a new idea in his mind, and a smirk on his face. Those memories from the west coast have been replayed to death in his mind, those pictures old and fraying--he needs new ones. Ones that will never make him ache or burn with regret. Photos of you.

[spideyspeaches]

Roller-coaster ↬ p.p

gif’s not mine

A/N: My take on What if Peter was in Wandavision? But with a twist ;) Beta read by my wifey @stars-aligning​ 🥰🥰

Warnings: canon typical voilence? mentions of death. Also the timeline doesn’t really make sense, just pretend everyone is of the same age. OH and Wandavision spoilers :)

WC: 9k (longest one shot I’ve ever written 😭)

Pairing: Peter Parker x ex!Reader 

Masterlist || Taglist

"Ben? What's wrong? Why are you looking at her like that?" 

"I- I don't. I don't know. She seems familiar." 

"Familiar? Familiar how?" 

"Like her and I don't belong here. Like we're from another world." 

Working with Tony Stark as his intern, then head of the R&D and now working in the labs as the head of the department felt surreal, a fresh breath of air every time he looked at his desk, with his name written on it. It had been Peter’s dream to meet Tony Stark, maybe work with him too.

And then he got bit by a radioactive spider, giving him super strength, super eyesight and apparently super luck too, because though he liked to think that he was working in SI due to his intelligence, the spider bite did play a role in becoming his mentor’s favourite intern, without which he might have not had a chance to meet him hands on.  

Tony kept reminding him that even if Peter had not been bit by the spider, he would have still secured a high position in Stark Industries, with his disarming intelligence that rivaled Tony’s own and charmingly trippy personality. 

Peter begged to differ. But then again, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in it’s mouth. Ever since he was a bushy haired, rosy cheeked jittery teenager, he had always worshiped the ground Tony walked on. 

Peter remembers the day he got an anonymous letter, which turned out to be SHIELD's handiwork, asking him to join them in their base in New York, even if he insisted that he wasn't interested in being a superspy wannabe. He was skeptical at first, why would the most paranoid of paranoid agents send him a letter in mail? Him, twenty three years old Peter Parker, who lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with termite issues and smokes weed like the government is going to ban tobacco and is barely able to take care of himself with the overload of work. 

Maybe it was just his Parker luck, or the fact that he was a freelance vigilante who looked after New York in a skintight spandex suit, because the safety of the people was apparently second in priority to the government. They'd rather have people die than have an illegal protector. 

Yeah so Peter was salty, and what about It?

Slinging his satchel higher, he saw the sleek black car in confusion, trying to get a look at the number plate before the lift binged on arrival, walking into the open door. He swore he was either hallucinating or in midst of an intense flashback of the events that lead to what people dubbed as the 'Civil War', back to when he had been shaken out of his mind watching Tony Stark eat his aunt’s homemade walnut date loaf that had more salt than sugar.

His thoughts were put to a halt when he entered his and his aunt's old apartment in Queen’s after a long week of Spidey on mission and nearly getting (illegally) fired, footsteps coming to a pit stop. It's not like it's everyday you come face to face with Agent Coulson, Nick Fury and your ex not- really- girlfriend, somehow all in one day all together. 

"So… um. What are you- What are you guys doing here again?" he asked, folding his hands on his chest defensively, leaning into his aunt's side as he whispered, "how long have they been sitting here?" from the corner of his mouth.

Fury raised a non-existent eyebrow, looking at him with a dagger for eye, making Peter shift nervously. Agent Coulson looked uncomfortable and You, You looked strangely in your element, sitting on the couch with one leg over the other, a neutral expression on your face. 

Back when he was still in high school, when he'd first met you, he used to be in awe of how outgoing you were, seemingly adjusting in whichever situation you were thrown in. You had always accommodated to your surroundings, but with a start he realised that he had never seen you so… You in a while. 

Not during your visit to the Avengers tower, not during the first time you came into his bedroom, all alone. Not when he had seen you take down a mugger on your way home from your first date without even as much as batting an eye.

"They were here ten minutes or so before you came home. It's creepy, as if they knew you were visiting," May answered with a whisper, wearily eyeballing them before moving towards the kitchen, leaving Peter unattended to Your and Fury's piercing gazes. 

"I'm sure they know my monthly schedule before I do," Peter said, turning to look at the aforementioned agents. "So... you like, work for SHIELD, too?" He asked, wringing his hands to abate the tension in them. 

"Yes, she does, but that's not what we're here for, Mister Parker," Fury said in his gruff voice, sitting back with a sauve expression. Peter gulped as Agent Coulson looked him in the eye, finally noticing the thin file he held in his hands. 

"Well what are you here for?" Peter asked, mustering up some confidence as he tried not to look at You or the eye that Fury had that wasn’t covered by the patch.

"We need you to come to Westview, New Jersey with us," You said, a final no nonsense undertone in your voice. He shuddered when he heard you, remembering how soft and sweet you used to be. But that was before you disappeared out of nowhere, and apparently that nowhere was with SHIELD. 

"Me as in Peter Parker or Spider-Man?" he asked, looking behind his shoulder to make sure May wasn't listening. It's not like she didn't know about his… nightly whereabouts, he just wasn't comfortable with making her worry. She already had too much to deal with, with the nephew by day and vigilante by night thing he had going on.

It was also a little concerning that the three in front of him knew that he was visiting her today. He wondered if his apartment was bugged (well, more than the daily roaches and ants) or if SHIELD had been keeping an eye on him after he had denied their offer, instead opting to stay in SI.

It was probably the second one, although the first one was entirely a possibility. He was going to need to talk with Mister Stark about debugging his shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. 

"We need Peter Parker and his tech skills for this one," Fury said, before shoving the file in Peter's hands and crossing his own, “and my offer still stands.”

"For the last time, I'm not joining your little murderous boy band," Peter grumbled, scrunching his eyebrows as he looked at your twitching lips, as if holding in laughter. "I'm perfectly content with working with Dr. Connors in his little laboratory in SI." 

Fury didn’t look convinced and opened his mouth to probably threaten Peter, when Aunt May came in with a tray of cookies. They smelled amazing, too good to be made by her, she probably brought them from Delmer’s.

“Oh- Were you…? I just thought you guys might want to eat something,” She said awkwardly, looking at Peter with pleading eyes.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, May! I would love to eat some of those, I’m famished,” You butt in, taking the tray from her with a smile.

“Um, May, you can um- you know?” Peter gestured, shifting on his legs, hoping that May would get the message before she stood for a minute too long. He didn’t like the way Nick Fury’s eye was looking at him, his tranquilizer gun suddenly visible from his leather jacket.

“Don’t be rude Pete, here May, I’ll help you get that.” You smiled, winking at him and dragging May by her arm, who was mouthing “she’s such a sweetheart” behind her shoulders. 

"What if I told you that his man accidently got evicted due to some legal issues? And that now you're legally unemployed with severe financial issues that need to be looked after because the government suspects something illegal brewing?" Fury continued, looking him dead in the eye.

"Are you seriously blackmailing me? Threatening to unemploy me after all that shit you put me through with Mysterio?" Peter defended, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, watching you strutt back into the room, distracted by the sway of your hips in your mom jeans. He tried to shake the image, rolling his head to crack some tension that had built at the base of his skull.

"Mysterio was a mistake, Parker. This one is not; and we really need you for this one. Besides, remember that you're still a vigilante that hasn't signed the Accords of Sokovia." 

Peter stiffened that the mention of the Accords. He thought the government was over it after the second amendment after the arrest of Thaddeus Ross, but apparently not.

"You said that last time and I almost died! My ex-girlfriend almost died, my best friend nearly died, heck half of Europe almost died because you Director Fury, apparently trust some superhero wannabe in a green and purple costume and overlook facts that could potentially harm someone. So the answer is clearly no!" he retorted, flopping the file on the table as he resisted the urge to sit on the floor flat on his back. 

The three agents were looking at him with an unreadable expression, making him uncomfortable in his skin. 

"Well, it's all up to you then." His voice had a finality to it, one that irked him to no end.

"Do I have a choice?" He sighed after a beat, looking at the three of you with a forlorn expression. 

"Get your equipment ready, Mr. Parker. We'll be leaving for the camp tonight. You can read the details in this file." He heard Agent Coulson say (he was pretty sure his name was Phil), trying to make sense of how fast everything was going past the chronic tinnitus in his ears.

"It's Dr. Peter Parker," he muttered fruitlessly, blushing under your raised eyebrow. 

***

"So, I didn't know you got a PhD. I knew you were smart, still are, considering that you're a PhD at twenty two," You said, sipping on your virgin mojito, and placing the mug in front of you. 

Peter had taken you to a cafe after the confrontation, wanting to know more about your whereabouts and how he had not noticed that you were a superspy all of his high school years. You had retorted with a simple "I'm a spy, that's why,” which he found pretty badass.

"Well, yeah, I did my undergraduate and PhD together." He shrugged casually, looking out of the window to avoid looking at you. 

You had always been beautiful, but somehow, you had become even more beautiful than the last time Peter saw you. 

"That sounds brutal. Only you can manage that," You joked. You weren't going to admit it, but you had missed being with Peter, joking with him and watching his beautiful side profile as he blushed under your scrutinizing gaze.

"So, um. This thing, what is it about?" Peter asked, snapping you out of your daze. 

"Huh? Oh it's a long story. Like really long, if this was a TV show it would take five episodes for me to explain." You gestured, dismissing his scowl. "Okay, so you remember that time when that super high security facility was broken in back in december 2019?" 

"Which super high facility? There are a lot of break ins happening in high security facilities in America, and it's more than concerning, considering they're supposed to be super high security." He said, fiddling with his own drink. 

"Okay, Yeah that's true. It was a S.W.O.R.D facility, and long story short, Wanda Maximoff kidnapped her corpse husband to reenact the dad-knows-best suburban lifestyle with an entire town held as her hostage." You said, looking over your shoulders to make sure no one was listening. 

"Wanda stole Vision's corpse? Wait, is this about Westview? 'The Town that ceased to exist'? Is that what happened? Is this some sort of mind control thing? Cause I know she can make people believe what she wants them to..." Peter whispered, leaning in to show that he was interested. You took a moment to admire his front profile, his broken nose and dimpled chin, rosy lips and sharp cheekbones, accidently zoning out on his theories.

Leaning forward, you brought a hand up his face, pushing a stray curl behind his ears, cutting him short of his rambling. 

"W-what?" He stuttered, his breath hitching, making the table shake with a wince. 

"You have nice hair." You commented with a smirk, caressing his hair one more time. 

"You said that in the senior's party too, and well, there's no sex happening anytime soon." He said, rolling his eyes, sitting back in his hair with his hands folded on his chest.

"I like being optimistic." You rolled your own eyes, heart beating a mile a minute at the reminder of your relationship- ex relationship with Peter, "so what were you saying about Westview? I kind of zoned out." 

You watched him roll his eyes again, trying not to let your eyes wander around his biceps and the little bit of his collarbones peeking from his shirt, unbuttoned from the top, also exposing the thin chain that he always seems to be wearing. With a start you realised that it was the one you had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday.

"So this town, Westview, it just disappeared right? Behind a barrier of sorts? Is it like, coming from an energy source? Was it created by Wanda?  " he asked, ever his inquisitive self.

"Yeah, apparently she's created an alternate reality, sitcom style, with the people of Westview trapped in it." 

"So she's basically starring in a fanfiction alternate reality of sorts but a sitcom format? Wouldn't blame her, poor woman's been through a lot." He nodded, shifting in his seat. He could feel your eyes burning a hole in his skull, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Are you staying in a hotel? Or a shield facility?" 

"Nope," You answered, leaning back on your chair. "Am I still allowed to stay in your room? With the doors open?"

He watched you with narrowed eyes, tilting his head with a smirk, replying to you with a nod, "alright." 

*** 

"Did you pack your mittens? The extra warm ones with a built in heater? You know you're susceptible to frost bites-" 

"May! I packed my mittens." Peter murmured, ducking his head in embarrassment as he raised an eyebrow at your amused smile. 

"Okay, okay, that's great. Socks? Painkillers? Extra pair of glasses?" she asked, fumbling around the room like she did whenever he went on field trips. 

"Yes, May!" 

"Great. Stay safe, okay?" Her eyes softened, holding his cheeks in his hand like he was a seven year old, living with them with a knowledge of death no seven year old should have. Sighing, he leant into her palm, holding his own hand encompassing her small one. Giving her a smile, he kissed her cheek. “Ti amo, May. I’ll call you once I get there, okay?” 

She nodded, pulling him into her embrace, though she knew full well that he’s going to forget to call her, too excited to be in the vicinity of multiple certified geniuses and other figures of authority. 

***

"Is there anything I should know about? Like anything unexpected?" Peter asked, looking at the camp in awe as the jeep pulled over makeshift gates, a bunch of soldiers surrounding them. 

Peter was used to seeing the hustle and bustle of camps, considering all the missions he had gone through with the Avengers, back when Steve wasn’t retired and the newer generation of avengers hadn’t entered. 

“Your blood’s radioactive, right?” You asked, turning to face him with a smile. 

“Yeah. Why? Is that relevant?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he saw someone carrying his bags before he could protest. 

“Well, Dr. Lewis found out about this hexagonal anomaly, no one really knows what it is, but the source seems to be emitting huge amounts of radiations,” You said, getting off the jeep, pulling Peter out with you. Walking towards the crowded camp, you came face to face with the tent where everything was set up.

“Doctor Darcy Lewis?” Peter said, looking at the place in awe. It wasn’t extravagant, but the technology surrounding the tent, the vans and what seemed to be a broadcasting antenna were all way beyond the regular one used in tech companies, which is funny, considering he’s been working with Mr. Stark his whole teenage life. 

“Yup, that’s her, nerd.”

“So, what exactly is this Hexagon? Is it, like, a barrier of sorts? Can everyone go in?” He asked, looking around with glinting eyes, lips twitching in a smirk as he saw the barrier in question. His super hearing caught the static sound it emitted, wincing at the sharp noises. His boots crunched under the snow as he felt the thing pull him towards it, your voice muffled by the noises of the hex. 

It was something he had never seen before, like the static of a TV with a lost signal, glowing red in places as if reaching out to him. His senses seemed dull, the world greying around the way it had before he was bit by the radioactive spider. The spider bite had enhanced his vision in a way that he saw colours not visible to the human eye, a technicolour wonder that even Bruce couldn’t solve. 

He felt a tug, looking down at his shoes, wondering if he had just imagined it. 

“Mom and dad have been, not fighting, just like different.”

He swore he felt a white light flash in front of him, his spidey sense buzzing at the base of his skull, tingling all the way to his spine as he straightened up to dissipate the feeling, shifting awkwardly.

“Only Captain Rambeau has gone in and come back intact so far. It’s emitting a colossal amount of cosmic microwave background radiation, also known as CMBR, and once you get into it, your mind doesn’t really stay your own, so no one has volunteered other than her. Everyone knows the risk,” You said, startling him, a sharp contrast to the voices that seemed to have suddenly accumulated in his brain. 

“If you’re going to break the sound barrier, please just take your brother with you!”  

‘Sound barrier?’ he thought, looking back at the hex as it flashed red, the tug strong enough to make him stumble in his place. You looked at him weirdly, asking if he was okay, but he wasn’t listening, turning to ask you what the red flash meant, distortion evident in the barrier.

“Captain Rambeau? The daughter of the director of SWORD?” he asked instead. 

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Damn.” He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair, and dragging it down his face. 

Walking inside the tent, Peter was hit with a face full of cold air, and the hundreds of monitors nearly gave him a sensory overload. The people running around didn’t help, either. “Where do I keep this?” He asked, pointing to his bag full of equipment that Fury had asked for. 

“You can set up over here, newbie,” A new voice said chirpily. Turning around, he came face to face with the Darcy Lewis, eyes widening as he took in her smiley presence, another human who he didn't recognise standing behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Doctor D-”

“Darcy Lewis, I know- I’m a fan!” 

“Aw look at you, you have a fanboy at your hand,” Captain Monica Rambeau said, strutting in and keeping a hand on her shoulder, confidence radiating off of her every pore. 

"And… You are?" he asked awkwardly, looking pointedly at the FBI agent. He saw Darcy hide a snicker behind her hand, patting his shoulder and shoving him forward. 

The man fell forward, steadying himself on the table before he flicked a card seemingly out of nowhere. "Agent Jimmy Woo, FBI,” he said proudly, a smile on his cute little baby face. Peter was left staring in awe, wondering how he had done that.

"Wait, can you do that again? How did you do that?!" 

"It's cool, isn't it? I could teach you if you want." 

"Yes, of course, but how did you do it? It appeared out of nowhere and if you take in consideration the law of conservation of mass, it can neither be created nor be destroyed and it just seemed to have accumulated-" 

"It's a trick of illusion. You see, when I opened my palms, I-" 

"Peter, let's set things up shall we?" You interrupted their session, a smirk on yours and the other women's faces, shaking your head.

Ditching the bag on the counter, he nodded, willing his heart to stop beating out of his chest. This was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him next to Tony Stark sitting on his aunt’s old futon. And the magic trick.

“This is the coolest day of my life,” he whispered, shrugging when you chuckled at his excitement. “Ned’s going to freak out.” 

“Wait until you see the schematics and control panels.” You smirked, making him raise an eyebrow as he blushed, the flush apparent from his neck to his ear. The others scattered just as he finished setting his station up, fidgeting with the radio, when the voice of Hayward boomed across the cubicle. 

“Ah, Mister Parker!” he says, a faux smile on his face as he looks at the station, making Peter shift uncomfortably. The weird tingling of his spidey-sense came up again, his hand automatically reaching there to scratch at the itch.

“Here we go again,” Darcy muttered, patting Peter’s back, her eye roll loud enough for him to glance at her. 

“It- It’s doctor,” he muttered, hearing a “he gets me” from Darcy.

“Very well, Doctor Parker it is, then. I’m Hayward, welcome to SWORD.”

“SWORD? I thought this was a SHIELD thing?” 

“...Fury didn’t brief you?”

“He did! He was just very vague, hence why I’m asking. What exactly have I been called here for?”

The silence that took over was palpable, with you shifting awkwardly as Hayward eyeballed them all, looking at the five of them morosely before saying, “Brief him Monica,” and leaving.

“God, is every higher official such a dick here?” Peter grumbled, watching him retreat, shaking his head as he threw the ball of paper he hadn’t noticed he had been fidgeting with.

“See? He agrees, I like him.” Darcy nodded, pulling him with her towards the briefing table. 

“This all started when the town of Westview disappeared after the second blip,” Monica said, pulling up holographs that showed the image of people reappearing from the snap, his breathing increasing in pace as he remembered vaguely of his own reappearance. 

The whole situation was fucked up. After stealing Vision’s corpse, Wanda had basically resurrected him, holding and controlling thousands of people, an entire fucking town. Looking at the list of all the missing people, his eyes zeroed on to one particular face. He racked his memory to remember who exactly it was, mouth hanging open when he realised who exactly she was.

“Is that… is that Agatha Harkness?” Peter said, pointing at the woman who had no name written under her photograph.

“You know her real name?” Darcy asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he nodded, wringing his hands around.

“Yeah, Wanda told me about her, she’s the witch from the Salem trials!”

“How is she significant to the plot, though?”

“She... she mentored Wanda, before she went to the dark side." 

In the time he knew Wanda, she had been the sweetest person ever. She was like an older sister he didn’t know he needed, empathising with him on a cosmic level. They had come close before the events of Thanos happened. She was his person, and they shared a lot of secrets, this one being one of them.

“That’s one connection to her. What about the others? She keeps telling Vision that she doesn’t know what’s happening, but when the drone strike happened, she looked straight at the camera, like she knew,” Monica intervened.

“He tried to deploy a drone strike? In front of her children, after knowing very well that she saw her parents die in the Sokovian attack when she was ten? Is he fucking insane?!” Peter seethed, nearly crashing his fist on the table hard enough for cracks to appear on it. 

“Peter, hey, calm down! You breaking things is not going to make the situation any better, okay? He already tried to chuck us out of this, you don’t go around breaking things now!” You said, holding him still as his body shook. You had never seen him this angry, and frankly, you would never want to see it again. 

Peter was a sweet person, respecting people’s boundaries and always so understanding. He was the embodiment of good, even after living a fucked up life, he never projected his trauma on the other. He wore his emotions on his sleeves, and your heart clenched every single time, seeing him in pain. 

"Listen, that's my sister in there, and she has no idea what she's doing. She needs our help and I'll do anything to help that woman and if you guys even think of hurting her I will make sure each of you regret it," Peter hissed, staring daggers at the silent team members of the room. 

“Is there any way to reach there?” he asked, more softly than before. Darcy exchanged a look with Agent Woo and Monica, opening her mouth before knowing better and shutting it. “What?! Is there a way to communicate with her?”

“Follow us,” the brown woman said, breathing deeply as she looked at the other two silently. 

"Where are we going?" Peter asked, fidgeting with your fingers. He hadn't noticed himself holding your hands, your lips twitching when you realised he had done that unconsciously.

“Trust me, I don’t know half the things these ladies do,” Woo whispered, and Peter nodded along seriously. 

“Whoa, I feel like there’s a secret underground base here! Is there a secret underground base?” 

“Well, it’s not underground, and not really a secret anymore,” Captain Rambeau said, unravelling a curtain, revealing a small space with a million monitors and a wooden desk littered with laptops and too many empty coffee cups. 

“This is so cool,” You whispered, watching in awe as Dracy lit up the screens, revealing various codes and stuff you didn’t really understand. Peter was already invested, babbling about codes and addresses and hidden files within hidden files, things that flew over your head at the speed of Darcy’s fingers on the keypad.

Leaning on the table with one hand, Your eye caught a flat round metal looking thing on the ground, picking it up and tracing it with your fingers. “Is this… a bullet?!” 

“Yeah, it was hit on that suit, which turns out to be 87% kevlar. That happened when Captain shot at it,” Jimmy answered, giving you a smile as you dropped your jaw. 

“She went in wearing a bulletproof vest right? Wanda just… manifested a dress made of kevlar?” You wondered, your words interrupted by Peter’s yelp.

“So, remember how Director Douchebag ordered a drone strike on Wanda?” she said, contemplating her words next as everyone turned towards her. “Turns out he’s been planning something else.” 

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the screen, which displayed two boxes full of what seemed like cells.

“That’s Monica’s blood work, he’s been tracking it the whole time. The first time you travelled to the hex? It changed your cellular structure on a molecular level, twice.” She said. 

A sombre expression took over the older woman’s face, pursing her lips. “He thinks I’m gaining powers.” Monica nodded.

“I may not be a genetic engineer, but from what I’m seeing here, he’s most likely right,” Peter interrupted, a silence taking over everyone. “He’s keeping track of the enhanced, if I’m not wrong.” 

Shaking his head, he clenched his eyes when he heard another voice. You watched him weirdly, reaching to ask him if he was okay, before retracting your hand.

“Chill out sis, it’s not like you can kill your dead husband twice.” 

“You’re right. He’s been tracking everyone who’s enhanced, including Vision.” Dracy said, typing something on the screen to show you the map of Westview, pulsing red and blue dots appearing in your sight.

“Do you know what his endgame is?”

“Yeah. Rebooting Vision.” 

Peter inhaled sharply, trying not to let his face show the anger inside him as he looked at Monica with wide eyes, both of them looking at each other dangerously, both of them realising same thing.

“Then, I’m going in. Someone needs to tell her,” he said, looking at the others for affirmation.

You took a step back, gulping in anticipation of his words. Reaching out with a hand, you stared at him, hoping he wouldn't lash out. "Peter, you have to know, the hex is a dangerous place. You won't even remember who you are so there’s no point in you going in. You won’t be able to convince her to magically leave her hostages, she’ll just see you as an outsider and throw you out-" 

"Captain Rambeau went in and she was able to get out!" he argued.

"Peter, I was tossed out because she saw me as a threat. She might not do that to you but going in that thing is dangerous, especially with your mutations-" 

"I don't give a fuck about my mutation! You of all people should know how it feels like to lose family, Monica," Peter said, looking at her. The fire in his eyes spoke volumes. No one dared to intervene. 

"Peter, your mutation could potentially kill you. You know the risks of going past the barrier due to your enhancements. The radiations are altering DNA to a molecular level, your cells-”

"-are already metastasizing! My spider DNA is going to get me killed some day because my body won’t be able to handle it anymore, so I don't care, I'm going and that's final." He nodded, puffing his chest to show that he wasn't going to step down. 

"Fine, I'll come with you then," You said, looking at him as you said that. A lump formed in your throat as you realised that he was so willing to sacrifice himself, and blood pumped in your veins as determination set in along with a rush of adrenaline. 

"Do as you please." He shrugged, pursing his lips, but his eyes were a different story. You felt sick, insides tearing themselves up as you took a good look at him and his pallor, the artificial lights illuminating the scar tissues on his face. Ones that you knew were inflicted by his years of being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. 

***

“Maximoff is never gonna negotiate with us,” Hayward said, circling the table as Monica looked at him with disbelief in her expression. “We’ll need all the guns we have here to stop her.”

“We can’t outgun her, but what we can do is try and talk her out of this. Antagonising her is only making things worse. If Wanda is the problem, she has to be our solution!” Monica argued, looking forward.  

“She’s already killed thousands during the Sokovian attack. How do you guarantee that she won’t kill another person she finds threatening?!”

“She was guilty about it. It wasn’t her fault, do not bring that into this.” 

“Yeah? Well, the guilt isn’t going to bring back the dead children is it?” 

"The dead children aren't coming back, but those people trapped in Westview? They can, if you fucking let us!" 

"Fine. But someone will be monitoring you."

Negotiations with your boss and commanding team of SWORD concerning the ship was a tough feat. you had finally convinced them to let you and Peter go across the border, but Darcy and Monica were to be on the radio in case everything went amiss.

Sitting in the (illegally acquired) van, you watched Jimmy, who was trying to teach Peter the card trick, invested in the trick yourself. Leaning forward to get a better view, you tried not to let the rush of blood in your cheeks get to you at the close proximity with Peter, heart pounding with every step you took closer to the hex. 

“I did it! I finally did it, Y/N, look!” Peter said, showing you the trick, smiling at his childlike enthusiasm. 

“That’s great! You should show it to Morgan, she’ll like it.” 

“How do you know about Morgan?”

“I know everything.”

You may have been bluffing, but he seemed to have caught on your cue, the awkward tension reappearing as he shifted in his seat, twisting and turning and going back to the magic trick. You tried not to smile, but your mouth never did coordinate with your brain. 

“We’re here,” the driver said, parking the van. 

“Okay let’s go through this again: Captain Rambeau and Dr. Lewis will be on the radio while you try and get in, stay near a radio as much as you can so we can try and communicate, and do not try to meddle with Wanda,” Jimmy said, going over your checklist. 

You were skeptical of the plan, thinking about how successful your mission was going to be, considering how powerful she had become in her own little sitcom. You had heard of her expanding the borders just after you had started driving near it. 

“You ready?” Peter asked, taking your hand as you nodded, and wrapped your fingers around his knuckles, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m ready.” You nodded, looking over your shoulders to see the FBI agent giving you a thumbs up, muttering something into the comms. Looking back at Peter, you felt dizzy with the buzzing anxiety, the pull of the barrier strong. 

Stepping close to it, you felt electricity buzz in your veins, shuddering at the chilling sensation and sudden exposure to stimuli, your gut twisting the more your hand went in the hexagonal anomaly. You swore you felt your physical being tear apart, your life flashing in front of you in a white hot light, your brain was practically mush with how much force you needed just to get in. 

"I thought we would be able to get in easily!" Peter shouts, his screams echoing in your eardrums, mixed with your own screams. 

"She's becoming more powerful the longer she stays inside, and so is the hex," You replied, gasping for a breath as you tried to move forward.

With a final scream, you closed your eyes at the static sound bombarded your ears, you couldn't fathom how loud it must be for Peter, sending a look towards him. His eyes were scrunched, hands curled around his head and ears to stop the sound. Before you could comment on his state, your own vision doubled, bright green and magenta lights appearing out of nowhere, the coiling of your gut intensifying, and before you knew it, the strong force pulled you inside, throwing you off on the hard concrete of the road, and everything went dark.

***

“I’m okay. I’m okay. Everything is alright,”  Wanda said, repeating the phrase like a mantra as she sat on the couch. 

She repeated the phrase like clockwork, just like being a mom to two half synthezoid pre-teens and the gatekeeper of Westview. Snapping out of her daze, she felt something in her brain stir, realising with a start that something had been messing with the barrier-- or, rather, someone.

Closing her eyes, she willed her powers, similar to the ones Tommy had, to look past the barrier, opening her eyes with a flash when she saw a familiar face.

“Peter,” she muttered, the brown eyed boy who she had come to think of as a brother materialising in front of her, dropping on the carpet with a thud as his unconscious form fell on top of Yours. Wanda remembered you from all the stories Peter had told her about. 

Crouching down, she reached out to touch you both. Her eyes glowing red as she held a finger to your and his forehead, scrunching her eyelids as she navigated both of your heads.

A lonely young girl was seen sitting on a rock, the wind blowing wisps of her dark hair along with her dress. Suddenly, the noise of clucking of horseshoes could be heard, a woman coming into view as she got off her horse. 

“Feeling lonely and afraid at the middle of the night when you’re a young and beautiful teenage girl?” the woman in the cowgirl shoes said, holding her hip as the girl nodded. “Well, don’t worry, every young girl must have a sword at her disposal!” 

“A sword?” the young girl asked, tilting her head as she took the object in her hand.

“Yes, a s.w.o.r.d, my dear. Fear not, for the sword will protect you from all the hexes around you.”

The girl smiled, looking at the camera with the cowgirl’s hands on her shoulder. “A sword to protect the young!” 

Buy now at your nearest convenience store, terms and conditions apply.

“What are you two doing here and not at school?” Wanda chortled, startling the two who were now very much conscious. The boy moved, fisting his eyes, and he curled his hands to stretch the kinks that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, the varsity jacket scrunching underneath his fists. 

“Babe?” the boy groaned, messing up his hair, looking at the general direction of the girl. 

Putting on a smile, Wanda folded her arms, biting her lips at how adorable the two of you were.

“Ben? Is that you?” the girl asked, looking at her disheveled frock with a confused expression, finally noticed the woman standing in front of her. “Oh my god, babe, I swear we were at the bleachers not long ago. Did you manifest teleportation powers now?” 

“Miss Maximoff! You’re Billy and Tommy’s mom! Babe, we’re in Billy and Tommy’s house!” The guy, Ben said, his voice rising up an octave as he looked at his surroundings. 

He couldn't remember much about the Maximoffs, except that his neighbours talk about the weird mom and dad almost everyday in the gossip sessions. Whatever, he wasn't interested in them.

"She turned them into teenagers." 

"Well there goes our plan. Do we still have back up ready?" 

“That’s right, kids. Now, what were you two naughty children doing out of school?” Wanda asked, helping the two kids get up as the boy blushed, stuttering an apology.

“We- we weren’t ditching, I swear, Miss Maximoff! We were just-”

"-Doing homework! Because… because Ben's a nerd and he doesn't like that he gets behind because of the baseball team!" the girl said, stuttering as Ben nodded along with her.

“Yeah! We weren't making out or anything! Even if we're totally dating." 

Their relationship wasn't exactly your normal relationship. It was more of a… mutually beneficial relationship. 

Well, so far they had the entire town fooled, having them all think that a guy such as Benjamin Fitzpatrick would ever date a girl like her, who liked her books more than her siblings. 

"Hmm, well, thankfully, I'm a cool mom and I will not tell your parents about this… thing. Whatever it was. Anyone want cheesecake?" Wanda smiled, clapping her hands once as she looked at the two teenagers. 

Ben's stomach growled at the thought of food. "You don't have to do it, Miss Maximoff, but I would love some," he said, sheepishly looking at the ground, and wincing at another growl. 

Wanda chuckled, patting the boys back kindly. "Oh honey, it's alright. Come on, don't be shy, the both of you!" she said, looking over her shoulder and saying, "and it's just Wanda! Miss Maximoff makes me feel old, you know." 

They followed her to the kitchen, taking in the interior of the house. Ben's eyes caught something from the corner, it was almost as if it was… flickering? Shaking his head, he dug his fingers in his eyes, wondering if he was still feeling the effects of the time he had hit his head during the baseball practice. 

"You okay?" the girl asked, keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

"Yeah, probably the aftereffects of a concussion." He nodded, burrowing his brows in confusion. 

"Hmm, should probably get that thick little noggin of yours checked by the nurse." She snickered, hitting his shoulders playfully. Her heart was beating fast, he noted, wondering how he could hear it so clearly. The thought that he would have to leave her after she gets a date for prom made him sad. 

They may be faking their relationship, but he had caught on very fast and realised that he wanted it to be real. As real as the town of Westview.

Wait, what?

"You know we don't have to pretend anymore, right?" Ben said, looking at the girl as she came to a halt. Miss Maximoff was nowhere in sight, the house eerily silent with her heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

"This is the best ship SWORD could ever make." 

The awkward silence was interrupted by the opening of the front door, a loud jingle as Agnes came strutting in, a big smile on her face. It made Ben's neck sting weirdly, slapping his hand at the base to nullify the feeling. 

"Hello, children! What are you doing, skipping school like the little troublemakers you are?" She grinned, pinching each of their cheeks as her voice took a baby-like tone to it. Ben took a step back, grimacing as she continued pinching his cheeks. 

"Um, we weren't- we have no idea actually-" 

"Agnes! Oh, what great timing! Were you here for Billy and Tommy?" Wanda came in, a plate full of cheesecake and crackers in her hand. 

"Oh, Wanda, Wanda, Wanda! Your little troublemakers are already in my house, or did you forget?" She chuckled, the sound of her laughter taking a higher pitch. 

Wanda furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to say something, before closing it, a grin taking over. "Right. Yeah, of course! They really love it there with you, huh?" 

"That's right, everybody loves Auntie Agnes!" 

Ben looked at his girlfriend again, feeling strangely out of place between the two women. 

"Um, Miss Ma- Wanda? C-Can we go now? I feel like-" 

"Oh, Ben, don't be ridiculous! Why don't you sit down and take a breather? You look pale, hon." Wanda smiled, setting down the plate and ushering the two kids on the table, both of whom looked at the table with hunger in their eyes. Well, it had been long since lunch break. 

"Thank you for the cheesecake Mi- uh, Wanda, we appreciate it," the girl said, promptly digging in after the affirmation. 

***

Vision knew something was wrong the moment Agnes showed signs of knowing what was going on. The first time it happened, he was sure his paranoid wife would do something, but she had continued to act as if nothing was wrong with Agnes' behaviour. 

Walking down the road in his ridiculous costume, he nearly sighed in resignation, before he realised that he wasn't capable of such human actions. 

One more thing that perplexed him to no end was his strangely human behaviour. It was as if someone was forcing him to act more human, some weird force that was so unlike Wanda's warm presence, something more foreign and way out of his realm (like the gum incident. He sure did remember Wanda chastising him for doing this atrocity, surely she couldn't have been the one controlling him? Right?).

His mechanical heart ached for his wife. She had gone through a lot, from what he had read from her thoughts; losing a brother (twice, if the absence of Pietro was anything but a confirmation), and then him (it didn't bother him much. He was a synthezoid, there was entirely a possibility that he could be revived). 

He just really missed her, he realised. Their relationship had been strained ever since the boys were born. He didn't blame the drift on his boys, of course. He loved them to no end, would sacrifice himself for them, but he couldn't help but notice the change it brought in Wanda. 

The arrival of Pietro 2.0 didn't help either. 

His thoughts were interrupted as his feet halted their movements, and with a snap he realised that he had somehow made it to Ellis avenue, the border's static buzzing through his entire being. 

"You look lost, buddy," a strange man said. 

Looking at the man, Vision tilted his head, looking through the database of Westview to see that the man seemed to be nowhere in the records. How had he made it here? 

"I- I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, leaning against the car door to peer inside, the man sitting rigid. It was only then did he realise that the man's eyes seemed… glazed, almost like he wasn't aware. Looking back at the barrier, Vision gaped at the view in front of him. 

The man's car was half inside and half outside the barrier, the slow moving particles seemed to be disintegrating the vehicle, watching in awe as sparks flew the closer the barrier came to the man. 

"Listen, you have to get out of here before that thing destroys you." Vision tried shaking the man, but to no avail. His attempts were in vain as the man simply grunted. "Listen! Can you hear me? What's happening? Why is the barrier moving?" 

He tried opening the door, but it was shut firmly. Groaning, he punched the door, nearly falling to catch the falling man, who was mumbling some incoherent mumbo jumbo. 

"Wanda, what are you up to...?" Vision muttered to himself, realising with a start that the barrier was expanding and the man had come from outside the barrier. 

Looking at the muttering man, he quickly moved them both away from the barrier, propping him up against the grass.

"I'm sorry," Vision said, his hands gliding yellow as he touched the man's forehead, his own circuits being bombarded with incoherent noises. 

"Oh god! I'm sorry, please save me! Please, this hurts, this- you- you're the Vision!" the man screamed. 

"Yes, I'm the Vision! Now, can you stay still? I'm trying to help you!" 

"-Please! She's in my head!" 

His hands lit up again, the yellow light smothering the man's forehead as he went still again, as Vision retracted his hands regretfully. Opting to leave the man there, he stood up again, startling once again that day when he heard a shrill cry, the body of… Geraldine? Appearing out of the barrier. Shaking his head, he was convinced that he was hallucinating, if that was even possible for a droid, and turned around to walk back home. 

(Agatha gave a satisfied chuckle, purple sparks erupting from her fingers as she turned back to Wanda, pretending that that didn't just happen.) 

***

"Do you think our school is a little… solitary?" Ben asked, inhaling a puff of smoke from the blunt in his hands. His girlfriend and him were sitting on the rooftop of Westview high, their feet swinging against the edge as she clutched at Pe- Ben for dear life. 

Peter? Who was that?

"Did you see that?? Peter was right, that was Agatha Harkness and she's been the one manipulating the people, it never was Wanda! It was meant to be a plot twist, but I totally predicted it."

"Um…"

"What? I'm invested." 

Peter? 

Y/n? Can you hear me? Please say yes if you can hear me.

She noticed the static sound of the radio speaking to someone. The static noise increased, and Ben didn't seem to have noticed the small portable radio malfunctioning. Shrugging it off, she went back to passing the blunt from her boyfriend. 

Boyfriend. The word ignited a flame in her chest. Ben, who she faked her dates with once upon a time, now was her actual, real boyfriend, who she was ditching homework to smoke a blunt with, uncaring of her nearing curfew. Her parents would have her head if she found out.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, exhaling the stale air from her lungs. She knew it was more of the deep breathing than the weed, but it made her feel serene. 

"I've been hearing a lot of things lately." He croaked, clearing his throat, sniffing the air as he leaned back, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gulp. His glasses were sliding off his face. She reached to push them back up, smiling at the flush of his face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, slipping her fingers through his, rubbing a hand on his back. His life had been difficult, she knew about him being an orphan, but she didn't know he was having a hard time with life at the very moment, her heart aching for the poor boy.

"I don't know, I keep hearing these voices in my head. Children screaming, people crying, and this… this buzz at my neck, I can't ignore it anymore! I feel like I'm going insane and I can't keep them quiet! I've tried, but it's like they're trying to communicate with me." 

Her eyes softened, hands running through his thick, straight hair as he leaned his head on her shoulder. Suddenly, the height at which they were sitting on didn't matter, she had him in her arms. 

"He broke the fourth wall. He's been hearing things, just like Billy." 

Wiping away his tears, she kissed his forehead, rubbing her hands gently on his back. 

"It's gonna be okay. You're okay, they'll go away soon." She reassured, folding her legs to get up, and pulling him up with her. "It's getting late, and mom will have my head if I'm later than curfew." 

"You've broken curfew before." He chuckled, stepping closer to Her, his hands on her hips.

Moving forward, she enclosed her hands around his shoulders, intertwining her fingers at the nape of his neck. Standing on her highest tip toes, she crashed her lips into his, their bodies swaying with the cold wind. 

"Awww, they're so cute! Exes to lovers, I like it."

"I agree. Didn't see the fake dating coming though." 

"Right?! Wanda should start a production company." 

"If Agnes lets these people go." 

***

Meanwhile, Monica had managed to find an abandoned shack in the backyard of Wanda's neighbour's house, her body buzzing with a familiar tension. 

Opening the shack, she saw the trails of purple, vein like thing running their tracks until they reached somewhere she couldn't see. She didn't notice another person creeping up on her, too busy looking at the trails. 

"Snoopers gonna snoop," the voice said, making her jump out of her skin, and keeping a hand on her heaving chest to stop her from hyperventilating. 

"Pietro?!" She startled, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. The neighbourhood was eerily silent, leaning against the wall, before deciding against it and squared her shoulders, looking at the man in front of her. 

"Yeah, that's me. But who are you? And what are you doing in Margie's backyard?" he asked defensively. She would have found the expression comical if it wasn't for her racing heart and adrenaline filled brain. 

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, folding her arms to show a defensive stance. 

"I'm here because… I live here?" he muttered, borrowing his brows as his eyes glazed over again, "Yeah, wait, no... I live with my sister! Who lives two houses from here! What am I doing here?"

"I don't know, you tell me." 

"God, this is so weird. First Wanda was being weird, now I am." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Nothing." 

***

Billy was afraid. He knew that he should be stronger and braver, if not for himself, then for Tommy. His momma always told him that the only thing to fear was fear itself, and he didn't know what that meant, but he knew that he had to be braver to get back to his mom and dad. 

"Billy, I'm scared," Tommy whimpered. "I'm hearing voices again." 

"It's gonna be okay, Mom and Dad will be here soon," he reassured, just as scared as his brother. They were only twelve minutes apart, but he still felt a responsibility for him.

Mom said that they both reminded of her own brother- Uncle Pietro. 

Hearing the door open, he felt a chill crawl up his spine. 

"She's here! Billy, she's here!" 

"I know! I know! Shh!" 

Her footsteps came closer, the cackling of her laughter making his heart pound. His brother buried himself in his shoulders, both of them huddled next to each other, as if the inevitable could be avoided. 

"How are my best boys doing?" Agnes' shrill voice rang, making Billy breathe faster.

"We want Mommy," Tommy whimpered, sounding as small as Billy felt. 

"Oh, I'm sorry honey, that's not happening anytime soon." She tsked, sounding as apologetic as the villains in the action movies his mom forbade him from watching.

"Why's that?" Billy asked, squaring his shoulders as much as he could. 

"You didn't hear? Mommy's dead." 

And his world crashed, his brain crowding with darkness.

A/N: Lemme know what you think! 😁😁

[tiedyemillenialbullshit]

Nightmare

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Avenger Reader Word Count: 3,431 Summary: Your best friend finally comes to visit the compound after you join the Avengers. What starts out as a fun night out, quickly turns dire for you and Bucky. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Feelings, Mentions of Alcohol and Drugs, PTSD/Nightmares, swearing

“AHHHH Y/N!!” You hear her before you see your best friend running towards you, not a care in the world that your entire team has also turned around to watch you two galavant towards each other like long lost sisters.

You catch Sarah in your arms and spin her around.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re FINALLY HERE! And you’re early! Holy shit like I can’t believe you’re finally here in New York!! Let me introduce you to the team!” You grab her arm after she starts to show hesitance in meeting the Avengers all at once.

“Are you sure they have time? I don’t want to be a bother,” she says sheepishly.

“Oh my god Sarah, I talk about you all the time! They’re just as excited to meet you, come on.” You both walk towards the team still staring at you both near the entrance to the compound doing a quick debrief of a not-so-successful mission the day before.

“Guys, this is Sarah. Sarah this is-“ she cuts you off. “I know who you guys all are. It’s so nice to meet you! I’ll stay out of the way, I promise.” Everyone grins and introduces themselves to your best friend.

Nat smiles at you both, “On the contrary, you’re coming out with us tonight! No if’s, and’s or but’s”

Sarah seems to suddenly catch a second wind from her long flight and lets out a squeal of excitement.

You’re the newest to the “official” team, even though Steve and Fury had been trying to recruit you for years. You didn’t like the idea of the world knowing about your skill set and preferred to live a quiet life back in California. Ever since moving here, you’ve felt like maybe you weren’t home yet. Everyone was so nice and welcoming, but you missed your little house hidden in the outskirts of the National Parks in California. You missed the sun, the familiar smell of your patch of paradise and the general sense of room back home. Most importantly, you missed Sarah.

You were reluctant to invite her out to New York at first, but now that things seemed to be going smoothly, you sent for her via a car and private jet thanks to one Mr. Tony Stark. He was more than happy to help you out given your fresh and maybe sometimes bumpy arrival to the Avengers.

As everyone filed inside to break away before the evening festivities, Bucky caught your arm.

After holding you back for a second he said, “Hey, I can totally hang back tonight if you’d rather just be with Sarah and the team.”

You realize what he’s getting at. He also has some lack of feeling settled at the compound. It was something you bonded over when you first arrived. You both had similar pasts, even though they were at the same time lightyears apart.

“Buck, no. I think we’re all going out to Bleaker’s tonight! What’s a better way to get to know the team than bowling, beer, smoking inside, beer, old arcade games, more beer and maybe dancing?!”

Bucky gives you a quick glare out the corner of his eye before wrapping his metal arm around your shoulders to lead you inside after everyone.

“Fiiiiiiine, but I can’t promise I’ll behave.” You giggle, but suddenly feel a couple sets of eyes on you.

“And what do we have here?,” Tony asks with a smirk across his mouth. Sarah seems to be in the middle of an engaging conversation with Steve, so you don’t seem to have an easy out of this encounter. Bucky quickly drops his arm and steps a foot away from you.

“Uh, nothing. Y/N just seemed like maybe she wasn’t feeling well.”

“But I’m fine so here we are - have you seen Sam? Nat? Wanda? I told them we should be ready in a few hours and I jus-“

“Oh for Christ’s sake guys, your secret is safe with me,” Tony winks at you knowingly. You decide to take that as the end of the conversation and rush over to join Sarah.

“So! You have muscles.” Sarah says clearly at a loss of words looking at Steve in a tight shirt.

You and Bucky share a giggle, but pull Sarah away and save her from further embarrassment.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Sarah is about as red as a tomato as you drag her upstairs away from the awkward encounter. Steve looked a little flustered as well, which you file away in the back of your brain.

“Who cares! Let’s catch up and get ready for tonight.” Sarah is your best friend for a reason. Even though it had been 6 months since you last saw each other, it was like it was yesterday. You two spend the next few hours catching up, gossiping about each other’s families, friends, ex-boyfriends, etc.

“So! How are we doing in the boi department?” You turn around and face Sarah at the inquisitive tone in her question.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m good, I’m… I’m doing great, I mean yeah I’m good. WHY?” You’re stuttering and you don’t even care it’s obvious you’re blushing.

“Oh, you know. I mean, I’ve only recently met a few super soldiers, but I do think I can tell the there’s a spark between one and someone else.” Sarah so wants you to spill the tea but you promised Bucky you’d keep it quiet.

“Let’s just say things are developing and whatever you’d like to take from that you may.” You both launch into a giggle fit of her guessing and you denying certain aspects of Bucky Barnes.

When Wanda wanders into your room a few hours later, she starts laughing at what she sees. “You know you two are wearing like the same thing, right?” Exchanging confused looks at each other, you reply with a “AND?!”

Sam follows in with a smirk of his own. You’re bracing for his jokes but instead says “damn, OKAY! Everyone’s looking sharp tonight. Y/N, have you seen our bionic man around? Is he coming? He better come out tonight or I swear to…”

After Sam leaves to go find Bucky, the three of you wander down to find Nat and start the evening off with a shot or two. You aren’t much of a drinker, so one is enough for you. You much rather enjoy the company of your friend Mary Jane.

The team is getting silly with each other in the kitchen and quickly the room is filled with people yelling at each other to pregame harder, laughing when Nat’s little sister challenges Sam to a chugging contest and wins.

You feel a large hand at the small of your back. You can smell his cologne and know who it is immediately.

“Well don’t you look dashing tonight Sargent Barnes.” You lean in on impulse but stop yourself just as the girls turn around to see who you’re talking to.

“I was just going to say the same thing to you, sweets.” He mumbles in your ear before removing his hand and walking over to Sam.

The alcohol decides to hit you then, leaving you feeling empty that he’s not standing next to you anymore. Neither of you had wanted to have the “conversation” but you knew you were head over heels for him.

“CABS ARE HERE” screams Sam.

“Sam. For the love of God, stop watching Jersey Shore.” Natasha jokes to him.

At the same time Steve screams, “I understood that reference!” Eye rolls are exchanged as you all make your way outside.

The atmosphere is buzzing and you’re so excited to not just be out with your team, but to also have the only bit of family you had with you as well. You finally felt at home, at peace, and were ready for a fun night out.

Bleaker’s is one of those hole-in-the-wall dive bars that from the outside seems like a hard pass, but once you’re in, there’s no other place you’d rather spend a Saturday night. It’s true it started as a bowling alley in the 60’s. That still remains. What’s newer is the arcade in the back, where the old salon used to be. Jimmy bought the space next door, blew out the wall and filled it with arcade games that sometimes work and sometimes eat your money.

After years of being regular patrons, he knows your team well. The minute you walk in, he starts up all your favorite drinks.

“Ah! My best customers! I had a feeling I’d be seeing Earth’s mightiest heroes tonight.” You line up at the bar for whatever Jimmy decides you’re drinking tonight.

“Ah yes, two vodka on the rocks for my little Russian assassins. Sam here’s your vodka red bull which I don’t think you need, but here we are. Steve! Your drink of choice: an Old Style. Wanda, a cosmo for my favorite witch. And who do we have here, Y/N?”

You’re already both in hysterics at the old man behind the bar giving everybody a hard time. “Jimmy, this is my best friend Sarah. She’s visiting from California for a few days.”

“And whatever the lady wants can be put on my tab…” Steve butts in. Sarah immediately turns red but says “well in that case I’ll have vodka soda with lime please!”

Bucky has come up behind you and now you’re both laughing and watching the two of them stare at each other like no one else is in the room.

“Oh no, what did you do Y/N?”

“Let it play out, he’s not completely tripping over his words yet, maybe he’ll finally land a good girl.” You hush to Bucky.

Jimmy stares as well in amusement. “And you two? Your usual?”

“Yes’sir!” You shout over the growing music. Jimmy hands you each a jack and Diet Coke. You tell yourself it’s okay because it’s diet, but you know that’s a bunch of bullshit.

The other great thing about Bleaker’s? The dance floor downstairs. You always joke around that it seems like a nightclub that never closes in Amsterdam or something, but you’re serious. It could be 3 pm and sunny and you’d never know. It’s in the basement, it's always dark and the music is almost always too loud.

Usually that would gross you all out, but the energy tonight is pushing you all downstairs.

You reach back and grab Bucky’s hand not really caring who sees. It’s been months of sneaking around and either everyone knows and is playing it off like they don't or you’re really good at hiding it. Regardless, you’re over hiding. Maybe showing a little PDA tonight will get him out of his shell.

Sarah and Steve are no where in sight, assuming they’re ahead of you, you follow the team downstairs.

Minutes turn into hours. Everyone is dancing, laughing, sweating, screaming the lyrics to every song, and for a little while you can forget you’re a group of superheroes, and can just be normal 30-something year-olds.

You mostly dance with Bucky and quickly realize he’s a better dancer than you thought he would be. Those moves from the 1940’s must still be relevant in some way today, because the way he's grinding up on you and not caring if anyone sees just does something to you.

You work the room, finding Sarah, Wanda, Nat, even Steve for a song before you realize you don't see Bucky. You give it a few minutes thinking maybe he is in the bathroom. After 15 minutes though, you grab Steve’s attention and motion for him to check the bathroom while you check outside.

You race to the alley where you find Jimmy on a smoke break. “Hey Jimmy, have you seen Bucky? I can’t find him.”

“Oh yeah, doll, he took off in a cab about a half hour ago. Looked real flustered, but I didn’t want to press.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You thought you felt his mood shift about an hour ago, he was becoming stiff and quiet. You thought maybe he was just drinking a lot but now you’re realizing the loud music, strobe lights and base must have been triggering him.

“Ugh I’m such a bitch,” you huff as you send Steve a S.O.S text.

You: Hey, Jimmy said he just left. I'm sure he's heading home. I'm going to go find him.

Sire Captain Rogers: Go ahead. I think Sarah and I can find something to do while you find Buck. ;)

You: Yeah I’m sure you can.

You: BEHAVE. She’s my best friend.

Sire Captain Rogers: I know Y/N, don’t worry about us. Let me know when you find him.

You lock your phone and hop in a cab back to the compound.

No one is up or around when you enter through the front. The kitchen has been cleaned up, the dishes done. Probably thanks to THURSDAY, Tony’s beta bot for “cleaning up after you assholes trash the place.”

You smirk and head for the elevators. Heading straight to Bucky’s room, you can tell his light is on but something seems off. You don’t like to use your powers on friends or in the compound, but you close your eyes and reach out with your mind to find his aura. Your eyes snap open. You don’t sense him, you just see red.

Taking this as a good excuse to break into a friend’s room, you burst into the room to find it in disarray. Everything is toppled over, broken glass is on the floor, the bathroom light is on, but all you can see is his blood on the door and the floor. You’re panicked, trying to piece together what happened.

Again, you close your eyes and reach out for the familiar energy of Bucky. You find him in your room on the floor.

“What the fuck?,” you mumble and sprint up the stairs to your apartment. You shoot Steve a text on your way up.

You: Found him, looks like a bad one. I’ll let you know if I need you.

Sir Captain Rogers: Thanks Y/N. I’m just a call away, let me know if you need anything. Night.

Upon entering, you sense he’s in distress. His heart rate is elevated, he’s incredibly sweaty and is panting like a dog.

“Bucky? Buck, it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky stirs and jumps into a defensive standing position quicker than you can blink. You flip the lights on with a “BABE. Baaabe, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re in the compound. You had a nightmare.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide and alarmed, but you can tell the moment he recognizes you.

Rushing over to you, he takes you into a big hug. “Oh my god. What happened? Are you okay, did I hurt you?”

“No Bucky, no I just found you a minute ago. You had another bad one, what do you need me to do right now for you?”

Bucky stands back and rubs his swollen eyes. “I need to shower, can you help me?”

Typically, this is where it gets exciting, but you knew what he means. Water grounds him. He doesn’t feel like he’s falling in water. It helps him visualize the stress washing off of him.

You help him strip and get in the shower, but before you can even take his jeans off, he jumps in and pulls you in with him. You realize how desperate he is for whatever he’s feeling to pass and your heart sinks.

You’re both standing there, almost fully clothed holding each other. This is the worst you’ve seen him in a long time.

“I’m so sorry if I ruined your night, Y/N. The base sounded like the train, the lights looked like the machine they used on me, what the fuck.”

You aren’t sure what to do so you decide to sit on the ground and pull him down with you. You position yourself behind him so his back is in your chest. Even though he’s so much larger than you, he sinks down enough for you to reach over his shoulders and hold him.

“It’s okay Barnes, just breathe with me. You’re safe. You’re with me, and we’re home. Nobody is going to touch you. I’ve got you, you won’t fall.”

You take in deep breaths so he can match your breathing.

After about 45 minutes, the hot water is out in the tank. Bucky sits forward and turns towards you. You want him to lead right now, so you don’t say anything. Neither does he, but the look in his eyes are telling you something about tonight is different.

With a soft smile on your lips, you cup his cheek until he is really looking at you. “Hun, let’s go lay down, ya? Let me help get you dried off.” Bucky hates when you fuss over him, so when he doesn’t argue, you know to be extra gentle with him.

After getting him up and out of the shower, you think skin-to-skin contact doesn’t seem sexual right now, it feels intimate in a grounding sense, and you know that’s exactly what he needs right now. Bucky seems dazed, almost like he got hit too hard in the head. You yourself are of course a tad over-served, and are quickly realizing the adrenaline of this entire situation is rubbing off.

You get Bucky into bed and turn to make sure his phone is plugged in and that he has a glass of water, but he grabs your wrist before you can move away. “Just leave it, it’s fine.”

“Buck, just let me-“ he grabs your wrist harder.

“Y/N. Please just stay here. Please.”

The entire time you’ve been together, he’s done a lot of things but begging you for anything is not one of them. Suddenly the phone and whatever hell else you were doing doesn’t seem important anymore.

You climb into your usual spot next to him and decide maybe you’ll try to get him to open up. The moment the back of your head hits the pillow, Bucky is facing you. His pleading eyes seem like they want to tell you everything that’s going on in his head, but you know pushing him to talk will just make the nightmares come flooding back too soon.

Instead, you decide to lay on your back and pull him to lay on your chest.

“Just listen to my heart beat, Bucky.” You hear him take a deep breath and settle into your chest.

You start and stop yourself from trying to say something comforting. You’re terrified to say the wrong thing at such a crucial moment. Typically these bad episodes are reserved for a Steve house call. You realize as he’s settling into a comfortable position that he hasn’t asked you to call Steve yet. Bucky trusts you in a way you didn’t realize until now.

You don’t know when, but you start humming the first calming song that comes in your head.

I’ll be seeing you In all the old familiar places That this heart of mine embraces All day through

Bucky picks his head up to look at you. Oh fuck.

“Where did you hear that song?,” he says to you with shiny eyes.

“You sing it all the time when you’re concentrating. I looked it up and added it to my ‘bath time/relax’ playlist. I didn't know Billie Holliday was a favorite of yours."

Bucky was looking at you like maybe this was the first time he saw you, like really saw you. “My mom used to sing that around the house when she was missing my dad.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I can hum a diff-“ you’re cut off with the most searing kiss Bucky has ever given you. He’s crying when he pulls back to look at you again. “Will you keep singing it?”

In that small cafe The park across the way The children's carousel That chestnut tree, the wishing well

By the time you finish the second verse, he has physically relaxed in your arms. You continue rubbing your hand up and down his back and shoulder, stopping to play with his long hair every once in a while.

I'll be seeing you In every lovely summer's day In every thing that's light and gay I'll always think of you that way

“I forgot how much I love hearing this song sung around me.” Bucky whispers so quietly you almost miss it.

I'll find you in the morning sun And when the night is new I'll be looking at the moon But I'll be seeing you…

You stop your caressing when you feel him sit up on one arm.

He leans down to kiss you but stops short to whisper “I love you Y/N.” You kiss him back and wrap your arms around his shoulders, and when you say “I love you too, Bucky,” you’ve never been more sure of something in your life.

[wienerbarnes]

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn��t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

[peach-pops]

Amorentia || Kuroo Tetsurō

summary: amorentia has a different scent or aroma for anyone who smells it and the potion, if done correctly, can remind the user of things or more specifically someone they find most attractive, even if the said person is oblivious in their attraction. 

word count: 3.1k

warnings: none 

authors note: i dont know why i always end up writing for kuroo but this dude just speaks to me on an inspirational level ya know? kuroo is a ravenclaw in this but the reader is gn and i didn’t specify what house the reader is in to make it a bit more inclusive. credits to @rhymewithrachel​ for the picture of kuroo which you can find here and pls check out their page for more amazing art! also i def feel like i’ve written the last few lines on like another piece i’ve done but oh well if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it

The library was eerily still for a Thursday morning but you relished in how quiet it was. You had found the perfect sweet spot; not too late where you would forget breakfast but early enough to where you would avoid the morning rush of students who would try to find a quiet spot to study. 

The lowly lit lanterns were useless since the sun was beginning to peak its way through the windowpane behind you and the small semblance of light drew your attention to the dust that was floating lazily in the air.

Even though there were hardly any students around you, you felt as though you were tucked away from the world as you spread your legs out against the leather couch with a Magic Potions: Basic for Beginners textbook settled in your lap. Besides the ever so often sound of a few students rustling their papers, it was truly peaceful. 

“ Good morning beautiful, mind if I join you?” 

Bloody hell. 

You looked up from your textbook to see Kuroo standing over by your legs that were neatly crossed over each other. You would be lying if you said you weren’t slightly taken aback by seeing him so early in the morning but even if he did manage to wake up on time for class, his hair was still a disheveled mess from his horrid bedhead. 

“ You’re up early,” You replied normally as you turned your attention back to your book,” by the way, your tie is crooked, might want to fix that, yeah?” 

You and Kuroo were both in the same year but you two didn’t officially get acquainted until your fourth year when he had “accidentally” spilled butterbeer all over you and then attempted to wipe it off with his bare hand. 

“ Shit, I-I am so sorry! Let me just-”

“ Can you stop feeling me up and get me a napkin instead, you creep?” 

“ A creep? I’m nothing short of a gentleman- speaking of which, are you dating anyone by chance?” 

“ Are you joking? As if I would be under the accompaniment of a clumsy Ravenclaw like yourself.” 

Your vow was fully ignored and by some weird alignment of the planets, you two had been inseparable since. Of course, Kuroo still spent his time over the past two years trying to woe you in some way and while you used to find yourself flustered over his charm, you managed to get used to the constant flirting between the two of you. 

Who were you kidding, the flirting was mostly one-sided unless you weren’t exhausted trying to think of witty comebacks to try and get him stumbling over his words like the first time you two met. 

However, you weren’t blind. You were bold enough to admit to yourself that over the years, Kuroo got progressively wittier, taller, and yes, possibly more attractive. You would never admit it out loud but there was a slight possibility you were starting to see him in a different light.

Nonetheless, you figured feelings like those would just come and go, and surely you didn’t actually have feelings for him. 

Kuroo looked down at his tie and shrugged nonchalantly before fixing it,” I was tossing and turning all night, poor Akaashi had to sleep in the common room because I was keeping him up too. Quidditch tryouts are this afternoon and I’m hoping we can get a strong team together so we can keep up our legacy.”

“ First-year as captain and you’re already nervous,” You clicked your tongue against your teeth as you took another bite of your raspberry scone, utilizing the silence between the two of you as you finished chewing,” hopefully Ravenclaw will get some wins this year. You know, for your own sake and my sanity.” 

“ Okay ouch, first of all, you know you’re not supposed to eat in the library it’s forbidden,” Kuroo crossed his arms playfully over his chest as you only hummed in response,” and second of all, maybe if I had someone special cheering me on, I would do immensely better.”  

You knew he was only being smug since you always showed up to his games but nothing was more entertaining than watching Kuroo practically gush over Quidditch only for you to act somewhat disinterested. 

“ Aw, do you want me to show up with some blue and bronze paint over my face? Maybe even bring a poster with your name on it with little hearts decorated on the border because I have sooo much free time on my hands?” You teased as you played with your hair while pouting back up at him, relishing in the way he shifted from side to side,” honestly Kuroo, you know I have better things to do than to watch you fly around like a lunatic.” 

Kuroo smirked to himself but said nothing to retaliate as he offered his hands to help you out of your seat once he saw the time,” Come on, you know Slughorn will throw another fit if we’re late again and by the looks of it, you can’t afford falling behind.” 

For a moment, you thought that maybe you had gone too far. His response was almost disappointing in contrast to how he would usually retort with something wittier of the sort but it was out of your control now. 

You closed your textbook and grabbed Kuroo’s hands so he could help you off the leather couch but once he got you up to your feet, his strong grip on your hands didn’t release. 

Your chests were almost touching and the distance between you two was so small, you could distinctively smell his signature vanilla aftershave that he put on every morning. You looked down at your hands that were fitted perfectly against his as Kuroo leaned down close to your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“ Don’t act so coy, Y/N. I know you would love nothing more than to wear my jersey so that everyone else could know you like me.”

You could feel the heat rise from your chest to your ears as you slipped your hands out from his to hold your textbook to your chest, as if it would cool you down. You fiddled with the spine of the textbook as a distraction as Kuroo smiled back innocently at you to give you time to compose yourself. 

“ D-Don’t say things like that, you’re my friend and that’s all,” You stammered as you slapped his shoulder to make the tension less thick,” and wipe that grin off your face, you look like an idiot!” 

Kuroo laughed, easing whatever tension was left in the air as he bumped your shoulder with his, “ Fine, fine, I’ll stop but only because you’re my special friend.”

“ You’re the worst.” 

“ And you love it.”

“ Are you sure we’re doing this right?” You asked Kuroo as he sprinkled in the powdered moonstone while you stirred the concoction slowly. 

You surveyed the room as you watched your fellow classmates fail miserably at the assignment at hand, some being greeted with thick clouds of smoke while others potions just combusted into flames. 

You flinched at the sound of shrieking and looked up to see Sugawara and Daichi backing away from their cauldron as a mass of black tar started to slither out towards them. Slughorn had warned everyone that this potion was tricky to master but you didn’t think it would be this difficult and as time passed, the more anxious you grew. 

Kuroo, as unbothered as ever, looked down at the instructions for a moment before turning his attention back at the cauldron,” Yep, triple checked it and everything. You sure are nervous today.”

“ I’m always nervous during this class, you know I’m awful at potions. Plus look what happened to Oikawa, he’s in the hospital wing because of this lab.” 

“ He’ll be fine, the flames weren’t too high, he probably just lost an eyebrow,” Kuroo teased, trying to keep your mind at bay,” are you sure you’re not nervous because we’re concocting Amorentia?” 

You continued to stir the mixture carefully as you only scoffed,” Why would I be nervous of a silly little love potion?” 

“ First off, Amorentia is one of the most powerful love potions in existence so show some respect,” Kuroo said as you only rolled your eyes back at him,” And second of all, maybe you’re nervous because this will finally prove that you have feelings for me.” 

“ Knock it off before I send you to the hospital wing nerd,” You replied hastily as Kuroo put his hands up in defense,” Are you sure you’re not the nervous one? You’ve been acting weird since class has started...like more mouthy than usual.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve gone the whole lesson completely oblivious to Kuroo’s nervous tics, but after years of being friends, you knew better than to pass them off as normal tendencies. 

Kuroo rubbed the corner of the textbook page between his fingers as his eyes read the directions over again to try and ground himself in his thoughts. He had re-read the same step of the last instruction for the past couple of minutes to look occupied but his facade was starting to fall apart. 

“ If you paid more attention to the assignment instead of me, maybe you would pass the class, huh?” Kuroo smirked to try and ease your mind but the action only made you feel more annoyed. 

“ Enough with this back and forth, are we almost done? You’ve been reading the last step for a while now, is it that hard or are you just stupid today?” You nudged Kuroo out of the way and bent your body over the table to read the last step, wanting nothing more than to get this class over with. 

Kuroo watched as you began to stir the concoction slowly, his eyes trained on the top of the cauldron to watch for any sign of steam. 

“ What color are the spirals supposed to be?” You asked as a dark, pink-colored steam started to slowly rise from the mixture,” did he say pink was right or purple? Maybe red I don’t even remember.” 

Kuroo carefully leaned closer beside you to get a better look at the steam,”Looks right to me. You smell anything?” 

“ The only thing I can smell is that god awful aftershave of yours so back up.” 

You leaned your forearms on the table and took in a deep breath of the potion. Almost instantly, you felt a comforting warmth spread throughout your body that started in your chest and moved all the way down to your head and toes. You felt your body completely relax and it felt almost similar to the feeling of submerging yourself into a hot bath after a long day. 

It would make absolutely no sense to describe the scents as something so oddly familiar and distinct while not being obvious at all yet that was where your headspace was as you tried to identify the scents. 

Almost immediately, once you pinpointed one scent, the rest came flooding in one after another,” I smell something like cinder-a burning logfire...and....I know what this is it’s kinda like- oh, broomstick polish!” 

You took into another deep breath to try and identify the last scent but you couldn’t put a name to the scent which only made you more frustrated. 

“ Kuroo, can you help me? I can’t figure out the last scent,” You sighed as Kuroo closed his eyes to take a turn, even though he could already pinpoint a few scents from his spot,” do you smell the logfire too?” 

Kuroo only smiled to himself as he felt the warmth spread across his body before shaking his head,” That’s not how it works. Our scents would be different for example, I smell…freshly clean linen, old parchment paper, and… butterbeer froth.”

Once the words left Kuroo’s mouth, he opened his eyes and turned to you to read your reaction. He looked for something, anything behind those eyes of yours to watch it all click in your head but as usual, you were completely oblivious to the huge hint he had given you. 

“ Lucky you, I wish I could smell what you can- this is harder than I thought,” You pouted as you noticed some of your other classmates were getting distracted by you and Kuroo’s Amortentia,” maybe we did this wrong.”

“ We did it right, don’t worry,” Kuroo cleared his throat as he gave you a nudge with his shoulder which only made you nudge him back even harder,” maybe you should try again, think really hard. Try to see where you recognize the scent instead of what it is.” 

You closed your eyes and just like before, the same warm sensation flooded your body but this time, you could feel yourself leaning closer and closer to the cauldron, almost as if the potion was pulling you in deeper. 

“ Burning logfire, broomstick polish and…” You took in another deep breath but you were only meet with more frustration,” for the last time, can you give me some space, Kuroo? I swear all I can smell is your-.” 

You opened your eyes and practically pulled yourself away from the table once an unsettling realization had started to develop quickly in your mind. You knew exactly what the scent was but there was that lingering sensation in your mind that still tried to convince itself that for once, maybe you were wrong. 

Kuroo let out a breathy laugh as the back of your neck and ears began to grow hot,” Something the matter-”

Without thinking, you grabbed Kuroo’s collar and pulled him down to your eye level. Kuroo’s face started to grow red as you brushed your nose against the side of his neck to get a better smell. You had to be going crazy, there was no way- it all had to be a trick. 

“ Are you sure we did this right? You’re absolutely positive?” You asked softly as you let go of his collar. 

Kuroo smoothed out his collar and nodded as he looked back at the cauldron,”I’m absolutely positive- why are you freaking out?” 

Because I smell your stupid vanilla aftershave. 

“ I’m not freaking out,” You lied through your teeth as you turned your attention to Slughorn as he dismissed the class for the day,” You know what, I’m actually not feeling well- Can you clean up for me? I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”

“Y/N-”

“ I’ll see you around,” You gathered your things quickly but as you reached for your potions book, Kuroo snatched it off the table and held it behind his back,”enough Kuroo, give it back.” 

“ Clean linen, parchment, and butterbeer froth,” Kuroo listed as you tried to grab your book from behind his back but Kuroo was quick to hold it above his head,”did you hear me?” 

You looked up at how high he was holding your textbook and as embarrassing as it was, you decided to hold on to the little dignity you had left and not jump up and down for it. 

“ Yes I heard you but I don’t care.” 

“ You do care and you’re not listening to me. I smelled clean linen, parchment paper, and butterbeer froth so now it’s your turn, what did you smell?” Kuroo asked, this time a bit louder. It was obvious in the way he was enunciating his words that he was trying to lead you down a certain conversation but you were slow to pick up on it. 

You didn’t want to tell him, all you wanted to do was go back to bed and pretend as though this day had never happened. The idea that all this time you actually had real feelings for Kuroo only made you feel flustered. 

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of liking someone like him but for years, you had convinced him and seemingly everyone else that you would never have feelings for Kuroo. In reality, you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

“ Do we have to do this right now?” You asked softly as you nodded over to Slughorn who was dusting the corners of his desk but it was obvious he was eavesdropping on the conversation. 

Without missing a beat, Kuroo nodded and lowered your textbook back down to hand it to you.

“ You’re right, we should discuss this someplace quiet and private, how does dinner sound?”

You shook your head at the boy as you tried to grab your textbook from him but you couldn’t pry it off his strong grip,“ Quit flirting with me, now isn’t the time.” 

Kuroo couldn’t take it anymore; the years of endlessly flirting and being ignored was taking a toll on his pride and he couldn’t stand it. He knew you were prideful but this was on a whole different level.

“ Now is the perfect time since now I know you like me after all.”

“ How- I do not-”

“ You’re a terrible liar Y/N, the aftershave was a dead giveaway and I don’t know whether or not I’m more hurt by the fact that you’re too embarrassed to admit you like me or that you think my aftershave is god awful,” Kuroo said as he loosened his grip on the book so you could take it from his hands,” aren’t you tired of pretending you don’t have feelings for me?” 

You carefully took back your textbook as if it was a fragile vase and held it close to your chest as if you were shielding your heart. 

“ For the record, I don’t think it’s god awful, I just think you put on way too much,” You mumbled as Kuroo stood up straighter,” and I’m not tired of pretending, maybe I don’t like you or maybe I do have feelings for you.”

“ But maybe you like me more than you dislike me, am I right?”

You opened your mouth but quickly closed it after thinking his words over for a moment,“Emphasis on maybe...but don’t let it get to your head. You get one date so don’t ruin it.” 

Even though it wasn’t the confession Kuroo wanted, it was the only confirmation he needed to hear from you to let him know that the feelings were mutual. 

Kuroo couldn’t help but wear a huge goofy smile on his face as he collected his things and followed your lead as you both started to walk out the classroom. You and Kuroo politely nodded and said goodbye to Slughorn, who was pretending to read the textbooks along the shelves. 

Once you two left the classroom, Kuroo’s hand slide down beside yours and started to play with your fingers carefully. Your hand recoiled from the feeling but once you made sure the hallway was clear of any onlookers, you let your hand slide back down and let his fingers intertwine with yours. 

“ You know, I knew you really liked me, I called it since day one-” 

“ Okay, that’s enough Kuroo.” 

“ You said and I quote,’As if I would be under the accompaniment of a clumsy Ravenclaw like yourself’ and look at you now, holding hands with one!”

You shook your head at him and wondered to yourself if this is how things would be now yet you still couldn’t bring yourself to hide the small smile on your face,”You’re the worst.” 

Kuroo squeezed your hand in his and shared the same lovey-dovey grin on his face,” and you love it.” 

taglist: @goopyartiste​, @sugas-sweetheart​, @kirislut​, @estridries​, @hannahalanib1​, @art0saurus​, @shoutamajiki​, @yee-harr​, @animatedarchives​

[plumfondler]

I’ve just discovered your blog (like literally right now) and I’d love to request a fic (before I delve into your already published works) I’m looking at Henry with prompt 42?

Warning: sex and weed

42. I don't think you're as innocent as everyone else thinks you are.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

"No thank you!" You turned down your third drink of the evening, the set designer walking away dejected.

"You know, it's rather annoying that people can't take no for an answer."

You turned to see Henry leaning against the bar next to you. 

You shrugged, "some people think they're special- that they're the one that can get me to drink."

"It's so disrespectful though," he frowned.

"Yep! But that's life as a woman, so I'm desensitized."

"That is so upsetting," Henry frowned.

"Yeah, but what can you do? I mean, I like women and all, but sometimes you just need a man, you know?"

Henry threw his head back and laughed, "you know, I don't think you're as innocent as everyone else thinks you are," Henry grinned. 

"You're probably right, especially when it comes to vices."

"Well you don't drink, you never swear, you've not dated anyone on set," Henry started to list things on his fingers.

"I don't like how being drunk feels, I'd much prefer to smoke a bowl. I don't swear around people I don't know because I don't want to offend people, and I've not dated anyone on set because no one worth saying yes to has shown any interest in me," you responded with a shrug.

"I knew it! Come on, let's get out of here and you can smoke me out. I've been wanting to for ages."

You raised an eyebrow at him, "well who would've thunk, Superman is a stoner."

"Not really, I just need to unwind every now and then, and I would love to get high with you."

"Well I guess we're about to blow everyone's minds by leaving together," you smirked.

"Wanna hold hands and get people talking?" He smirked.

"Nah, but a piggy back ride would be fun."

Henry spun around and crouched down without a word and you snorted a laugh.

"You are sorely mistaken if you think I'm joking," he said over his shoulder.

You shrugged and climbed onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck; he smelled delicious. Henry stood and grabbed your thighs, bouncing you up slightly to get you positioned. You squeaked and tightened your arms around him and he chuckled. 

"Here we go," he said, his voice vibrating through your entire body, giving you chills.

Once you got outside the bar, you tapped his shoulder and he let you down. 

"As fun as that was, we should probably take a car, it's a bit far to ride you all the way to my place."

You froze and pressed your lips together and Henry let out a booming laugh. 

"Let's wait until we get there for that, we'd attract way too much attention," Henry grinned.

--------

"Alright it might not be fair, but I'm going to go change, these jeans are cutting off my circulation," you said, dropping your bag next to the door.

Henry pouted.

"I can see if I have anything left from my large days, so you can join my pj party?" You offered.

"No I was pouting because I like your tight pants."

"Well you might like my pajamas better, who knows," you winked, "come on, let me see what I can dig up for you."

You tossed a pair of grey jersey knit pajama pants and a men's tank top at Henry.

"Here, these will probably fit you, if you want."

Henry looked at them and raised an eyebrow.

"I lost about half a person recently, haven't gotten rid of any old clothes yet. I liked men's clothing because they were more comfortable," you shrugged.

Henry came out of the bathroom and you sucked in a breath; you were not prepared for that, and you were certainly glad you were sitting down.

You didn't try to hide it, your eyes traveled up and down Henry slowly, taking him in: the black tank top fit him snugly, his broad shoulders and arms on display, and the loose pajama pants hung perfectly on him. You saw him toss his clothes in the corner and to you swore you saw a Calvin Klein band; your body flushed as he walked towards you and it was obvious your mind hadn't played a trick on you. You shamelessly watched the thick bulge in his pants move freely as he approached you. You stood and finally looked at his face, he was smirking. 

"Thanks. I'm much more comfortable now that we match," he said, not addressing the fact that you were staring at his dick for a full minute. 

You shook your head and motioned for him to sit while you readied your pipe. Henry lounged on the tall bean bag, angling it so he was partially reclined. 

"Wow this is incredible, what is this?" He asked, looking at his seat.

"It's called a Yogibo, I got it at PAX," you said, packing your bowl.

"Oh my god you go to PAX!" Henry's face lit up.

You nodded, smiling at his excitement.

"I attended every year, then I started working for a production company that also worked on games, so I eventually started going as an exhibitor. It was a dream."

"That is so exciting. I've always wanted to go, but…"

"You'd be surprised how many people wouldn't care that you were there, honestly," you shrugged, sitting in the bean bag next to him, "if you dressed like a nerd, or even cosplayed if you really wanted to blend in, you could wander mostly un-bothered."

"Cosplay, eh?"

"I could help make you actual Witcher armor, I have friends in high places," you said, playing with your lighter.

Henry was bouncing in his seat, "oh! OH! The Viper set, oh I want the Viper armor so badly."

"We'll make it happen," you grinned.

"Well then you'll need to be Yen," he said, gesturing as if it were obvious.

You raised an eyebrow.

"I mean you'd look silly walking around with me in normal clothes! Unless you'd rather be Triss?"

"No, no, I'm Yennefer," you grinned, "I'm just surprised you'd want to go with me."

"You're the coolest person I've ever met on any set I've been on, of course I'd want to go with you."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and you shook your head, smiling, "well alright then, good thing I already have my Yennefer cosplay ready to go."

"Oh my god I cannot wait to see that."

"If you're good maybe I'll model it for you later," you said with a wink.

You talked and blatantly flirted for half an hour when you remembered why Henry had invited himself over in the first place. 

"You still want…?" You raised your navy blue and cyan glass pipe to him.

"Yes, please, it's been a long shoot, I deserve this," he said, lifting a hand when you tried to give it to him, "ladies first."

You took a hit and handed it to him, but he lifted his hand again to decline. You raised an eyebrow, then after a second pointed to your mouth; Henry nodded, wetting his lips.

You stood over Henry and he looked up at you, reaching out to you; everything was moving slowly as he bit his lip watching you. You took his hand and straddled his lap, settling into him and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Your thighs tensed slightly as you settled against his soft penis, thick and warm nestled against your suddenly throbbing core. 

Henry's hands held your back and his lips parted as he stared at your mouth. You leaned into him and pressed your lips to his, exhaling into his mouth. Henry inhaled the smoke and held it, his soft lips still firmly attached to yours. 

Henry's tongue slid past your lips and you sighed, rocking your hips toward him unconsciously. Henry moaned softly as your tongues swirled, exhaling and surrounding you both in a cloud as your kiss deepened.

Your hands roamed his body, wanting to touch every inch. Henry slid a hand up the back of your tank top and swiftly unhooked your bra. Still attached at the mouth, you shrugged off your straps and pulled your bra out from under your tank top, throwing it behind you. Henry sighed into your kiss as his hand caressed your back uninterrupted. Your head spun as you felt completely surrounded by him, safe but so very aroused. You tugged his tank top up and parted briefly to get it over his head. Pushing Henry back slightly, the beanbag leaned with him; you settled at his side with a leg hitched over one of his, your hand exploring his broad chest as you kissed again. Henry tugged down your tank top and you moaned as he kissed down your neck to your breasts, capturing a nipple between his lips. You grinded into his thigh, your clit throbbing as he sucked your nipples back and forth.

You moaned and dragged your nails down his chest, pausing a beat before rubbing your palm over the bulge in his pants. Henry sighed and you rubbed your hand over his soft cock a few more times before dragging it up and pushing it beneath the waistband. 

Henry's hips bucked slightly as your fingers wrapped around his heavy length; your pussy clenching as you felt the substantial girth of him only semi-hard. You gave him a squeeze and he moaned, kissing back up your neck to your lips. He kissed you with more intensity, his tongue immediately lapping into your mouth as you stroked his swelling cock. You moaned and whined into his kiss as his hand dipped between your legs, pressing his fingers against your clit through the fabric layers. You gasped and he made slow circles, rhythmically increasing pressure.

"Oh my god, Henry, if you keep doing that, I might come," you gasped, pulling away from his kiss and taking your hand from his pants to wrap around his wrist. 

"Yeah? That's kind of the point?" He smirked.

"But like this?" You asked, your head cloudy with your attraction to him, and a little bit of the weed. 

"Darling I am going to try to make you come as many ways as I can," he said, lowering his head to your breasts once more.

You cried out as he rubbed your clit faster and sucked your nipples in turn. Barely a minute later you were grasping at his biceps and trembling in his arms, crying out as your orgasm soaked through your panties. 

"Mmm, you sound so beautiful when you come, I can't wait to hear it again," he said, kissing you tenderly. 

"I need a second," you exhaled, closing your eyes and laying back, your body still trembling.

You heard a lighter and opened your eyes to Henry taking a hit off your pipe; you smiled and put a hand on his cheek. After inhaling he pointed to his mouth and made a face that said "oh did you want this?" And you giggled, nodding.

Henry leaned over and kissed you softly, exhaling into your mouth. You breathed him in and moaned softly, holding his face as he held your kiss. 

When you exhaled, Henry nuzzled his face into your neck, kissing and nipping, gently rolling you onto your back. 

You watched as he made his way down your body and tugged your pants off along with your underwear, discarding them on the floor. Henry kissed up and down your legs slowly, watching your reactions as he nipped and licked and left a few marks behind after sucking and biting your thighs. You grinned at him and he pushed your legs open, kissing up and down your slit with a contented sigh.

Henry placed your legs over his shoulders and dove into you, licking and sucking, lapping and probing. You cried out and arched your back, your fingers tugging at his curls.

Henry worked you up slowly and steadily, until you were writhing and gasping his name, pushing your hips into his face as you came. 

As you calmed, Henry kissed up your body and weaved his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.

"My god you are talented," you breathed, chest still heaving. 

"And you're delicious," he said, lifting your fingers to kiss them one by one.

Your attention was caught out of the corner of your eye as you saw the tent in Henry's pants. You squeezed your legs together and reached out to rub the wet spot of precum around his tender, swollen head. 

Henry moaned and you quickly removed the pants, leaning over and immediately wrapping your lips around his gorgeous cock. He gasped and his hand went to your head, gently resting as your tongue swirled around under his foreskin. You suckled at his tip and gave him a firm squeeze and stroke, his foreskin gliding down to expose his fat head. You took him into your mouth completely and moaned at the silky feel on your tongue, sucking and drooling all over his length. You stroked him up and down as you sucked desperately on his head, making him squirm and grasp at your arm. 

"Oh god please, please stop! oh god I don't want to cum yet," he begged. 

You slid your mouth off of him and frowned, "sorry."

"Please don't be sorry, love, that was outstanding. I'M sorry I suddenly have the discipline of my teenage self," he said, pulling you up and wrapping his arms around you before kissing you tenderly. 

You moaned softly and lost yourself in his kiss, holding his face and letting the world spin around you. Henry squeezed you and ran a hand down to your ass, grabbing you possessively. You moaned and straddled his lap, your dripping pussy hovering over his cock. You reached behind Henry to your bookshelf and knocked a small box off of it onto the floor. Henry looked at your curiously as you rummaged behind him and eventually produced a condom from the variety you kept.

He grinned as you sat back on his massive thighs and opened the foil packet, carefully sheathing him as he watched. 

"Is that okay?" You asked.

"Perfect," he said, grabbing your hips and lifting you up.

You couldn't help but squeal as he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you above his cock. You knelt astride him and sank down onto him slowly; you gasped as he filled you and you settled down onto him. Henry's head was thrown back and you watched his adam's apple bob as you got used to each other. Your fingers traced down his jaw, his stubble giving you chills. You ran a hand down his chest to his stomach, and then to where you were connected. You traced your fingers around the base of his cock, feeling his girth as it stretched you. 

"You feel so fucking incredible," you breathed.

Henry lifted his head and reached up to cup your cheek, pressing his thumb to your lips. You took his thumb in your mouth and sucked on it gently as you rocked in his lap slowly. 

You both moaned as you rested your hands on his chest, slowly moving your hips forward and back. Henry held your face in his hands and pulled you in for a kiss, sliding one hand down your side to your back, holding you down firmly. You gasped as he started grinding up into you, your kiss slow like the rest of your movements. You gradually moved faster together, your kisses desperate as you started bouncing on his cock, whimpering and crying out as he rubbed against spots inside you that you'd never felt before.

Henry pulled away from you briefly to bring two fingers to his tongue, wetting them just to slip them between you and find your clit. You gasped as he started slow circles and you grabbed his shoulders to keep yourself steady. 

"You're so fucking beautiful, look at you falling apart on top of me," Henry groaned, bucking his hips up and making you cry out.

"Yes, yes, don't stop! Fuck, Henry I'm close," you whimpered.

Henry kept rubbing your clit in circles and you tensed around his cock, he moaned in your ear and seconds later you were coming, shuddering and digging your nails into his biceps.

"Fuck yes, oh god you feel so incredible coming on my cock," he gasped, grabbing your hips and guiding your movements harder. 

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, dropping your head to the crook of his neck and increasing your speed. 

"Oh my god, oh god!" Henry moaned as you just moved your ass up and down, slamming yourself onto his cock as fast as you could. 

Henry let out a strangled cry and squeezed your hips, holding you down against him as his hips jerked and his cock pulsed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Henry panted as he throbbed inside of you, emptying himself into the condom.

With a gasp you collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting and whimpering softly. Henry held the back of your neck while his other arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. 

You lifted your head and his lips met yours in a tender kiss, both of you winding down and kissing lazily.

"I don't think I'll be able to smoke alone ever again," you mumbled, nuzzling your face into the crook of Henry's neck.

Henry hummed and ran his fingers down your spine, "then I guess you'll just have to invite me over every time, now."

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

5.5k celebration Prompt list

[phobylee]

Okay. So this is really old. Was gonna be a roadtrip au I guess but I never got around to finish it. Gonna post it here before I forget about it forever. Maybe I'll finish it one day..

___________

At least a week of planning had gone into this. It was a trip Ford had been planning for a little while now, taking the time to jot down various locations they'd be passing through, maybe even a gift shop or two for Stan's sake. It was going to be long, so they'd drive in shifts. All Stan knew was that they'd be going back to Jersey to see Sherman, who recently moved back up there to "revisit old memories", according to him.

Everything was going great. Stan was busy packing the car, stuffing a cooler of food into the trunk, along with other luggage. Ford insisted they bring protection, claiming you could "never be too safe", which Stan had a hard time arguing with. He knew the dangers of the world first hand, tasted blood and nails, chewed and spat his way out of nearly dying plenty of times. Ford was being prepared, and that was completely understandable. Well, it would have been if the stuff didn't keep coming.

"Ford," Stan murmured, watching Ford drag a box toward the car, "don't y'think we've got enough stuff packed in here already?"

"Nonsense," Ford replied, hoisting the heavy box into the trunk anyway. It just barely fit, snug between the suitcases and the cooler, not too far from various other supplies they might've needed.

Stan was starting to see how this would become an issue, especially if they found souvenirs. He wanted to stop by a few stores and get something for the niblings (though he'd have to put them up for a bit).

"You're gonna weigh the poor girl down with all the junk you're bringing, Sixer." Stan complained, but he shut the trunk and headed to the front anyway.

As Ford slipped into the passenger seat, map and notes in hand, he passed Stan a glance and shook his head. "So, this will take around 40 or so hours. Almost two days of driving, and I've got everything planned out.. So we'll stop by.."

Stan tuned out after that, trying to find a station on the radio that wasn't complete garbage. Ford continued to blabber about all the landmarks they'd be seeing: monuments, statues, even a museum. With all the stops they'd be making, this might as well be a week's trip, and it would be expensive. He'd rather at least be a little surprised when Ford dragged him through the woods to visit some alien graveyard or something.

It took Stan a while to realize that Ford was still talking. He found some lone rock channel and turned it up, high enough to drown out some of the yap.

"Stan--?" Ford groaned over the music, trying to make himself heard. That didn't work. Stan just turned it up more. He caught the hint and pushed himself against the seat, looking toward the window.

Stan slowly turned down the radio with a smirk, not even looking as he began to back out of the driveway. "Don't you know about surprise at all? You're telling me everything we're gonna see. I'd rather you give me the directions and lemme figure it out for myself."

Ford gave a disappointed huff and continued staring out the window, a map clenched within his fingers. This was fine. He wasn't upset right now.

As they drove down that old gravel road, heads lolling up and down from the potholes and rocks, Stan found the quiet was a bit much. Sure, it killed the headache that buzzed in his ears, but it was unlike Ford to stay quiet an entire trip. And he wasn't the only one, because not a moment too soon--

"Alright, just listen, Stan," Ford piped up, "I've taken this exact trip once before, almost. The way I planned the route will be like a trip down memory lane. We can stop by the-"

"Nope."

"It'll just be a-"

"Stop it, Sixer."

"We can stop by the museum of rocks and minerals. I know how much you like gold and precious metals, and they've got that. I don't want you stealing anything. We go through the gift shop, you get a mug or a bobblehead or something-,"

"Ugh..."

"And then we're back on the road." Ford concluded with a bright smile, but it faded when Stan didn't return it. He didn't know why Stan was so... agitated. Lately he'd been more and more upset, and sometimes he even murmured things to himself in his fits of frustration. It was like he was trying to calm someone down? It was concerning, but whenever he asked about it, his brother claimed it was nothing and ended the conversation right there.

"I say surprise me, and what do you do? The opposite. You do the complete opposite, Ford." Stan sneered, trying his best to focus on the road. He hadn't noticed just how Ford blanched, or how his face paled and he clammed up and bit his tongue.

"Sorry, Stan," Ford murmured, attention back on the window.

_

They had arrived at their first stop in about an hour. It was a museum, though it wasn't as big and as fancy as most. Instead, it was small and quaint looking, somewhat resembling a house.

Ford had squished himself against the door, so unbuckling was a bit awkward, but soon he was up and on his feet. He held the door open with his free hand and stretched, looking at Stan.

The other man was silent.

As Stan lifted himself from the bench and stood, closing the door behind him, he made his way tiredly to Ford. He was seemingly already exhausted, but they had only been driving for an hour.

"Stan, are you okay? You look like you might faint.."

"I'm fine," Stan growled testily, gritting his teeth with a shake of his head. That angry expression flickered into a smile so fast, it shouldn't have even been humanly possible. He slung an arm around Ford, leaning against him. He was coming close to knocking the poor researcher over. Ford was a smidge taller, but Stan was always heavier, larger by body mass.

"I'm fine, Sixer.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get mad. Hey, this place looks nice. How's about we go ahead inside?"

Something was horribly off. Ford squinted suspiciously and nodded, trudging forward to the double doors with one of Stan's heavy arms still wrapped around his shoulder. It felt like a hug, one they shared a lot as kids when Stan was sticking up for him, but right now it felt so… odd. He didn't want to think about it.

Ford breezed through the doors, feeling the cool air hit his face. It felt wonderful inside, and it smelled nice too. The smell of iron and freshly-cut wood hit his nose, but it wasn't the rotten iron smell blood had. This was a nice place.

There were walls lined with ancient rocks, minerals, all shapes and sizes. Some made of magma or lava, others filled with crystals, and a few were shiny like glass. And from what he could see, they had a selection of fossils as well.

"We don't need a tour, do we?" Stan hummed, pulling his arm from around Ford. The sudden lack of warmth made Ford wince, but he ignored it in favor of staring at the rocks all around. "If we got a tour guide, you'd start fact checking him." Stan cackled.

The laugh was Stan's laugh, a tad bit wolfish and filled with rasp from years of drinking and smoking. Ford found comfort in the fact that Stan's laugh was his own and no one else's. He let himself relax even more, pinched shoulders loose and slack again. Yes, this was fine. He was just being paranoid.

__

"Don't tell me you're scared to drive, Ford," Stan snorted, thoroughly amused. Now it was his turn to relax, legs propped up with an elbow on the door. "Did they not have those herky-jerky space cars where you were?"

"They weren't 'herky-jerky'. At least they could actually run. How did you keep this thing going after all these years?" Ford huffed, gripping the wheel with both hands, shoulders pinched up to his ears. It had been ages since he'd even attempted to drive a car. Since his drive to Gravity Falls, he assumed. He was never an amazing driver, and with how nervous he looked, this would be no exception.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Stan rolled his eyes, snapping his seat belt tight. "Just try not to crash, alright? I'd rather not die before we get to Jersey."

And for a while it went like that. Stan yapped Ford's ears off, making mostly harmless, smart remarks while he continued driving like a cat out of water.

[artificialqueens]

Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 3 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters

A/N: hi! I was going to update earlie but things happened...... so here's a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it <3

-3-

It was late when they went back to their room, Jan had only two classes in the afternoon but Rosé had one in the morning, yet, they talked for what it felt like hours and Jan only stopped speaking to read Jackie’s message. She was very happy. During that day she had made several friends –something she couldn’t have imagined a week before- she had met some of her professors and attended a couple of classes so she wouldn’t feel as nervous the following day.

In the morning she heard cursing in whispers when Rosé’s alarm went off announcing she had to get ready to go to class. After the girl left, Jan had the room for herself. She laid in bed watching videos on Instagram for a while and then decided it was a good moment to take a shower and get a cup of coffee.

Tuesdays were her lightest days and she could get used to it. She felt fresh out of the shower, braided her hair, and put on some clean clothes before walking out of the dorms.

On her way out she crossed paths with Nicky and who seemed to be her roommate. The girl had orange long hair and a great amount of makeup on but that worked perfectly on her. She also wore high waist pants with a turquoise loose blouse and dangling earrings. Nicky looked as great as the day before with a mauve off-the-shoulder mini dress and a high ponytail.

“Jan!” She waved at her.

“Hi, Nicky! How are you?”

“I’m doing good, thank you.” She smiled at her. “This is Crystal, my roommate. Crystal, this is Jan, the friend I talked you about.”

“Hi!” Crystal greeted Jan with a lot of energy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Crystal. Well, I kind of feel like I know you through your room.”

“Oh, God…” She blushed. “I’m not taking the One Direction poster off, I already told Nicky.”

“I swear Niall’s eyes follow me whenever I’m in the room.” Nicky shivered.

Jan giggled.

“I have to go, I’m already running late.” Crystal said while checking the time on her phone. “See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget your keys…” Nicky reminded her.

Crystal pulled a key set with tons of colorful keychains. “Never again. Bye, Jan.”

“Bye!”

After the girl left, Nicky looked at Jan. “You missed a great dinner yesterday.”

“Oh, I imagine but I needed to spend some quality time with my roommate. But I’m still craving Thai food since it was mentioned.”

“There’s no choice, we’ll have to go back soon.”

“Please.”

“Are you heading to class?”

“No, I have my Tuesday mornings free. I was getting some coffee, actually.”

“Ugh, lucky you. I have a class in thirty minutes. Do you mind if I get coffee with you?”

“Sure, that’s great because I was going to google where the café is, I have no idea.”

Nicky just smiled. “I’ll show you the way.”

They walked for a couple of minutes; Nicky pointed to the café’s exterior when they got closer. As soon as they got in the smell of freshly brewed coffee embraced them. Autumn was around the corner and college students demanding pumpkin spice lattes prematurely were flooding the place.

Luckily for them, the line moved fast and the barista quickly took their orders. Jan ordered decaffeinated –because she wasn’t technically allowed to drink coffee after that one incident on St. Patrick’s day- but she compensated it with a lot of sugar and whipped cream. Nicky, on the other hand, asked for an iced Americano.

While they were waiting sitting at a little table, Jan recognized the familiar figure of the one person from her hometown she so badly wanted to see.

“Oh my God…” She suddenly felt coy when he started walking in their direction.

“Janie!” He greeted the girl but his eyes went directly to Nicky who was unimpressed while on her phone.

“Hi, Nathan.”

The name rang a bell for the blonde girl who looked up.

“How are you doing?” He rested half of his arm on almost all the table’s surface.

“Oh you know… just chilling before classes. I have Tuesday mornings free.” She tried to sound chill, smooth even.

“Cool…” He kept staring at the other girl a little too much. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah, yes… this is Nicky, she’s in the same dorm as I am… Nicky, this is Nathan, he’s…”

“A friend from New Jersey.” He extended his hand to shake Nicky’s but the girl glared at him.

At that moment, their names were called by the barista.

“I’ll get the coffee.” Nicky rushed to leave the table. “Salaud…” She murmured before going.

Jan was thankful because now she had some time to speak with Nathan alone.

“So how’s the-”

“Janie, your friend is smoking and she’s French or something, right? That’s hot. Do you think you could set us up?”

Jan’s spirit sank. She should’ve guessed.

“Uh… I don’t think she’d be interested. She’s already dating someone.”

“What a shame because she’s one hundred percent eye candy.”  His gaze followed Nicky’s curves.

“Besides, I thought you liked that girl you met yesterday,” Jan mentioned shyly.

“Abby? She’s alright I guess but this is week one, I have to keep my options open, you know?” He shrugged. “Can’t wait to hit the baseball field next week again, huh?”

“Yes! I’m so excited about it, actually-”

He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “I gotta run, Janie.”

“Oh, okay… see you.”

“Tell your friend that if she ever needs a rebound…” He left, still looking in Nicky’s direction.

Jan tried to smile but she ended up with a weird grimace.

The blonde returned to the table when he was away.

“Here’s your drink…” She tried to put a real smile on the girl’s face but she failed. “Jan, what is it? Did he tell you something?”

“Oh, no… it’s nothing.” She took a sip of her sweet beverage but didn’t enjoy it as she intended. “It’s just Nathan being Nathan…”

Nicky bit her tongue to avoid telling her he seemed like an asshole.

Jan looked at Nicky, of course he’d be interested in her. She was beyond gorgeous and she was stylish as hell with her pretty dress and makeup while Jan had barely washed her face and put on the first pair of joggings and a graphic t-shirt she found in her drawers.

“I bought you a cookie.” She slid the little chocolate treat in front of her.

“Aw, Nicky… thank you.”

Nicky squeezed her shoulder.

“I have to go to class but I don’t want to leave if you’re feeling down.”

Jan shook her head. “No, I’m fine, really…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’ll go to the library or drop by the copy room to annoy Jackie a little.”

“She’s in class during the mornings, someone else is running the copy room in the mornings.”

Jan sighed. “The library is then.”

“Always exciting.” Nicky checked the time on her watch. “Now I really have to go. See you later, dear.” She blew a kiss in the air.

“For sure.” She smiled to show Nicky everything was alright even when it wasn’t.

But enough of being pitiful, she had a cup of coffee, a cookie, and the sun was shining outside. She had this.

The library turned out to be a great place to spend some spare time between classes. Jan met the librarian –Mrs. West- who was probably one of the sweetest people she had ever seen and she was kind enough to explain Jan the rules –besides keeping it low in the study and reading area- Jan walked directly to a free desk and pulled out her computer. She needed to check if she was registered correctly on her classes once again just to be sure and she had to revise if her teachers from the previous day had left some new reading –they did.

She read the two papers and prepared a little draft for the next class before she noticed, it was almost noon. Nicky had said Jackie had classes in the morning but maybe she was free already, so Jan pulled out her phone and typed a quick text.

To Jackie C.: Hi Jackie! Nicky told me you were in class I was wondering if you’re out already, I can drop by the copy room :D

The reply arrived a minute later.

From Jackie C.: I’m already out and heading to the copy room, I’ll be there in no time.

And with that, the girl picked up her things and walked following the map that was scribbled over. She rushed toward the copy room in a way that her former high school teacher would’ve scolded her for« running in the hallways». Finally, she opened the door of the room carefully.

“Hello…?” She walked in.

“I’m over here.” Jackie had a little closet in the corner open. “I’m picking some toner for the machine. I swear, every morning it’s the same, Yvie forgets to change it every time and I have to-”

Jackie smiled as soon as she saw Jan waving in front of her.

“Hi, there.”

“Hi! Thank goodness you’re out of class I was so bored… Well, I was being «productive» or something like that –I’m guessing it’s something college students aspire to be- but then the internet of the library started malfunctioning and I got distracted with the little T-Rex game –do you know which one? With his little jumps and tiny arms, it was so cute- and then I wasn’t being productive anymore so…”

“It’s so good to see you again.” Jackie shook her head.

“How was your morning?” She moved closer to the counter.

Jackie pointed at the chair next to her and Jan sat there.

“All of my classes are during the mornings; that’s how I get to work here after I’m done with them.” She explained while changing the copy machine’s toner. “On Tuesdays, I have this one class with a professor that absolutely despises everything I say because –and listen to this- «I try to push a gender agenda» on his classes.” She scoffed. “Only because they don’t mention women in art centuries ago it doesn’t mean that they weren’t there… it’s ridiculous.”

Jan listened to Jackie ranting for ten minutes about the class, the girl was fuming but there was something entertaining about seeing her mad and the way she gestured as if it was a Ted talk… not to mention she did it all while doing the maintenance work of the printers.

“I’m sorry, I really went off with it…”

“No! It’s okay. I don’t know much about art and listening to you is like actually taking a class… but more engaging because you’re pissed and it shows.”

“Yeah… I have to tone it down in class or that… professor… is going to fail me.” Jackie let a big sigh out of her chest. “Anyway, I’m sure Nicky told you about last night’s dinner…”

“Yes! I wanna eat Thai food so badly now… Nicky is great by the way, she’s very nice and helped me a lot with the dorm things. Thank you so much for introducing me to her and Jaida.”

“No worries. They all liked you the moment they met you anyway.”

Jan beamed and blushed a little.

“So, you met your roommate…”

“Oh, right! My roommate, Rosé, is great… we got along like, instantly and she’s a theatre major so now I’m sharing the dorm with a Broadway fangirl. It’s going to be fun.”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl with the pink hair? I’ve seen her a couple of times I think.”

“Yeah, she thought you were very serious.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m nice, I have a reputation to keep.”

Jan giggled. “But you are nice! I can’t believe people think otherwise.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I’m having lunch with her right now. I have a class at one so I was going to head to the cafeteria, why don’t you come with me?”

“I’d love to but I have to stay a little longer before taking my lunch break. If you have a class at one you better hurry before it gets too crowded there.”

“Oh, that’s too bad… I’ll get going there but… text me later?”

“Sure.” Jackie smiled at her.

“Okay, have a nice day! See you later!” The younger waved on her way out.

“Bye, Jan.”

At lunch, Jackie sat with her friends and while she tried to finish reading a museum review of a new exhibition, she got a text message from Jan telling her how boring the class was. Jackie shook her head and replied back to her shortly after.

Widow was next to her chatting with Heidi, Jaida was sitting across the table typing on her phone until Nicky arrived so the quick smile that appeared on her face went unnoticed –thank goodness.

“Bonjour, mon rayon de soleil.” Nicky kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll pretend I understood every word… hi, baby.” She kissed her back.

The blonde sat next to her and they shared a lovey-dovey look.

“I want what they have,” Heidi whispered while looking at their friends. “What does take to get a girlfriend here? I’m in the art department, it should be easier.”

Widow cackled.

“I thought you had retired from the dating world when Janelle Monáe blocked you on Instagram.”

“Okay, listen… I was nothing but respectful to Miss Monáe, I still don’t understand the reason behind that blocking but yeah…”

“Heidi you don’t want to date, you’re just horny.”

The girl gasped. “How dare you?”

“Because… you can’t keep your interest on one person for more than a week.” Jackie pointed.

“I think you’re better off single.” Widow agreed.

“Excuse me… I came here to have lunch and a lovely chat not to be attacked like this.” Heidi crossed her arms on her chest. “Unbelievable.”

They didn’t say a word.

“You may be right though…” She finally admitted.

“Oh! You know who should get a girlfriend…” Jaida glanced at the brunette in front of her.

Jackie sighed. “We’ve been through this yesterday… I already told you she’s out of the conversation.”

“I didn’t give any names though,” Jaida smirked. “You did that to yourself.”

Jackie blushed. “Whatever… I’m too busy to date anyway.”

“But you’d make an exception for a special someone, wouldn’t you?” Nicky pushed.

“She’s straight.”

“So it’s pasta until it gets hot and wet.” Heidi pointed.

“Heidi!”

The table burst into laughter.

“Enough with that, I’m serious. The last thing I want is Jan to feel awkward, she already has a lot on her plate.”

“Right, all jokes aside… I met the guy she pines after this morning…” Nicky started gossiping. “and my goodness he’s even worse than what I pictured… a jerk with capital letters. I think he was trying to get my number through Jan.”

They all made a disgusted sound in response.

“No fucking way…” Heidi’s mouth dropped.

“She deserves better and I don’t even know her personally.” Widow stated.

They agreed, especially Jackie who had seen the guy the day before breaking Jan’s heart in just a matter of seconds.

“Maybe meeting new people will help her seeing beyond his… spell?” Jaida raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not that charming, trust me.” Her girlfriend assured, basing her opinion on the –hopefully- only encounter they had. “But anyway… Crystal has classes until four…” She looked at Jaida with bedroom eyes. “would you like to take a nap with me?”

Jaida caught the hint instantly. “See y’all later, bitches.” She stuck out her tongue and both left the table.

“Maybe I am just horny.” Heidi reflected before sipping her apple juice.

“Be honest with me, do you hang out with us because you like us, or is it part of your sociology thesis investigation?” Jackie asked Widow.

“Bitch, you’ll never know.” She chuckled.

A week had passed and with that, Jan had established a little routine: in the mornings she would go to the library –sometimes on her own, sometimes with her roommate or one of her classmates-, she had lunch at the cafeteria in rotating schedules –as if she was the loving child of a divorced couple- during the afternoons she was at the copy room whenever she had some spare time and when Jackie was there and afterward she’d have dinner with her and her friends or with Rosé. They all ended up having dinner together on Friday night so Jan was secretly hoping the group would merge into one big supergroup.

She had also become close with Jackie’s friends including Widow of whom she had heard a lot but was formally introduced to a few days later and with Crystal, Nicky’s roommate who shared the struggles of being a freshman like her. Plus, she met one of Rosé’s friends from her musical comedy class as well, a girl called Lagoona that adopted Jan immediately and kept teaching her Spanish words.

On the weekend she watched cartoons wearing pajamas with the girls from her dorm in the lounge room and then completed some assignments for her classes with Crystal at the same place.

On Monday, however, she was extra excited –more than usual- because it was the day she was going to play baseball again. She could almost smell the grass of the field, the rubber of her sneakers, and the leather material of the ball… She could picture herself running around scoring like no other.

And because she was so thrilled, time seemed to pass slower than ever.

“Jackie…” She cried while sitting on her –now- regular reserved spot behind the countertop. “I still have to wait another two hours…”

“Two hours are almost nothing, c’mon.” The brunette was in the middle of copying a Shakespeare play for a group of students from the Literature department. “Besides, it’s not like it’s been years since the last time you played.”

“It’s been like two months.” She pouted. “Two long never-ending months.” She dragged the words to make emphasis on her sadness.

“But you survived.” Jackie pointed out before reaching for the staple on the shelf.

That day, Jackie was wearing a pleated plaid skirt with a knitted long sweater and mid-heel loafers. She moved smoothly in the limited space; Jan had memorized her moves by the time; she knew exactly when she had to lean back for the brunette to pass through while she mumbled something about Yvie not taking proper care of the machines or when she was fighting with the printer that didn’t mind for the students’ urgencies at all. She had also discovered that Jackie always hummed to California Dreamin’ no matter how often it played on the radio, that she liked gourmet jelly beans and that she had a stock of candy hidden somewhere -only she hadn’t found her secret spot yet.

“Hi, Jackie.” A girl hummed with a melodic voice as she rested her elbows on the countertop while batting her lashes overly.

Jackie, who was on her back stapling a final set of copies, took a deep breath as she recognized the owner of the voice right away.

“Hello, Vanessa.” She spun on her heels and faced the girl. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was deadpan.

Vanessa, the girl in question, was gorgeous with her long black hair perfectly curled, flawless makeup, and clothing; she was wearing a cropped pullover with the word «Angel» stamped on it a and pair of high-waisted jeans. She was tiny but she wasn’t scared of wearing high high-heels.

She flashed a dazzling smile as soon as Jackie turned around.

“Are you finally going to accept going on a date with me?” She blurted out.

Jan’s eyes got wide. Her type of courage was worth admiring, she was certainly fearless.

“No,” Jackie replied, coldly. “I’ve told you before; I’m not going to date you.”

Jan gasped but Vanessa didn’t even flinch. She just waved her hair and readjusted her pose.

Oh, she was about to say something, wasn’t she? Jan looked, expectant.

“Please…” She pouted. “Pretty please? You can’t say no to a pretty please.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “There we go.” She shook her head and sighed. “Look, I’m not going to repeat the whole speech but if you have something for me to print or copy, I’m all ears.”

This time, Jan couldn’t keep it to herself. “Jackie!” She shouted and jumped off the chair.

The brunette turned toward her. “What? It’s Vanessa.” She said as if that was a fair justification.

Vanessa waved. “And who are you?” She looked at Jackie, then at Jan, and then at Jackie again. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No.” Jackie blushed a little. “This is my friend, Jan. Jan, this is Vanessa she’s a sophomore that testes my patience since she was a freshman.”

“I worked very hard for that title.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jan!” She shook her hand.

“Vanessa has an on and off long-distance relationship and she likes to flirt when she’s on the «off» side,” Jackie explained.

The girl shrugged. “Can you blame a girl for asking? I gotta try once in a while at least.”

Jan chuckled.

“Anyway, can you copy the marked pages of this textbook? I need it for class, you’ll be glad to know I didn’t come here exclusively to ask you out. Although…”

“Give me the book.” The brunette extended her hand to grab the object, Vanessa held it tightly for an instant but Jackie pulled it. “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you!” She smiled showing all her teeth. Then she turned back to Jan. “So Jan, is it…?”

“Don’t even try it!” Jackie yelled from the distance.

Once her shift was over, Jackie closed the copy room and walked around for a little before deciding to take a look at Jan’s baseball practice. She told herself it was okay to drop by, after all, she had been hearing about it all afternoon, she was curious now. But being honest, she had to ask around to find where the baseball field was –she didn’t even know their university had a women’s team before she met Jan- so she wandered through the corridors before finding the door that led to where they were playing.

The lights were on since their practice was after sunset and most students had classes during the day. The perimeter was surrounded by a chain-link fence so she guessed that was how close she could get to the field; she finally found a bleachers section -and she was one-hundred percent sure people smoked weed behind them.

She sat holding her purse against her chest. It seemed she made it just in time; it was Jan’s turn to bat. Even in the distance, Jackie had never seen the younger so focused on something as she was at that moment, it was like watching a completely different person. She moved into position and prepared.

She had the number eleven on the left sleeve of her striped uniform, purple socks on and a pair of shoes –already- covered in dirt. She adjusted her high ponytail under her cap before grabbing the wood bat with determination. Jan’s eyes were sharp as she tried to read into the pitcher’s moves.

Jackie had a shiver.

The pitcher threw the ball and she missed it, it went directly to the catcher’s glove. The brunette mouthed some curse. She had never been this invested in some sport.

Second attempt, she would get it this time. Jackie crossed her fingers, her heart was beating faster.

The pitcher threw the ball again and this time, it impacted against Jan’s bat making a thunderous noise that echoed everywhere. Jackie gasped, her eyes followed the girl’s figure as she ran as fast as she could before one of the players grabbed the ball from the ground. Now she knew her heart was about to break her ribcage, she couldn’t get herself to calm down. Jan was running and running like a roadrunner cartoon and she was about to make it when the players started passing the ball, maybe someone was going to catch her before she made it. But she was so close, just one more base to go. She ran, encouraged by her teammates, and drifted creating a cloud of dirt around the base.

She made it.

Home run.

“Yes! Yes!” Jackie cheered and raised her hands in the air.

Apparently, loud enough for the whole team to hear it.

Jan, who was bent over her knees, still out of breath due to her incredible race, grinned and waved as soon as she recognized Jackie. The brunette smiled back and clapped discreetly, even when she had just displayed such enthusiastic behavior.

The team -mainly the batter- had gained a new fan and the season hadn’t even started.

[ayawriter]

Flare Gun Mishaps

Aesop: why’s it so hot in here

Joseph: it’s me obviously

Naib:

Naib: actually… i kinda started a fire

---

It was a normal match. Or at least, it was supposed to. It was the usual team of Eli, Aesop, Naib, and William, fittingly dubbed Team ANEW for how often they were together, both in, and out of games. They were up against Joseph, who, fortunately, didn’t feel up to having a proper match, opting to just sit and watch the four do their thing. At the moment, the Photographer was watching Aesop and Eli decode by the dungeon entrance within the Sacred Heart Hospital map. William was busy sharing one of the stories of his past matches with Joseph. Usually, Aesop would prefer decoding alone, but since they weren’t in a serious match, he let it slide. Plus their company wasn't so bad. Despite William’s loud nature, there was something oddly endearing about his friendly nature, and Eli was quiet and calming by default, though sometimes the way he’d stare at you could be kind of unnerving.

“Oh yeah, speaking of...Where’d Naib go?” William paused one of his stories of a previous match to search around for their friend.

Eli also looked up from his side of the machine. 

“Oh, you’re right.”

Aesop wiped some sweat from his brow. 

“Is it just me or did the temperature just increase?”

“Huh,” William started fanning himself with his jersey, “You’re right.”

Eli merely hummed in agreement, taking his hood off to cool off some. 

“Hey, guys!” Naib jumped over a wall, joining the group. He looked a bit burned, but he was wearing his “worn clothes” outfit so it was hard to tell if they were just part of the “look” or if they were recent. He looked almost guilty.

“Hello, we were just wondering where you were,” Eli greeted.

“Aha...I’ve just been around...Exploring. Yeah.”

Aesop paused in his decoding to fan himself. “Either way, why’s it so hot in here?”

The photographer smirked, “Well, it’s me obviously.”

“Actually,” Naib started, flushed with embarrassment, “I kinda started a fire…”

Silence. 

“You--What--How?” Eli was the first to break the silence.

“I-uh-I found a flare gun in one of the chests and was messing around with it, and it accidentally fired and hit some dry grass, and then it just...spread?”

Eli was trying extremely hard to stay calm. Aesop and William slowly backed away and prayed for their idiot of a mercenary, sensing his impending doom. Even Joseph was being wary of the Seer. 

“WHAT MADE YOU THINK MESSING AROUND WITH A FIREARM WAS A GOOD IDEA?!”

Naib flinched, “I’m not dumb, I know my way around firearms and weapons and the like. I was a former Gurkha soldier and mercenary! I just...Since Martha fires that thing all the time during matches, and these maps seem to have some kind of protection against all kinds of wear and tear, I just thought it’d be fine! I didn’t think a fire would actually start!”

“Goddammit, Naib…”

“Sorry.”

Eli sighed. He felt a headache coming on. Naib was probably one of the most unlucky people in his friend group. Of course, he can somehow magically start a fire when such a thing is supposed to be impossible. He even started smelling the smoke and could see a huge cloud of smoke and ash coming closer. The heat wasn't helping calm his nerves either. Joseph coughed once, gathering the attention of everyone in the small space. 

“How about I surrender for today. I would rather not be charred coal today if I can, and the same can be said of you survivors as well.”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Joseph.”

The photographer nodded once before the notice of the hunter’s surrender popped up and they were transported back to their respective sides of the manor. If people noticed the slightly smoked smell coming from the four, they didn’t mention it. One look at them told the others that Naib had something to do with it. At that realization, a collective internal facepalm resounded throughout the halls, and everyone made sure to be extra nice to Eli for the rest of the day. 

---

Finally got around to this! I absolutely love @totally-correct-idv ‘ s blog. But since I can’t draw very well, let alone, do a comic, I decided to try writing a story revolving around these quotes. 

Original Quote:

https://totally-correct-idv.tumblr.com/post/189973545690/aesop-whys-it-so-hot-in-here-joseph-its-me

[myhauntedsalem]

13 Creepy Camping Encounters That Will Put You off the Great Outdoors

1. The Crying Girl

“When I was younger probably like 10 or 11, I went camping with my family. I’ll just get right into it. It was about 1 or 2 in the morning, and I couldn’t really sleep. The tent me and my brother were in was really hot, and very uncomfortable. Anyway, while I was trying to go to bed I heard a very faint whimper. I tried to ignore it because I figured I was just tired. Our campsite was along a road with many other camps nearby. The whimper started to get louder, and then turned into crying. I heard footsteps outside of our tent, and a girl crying.

Now let me tell you, it didn’t go faint, it got louder and louder. It remained in the same spot the entire time. That’s so important because, it indicates that she was looking at our tent site, crying. It gets worse, then it turned into a full on scream for a few seconds, then cuts out. When she started screaming by brother woke up. We both look at each other and just get all the pillows and stuff our head under them.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I’m just glad we left the next morning.” – Keithic

2. The Shaking

“This happened to an acquaintance of mine and his son. This took place back in the early ’90s.

He had taken his young son for a father and son type hike out of Skagway. If any of you are familiar with Skagpatch, there is quite a network of trails above town at lower Dewey lakes.

So, it’s evening, dinner done, tent up, bed time. Sometime later, around midnight, he’s woken up by the tent shaking violently, then silence. Then again. Keep in mind its late August, and pitch black, I mean as pitch black as you can get under the heavy coastal rain forest with no moon.

This shaking kept up for over an hour. He had no idea what it was. He went out with his headlamp, yelled, and heard nothing. Would go back in the tent, then it would start up again. He could here footsteps whenever it happened.

He was pretty shaken up by the next morning as you could imagine.

He reported it to the troopers, and the only thing they could come up with was someone with a night vision set up messing around. Or something else…” – Yukoner

3. The Middle of the Woods

“This happened to me when I was little. I went camping with my older brother and my mom. I was about 7 or 8 and I went to bed around 10 in a sleeping bag inside my tent with both my mom and brother. Some time during the night, I don’t know when, I woke up somewhere in the middle of the woods still in my sleeping bag. I had no idea where I was or where my tent was. I screamed for my mom and I heard her calling back for me in panic but she was easily 100 yards away or so. To this day I have no idea how I ended up in the middle of the woods still inside my sleeping bag. Gives me the chills.” – cckaufmann

4. The Hanging Man

“Hiking the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania for a week in…2006 and my brother and I came across a young man who had hung himself. We sprinted up to the bluff where he was strung up. I wrapped my arms around his waist to take weight off his neck while my brother cut him down with his Leatherman. He had thrown the rope up over a tall branch and lashed it off with a clove hitch at the trunk like you’d hang a bear-bag. Must’ve climbed the branches and dropped once laced in. We probably shouldn’t have even tried, he was dead for sometime before we happened across him. Fortunately no critters had come to tear him apart before we found him, it would’ve only gotten grislier from there. Called 911. Ended our trip pretty damn quick.

I don’t know why we tried, it was very obvious he had been dead for some time. Don’t know how long, he was very cold and smelled pretty bad. Intuition to help someone and adrenaline that clouds your judgement I guess? It was kind of a fucked up day so I don’t really remember my thought process.” – Anonymous

5. Scratches

“About one month ago, we are riding a favorite trail up near Camp Verde. Oldest son is leading, youngest is following him, a friend behind him and I am sucking up rear. Come over a hill and I see my youngest son with all of his gear off and his jersey. I came up asking what was wrong, thinking that he crashed, He said his back was burning. I looked and there were three scratches across his back. Looked like claw marks. No blood, but very distinct. He had a chest/back protector on so there is no way a tree branch or anything got him. We finally got him geared back up and headed out. About 30 minutes later, we reached a spot where we always stop for a break. I asked him to take the jersey off so that I could see the scratches again. They were completely gone.” – THB

6. Music in the Night

“A couple of years ago my brother bought a large piece of land out in the middle of nowhere, about thirty miles or so from cell phone reception. It’s quiet, there is no light pollution, no paved roads, and not a lot of people around.

Shortly after he bought the place, two of my brothers (the land owner and another), me, and our families spent a weekend camping on the land and doing our best to clean it up; people had used it as a dump, there were many downed trees, etc. On the second night we camped there, I woke up in the middle of the night to take a leak. As I was walking to the bushes in the dark, I realized that I could faintly hear music. This didn’t strike me as odd because I knew my brother had a radio in his camper. I finished up and went back to sleep with no further thought on the matter.

The next morning at breakfast, I mentioned the radio and music. Several other people recalled waking in the night and hearing music, but no two people heard the same music. Finally, the brother who brought the radio woke up. I asked him about the music and he seemed a bit freaked out. He woke up sometime during the night and went outside to smoke. He heard music as well and had assumed it was someone else. I should mention that he was the only one with a generator and a radio. It wasn’t his radio we heard, it wasn’t anyone else’s either.

I’ve been back several times, but I’m a bit freaked out by that place at night. I have fun while I’m there, but I’m almost always armed and I don’t sleep in a tent anymore, I sleep in my SUV with the doors locked. It may seem kinda dumb, but realizing that everyone heard different music when there are no people, no functional radios, and no electricity is quite creepy.” – goat-of-mendes

7. The Light

“We were in a river-side cabin one night in Northern Michigan. I had just stretched out when a huge crack erupted from the woods. Both of us thought it was a branch or old tree that had fallen.

After he turned off the living room light, we noticed that the light coming from the windows was abnormally strong. This sent our nerves to a new high. The light seemed to pulse several times and got so bright at one point you could have read a book by it. It couldn’t have been a car as we were almost a mile off the road on a dirt trail. Plus, the light came in from all the windows equally.

Every so often we would hear a strange humming noise that penetrated that cabin. This lasted almost half an hour. We talked about just running out to the car and leaving but neither one of us wanted to go outside.

After the light went out, we sat on the couch, occasionally putting forth theories on what it could have been. Around four o’clock in the morning, there was another loud crack. We worried that the light might come back but nothing happened.” – R. Bassil

8. Blue Spectre

“My friend and I were walking just outside of the circle of cabins. It was a bright night with all the stars shining and the moon was well lit. There was a campfire going, and in one of the big cabins there was a party going on with music and so on. We were walking, and we both got a really weird feeling, as if we were being watched. We both turned toward the sea… we saw a blue figure, very tall – about 7 feet – walking through the trees. It made no sound at all. It was a bright blue and glowing figure walking through the forest. It was emitting a shimmery aura, and my friend and I both became very frightened. We shouted at whatever that thing was and we were asking it what it was. We got no reply, of course, but we expected one. We stared as it walked away and out of our vision; we didn’t dare follow it.

We then ran back to the group of people at the camp fire, screaming and describing what we saw. Another friend of mine claimed he was watching it from a distance not far from were we were and was just as frightened as I was.” – Devin

9. Footsteps Upstairs

“Not something I experienced, but my sister and her husband did.

My family used to have a cabin on a lake in the Northwoods. It’s a lake with no public access. On the other side is/was an old Girl’s Camp that the state was letting fall apart. The camp had a large, two-story main house that was mostly intact at the time.

My sister and her husband decided to check out the camp one day. They canoe’d over and started to walk around. They went into the Main House first. They walked around for a bit. And then they heard heavy footsteps upstairs. These footsteps turned into someone running heavily towards the stairs.

My sister and her husband booked it out of the house, but they could hear the steps coming down the stairs and on the main level as they ran out. They opted to run around the house instead of heading back to the shore.

They never saw who it was, but they heard them enter back into the house. And then they heard them storm back outside again. They went into the woods this time and heard someone running in the woods after them.

They took the long way around the lake back to the cabin.

My dad and I had to go back later that day to get the canoe. We never heard or saw anything.” – joftheinternet

10. Geocaching

“I’ve been geocaching in the woods many times, and occasionally one runs into caches with weird things in them. The creepiest was an ammo box with only a handful of finds that contained broken doll parts and a handwritten note that said “Look behind you”. I definitely had the heebie-jeebies and double-timed it back to my car despite it being the middle of the day. It’s crossed my mind before that geocaching would be a great way for a serial killer to lure people out to remote locations.” – Anonymous

11. Who Followed Us?

“This happened in 81 or 82. Not sure anymore.

I had made friends with a fellow I worked with and offered to take him gigging for frogs. He was from the city and had never spent any time in the woods at night. The farm I had permission to do it on was only about a mile from my place. My friend showed up at 10:30 or so and I gave him a gig and a flashlight. We decided to walk to the other farm. We didn’t get far before we both heard something walking in the dark to the side of us. I’ve been in the woods all my life and I’ve had plenty of deer follow me but I wasn’t going to tell him that. It was clear he was getting spooked. We climbed a fence and continued on. Then we heard something else climb the fence.

Deer don’t climb fences. I tried looking around with the flashlight but he wanted none of it. We could see the house lights of the place we were going to and he ran off on me and beat on the guy’s door until they let him in. By the time I got there Mr. Barber, (the land owner), and his wife was out on the porch and wanted to know what was going on. Mr. Barber and I went back and had a look around but found nothing. My friend refused to walk back and Mr. Barber gave us a ride back to my place. We never did find out what or who it was that was following us.

My friend decided that frogging wasn’t for him. He has also refused to go on several fishing trips I have invited him to. I can’t say I was too comfortable with what happened but I haven’t let it stop me from frogging.” – Smoker

12. The Circle

“I was backpacking in New Hampshire and camped out for the night after a day hike. I wondered off from our fire to go take a piss and stumbled upon a circle etched into the ground with tuning forks surrounding the circle standing up straight…It looked like a creepy ritual circle and it bugged me out so I booked it back to the group.” – ITS_A_BADTIME_BOB

13. The Gator

“Few years ago I was camping in the Everglades in Florida with a few friends. We all had gone into our separate tents and were starting to fall asleep. The area was pretty noisy with bugs, crickets, birds, etc. I heard this very low vibration, sounding almost like a low roar. it was powerful enough to vibrate in my chest. Suddenly everything in the forest shut up. no bugs, no birds, nothing. about thirty seconds later my phone vibrates and its my friend in the other tent texting me asking if i heard the same thing. the four of us kept texting each other, wondering what it was. about ten minutes later all the animals slowly started making noise again. I slept that night with my machete at arms reach.

A lot of people are saying it might have been a gator. We were in an elevated area that was far from any streams or ponds. Its possible there might have been a pond with a gator that we missed, but the very big ones tend to hang out in lakes.” – Biggs180

[xlady-saya]

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 1]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

Neil pricks himself on the old Palmetto pin as he fixes it to his collar, jabbing the same spot on his thumb he hit just a week before.

He hardly winces at the feeling these days, and for a long time, Matt joked about how he really couldn't go a day without attracting some form of violence. Neil smiles at the thought, because it's far from the truth. He stands by the claim he never asked for fights, simply had no problem finishing them.

"You mean letting me finish them," Andrew would quip, and they'd go back and forth all over again in a never-ending argument. It's so never-ending, Neil goes through the motions of it even now, however many decades later.

This pin tends to start it, since it's the only remotely dangerous thing he owns now. The orange is still bright and obnoxious, with criss crossing Exy racquets in a bright white. He's memorized the raised edges, tilted from old age. The once silver backing has rust spots, but no one ever sees that part. It has its reputation intact, and Neil smiles sardonically.

It's not the only thing that's been worn down, but he likes to think he doesn't look as bad as he could too. Laughing at his own joke, he taps the pin lightly. It's apparently vintage now, according to Allison, since the new Palmetto merch has drifted into neon territory.

Neil is glad he kept his own. It's especially important today, he thinks, that he shows as much fondness for the past as possible. Though, it's not for his sake. His room is nothing but littered with the tokens of the past.

Sighing, he stares fondly out across the living room, the walls haphazardly decorated with old, signed jerseys his friends used to wear. He has one from each of their old teams, but picked his favorites to go up on the wall. The rest sit in storage, ready to be auctioned off whenever he decides living is too much of a chore. Above the mantle, Andrew's racquet from his last team hangs in a shadow box. Then below it, framed pictures which Neil tries to rotate as best he can, some of them shitty ones converted from his phone camera. Mostly, they're of his Foxes at various points in their lives. The only two photos which stay the same are the one he took with Andrew and Kevin at the Olympics, and the snapshot of him and Andrew at the airport in his first year at Palmetto.

If he had to catalog the room, that would barely scratch the surface. He's pages away from mentioning Nicky's terribly made mugs, Betsy's first editions, and cookie tins filled with postcards Katelyn and Aaron sent twenty years ago.

Most of the time, the untidy collection of junk surrounding him is a comfort. It makes the small apartment feel like home, or as close as he can get when he's by himself. He swears some of the items still carry the unique scents of grass stains and floor polish, or Allison's perfume and the glitter glue from Dan and Matt's kids.

When that fails him, the candle he has in every room does the trick to fill in the blanks. Andrew used the same scent for over half their life together: breakfast pancakes. It's sickly sweet and stains the furniture, and Neil loves nothing more than to bury his face in the cushions after a day of having them lit.

These are the things that ground him, that keep him in place, but today he feels fidgety for the first time in years. He shouldn't be, he thinks, laughing to himself. He planned this after all, it's just...

Well, he's never been the best at talking to people.

There's a knock at his door, and the cuckoo clock on the wall (shockingly, that one is his fault) tells him it's right on schedule. Neil sighs, slipping his feet into the white slippers beneath him. "Come in, Sydney."

The nurse on his floor opens the door to his apartment with a smile, too fresh faced and early for this time of day. She’s young, and she's always been a bit cheery for his taste, but she reminds him of Katelyn and he allows it. In the last few years, when Andrew's migraines prevented him from reading, she'd bring him audiobook gift cards.

She smiles bright, and he gives her that look for her to cut it out. At this point, she's less put off by it and more amused. He only tells her to save the smiles because if she doesn't she'll have wrinkles like him years from now. He hates how much he sounds like Allison.

Neil hardly looks in the mirror anymore, but this morning he put in some effort. He looks as perpetually tired as he always looked back in the day, except now his eye bags are accompanied by wrinkles that form their own topographical map on his face.

At least he didn't lose all his hair.

The only thing is his blue eyes are as piercing as ever, so coupled with the grandpa look, he's quite intimidating. Not that he needs to be, but it's nice to feel a little capable when he can barely walk by himself anymore.

"Morning, Mr. Josten," Sydney greets, untucking the wheelchair from behind the door and pushing it over to him. He makes sure to grab Andrew's favorite crochet blanket. He hates messing with it, but he thinks the smell of nicotine it carries will help him today. Refresh his memory.

Neil grumbles, but lets her help him into the chair. He has on his good lounge pants, without holes, and his old Palmetto sweater. "I told you years ago I hate being called that."

"Because it makes you feel old," she jabs, teasing lightly. Even still, she's gentle when she places the blanket over his lap and hands him his glasses. "I have to keep you in line somehow."

"Ha-ha."

As she wheels him out of his room, he starts fidgeting again. He's used to exploring the luxury nursing home on his own time, not because he has somewhere to be. He hasn't had somewhere to be since...well, he hates thinking about that, lest he run into a memory that hurts more than helps.

Today isn't the day for that.

Some other, more able-bodied residents pass by him on foot, waving amicably and knowing better than to expect a wave back. Shockingly, he's well liked here, probably because he doesn't have rowdy grandkids who break the peace. Plus, he's pretty sure some of them are old fans.

Sydney leans down as they pass through the common area and into one of the meeting rooms, the spotless linoleum floor throwing him off as usual. He never would've picked a place so expensive and fancy for himself, but Andrew was always someone with classy tastes. "Ready for today?"

At the reminder, Neil wrings his fingers together. Not advised by his doctor, but fuck that guy. "As ready as I'll ever be," he says, glaring at the glass doors ahead. Sydney laughs, placing him at the end of a large table. The meeting room creeps him out, since it's mostly used for family meetings or will planning appointments. Sound proof, silent.

"Oh hush, you're a famous athlete, I'm sure you've faced worse," she chides, pouring him a glass of water without any ice. Because he's a fiend. Neil rolls his eyes; she has no idea. He's threatened countless reporters before for stepping even a toe out of line, but some recent college grads from an indie publication are making him sweat more than an Exy game. Sydney makes a show of whispering behind her hand. "Besides, I heard from Gabe at the front desk they look terrified, so go easy on them, yes? Can't have another cafeteria incident."

Ugh, not that again.

"You have no witnesses," he waves off, leaning back in his seat while Sydney sets the break in place. Only then is he hit with a wave of calm, fondness even. His quivering hands curl as best they can in the blanket, the ghost of a grip, and he smiles out across the room. Ah, he can't be doing this already, but it's hard to help. He itches for the smell of a cigarette, a press on the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he tries his best to feel it. "Besides, once they know why they're really here they won't be nearly so stressed. Hell, they might even be disappointed."

He tries not to grimace at that, but for the time he's giving them and the paperwork he made them sign, they're going to sit and listen to his old man ravings all day or so help him--

He feels a hand brush against his, and when he looks Sydney is there. She squeezes his fingers in hers, smile fond and weighed down with a sadness so foreign, he nearly regrets telling her to cut it out. But no, he understands. He's the one who understands the most. She grazes the fabric of the blanket as she pulls away, breathing in the same smoke he can for just a moment. "No, I don't think that's possible."

She doesn't give Neil time to doubt himself, not that he could. He can never doubt anything when it comes to Andrew, no matter how much the blond secretly doubted about himself. Neil always teased him for that, and his living oxymoron ways.

Neil's biggest goal of the day is to piss off Andrew's ghost as much as humanly possible, and his grin is nearly splitting at the thought. Fine, mission active.

"Good luck!" Sydney calls as she leaves the meeting room, and he watches her gesture to his guests once they arrive through the glass doors.

Oh shit, they really do look terrified.

The two interviewers see him through the door and Neil can only assume they shit a brick. They're young, can't be more than a few years out of university, dressed way too professionally for someone as uncaring as Neil. They could've shown up in clown costumes for all he cared, at least he would've gotten a good laugh.

The young man fumbles with the door and his companion rushes forward a little too fast before correcting herself. Jeez.

Neil does his best to hide his laugh, not that he's ever been polite. It's more...

Their terror is Neil's fault. He started declining interviews soon after he retired, letting his name and lifestyle fade into mystery and speculation with the public. Kevin had not been happy about it, since to this day he and Thea are in the public eye, commentating on Exy games, doing talk shows, helping curate museums, blah, blah, blah...

Neil didn't have time for that.

He never thought he'd be okay with slipping back into unknown status after so many years of being seen, being cheered for, but when the time came it was an easy choice. Andrew made it so. Neil had his time to be free, to do whatever he wanted and play the sport he loved. But ultimately, when he no longer could, fucking off to do whatever he wanted with Andrew sounded way better than dealing with reporters and overzealous fans.

Just because he became an unknown though, doesn't mean he faded into obscurity. According to Allison, his life has been quite a hot button issue in the community for over a decade. People want to know where he's been, what he did during those years, how he looks back on the past, everything. It's been obnoxious.

Popular sports magazines and large publications have practically been clawing for a piece of him for years, and he's never given in no matter how many fruit bouquets they sent or how many checks they tried to write him. Though, one almost got him purely because they kept sending gourmet chocolates, and if Andrew was a glutton before, old age only made it worse.

So, Neil Josten is back to being a subject of interest for some reason, someone people want to know everything about. For him to randomly call up a dying indie magazine and offer them full rights to an interview under his specific terms surely threw the sports world into a fucking whirl.

Whatever.

He's going to share what he wants to share. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Mr. Jo--" The first reporter clears his throat, passing his notepad and phone over to his other hand before outstretching one to Neil. "Mr. Josten. It's such an honor to meet you, um, wow. I'm Blake, and this is Rayah. We're so grateful for being granted the opportunity to interview you. You're a legend!"

Neil stares at the outstretched hand like he doesn't know what to do with it, and as much as he does know what's expected of him, part of his hesitation is equal parts his disinterest and the fact he doesn't talk to anyone but his remaining family these days. Well, and Sydney.

Blake swallows and drops his hand, surely admonishing himself for his own stupidity.

Rayah saves him. "Um, we really are appreciative, sir," she says, laying out some notepads and setting up her recorder. Old school, Neil appreciates it. It's better than cameras and microphones. "We're still in shock honestly. We were theorizing on why you picked us the entire drive up here!"

"Neil is fine, and don't bother with small talk I know it's not why you're here," he says then, smiling at her words. They both flinch, taken aback. He's not sure why they'd be expecting a Kevin Day type. He has a record for being too blunt and argumentative for his own good. He's right though; they're here for answers, not discussions on how he's doing or what he does for fun in his not so humble nursing home. In much the same vein, he promised honesty, so he'll give it from the start. "I picked you precisely because you're unknown and failing."

They freeze, but they're clearly not Foxes. If they were, they'd immediately get indignant and glare, hold themselves back from punching a helpless old man. Oh, those were the good ol' days.

When Rayah fumbles for a response, a logic, Neil simply shrugs. "I like the underdogs."

He doesn't intend it to be, but it's a tension breaker. The stiffness in the reporters' shoulders deflate with a laugh, and they finally get back to organizing themselves without looking like they want to run for the hills and beg ESPN to take over.

"As your history suggests," Blake jokes, and Neil rewards him with a grin, tapping his Foxes pin.

He doesn't mention the fact Andrew would've never spoken to him had he gone to some trashy magazine, and that Andrew was always a bit of a rebel himself, though he hated to admit to any kind of urge that didn't involve Neil, sweets, or fancy cars.

Neil takes the free moment to wrap his blanket around his shoulders, letting the ingrained smell of ash permeate around him. Much better, he can think so much clearer like this.

As they finish setting up and take their seats across from him, Blake taps his pencil against the rim of his notepad. It looks like he almost wants to launch back into small talk, but thinks better of it when he remembers Neil's words. Considerate, a good listener. Just what Neil needs today.

Blake clears his throat, cutting through the bullshit. "Now, we know you have specific terms for how you want to lead this interview, which we're completely fine with. Wherever you want to start, we'll follow."

And with that, they sit back, unsure but ready to catch whatever morsel of information might fall from Neil's lips. Again, he finds himself fighting a smirk.

Of course, he led these people astray a bit, but he doesn't see the problem with having a little fun before revealing his true intentions.

He nods, pushing down the giddy feeling that always comes with talking about Andrew. Not yet, but soon.

"Hm, I assume you prepared some questions just in case," Neil asks, taking a sip of his water.

Rayah blinks, exchanging a look with Blake. She rifles through her notepad to a page in the middle, scribbled and stained with ink. There are so many questions on it, some of them curve over the others in a painful word twister. "Uh yes but, we didn't think you'd want to answer them," she guesses.

She's correct.

Neil loathes interview questions, because they're predictable. But in this case, he'll let the first one lead him down the road.

Neil relents, leaning back in his wheelchair. "Well you're mostly right, but why don't you ask me your first one?" He offers, and they look positively ecstatic. "That'll get me started."

And once he starts, he doubts he'll be able to stop.

"Sure." Blake clears his throat, making sure his recorder is functioning properly. When he's satisfied, he leans back, mirroring Neil's posture, though the rigidity is still there. If he doesn't lighten up, he's going to have back pains for days. "Now, there have been a lot of milestones in your career as a pro athlete. No one would dream of disputing your skill in the sport, or how you earned any of your countless awards--"

"Flattery," Neil warns, raising a single finger. That's not what he's here for either. In fact, as much as this is his interview, it's not about him at all.

"Right," Blake says with a huff of a laugh. "But surely one of your brightest moments was your historic win at the Olympics. It was talked about for months within the community. Of course, any true Exy fan knows the details of the game, it was only covered by every major publication. So, I guess our question is, what do you most remember about that moment? Was it as monumental for you as it was for Exy fans?"

Ah, a predictable question, but also not a bad place to begin. Neil doesn't fight the edge of the smirk that appears, though he does raise his thumb to swipe at it. It's been a while since he's felt so mischievous, it's so difficult to be, well, difficult when you're being wheeled around all day.

It was a monumental moment for him, though maybe not for the reasons everyone else would think.

"You certainly did your research," he comments, humming as he sits back in thought. He already knows his answer, but he's weak, and the feelings the memory evokes barely need to push him to send him careening off balance. Swept up. "Not sure what I was expecting from people so young, but my apologies for making assumptions."

He's glad they didn't ask the question in the stereotypical format, fishing for ways to brag and make it all about him. When he thinks of that time, as proud as he was, it's not his own praise that comes to mind.

With that in mind, Neil sighs.

"I don't think it was an exaggeration to say that was one of the best days of my life," he admits, and it's the truth. He's not here to lie. Come to think of it, he hasn't lied once since Andrew ran on ahead of him. Smiling, Neil lets the words flow.

"It was important to me, but not all because of the Olympics themselves..."

--

Neil rarely has time to pay attention in Exy games, as horrible and inefficient as that sounds.

His feet move on their own accord like a well-oiled machine, cogs and steam rushing through him to propel him across the court at record speeds. And they are record speeds.

That's why he's here isn't it? To run, to score.

It had been overwhelming when he first arrived, the sheer size of the Exy court at the Olympics. It's surrounded by flags from all over the world, bright neon signs and sponsorships. The lights at the entrance had been so vibrant, he made the mistake of looking up at them.

Blinding.

All aspects about it are, because as much as Neil knows this is his life, it can't possibly be reality.

The crowd makes the one at the Ravens' stadium seem minuscule, out of its league with seats and aisles that almost climb up to the heavens. The crowd roars and Neil feels every cheer and stomp echo against his bones.

He never thought he'd be here, but despite the gravity of it, he no longer has the time nor want to dwell on it. All that matters is his team, and getting them the gold.

Being with Andrew afterwards...getting to see Wymack smile proudly at Kevin.

Letting Kevin be proud of himself.

And Neil is an Olympic-qualified player, so with all that in mind, he delivers the second best game of his life. Even in the final seconds of the second half, even when he's been body checked so many times the nuts and bolts he imagines inside him must surely be worn and off-kilter, he doesn't stop moving. Everything is instinct, from the force of his steps to the last minute shifts he needs to intercept the ball.

It's not Kevin's perfect strategy, it's not a map or an out of body experience where he can see where every player on the court is.

He has no idea what's going on outside of what's in front of him, no awareness of anything but the immediate threats and a certain beacon, standing in the goal.

And that's the hardest part of it all, not being able to look over at Andrew for even a moment after he scores, because the game is fast and ruthless, and he has twice the energy of anyone on this court.

It's a stupid way to play, if he's really supposed to be Kevin's double. But they all long since established he is far from it. He has his own passion, his own drive, and Kevin trusts Neil with his life on the court.

Probably through anything.

So when he sees the perfect opportunity for a final interception, a chance to get them the last winning goal of the game, he's surprised that it's the one moment where it all comes to a stop. He's never had the experience before; normally his body snaps into action. He's not used to comprehending things until they're said and done.

He thinks his body is still following through though, turning in just the right way, making sure he's lined up.

But Neil is aware of so much more, his eyes train like a predator's on the goal, and he understands. He has a choice.

Choices are a weird luxury now, but he's gotten so used to having the freedom of them, he's forgotten the sheer magnitude they can carry.

His eyes snap to the goal, and then to Kevin. Kevin, who is so much closer, and already looking right at Neil.

And Neil never describes himself as fond towards most people, but he can say it proudly in that moment. This is the Kevin Day he likes to see.

Green eyes stare back, blown wide with a fire that can't be matched by anyone, probably not even his own mother, maybe not even Neil. A true, unadulterated love for this violent, freeing sport. Kevin catches Neil's eyes through his face guard, forehead drenched in sweat but his entire being rings with energy, ready and unwilling to quit until the buzzer sounds.

A Fox, at heart. Neil knows Andrew can see from where he's standing in goal, and Neil knows he's just as satisfied, deep down. It might give him some peace of mind too, to know Kevin kept his spine.

Neil puts all of those emotions into his last movement of the game.

He inclines his head just so, and that's it.

Kevin moves.

As Neil's racquet intercepts the ball from the other team's striker, he can't help but be a bit smug as he takes a powerful step forward. He can hear the painful slide of his shoes against the court floor, the heat of being too close, too exposed.

His legs will surely be shot after this, but no matter.

Kevin Day was always meant to be the greatest player in the history of Exy, the reigning queen, despite the arrogance they'll surely have to hear non-stop about. Fine. It's only fair that Neil help him achieve that goal here, at the biggest stadium in the world.

(By no means the best one, but still).

The clock gets down to five seconds, the beats resounding off the walls of his skull. Neil swings his racquet with such force the strings whistle, and the ball moves in a straight line directly into Kevin's. The other striker has zero time to react, the force of Neil's brutal cut off sending him stumbling. The ball hits Kevin's strings hard, Kevin's grip tightening around his racquet to keep it close to him.

Kevin doesn't hesitate longer than that.

He shoots at the goal in one fluid arch, and scores.

As confident as Neil is in Kevin's aim and skill, he'll admit his stomach swoops. It's a feeling that never truly goes away, much like the instincts that keep him moving. He wouldn't trade it for anything, that millisecond exhilaration before it comes together.

Because well, at one point nothing ever fell into place for him.

In the flash where the ball hits the net, Neil feels the ghost of a key in his palm, reminding him when that changed. The buzzer of the countdown blares, and all that anticipation meets a well-deserved end.

The stadium erupts until not even the buzzer can be heard. There's a swish of plexiglass doors, the sounds of their coach yelling in triumph, but Neil's body is too spent to react.

Neil's heart constricts in his chest as he tries to get air in, but it's impossible. Satisfied doesn't even begin to cover it, though he's sure he looks just as breathless as Kevin does, staring at the goal as it lights up. The world moves around him, respecting his moment of privacy when they should be hoisting him up and not allowing him a minute of disbelief. Neil's glad they don't; Kevin deserves to look surprised once in a while.

His teammates pile on each other, clapping him as they pass. A lot of them are still in shock, a few fall to their knees right away, but Neil feels nothing but fulfilled.

He made the right call.

His body sags, stinging, and he feels Andrew's gaze pinning him upright from across the court. It's the only thing that gets him walking, but he wills himself not to look in his boyfriend's direction.

If he does well...nothing else will matter, and there's one thing he has to do.

In a haze, he goes over to Kevin, who turns, sensing him. Neil shakes his head at Kevin's arrogance to this day, because even though Kevin is the one who made this possible for him, who came to him first...

Well, he still lets Neil do all the work. Neil laughs and hugs Kevin fiercely, barely keeping himself upright, and they trade the trembling in their bodies. Kevin drops his racquet, their height difference making them look all the more pathetic. He can hear Andrew's voice already, telling them they're too emotional about a damn sport.

Somehow, that makes Neil even happier, and he leans back as Kevin pries his helmet off, eyes wild and smiling.

Yes, the right choice. Absolutely.

"We did it," Kevin says, but not in disbelief. He had to have known they'd always make it here. "We did it."

Neil squeezes his friend's shoulder and grins, uncaring of what camera catches it. He's too damn happy to care. "Guess we did."

The crowd cheers so loud Neil can't hear more than a faint buzz in his ears, and the sticky scent of gatorade and sweat is an unfortunate addition. The cameras flash and shine obnoxiously through the double plexiglass to bathe them in light and attention.

Yet, with his legs feeling like jelly and his muscles stretched to the limits, there's only one thing he really wants. What he always wants.

Warmth, safety, something to lean on and keep him sheltered from the world before facing it alongside him. Neil hates that before, the only thing he yearned for was to play Exy. He thought that was bad.

This is so much worse.

Biting his lip, Neil turns to where Andrew is standing in the goal, already looking at him from across the court. And Andrew, with all his control, keeps himself planted there. Neil's breathing hiccups loudly, and Kevin's probably the only one who hears it over the cacophony.

Neil doesn't think he can cry anymore, but his eyes tighten up, he has to blink the pain away.

Neil wonders if Andrew's gripping his racquet hard enough to damage it, if he's digging his heels into the ground like Neil is.

Neil swallows down the lump in his throat. Suddenly, he hates the cameras more than usual; he's torn between wanting them to vanish completely, or wishing they paid as much attention to Andrew, because god, he's earned it.

Neil digs his heels in harder.

I want to be with you.

It's such a simple string of thought; it has crossed his mind so many times before, but never has the urge hurt so much. It has nothing to do with all he's worked for, with the fame and recognition this win will bring him. It's just Andrew.

He hasn't had a knife to his skin in years, but this reminds him of the piercing of flesh, lighting his nerves on end and sending him towards the source of his relief, his contentment.

Andrew played so well, so well, not just here. He worked his way through the pros until he got to Neil, worked his ass off for his reputation. He qualified with the rest of them to be here.

And tonight, he blocked almost every shot at his goal.

Neil closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down but he can't. This is one of the best moments of his life. If he can't share it with Andrew to the fullest, what was the point of everything in his past?

They're not out. That's the problem, he knows, as much as he doesn't give a single fuck. No one outside their family and management knows anything about them, apart from some tabloid rumors about their intense dislike of one another. If that doesn't prove how clueless the media is, Neil doesn't know what does.

And as much as they value privacy, as much as their peaceful bubble is enough, it's moments like these where Neil wants to take and show no matter the consequences.

He looks to Kevin, unsure. It's always been him, the one who warned them about the backlash they'd face despite his acceptance of their relationship years ago.

Neil expects the same thing here: the subtle shake of Kevin's head, the concern in his eyes for their careers and future. It used to piss Neil off to no end, but Kevin communicates all emotion through Exy, even concern. Neil's learned to read between those infuriating lines. The importance of career translates to 'without your career, there is no you.' Sometimes he forgets he's not entirely free.

And if he weren't around, then Andrew...

'You can't leave him.'

And so, knowing Kevin's language, Neil stayed in line, and he expects that same advice today. To his surprise though, it never comes. Kevin is looking at him, tired smile firmly in place as he nudges a shoulder in Andrew's direction. Neil's mouth falls open, and yes, he's convinced now. It's a dream, it's all one big dream. Except--

Kevin shakes his head. It's not resigned, or worried. He's just happy for them both. He pushes Neil away, straightening his back in preparation for his fans. Royal snob. "Go on already. You guys are gross."

And despite the laugh that falls from his mouth, Neil's breathing stutters, and he hadn't realized how wound up he truly was until it happens. His lungs fill with air and he throws his racquet to the ground. His self-control is poor, they all know that. Encouragement is all he needs to break him and send him where he belongs.

He takes off in a full sprint towards Andrew as the rest of his teammates crowd Kevin, looking after Neil in confusion.

Huh, so his muscles still work after all. The tendons are on fire, but it's the least of his concerns. He runs like his life depends on it again, faster than he ran during that whole game.

And to Neil's absolute delight, Andrew's body language screams 'finally.'

The blond takes a step forward, throwing his racquet to the side like it's worthless. Oh. Andrew's bracing to catch him, and Neil laughs at the realization as he throws off his helmet. One day he'll actually make Andrew fall over, but for now he enjoys the strength.

He jumps into Andrew's arms effortlessly, feels calloused hands wrap around his waist as Neil reaches for the clips of Andrew's helmet. Despite knowing the barrier is there as he fumbles with it, he leans forward, lips grazing the metal guard. Andrew huffs, and Neil claws until the helmet clatters to the floor. He throws it a bit far, and it hits the goal post with a clang, but he doesn't care in the moment. If all eyes are on them now, he can't feel them. They're in a vacuum, a side effect of being so taken with Andrew at times. Unaware, vulnerable. The rush of sound from before goes dead around them. His fingertips can feel overheated skin, can trace the barely-there freckles on Andrew's face.

Andrew isn't in the mood to let Neil admire today.

Neil barely gets to see the color in Andrew's eyes before the goalie's hand grips in between Neil's shoulder blades, pulling him down.

It reminds him of their first kiss; Neil catches Andrew's lips and, as if not believing they're real, that something could feel so wonderful, he pulls back. His eyes widen, the first hit of a drug. He breaks the kiss only to dive right back in, uncoordinated but so sure of himself. And he doesn't get how, but Andrew smells the same as back then. Less like cigarettes, but the same smell of leather and earthiness. Neil doesn't read nearly as much as Andrew does to have the capability of describing it, but it's refreshing, like soil after the rain. Through the sweat and exhaustion, Neil would know him anywhere.

Andrew opens his mouth for him first, breath hot but movements predictable. Neil will tease him later for that. You're getting old. Because the dance is so familiar, the way Andrew pushes Neil's tongue back first. 'Come and get me.'

Neil obliges every single time, because he can't back down from a challenge, and maybe he's getting old too.

Neil knows the kiss can't last forever, especially not here, but he allows himself to pretend it's not the case. Andrew hums into him, and Neil's hands feel all the vibrations from where his hand slips down to Andrew's throat. It's bared completely for him, and Neil gives a little squeeze.

He sighs into Andrew's mouth when his boyfriend's eyes open to glare at him, pulling back before kissing Neil again, and then one more time, and maybe just once...

One more, Neil thinks, brushing his lips against Andrew's so lightly they stick for a moment, and he licks his own slowly when he pulls back for the final time. His heart beats in his ribcage, or maybe that's the pounding of the reporters' feet as they rush through the stadium, he's not sure.

Again, it's always best for him to not look at Andrew if he's supposed to be doing something else, because in that moment, the blond has all Neil's attention.

They're already pressed chest to chest, but Andrew squeezes tighter, almost painful, keeping Neil there through the flashing of cameras and shocked cheers.

And while Andrew's expression gives nothing away for the public, it speaks volumes to Neil.

--

Neil didn't know what old meant back then, now that his legs give out after a good walk or his spine aches under the weight of nothing.

But they were predictable, that much was true.

Neil isn't looking at the reporters anymore, too focused on trying to weave the fraying threads of the blanket back into place. From their silence, he can guess they're as shocked as he expected them to be.

Unaffected, Neil reaches over for his water, taking a sip as he confronts their slack jaws and wide eyes.

Now, that might have been a bit unfair of him as well, to jump into such a blatant romantic recollection about Andrew. Again, Neil never took interviews, rarely took questions, but the subject of his relationship with Andrew was especially off limits for decades. What they had was theirs, and only theirs, even after outing themselves that day.

People naturally tried to pry, tried to dig up their past in hopes of justifying what they saw as a nonsensical relationship or gossip fuel.

Neil made them fear for their lives after that.

He eviscerated publications, reporters, top sports officials, talk shows hosts, pretty much whoever he needed to. Anything to keep Andrew's name out of their mouths. A lot of them sealed their place in the land of irrelevancy, media outlets were slammed by a combination of their fans, and Kevin's too, once he stood up in support.

Andrew always hated it, Neil's desperate need to protect him from words that no longer phased him, but Neil didn't care. It was one of the only things they fought about in their adult years.

It worked though; soon, all the major outlets aside from the tabloids stopped talking about it, knowing mentioning it in any way that wasn't positive or neutral would land them in a ton of hot water.

Even those online sources who refused to let up eventually fizzed out from lack of material; they tried their best to be nosy, but pretty much got nothing but some rare paparazzi photos a few times a year of them kissing in the park or on a date.

In short, it's a bit of an unspoken rule that you don't talk to Neil Josten about Andrew Minyard unless you have nothing but good things to say, and a lot of people are too chicken shit to take the risk and potentially insult him. That's the only disappointing thing, none of them have a shred of courage. Neil really would talk all day about Andrew if people just approached it correctly.

Not that Andrew would've allowed it when he was alive.

Take that.

Despite all the fear Neil instilled in the media, it never stopped the other famous Foxes from talking about how gooey and devoted he and Andrew were, but Neil let that slide.

The things he does for family.

So it makes sense that these reporters seemed to have forgotten Andrew's importance at all, another offense. Not just because he was the best goalie in Exy history, but because Neil was first and foremost, Andrew's.

Blake's mouth opens and closes, pen dangling precariously from his hand. "Are...are we allowed to ask about Andrew?"

Blake even flinches after he asks it, afraid that perhaps it's only okay for Neil to bring up.

If you only knew.

Neil laughs, too relaxed to hold back anymore. The reporters stare, exchanging nervous glances with excitement tingling below the surface.

Yes, he supposes details about his relationship with Andrew are more secretive and sought after than even Neil's opinions. The reporters weren't even going to try.

But now, there's morsels of information dangling in front of them, and Neil need only give them permission. It's their lucky day.

Neil's smile fades into something gentler, wistful. It's the closest he gets now, to how he looked at Andrew. But it's still different, because that expression...

Well, Andrew is gone. What more is there to say?

Neil leans back, wringing his hands softly. "I guess it's only fair that I tell you the real reason I accepted this interview."

The reporters lean forward, holding their breath, but Neil doesn't feel like making them wait. It's all about Andrew now, like he wanted it to be. "I want to talk about Andrew, plain and simple."

Except when it's not.

Their relationship was anything but simple but Neil cherished each memory, and he wants to speak them aloud so no one forgets. He wants everyone to know how important this person was to him, so when he's gone and can't defend them, people can't speculate or taint it with their unasked for opinions.

"I've never had the opportunity to really reminisce about Andrew, not even with my family," Neil admits. He and Aaron and Katelyn would sit around the fireplace at their home sometimes, telling stories, or Kevin would send him old pictures or clips of Andrew playing. But never the intimate details, never the raw, and at times complicated feelings. "It never felt right, even after he was gone. I wanted to keep it close still, so I wouldn't betray Andrew's trust."

Neil takes a deep breath, and it shakes his small frame, a cough escaping his lungs. His voice is rough, but no less sure when he continues. "But I know now what he'd say to that. That I couldn't, even if my dumb Exy brain tried really hard."

But he'd never.

He smiles, wiping his eyes when they aren't even wet. That's another thing he misunderstood back then. Neil thought he couldn't cry, but he's sure today he'll prove his younger self wrong.

Rayah and Blake stay silent through all of Neil's pauses, and the respect means more than he can say. Andrew would approve, he'd be okay with Neil's choice. That's what matters most, he thinks.

"For once I just want everyone to know how I felt, I want to tell you everything as I saw and felt it, so you can tell everyone else," Neil says, and hopes they can read between the lines for the rest. Ultimately, when he's dead he'll be nothing but bones in the dirt, his legacy won't mean much in the long run. But...if nothing else, he wants this to remain, for as long as it can.

He never cared before about it, but he guesses age really can put a new perspective on things. Neil sighs, and taps the table with his finger for lack of anything better to do. When he looks back up, he has their undivided attention, Rayah's brown eyes shining with unshed emotion. None of that, not yet. "Anyways, now that you know I misled you, I hope you're still alright with listening to me ramble for the next few hours."

If not, they can kindly fuck off, but Neil has his suspicions at this point that they'll stick around. As much as Neil prides himself on reading people's intentions well, he's quite horrible at reading people's feelings. But maybe he's improved in that arena too.

A price for everything, he thinks ruefully, reminding himself there's a break in between this session for him to take his pain pills.

Eventually, it's Rayah who stutters a response. "Of course it's alright! We're so honored! And not just in the...bullshit way."

She closes her mouth immediately after at the unprofessionalism of it, but it only makes Neil feel more at ease. He smirks, satisfied. "Noted."

"Mr. Jo--Neil, we really are happy to write about you and Andrew but I have to admit," Blake says, flipping through his notepad with a tight look on his face. "The questions we did prepare as backup don't exactly lend themselves to anything about your life with Andrew."

It's precisely why Neil stated he'd mostly be doing the talking initially, but their first test question actually did end up helping move him along, so...

Neil shrugs, gesturing to the notebook with fierce determination.

These people are about to learn...

He can make anything about Andrew.

When he smiles at the two of them again, they must feel it deep down. They return it tenfold, and then Rayah clicks her pen.

And with the pleasantries out of the way, Neil opens up to everything he's been keeping locked away.

"Try me."