#OH MY GOD NASH CAN GET IT ANY TIME ANY DAY ANY YEAR

[annamatix]

you and your jameson hawthorne tag in that post make me want to read it i hate u😞

READ IT JENNY READ ITTT

i started re-reading it last night and like. i love tig i forgot how much i liked it

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: pony club (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, previous abuse, domestic violence, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, cults, death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10.1k!!! oh my god someone help

A/N: god this has been on the go for awhile. it got so long but i have a worm in my brain that told me this had to happen before i can get onto the juicy stuff. next part will be a lot more bucky heavy im so sorry this didn't have much of him, needed to build up that loreeee. anyway i actually hate my writing in this, if i have to reread this one more time im gonna go crazy so i'm just gonna post it and go to bed lol!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara

main masterlist | series masterlist

To be lulled into the false security that you would never see Bucky Barnes again was a foolish thought. 

Two months passed rather uneventfully. The handsome payment Bucky left you after your favour to him was far beyond your normal rates. A mixture of the gangster having deep pockets and, you suspected, an indication that all that had unfolded was to be kept quiet. 

So you had done just that. Your mouth had been sown shut, an invisible thread keeping your lips bound. There were so few people left in your life anyway that you didn’t feel like spilling details of a sex-based ritual with the limited relatives you had left. You weren’t particularly fond of them regardless; most you had not seen in years. 

You embraced the winter months as they settled across the city of Blackstone. The fog would roll in thick and dense, the clouds lingering over the port as Sootstone was cast into days of hoarfrosts. Icicles as long as your forearm hung from buildings and lamp-posts and was salt scattered across the wooden docks, where slippage was the worst. The homeless gathered in crowds around the Smokestack district, leeching off the warmth the factories produced. The ice and frosts were never white, unlike the country estates or wealthy garden districts. Smoke and ash continued to pour into the skies, tainting everything with a layer of black grit. 

You would see the Smog Boys in the streets often. Teams of the lower-ranking, younger lads would roam in packs, dipping in and out of the alleys. Even dressed in black, you could not make them out through the fog when they intended to disappear. Maybe it had been your brush with Bucky, but you began to notice them everywhere. Lurking in the markets, smoking by the docks, or sauntering by the smokestack factories. A small, stiff, knowing nod would be bestowed upon you if your gaze locked with theirs or if you lingered too long. As if they knew who you were. As if they had been instructed to keep an eye out for you. 

You could never leave the Smog Boys once you were inside. Whether you liked it or not, your fates were inextricably linked. You never knew when you might be needed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find one in your home. It is what you ought to have expected by now. It was only a matter of time before they came calling. 

You could only find one word to describe the woman in your kitchen. Beautiful. Beautiful in a hauntingly, terrifying way. She was stylish, with a blouse tucked into tailored, high-waisted suit pants. A lavish fur coat was draped over her shoulders, and her red hair was in a fashionable, blunt bob. Her lips, painted a deep red, were curved into a disgusted sneer as she assessed your residence. 

She had to be with Bucky because only a Smog Boy could illicit such an aura. 

“You should invest in better locks.” The redhead comments with a sniff. You haven’t even had a chance to process her presence; instead, you are standing with your lips parted in shock. “It wouldn’t be hard to rob you… or worse.”

You’re unsure if that was a thinly veiled threat or genuine advice. 

“Most don’t make habit of breakin’ into witches' homes.” You mutter, regaining your composure. You whip your headscarf off, abandoning it on your dining table. “They’re scared of being cursed.”

Your fingers unknot the woollen scarf around your neck now, tugging it free with a flutter of ash. The woman arches a well-manicured brow at you, looking you up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. She didn’t seem the type of woman to shy away from stating her opinion. Your clothing was noticeably different from hers, which was made of luxurious fabrics. The Smog Boys were well known for their finer suits—just because they lived and worked in the slums didn’t mean they dressed for it. Bucky seemed to like to keep certain appearances and had the funds to do so. You, however, were dressed for practicality. Heavy, cheap textiles that kept in the warmth. 

“Cursed.” The woman states, tone sharp. “You don’t seem the type to throw curses. You’re too… sweet.”

You don’t miss the condescending nature of how her sharp lips curve into a smile. You shoulder the insult. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Natasha. Romanoff.” The name was vaguely familiar to you. She was definitely one of Bucky’s inner circle. Possibly she worked closer to the shadows—a brain rather than brawn like Steve and Sam. “Barne is in need of your particular set of skills again.”

You pause, your fingers frozen over the pin in your mantle. Again? You knew to expect this, but still, you felt your heart uptick a beat. So soon? The question of which skills hung heavy in the air. Your abnormal skill to summon and banish spirits? To break curses and sense the otherworldly? Or to get your brains fucked out by Sootstone’s most notorious gangster? 

From the way Natasha was eyeing you, it seemed she knew all about your little sex ritual. 

“What if I’m unavailable?” You test hesitantly. 

The redhead isn’t amused. “It wasn’t a request.”

You nod slowly, hands falling to your sides. One should know when not to test Bucky Barnes or his men; it always ended rather unfavourably. Plus, you didn’t want to wake up tomorrow to find your kitchen filled with any more gangsters. 

Maybe Natasha was right about the locks.

—

Bucky and a pack of his dogs congregated in the streets outside the pub known as The Anchor. The establishment sat across from the docks, with tinted, lattice windows facing the port. On a clear day, one who sat in the window booths might be able to see the ocean. Though, throughout your life, you could recall about as many clear days as the fingers on your right hand. The Anchor had been in the Barnes family for years, originally bought by Bucky’s father when the Smog Boys first rose to infamy. 

The building was well cared for, a luxury not many of the surrounding establishments were familiar with. The building was decorated in a nautical style, with netting and flags adorning the walls and rafters. Fish and ships were painted onto the siding, with gold and blue accenting the furniture inside. Even the sign out front was a small, steel anchor engraved with the pub's name. 

The Anchor was mainly stocked with whiskey, which the Smog Boys ran an underground distillery for. They offered other spirits, wines, and ales, but the main vice of The Warrens was whiskey. Bucky had several underground or even legal businesses dotted throughout Sootstone, including gambling dens and brothels. You knew he made his office in a gambling den not too far from The Anchor—the dock-side streets were prime spots for high traffic from the sailors and dockworkers coming and going like the tide. 

As you and Natasha approached, the pack of adolescent gangsters surrounding Bucky scattered, disappearing into the thick fog and alleyways like wraiths. 

“Your witch, as requested,” Natasha announces with a sigh, her brows arched. Bucky glances at you, acknowledging you with little more than a grunt. He takes the last drag from his cigarette before crunching it beneath his shoe. 

“Thank you, Nat.” Bucky replies, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. “Sam’s lookin’ for you inside.” 

Natasha doesn’t offer you a farewell as she pulls her coat tighter around her lean body and ducks inside the pub with a tsk. You and Bucky are left in an odd silence, with only the faint call of seagulls and the lapping of waves joining you. You had never seen the dockside street so quiet, but you could confidently assume his presence was responsible. 

“I trust Nat didn’t scare you too bad.” The gangster breaks the silence. His dark eyes wander across your frame, seemingly disappointed that you were thoroughly covered to prevent the cold from seeping in. “Would’ve come to get you myself, but I had some business to attend to.”

In retrospect, the thought of encountering Natasha in your kitchen again seemed more daunting than Bucky. You weren’t too sure how to interpret her malice and cool charm. She did give off the impression that she would kill you if you even breathed in her direction. As for Bucky, maybe he would kill you, but given his reputation, he was far more likely to fuck you up against the nearest available surface. 

“She said you've a job for me?” You ask, watching as the gangster tucks his large, bruised hands into his pockets. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Walk with me.”

You obey wordlessly.

Bucky navigates the streets with ease, ducking through alleys and blindly striding into the fog with unquestionable confidence. The few people you encounter in the winding streets dart out of the way, mumbling apologies and casting their gazes down as they stumble over their own feet. Your breath comes in clouds as you exhale, salt and ice crunching beneath your feet as you keep pace with him. 

“There’s an establishment I own, it’s been losin’ business these past months. The girls reckon it’s cursed. Or haunted.” He elaborates, and you frown. 

“You think a spirit’s attached?” You ask, and the gangster huffs out a short, bitter laugh. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t have a sense for that stuff.” His lips are set in a line as he casts his sight down at you. “That’s your job, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t help but gulp and hope that his issue was indeed a spirit. One did not want to disappoint the gangster out of fear of the consequences. Your mind drifted back to months ago, to when he sat in your kitchen with that cursed necklace. He hadn’t noticed that curse—not until his sister apparently spelt it out for him. You couldn’t imagine carrying that thing around when it had reeked so badly that you tasted rot. 

“What about your sister?” You suddenly interrupt.

Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Becca? What about her?” 

“You said she has a sense—”

“You think I’m lettin’ my sister near a brothel?” He snaps over you. His body turns to face you as you are both left motionless in the empty, ashy street. 

“Oh— I didn’t realise it was… You just said— I just assumed—” Your cheeks grow pink—this time not from the cold—as you stumble over your words. Flakes of ash slowly amble down from the sky, twirling in your mingled breath as the gangster looms over you. Several emotions flicker over his face—insult, disbelief—before finally settling on an eerie amusement. 

“Shy ‘bout a brothel? You’re not far off bein’ a whore yourself, doll. You certainly let me fuck you like one.” He leans closer to you, the scent of tobacco fanning across your skin. You clamp your jaw shut, your cheeks growing hotter by the second. The gangster smirks at you with a wickedness that rivals the devil. 

—

The Pony Club was not creatively named, like most things in Sootstone. You were sure there was an innuendo about riding or mounting buried in its origin. The brothel was buried deep in the busy streets of the Smokestack District. The crowd of workers parted with hushed whispers as you, Bucky, and Steve approached the establishment. You had bumped into the other gangster during your walk, and he had thankfully filled the tense silence hanging between you and Bucky. 

The Pony Club was neatly tucked between two stores. Ice covered the tiled roof, and grey-stained icicles dripped melted water from the front balcony. The ash falling from the sky was thick in these parts. Street sweepers patrolled the roads like small armies, brooms in tow, ensuring the roads were clear for carriages, waggons, and those on foot. 

The three of you paused before the building. Your eyes swept over the painted sign, an illustration of a pony alongside the cursive lettering. The building looks well up-kept like many of the Smog Boy establishments; it put its neighbours to shame. You couldn’t help but notice how, despite its busy location, the building was eerily empty. It was as if its walls stood outside of time, cursed to live an existence outside of perceivable reality. 

There was a twinge in your gut, a knowing. 

Steve grimaces beside you, the gangster scowling as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. At first, you think he is simply cold from the frigid fog sitting over the city, but only as he speaks do you realise he senses something more. “I hate this place.” He utters.

Bucky hasn’t reacted. He truly didn’t seem to have a sense for anything otherworldly. 

“How does it make you feel?” You pry. Steve blinks at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised he spoke aloud. It would be useful for you to know how a non-magical person might feel; it could also give you insight as to what haunted the halls of the brothel. 

“Doesn’t encourage me to put my cock in some bird, that’s for sure. Bad for business, ‘cause that’s the whole point.” Steve grumbles, and you swear Bucky rolls his eyes. “How does it make you feel?”

The two men look at you with curiosity as you consider your words. Terrible? Awful? Yes, you felt unnerved, but you were accustomed to spirits and hauntings. Most places in this city had ghosts, whether they were malevolent or just lost. You had become unnervingly comfortable with the creeping sensation that you were not alone. It was an entirely different feeling to curses—no, curses, they twisted your gut in wicked ways—hauntings you were at ease with. There was an odd familiarity to them, it sparked a warmth in your soul. 

“Best I not say.” You land on. It would be better not to mess with the egos of gangsters, especially if they were afraid of a little ghost. 

The two men follow you as you step into the building. The inside is lavish, with a large, grand set of stairs that lead up to the mezzanine. Draperies hung from the balcony railings, and plush furniture, and decorations were artfully placed around the foyer. Despite its luxuriant appearance, there was an isolation that clung to the bones of the building. It was as if dust hung in the air, floating undisturbed. Not a breeze could get through the thick walls, nor could a breath of life. A place that was supposed to be rowdy, a den of sin and pleasure… silenced. As if it were a mausoleum. 

The building and those inside were lost in time, caught between a past that did not exist and a future that had not yet come. 

The peace is interrupted by a thundering noise, then shrieking. “Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes! So nice of you to come visit us!”

A few curious observers watch from over the bannisters. Beautiful women with tired eyes, hair swept up and curled into coiffures, and revealing dresses that clung to their curves. You suddenly felt rather overdressed in your winter clothes. 

An older woman descended the stairs in a frenzy, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were lined heavily with kohl, a bright pink blush across her cheeks, and lipstick to match. Her blonde curls bounced around her smooth face, a few longer strands following the dip of her dress. The madame of the brothel. 

Your lips purse together, and Bucky lets out a quiet sigh. “Madame Voss.”

“I trust you are here about the ghost?” The madame asks. She is rather excitable, like a puppy or a young child. Even Steve has grown uncharacteristically quiet, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dread. “I told my girls you would be back to help! I said you were a busy man, but not to worry. We’ve lost a few since you were last here, Rose, Amorie, and Vivinne… but that is nothin’ to worry about. They were traitorous at heart—”

“Yes, I quite understand.” Bucky snaps over Madame Voss. Steve tries to hide a snort, and the madame is left momentarily speechless. “I’ve brought a witch.”

You feel the madame’s gaze rip from Bucky to you. She looks you up and down in one exaggerated sweep, then offers you a somewhat forced smile. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth as she drinks you in. You were left wondering if the madame had some type of unrequited infatuation with Bucky. Many of the women of Sootstone seemed to share such an attitude, especially if they did not have the wit to sense the danger attached to the handsome gangster. 

“She’s a bit too pretty for this business, don’t you think? I suppose all those witch women are a bit pretty. It’s usually glamours though, isn’t it?” There is an underlying spite to her tone as she assesses you, arms coming to fold over her chest. Her bosom is exaggerated, and her waistline is pulled pencil-thin by her corset. You are surprised the woman can breathe. “Well, are you wearin’ a glamour, girl?”

You hadn’t realised the madame was questioning you; actually, you found yourself rather overwhelmed by the whole display. Your lips part as you struggle to find your tongue and eventually stagger out a confused reply. “What?”

Madame Voss murmurs in annoyance, her arms uncrossed and hands coming to move in spirited gestures as she speaks. Bucky is staring at the ceiling as if bored out of his mind. “A glamour? You can’t tell me you normally look like that, all wide-fuckme-eyed?”

Steve makes a choking noise somewhere beside you while you gape at the madame. “No?”

“Huh.” 

“I work with spirits, not—” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and decide it was not worth the argument. “I’ll need some time to walk around ‘n get a feel for things. Maybe talk to some of the girls, if that is alright?”

“Fine by me.” Madame Voss waves you off, attention hastily pulled away as she turns to Bucky. “In the meantime, Mr Barnes, can I get you anythin’? Tea, biscuits… something else? You know my girls will always give you a discount—”

“Somethin’ to drink, perhaps. Somethin’ strong.” Bucky cuts off the Madame and claps Steve on the back. “What do you say, Steve?”

You got the impression that neither Bucky nor Steve liked this Voss woman. 

—

It did not take you long to explore the brothel in its entirety.

The establishment was compact and efficient. Downstairs was made up of the main foyer room, which was extended into a room similar to a drawing room. Tables made up the majority of the space, with playing cards and strong Smog Boys branded liquor decorated around the room. Comfortable furniture and suggestive art lined the walls. Out of view was a kitchen, a washroom, and madame’s office space, which Bucky would occasionally take residence in if dealing with business for the Pony Club. 

Upstairs was dedicated to private spaces, where the girls lived and worked. They were hesitant to speak with you, guarded and quiet. You did not get the sense that they were being abused or held against their will, but rather haunted by whatever spirit clung to the brothel. 

As the Pony Club slowly spiralled due to the haunting, many girls left. Business had grown to a standstill. The girls were plagued with nightmares and anxieties. The few that spoke to you recalled dreams of a dark figure who prowled through the halls, standing at the edges of their vision. At night, they would see the figure in the corners of their room, sitting on the edge of their bed. One girl even claimed the spirit sat upon her chest, that the mass had no face but two sets of shining white teeth that grinned down at her as she struggled to breathe. 

When the girls were not targeted by this mysterious figure, they were afflicted with memories of their past. Dark images would replay before them every time they closed their eyes until they awoke sweating and screaming. 

You bid farewell to an exhausted working girl by the name of Hanna. She sat on the bed, a woven blanket pulled over her shoulders. There was a distant look in her eyes as you quietly pulled the door shut, forcing yourself to inhale a deep breath as you stood on the empty mezzanine. There was an oppressive energy to the building, one that weighed down your chest as if someone were purposely crushing your ribcage. You knew your feelings were exaggerated due to your knowing, but there was certainly something potent enough here that even those with little to no sense could feel it. 

You slowly rotated around the mezzanine in thought, unsure where to begin. Most spirits had an anchor—an item, person, or space—that they bound themselves to. They used it to draw energy, recuperate, and recharge. In rare cases, a spirit might bind to an entire house, causing lesions and pus to drip from the walls. But in your experience, those houses had sat abandoned for years, decades, or even more. The house itself would become sentient, dripping with malice and blinded by rage for those who created it, only to leave it abandoned. That was a festering type of haunting, one of anguish and loneliness, but this… this brothel was active. There had once been clients, and multiple women still lived within its walls. So, where was the anchor? Nothing had screamed out to you; nothing had made bile churn in your stomach or your hair stand up on end—

You froze.

You were a few paces away from the staircase, your mind swimming in thought, and—

A dark mass stood on the top step. 

It watched you.

You couldn't make out the eyes or the shape of any humanoid body part. It just stood there, a black cloud over the staircase. But still, you could feel it watching.

And then it smiled. 

It smiled wide, yet it did not seem to have a jaw. There was no skull, nothing solid within its mass. Several pearly white teeth smiled at you, spiralling into a gaping hole. The pungent smell of decaying meat filled the air as the mist contorted and pulsated in a sickening rhythm while observing you.

Before you could even consider speaking or moving, the mass had swept down the staircase, disappearing from your view. You raced to the bannisters, leaning over as far as you could without launching yourself over the edge. Loose strands of hair danced around your face as you darted your head. You could still not make out the spirit. 

By the time you gathered your skirts and descended the staircase, you found the foyer empty. You could hear the distant trill of Madame Voss's voice deeper within the building, near the kitchen.

There was still that lingering oppression, an uneasiness that squeezed your chest. Regardless of how many times you whirled around, blindly scanning the foyer, you were unable to find a trail where the sensation intensified. 

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a sharp sigh and balled your hands into fists. You paused in one of the corners of the foyer, allowing the blood pumping in your ears to calm and your muscles to relax. You blocked out the distant voices, instead focusing on the hum of the environment. You were frustrated, yes, and maybe a little scared. Not of the spirit, but rather how Bucky might react if you told him that you couldn’t banish this ghost. Not because you were too weak or unaware of how to handle it—you were very much prepared in both areas—but because you couldn’t find it?

You were skilled at finding hidden anchors, but it was difficult to focus when you felt immense pressure on your shoulders alone. You closed your eyes and listened intently. You could feel each speck of dust swirling through the air and hear every small sound the walls and floors made as the wood settled. You could hear each fibre of the rug rustle as you gently tip-toed across the room, following an invisible line.

The string was knotted in a complex pattern, similar to a spiderweb. You could feel it brushing over your skin as you moved, growing taut as it tangled around your body. You pushed through the sensation as if wading into a pool of water, stepping deeper and deeper into its strands as they layered over your skin and clothes.

Then, a tug.

A slight tremor, a warbling as a single line was set alight in your mind. The spider—your ghost—was circling you like prey.

You grasped the string, following its current blindly through the foyer. You stumbled around furniture, tripping over the edge of a rug and—

The floorboard creaked beneath you.

It wasn’t a typical creak—not one of an old building or a settling house. No. The creak resonated through your mind, deafening you. Your hands rose to your ears, the shrieking growing louder and louder as you fell to your knees, wincing. The fibres of the rug bit into your skin, sending a rush of electricity coursing through your veins. Under the rug, the floorboard made a hollow thud, loud enough that your ears were ringing from the volume. 

You gasped in a breath, violently ripping yourself from your secondary state until you crashed back to reality. Panting, you found yourself crouched over the rug, fingernails dug into the fabric as you wheezed and panted. A cold sweat covered your body, your head aching as you tried to roll the discomfort from your shoulders. 

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with your witch, Mr Barnes.” Madame Voss spoke in a sing-song fashion as she entered the foyer, a condescending look in her eyes as she stared down at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, forcing your wobbling legs to rise. 

“It’s underneath,” was all you were able to reply, your voice raspy as you stalked to the corner of the rug.

"Ominous," the madame retorted, her brows arched. Her gaze cast back to the two gangsters who watched from the entrance to the room. There was a curiosity in their stare, hands tucked in their pockets as you worked. You gripped the corner of the rug, peeling it away from the floor. Underneath, everything looked perfectly in order, with well-polished hardwood panels lined up in unison. Carefully, you walked the length, tapping your shoe on each floorboard.

“Well, you do know what they say… with magic comes madness!” Voss announced with a sly grin, her hands moving to flourish her words. Bucky cocked his head to the side, emitting a sharp exhale through his flared nostrils. 

"Let her work," he spoke up, and the tension in the room mounted. The madame's disapproving scowl only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The room fell into an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your tapping as you methodically sought out the hollow board once more. You could sense the growing impatience of the group as you painstakingly worked, with each floorboard sounding as solid as the next. 

Just as Bucky appeared poised to call off your efforts, the floorboard beneath you emitted a hollow thud that reverberated through the space below. You tapped again, feeling the same hollow thudding from the adjacent boards. Looking up at Bucky, you gestured toward the floor, affirming, “It’s underneath.” 

Madame Voss gaped in astonishment at you and then turned her incredulous gaze towards the two gangsters. “Underneath? Underneath! This must be some kind of magical trick—in all my years working in this establishment, I have never heard of a basement or cellar!”

As Bucky waved at the woman, he made a disdainful noise in dismissal. The madame fluffed up, muttering under her breath in flustered embarrassment, and then stalked away a few paces. Bucky and Steve soon joined you, watching intently as you blindly felt around the edges of the wooden panels. As you investigated, your fingertips discovered finely carved grooves hidden within the wood—imperceptible to the casual observer but discernible to those who sought them out. The edges of the indents provided a perfect grip for you to dig your nails into the wood, allowing you to pry the board from the floor with little effort.

The three of you peered into the space below through the thin gap. It was pitch black, but you could make out some rickety stairs descending into the inky dark. A thick layer of dust sat upon the steps, a musty smell hitting your nose. 

You sat back on your haunches, peering closely at the board you had just managed to pry up. The wood was marred with deep gouges as if some kind of wild animal had relentlessly scratched and clawed at the panel. As you tentatively ran your finger across the rough and battered surface, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, sending a sickly shudder up your spine.

“Did you know this was here?” Steve mutters to Bucky from somewhere above you. 

You continued peeling up each of the loose boards, using the indents to grip the wood with your nails. The disgusting, nauseating feeling intensified as it became apparent that every panel had identical deep gouges carved into the wood.

“No,” Bucky replies, his voice hushed. 

When the hole is completely visible, you sink onto your knees. Now that light was flowing in, you could see more clearly. The dusty, ancient stairs descend to a stone floor. The stone appeared dry but extremely dusty. What appeared to be large, old wooden barrels and the beginnings of shelving against the walls were visible in the beam of light. You peer up at Bucky and Steve, who tower over you, and resist the urge to squirm as Bucky meets your gaze. 

“This is the anchor.” You explain, and Steve’s face twists, perplexed. 

“The pub—?”

“No. Spirits they… they bind themselves to something. An object, a person, a room. This is where the haunting originates.” You clarify and gradually rise to your feet, taking care not to collide with either of the men. 

You take a hesitant step down, the stair beneath groaning under your weight. You swallow hard, then spin in place to look back up at the gangsters who watch you expectantly. “I might need a candle.”

Without glancing back, Bucky clicks his finger at Madame Voss, who is attempting to peer into the mysterious room from her perch. “Voss. Candle.”

The madam, clearly exasperated, lets out a loud huff before turning on her heel and disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms. There is still a distinct taste of tension in the air.

“Looks like your old man's been a naughty boy.” Steve teases, a boyish smile emerging. Bucky remains silent, choosing not to dignify the gangster's comment with a reply. Their dynamic left you contemplating the depth of their relationship, especially since you had heard that Barnes was not particularly kind to those who mentioned his father. While Bucky's gaze remained blank and unmoving, you couldn't help but notice a subtle twitch in his jaw, betraying a suppressed reaction.

The Smog Boys were infamous for their cruelty towards their enemies, anyone who crossed them, and those who betrayed their trust. Bucky, in particular, was known for his ruthless approach to dealing with anyone who stood in his way. He carried out his actions silently and brutally, and by the next morning, everyone in The Warrens knew that Barnes had spilt blood. Despite the fear he instilled in others, Bucky remained calm and collected. He was a strategic thinker and planner, and he took pleasure in the sadistic ways his plans unfolded. Despite his fearsome reputation, he was still not as notorious as his father. 

His father exhibited a striking lack of cunning, care, or thoughtfulness in his approach. The Warrens endured a dreadful existence as George Barnes succumbed to alcohol-induced rampages. He embodied sheer strength, a fierce warrior whose white-hot rage could melt the most hardened of hoarfrosts. He instilled fear without cause, displaying psychopathic tendencies and craving notoriety through any means necessary. He bolstered the Smog Boys fostering terror through street attacks, gang wars, or burning entire buildings down as a message. Upon Bucky's ascension, the business adopted a quieter and more devious approach. Bucky was all about making money in a quick, quiet, and dirty way. His enemies didn't fear him because they knew what he was capable of, but rather because they never knew, and Bucky knew how to up the ante each time.

Around seven years ago, George had been arrested. He had been too loud and confident in his approach, and the coppers had snagged him. Bucky ran the business for his father, and the Smog Boys boomed with success. His father was set to go on trial, and it wasn’t an unknown fact that the judge had paid off. George Barnes was set to walk free and take over the business again. 

Two days before the trial, he was discovered dead in his cell, his body bearing the marks of a brutal, mysterious beating. There was no trace of evidence to scrutinise, and the guards remained silent, neither admitting guilt nor pointing fingers. The law turned a blind eye to the demise of a notorious criminal under their watch, and the incident was quickly swept under the rug, forgotten within hours. Bucky vehemently denied any involvement. He put on a public display of mourning, cursing the authorities and vowing vengeance, though his threats never materialized. It's also worth noting that Bucky shared a particularly close bond with his mother, Winnifred, who herself was not spared from the brutality of her husband. It was common knowledge that, behind closed doors, Winnifred, Bucky, and his younger sister Becca endured all manner of cruelty at the fists of George Barnes.

Years had passed since those fateful events, and Bucky's ascension to power remained unquestioned. No one dared challenge his authority, fearing both the brutal consequences and because The Warrens had silently celebrated in the wake of Senior Barnes' untimely demise.

The sound of Madame Voss' heels clicking against the hardwood floor signalled her return. You took the candle gratefully, eager to escape the awkward tension, and descended into the gloom.

The old wood stairs protest with every step, emitting squeaks and groans under your weight. Your sweeping skirts brush a fine layer of dust into the air, shimmering in the weak candlelight that struggles to pierce the shadows of the small, dimly lit room. You could only describe the space as a cellar, with its stone walls and floors exuding an eerie, uncomfortable atmosphere. Thick metal bolts secure wooden shelves laden with countless large glass bottles, while large barrels, shrouded in heavy blankets of dust, crowd the square room. In the dim corners, dense cobwebs collect. A place long forgotten.

Bucky and Steve carefully made their way down the creaky stairs as you delicately balanced the flickering candle on the edge of one of the dusty barrels. As you wipe away the accumulated grime, you uncover a label imprinted on the lid:  Property of SMOG BOYS—George Barnes. You squinted at the words in the low light, moving to the next as you tried to understand what was in these barrels. 

Behind you, Steve had grabbed hold of one of the large glass bottles and uncorked it with a sharp pop! He raised it to his nose, took a sniff, and then emitted a loud holler. "Shit, Buck. This is moonshine."

Bucky let out a grumbling noise of recognition, inspecting one of the barrels. “It must’ve been a storage space from the distillery. These barrels look like whiskey.” 

The two gangsters gathered near the barrels, muttering between themselves. 

“You sure he never mentioned this to you?”

“I’m sure. Don’t know why he was so determined to hide a bit of liquor. We have plenty of warehouses for this—”

You rounded the barrels, venturing deeper into the room. A row of shelves faced the centre of the room, with a narrow space between them that you could slip through. The candlelight barely reached the other side, obscured by the layers of barrels and bottles. You blindly stumbled into the empty space, feeling a familiar, thrumming sensation.

Invisible strings tangled at your ankles as you pushed deeper into the darkness, the warm flicker of candlelight barely illuminating what lay within. There, in the centre of the room, stood a solitary chair—a simple wooden chair. The thrumming grew louder, your heart pulsating as you gaped down at it. Thick sailor ropes coiled tightly around each arm and leg, faded remnants of blood splattered across the cold stone floor beneath. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around you, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding—

You jumped out of your skin as a hand rested on your shoulder. Bucky had followed you through the shelves. His eyes mirrored the unease that churned in your stomach, his face etched with a deep, troubled frown. You felt urged to speak up and console the man but you knew better than to fall into that trap. His presence was disturbingly comforting as if the dangerous gangster were not the apex predator in the room. All you could do was gape, tearing your vision away from the chair as you stumbled back a few paces. 

As quickly as you had found solace in the man, it was torn away. He stalked toward you, finger pointed as he jabbed it into your sternum. His eyes had glazed over, a thunderous rage taking shape. You sensed it was a defence mechanism, a way to intimidate you because you had seen something you weren’t supposed to—something that shocked even him.

“Not a word. You understand?” he hissed, his large, sculpted frame towering over you. You shrank back, your spine meeting the shelving, causing the moonshine bottles to clink together.

You knew what this place was. A hidden place. A forgotten place. A place where torture and death had been carried out. An echo from the past. A whisper on the wind that spoke the name George Barnes.

This was the kind of business Bucky kept meticulously hidden—a necessary evil shrouded in secrecy. Bodies were found only if he wanted to send a message. You were certain there were countless other hidden, unmarked graves. Bucky was too clever to be undone by a rogue body or misplaced trust. Every action he took was calculated to ensure it could never be traced back to the Smog Boys. Of course, everyone knew it was them, but legally proving their involvement was another matter. Despite the gang's reputation for being untouchable, the coppers constantly searched for any loophole to bring them down. Bucky's entire operation could unravel if the wrong person discovered incriminating evidence.

For all your understanding, The Pony Club was one of the few legitimate businesses under the Barnes name. If an enemy of the Smog Boys discovered a way to link this grim scene to the underground crime network Bucky managed? It could spell disaster. 

“Do you understand?” Bucky repeated, his voice dripping with venom. This was a side of him you had heard rumours of but had never witnessed yourself. This was the leader of the Smog Boys. This was the Bucky that made Sootstone cower.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you huddled against the shelves.

The gangster ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could sense the conflict in his eyes as they darted between you and the chair. After rubbing his chin and jaw, he finally settled on resting a hand on your shoulder again, an oddly tender touch. His head dipped, and he muttered in your ear, “I need this ghost gone. Now, doll. I think it's best no one else sees my father’s handiwork.”

“I can—I can do that,” you stammered. The gangster gave you a slow nod, exhaled sharply, and then turned on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness, the thrumming in your ears became deafening, a relentless pulse that drowned out all other sounds. Your ears rang with a piercing intensity, and your breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around you, now suffocatingly tight. The walls pressed inward, and the air grew thick and heavy as if it were pushing against your chest. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread creeping into your bones, a cold, insidious fear that wrapped itself around your heart. Somewhere in the background of it all, Steve yelped. 

At first, you could not hear his distress, not over the noise in your head. It was only as Bucky paused by the narrow opening between the shelves, his eyes snapping to yours, that you heard Steve again—frantic shouts piercing through the deafening roar of a fire, overwhelming even the clamour in your head.

You move quicker than Bucky, darting through the shelves back into the candlelight.

Except it wasn’t the candlelight that lit the room in a blinding glow, but instead a figure engulfed in flame. You could make out bludged eyes and an agape mouth through the tendrils, which licked up the figure in a violent blaze. Steve was pinned with his back against one of the barrels as the figure, screaming and writhing, hurtled towards him.  

You hurry forward, positioning yourself between Steve and the burning figure. Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you closer as he shouted, "What the fuck?!"

The fiery figure hesitates, its swollen, bloodshot eyes flitting between Steve and you in confusion. Bucky had pulled what appeared to be a knife from his pocket and was circling the scene. Your brows furrow as you give him a puzzled look and free yourself from Steve's grip. 

“Put it away!” You bark over the roar. Bucky cocks his head to one side, both of you mutually surprised that you had found your voice. As you approach the figure, it retreats, the flames quickly extinguishing. Your ears ring as silence falls. The spirit has transformed into a black mass again, its shape twisting and jittering as it swings its gaze between the three of you. 

“It can read your memories. It feeds off fear and pain.” You explain to the two gangsters, hesitantly stepping forward once more. The spirit centres its eyes solely on you. “It shows you your darkest memories, the ones you've buried. It’s tryna scare you.” 

You do not dwell on whatever memory Steve was plagued by.

The spirit shifted once more, the dark mass disappearing into the shadows. You shallow your breath, quickly scanning the room before turning to Barnes. “The chair is the anchor. The spirit needs to be unbound.”

“And how do you do that?” He asks in reply, nostrils flaring. You step into the centre of the room, peering through the shelves into the dark space. Dread curled in your stomach as your eyes roamed the chair.

“I could destroy it or cleanse it—”

“Where's your mother, girl?” A familiar, slurred voice reverberated through the dimly lit room, sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body tensed, and your heart seemed to clench in your chest as a surge of fear momentarily halted you in your tracks. The acrid scent of alcohol mixed with the pungent odour of sweat hung heavy in the air. The heavy, unsteady footsteps of a large man reverberated over the stone floors.

“She’s sick.” A child's voice replied. Your voice. 

In front of you appeared a vivid scene. Your father, in a state of intoxication, stood before you. His body was angled in such a way that only the profile of his face was visible. His clothing was tattered, and the floors bore marks of mud and filth from his worn boots. His hair was dishevelled and sprinkled with ash, and his flushed face glistened with sweat. Facing him was a much younger version of yourself. You estimated her to be around eight years old, judging by the length of her hair and the ragged dress clinging to her emaciated frame. The child cowered against a door, her limbs trembling in fear.

“Sick? That damn woman is always sick. Get out of the way, girl, I need to speak with my wife.” Your father slurs, lurching forward. The child held steady, her back pressed defiantly against the door. 

“You can’t, she’s sleeping—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as your father’s palm connected forcefully with her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she fell. Tears shimmered in her wide, frightened eyes, reflecting the harsh light as they welled up and spilt over her cheeks. The room seems to hold its breath in the aftermath, the sharp sound of the slap lingering. 

“What’s this? Who’s that?” Steve spoke up from beside you. You had almost entirely forgotten that the two men were still in the cellar with you. Bucky watches on with morbid curiosity, but you do notice how the muscles in his jaw tighten. 

“A memory.” You mutter back. You urge your feet to move, but you feel as though you are wading through waist-deep water. 

“Some gall you have to be telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home, girl!” Your father charges through the door, his eyes wild and unseeing as he drunkenly stumbles over your younger self's frail body. Ignoring your cries, he leaves her sprawled on the floor, the door slamming shut with a jarring finality before she can react. Muffled shouting and screaming rise from beyond, chaos that drowns out her sobs. The child curls into a ball on the cold floor, trembling and sobbing as the shrieking grows louder. The walls thud and shake with the force of his rage, each violent sound echoing through the small room, amplifying the terror that grips her small frame.

“You’re not welcome here, spirit,” your voice cuts through the unfolding nightmare with unwavering authority. You can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, but you tilt your head defiantly. Momentarily sucked into the horror of it all, but now you stand unshaken. The scene pauses, and the child freezes in place as the shouting and banging abruptly stop. The spirit seems to contemplate your words, its image flickering before dissolving into a dark fog that settles in a dense layer across the stone floors. 

“I think destroying it would be easiest.” You mumble to the gangsters. Bucky’s lips were set in a fine line, his jaw still clenched, while Steve eyed you warily. “Burning it would be the best way.”

As if in response to your comment, the room burst to life once more. The two men stand on either side of you as if their curiosity is too much to dismiss as they realise it is another of your memories. 

This time, the version of you was older. A teenager. She perched on the edge of the docks, her legs dangling into the waters below. Next to her sits a boy roughly the same age. The two of them laugh and indulge in a shared bag of colourful, sugary treats.

“My dad keeps askin’ after you.” The boy says. Michael. Your gut twists. You knew what was to come. 

“I’m not joinin’ your dad’s weird cult.” She giggles, popping a boiled sweet into her mouth with a lopsided grin. Her hair was loose, uncaring as the breeze tangled it and ash fell from the skies. 

“He keeps goin’ on about how you’re some saviour—���

“Ew.” She replies, nose scrunching. The teen leans back on her palms with a sigh, looking across the docks. “You know me and my mum aren’t interested in that stuff. I’m not desperate like those other witches he tricks into joining. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve held on this long, you’re what? Seventeen? Why don’t you just get a job in one of the factories and get the hell out of there?”

Michael appears displeased by her response. You had never previously noticed, despite replaying the memory in your mind numerous times. In the past, you believed you were being helpful, perhaps even clever. You could see the wrinkle of discomfort in the boy’s face now. You knew all too well that breaking free from his father's control was never as easy as moving out. You had been naive to believe that. Michael had not called you a fool, which was probably a small act of kindness on his part.  

“How’s your mum?” He asks, gaze cast to the side to look at the teen’s profile. She shrugs, sucking on the sweet in thought. 

“Still sick. We saw that healer in the Smokestacks, said he might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

“You know my family could help—”

The teen gives him an irritated look. “You know my mum doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t even want me hangin’ out with you.”

The tranquillity of the scene had captivated you to the point where you lost awareness of your surroundings. It was only the looming sense of dread for what was about to unfold, the feeling of Bucky's sleeve brushing against your arm, and the audible, sharp intake of breath from Steve that jolted you back to reality.

“Oi! Lookie here! It’s—” The shout of a copper was warbled as you strode forward, the memory rippling like a pool of water. 

You had to prevent what was about to happen. You couldn't let Bucky see how everything truly unfolded. You knew you should have stopped it before it went this far. You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get pulled into this memory. Yet, there was a bittersweet comfort in seeing him again, remembering him as he was before everything went so wrong.

“Probably shouldn’t burn it down here. Those barrels catch and this place will explode.” You mutter under your breath, trying to ignore the sickness churning in your stomach as you approach the chair. As you draw closer, your eyes catch the gruesome details etched into the wood. Dark, crusted blood is splattered across the seat, each fleck and smear a silent testament. Streaks of crimson have seeped into the grain, staining the wood in a macabre pattern. The iron tang of old blood hangs in the air, mixing with the musty dampness of the room. Your hair stands on end and your nerves tingle as a shiver runs down your spine. The closer you stand, the more uneasy energy pulses through you. Summoning your courage, you grip one of the chair's arms and yank with all your strength—only to find it bolted firmly to the floor. 

Your stomach drops. 

You needed to get the two men out of this cellar and defeat this spirit yourself. You couldn’t stand their gazes upon you, waiting expectantly. You roll your shoulders, twisting your neck as a tight, itching sensation settles over your skin. You weren’t afraid of the memories, but rather the reaction to them. You didn’t want sympathy. Most of all, you didn’t want to be feared—to be viewed as a weapon. 

You knew that was what the Smog Boys truly desired—a tool to complete their dirty work. 

The memory came to life around you once more, stronger and more vivid. Michael was sprawled on the floor, beaten and bloodied, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. The coppers, young and full of arrogance, stood above him, their laughter echoing in the confined space. They were eager to prove themselves, and they relished every moment of his suffering, laying blow after blow into his broken body. Their cackles filled the room, mingling with the sickening thuds of their fists and boots against his flesh. 

“Let me go!” Your head swivels as you look to the other side of the room. There, the teenage version of you is held back by two men with bruising grips, their hands digging painfully into her arms. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the grime and dust. Her eyes are wide with terror and helpless rage as she struggles and screams, her voice raw and desperate. The men restraining her exchange smirks, their expressions cold and indifferent to her anguish. The room seems to close in around you now, the walls reverberating with the echoes of her cries and the relentless thudding of blows landing on Michael. You were powerless, trapped in a living nightmare.

You needed to stop this—

There was a loud crunch, the agonising sound of bone snapping and shattering under a steel-toe boot. Michael has grown still, his body is no longer convulsing with pain. His face was unrecognisable—a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, the features obliterated by the relentless assault. His skull is misshapen, cracked open against the stone curb, a dark pool of blood is spreading beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, the past version of you wails, a heart-wrenching sound that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

She was scrambling on her knees over the filthy streets, her body shaking with sobs as she gripped Michael’s lifeless form. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, searched for any sign of life, but you knew now that it was pointless. Michael was dead. He had died the moment they cracked his skull open. Blood smears her hands and clothes as she clings to him, her tears mixing with the grime on the ground.

She shakes his body, begging him to wake up. The coppers continue to snicker amongst themselves. They are unphased by the blood and flesh painted across their boots, their faces twisted in smug satisfaction. 

“That’s enough now.” You spoke up in the present, tone low and warning. The spirit hesitates, and the teen pauses, her body relaxing as the sobbing stops. Her head twists around, her eyes a milky white as she looks directly through you. 

“I know what you are.” The spirit spoke through the memory of you. Her gaze shifted to look at the coppers. Their figures are silent, but their shoulders shake with laughter, an amused indifference as they watch the suffering before them. “Spirit-raiser…diviner…light-bringer.”

Her eyes start to glow, a bright white that blinds the room. You know what is to come. You know what happens next. The shelves and barrels begin to rattle around you, and dust is stirred up into clouds. You could hear Steve swearing somewhere behind. Her sights move to the coppers, a knowing smirk fading into a cruel frown. Her hand raises into the air, fingers moving to snap—

Your hand has subconsciously raised. The ground trembles beneath you. It isn’t from the past; it is present. It was you at this exact moment, touching your fingers together. The ceiling above you groans, bottles of moonshine shattering across the floors as they fall. Behind you, Bucky and Steve yell over the commotion, calling to you. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air and map every particle that flutters in the air. The chaos rises in your chest as you summon it forward. The crackle of energy grows higher and higher until the tingling sensation meets your fingertips. 

You snap your fingers, and a deafening crack echoes through the cellar. For a moment, everything grows still. Your body begins to glow, emitting a bright white light that fills the room, even stronger than the spirit's light. The intensity of it is blinding, obliterating every detail with a searing brilliance.

The room explodes around you. 

Bits of wood splinter, torn from their fixtures and launched through the air. Barrels explode with a thunderous roar, whiskey gushing out in torrents that splash and pool around your ankles, the potent scent of alcohol overwhelming your senses. The entire room shudders and rocks from the impact, the walls groaning under the strain. You were momentarily assaulted by the barrage of debris—sharp shards of shelving and glass raining down around you. Until Bucky grips you. Amid the chaos, he seizes your waist, pulling you into the shelter of his chest to shield you from the storm. 

Steve has vanished up the stairs, the floorboards above rattling with each of his hurried steps as the earth finally settles. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound being the gentle sloshing of liquor around your feet.

There is a large crack in the stone floor where the chair used to be. 

You pull yourself from Bucky’s grip rather unceremoniously, frowning as you pull shredded wood from your hair. The gangster eyes you cautiously, clearing his throat as he retreats backwards. “Are you gonna explain what that was?”

You were unsure what he was specifically referring to—whether it was the haunting memories or the raw power you had just unleashed. Regardless, you didn’t feel up to explaining either. A deep weariness had settled into your bones, your muscles aching from the exertion of channelling such immense energy. A thin trail of blood had begun to leak from your nose, the metallic taste of copper lingering as you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip in thought. 

You should not have done that. But they would have found out either way. 

Your fingers instinctively came up to rub your temple as you let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. With magic weariness came a tinge of irritation and snarkiness—it was a familiar companion after such displays of power. At that moment, you couldn't summon the will to care about how dangerous Bucky was or how he could ruin your life. All you craved was the simple comfort of lying down and perhaps indulging in a strong drink or two to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

Above, Madame Voss's shrill shrieks pierce through the ceiling, amplifying the headache pounding behind your skull. You knew the entire row of buildings would have felt the surge of energy you had just unleashed. One could only hope that the coppers wouldn’t investigate too closely into the disturbance.

Ignoring his previous question, you speak up. “You should invest in gettin’ your buildings properly cleansed.” 

Maybe that would make him and his men shut up about your faulty locks.

You go to walk away, but Bucky's firm grip on your forearm halts your movement, holding you back. His head cocks as he looks you up and down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know witches don’t just summon shit like that out of thin air.”

If you were one of his dogs, your hackles would have raised, teeth bared. You look him down defiantly with a scowl. “Respectfully, Barnes, you don’t know shit about magic. I keep your secrets; you keep mine. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

His lips curl into an astonished smirk, pleased as equally as he was stunned by your tone. His head dips down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low murmur. “You know, doll, if you weren’t growing on me, I would have you killed for speaking to me like that.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath tickling against your skin, his proximity stirring a mix of emotions within you—wariness, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper that you couldn't quite define. You knew better than to let the boundaries between you blur. You give him a mocking pout, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know you won’t kill me, if you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already. You’ve decided I’m valuable, haven’t you? Who would break your curses and scare away the skeletons in your closet? You must know that I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t want to help you, we’re not friends.” 

His jaw tenses slightly as he processes your words, and his voice is flat as he speaks. “The most valuable thing a woman like you can offer is what’s between your legs. And you gave that up pretty easily.” 

His lips curl into a sneer. “I suppose the magic is a bonus. But I know you’re little more than a whore beneath it all.”

Several emotions flicker through your chest. Pain, frustration, disillusionment. You should have known better. You knew better. You don’t dignify the gangster with a response, instead turning on your heel to march out of the cellar. 

“I’ll have someone come fetch you when you’re next needed, spirit-raiser,” he calls after you, his tone mocking. 

You ascend the stairs without looking back.

PART THREE

[saras-almanac]

BuckTommyWeekend Day 1: Alternate First Meeting

Title:  This seat taken?

Fandom:  911 (ABC)

Pairing:  Buck/Tommy

Summary:  Buck and Tommy meet at a restaurant for the first time. For the prompt: Alternate First Meeting for @bucktommyweek

Notes: There’s so many potential first meetings for these two both within canon and outside of it. I’m behind on writing for this weekend so just went with one that’s a bit quicker, but will probably expand on in the future before posting to AO3. (And/or might do more potential first meetings because there’s so many options and not all of them will lead to them actually being together at that specific moment in time, but it’d be fun…)

Buck sat at the bar, pretending to check his phone while he glanced over at where Josh and his date were sitting. Josh was seemingly having a good time, plus his date was pretty cute, so maybe this would be a win for him. Buck hoped so.

“This seat taken?”

Buck startled and looked over and saw a man—a very attractive man—stood next to him, inclining a hand toward the stool next to him.

Buck shook his head. “N-no. It’s all yours. I mean, if you want it.”

The man smiled and sat down. “Thanks. Just need to wait for my order.”

As he sat down, Buck noticed a logo on the side of this man’s jacket, one that looked incredibly familiar as it was on Buck’s own work clothes.

“Woah. Is that an LAFD jacket? Are you a firefighter?” Buck asked excitedly.

The man smiled. “Yeah. Work at Harbor station now though. Mostly flying planes and helicopters rather than running into any burning buildings.”

“That’s so cool. I’ve always thought being able to fly a plane, like pilot one, would feel like you have super powers,” Buck said. “Does it feel like that?”

“I suppose that’s a good way to look at it,” the man said. “I’m Tommy, by the way.”

“Evan Buckley,” Buck said, reaching out a hand. Tommy shook it, even at the awkward angle since they were sitting so close together. “So when did you learn to fly?”

“A while ago, back when I was in the Army,” Tommy said.

“Have you always been air support for LAFD?” Buck asked.

“No,” Tommy said. “I was on the ground or many years, but just felt like I was missing it. Transferred to Harbor five, six years ago now. I really missed flying so it was a good choice.”

“I bet,” Buck said. “If I could fly, I’d probably never want to be on the ground.”

“Well, I can give you a tour of the place if you’re interested,” Tommy offered kindly. “Show you some of the toys, how things work.”

“That would be awesome,” Buck said. “But I don’t want to trouble you. I mean, you’re just waiting for your food and I’m talking your ear off about work. I-I’m sure the last thing you want to do is talk about your job after just getting off a shift.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” Tommy said. “And I could have always ignored you or told you I didn’t want to talk about work if I wanted.”

“I guess,” Buck said. “I forget sometimes that not everyone likes talking about their job.”

“So then I guess I have to ask, what do you do?”

“Oh, um,” Buck rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m a firefighter.”

“No kidding,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Which station?”

“The 118,” Buck said proudly.

“Now you’re fucking with me,” Tommy said. “I transferred to Harbor from the 118.”

“That’s crazy! So you do you know Cap? Captain Bobby Nash?” Buck asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “He was just getting settled there when I transferred.”

“What about Hen? You’ve got to know Chimney. I think he’s been there since it was built.”

Tommy smiled and his nose crinkled and Buck had never seen anything more adorable in his entire life. “Howie and I go way back, from before he was called Chimney. And Hen, she’s one of the best firefighters I’ve ever worked with.”

“They’re the best,” Buck said. “It’s so crazy that you know them too!”

Buck glanced over at Josh again. He’d be furious with himself if he got distracted by this god-like man sitting next to him when his friend needed him. Still seemed to be going well.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I do have to ask,” Tommy started, “You’re not stalking those men, are you?”

Buck whipped his head over to look at him. “What?”

“It’s just, I saw you watching them when I first got here. And now you’re looking over again. Just checking things are… all right,” Tommy said.

Buck felt himself blush a bit because he was the world’s worst undercover wingman. “Okay so one of those guys is my friend, Josh. He’s had some rough luck dating and he was feeling a bit nervous, so I offered to come and hang out at the bar while he was on his date. Just in case anything happened, he’d have back up or whatever he needed.”

Tommy blinked. “You’re giving up your night to sit alone at the bar just in case your friend’s date turned out to be an asshole?”

“Yeah. I guess,” Buck said.

Tommy smiled at him, shaking his head fondly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“I’m just helping out a friend,” Buck said, feeling uncomfortable. “I’d do it for anyone.”  

Before they could talk any more, a waitress came out with Tommy’s food, stealing his attention. Their chat was less than 10 minutes but Buck felt like he could have spent hours talking with Tommy. He tried not to be annoyed that his food came and he was going to leave—the man had probably just gotten off a shift, probably a twelve or thirty-six hour shift, based on it being night. Tommy deserved to grab his food and then head home to eat and crash.

It didn’t mean that it didn’t suck though. But it’s fine. Buck would go back to checking his phone and keeping an eye out for Josh.

Tommy placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Well, it was a delight to bump into you and I enjoyed our conversation. You made the end of a long thirty-six hours speed by as I waited for my food.”

“I’ve been told I do that,” Buck said, completely distracted by the weight of Tommy’s hand on his shoulder.  

Tommy laughed like Buck had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He removed his hand and smiled. “And I’m serious about giving you a tour if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Buck said. “Um, should I call the station?”

Tommy smiled again and shook his head. “It’ll be easier if you just let me know directly. I can make sure there’s time and be the one to give you the tour.”

Tommy reached down to grab the pen sitting on top of his receipt and then scribbled his number on a napkin. “Take care, Evan.”

Hearing Evan come out of Tommy’s mouth was surprising, but surprising in a good way—in a way that Buck wasn’t going to think much about right now. “Yeah. Yeah. Uh, you too, Tommy. I’ll—I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good.” Tommy grabbed his bag. “Oh, and good luck with the rest of your date.”

With that, Tommy laughed a little and then walked out, leaving Buck sitting there, carefully holding the napkin and wondering exactly what was happening with fate right now. Maybe his luck was turning around.

[its-been-rose]

Yall roleswap au but Marie and Henry switch places during the final confrontation

Like Forrest still gets trapped in the producer booth but Marie strolls in, maybe knocks down a speaker or upturns the couch, saunters over to the recording booth and hits the “Press 4 Peggy” button, turning the microphone to herself.

Forrest: Dawn.

Marie: *does the single finger at a time wave* Forrest. I’ll be honest, you don’t look how I expected you would. Not bad.

Forrest: I don’t have time for your bullshit, Dawn. Where’s Peggy?

Marie: ugh, temper, temper. We’ll get to her later. For now, I thought we could end tonight’s Whistling Man special with a special guest.

Forrest: you?

Marie: *laughing* no. If my timing is right, you should be getting a call coming in any minute now.

Forrest: just what the hell are you- what? The board… it’s a call?

Marie: *absolutely done being nice* answer it.

Teddy: LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A BITCH! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!

Henry: *heavy breathing*

Marie: welcome to the air, Mr. Teddy Gallows Junior.

Forrest: so there WERE two. That’s how you’ve been getting around so fast!

Marie: aren’t you a clever boy.

Henry: *loud breathing*

Teddy: you son of a bitch, your breathing is too god damn loud I can’t hear a word they’re saying!

Marie: DONT yell at him, or I’ll have him slit you ear to ear. It’s okay, honey, you can remove your mask now. Poor thing, no wonder Mooney went crazy wearing these.

Henry: *muffled scuffle noises*

Teddy: it’s… just a kid! Wait, hang on, you look familiar somehow. Kind of like this girl I used to know twenty years ago…

Marie: I’m back, Teddy.

Teddy: Marie?! Marie Campbell?! It really IS you! Boy, it sure has been years since I heard your-

*Henry kicks the shit out of him*

Teddy: WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!

Marie: he doesn’t like kissasses.

Forrest: wait. If you’re… George’s girlfriend… then… who is that with Teddy right now?! What do they have to do with any of this?

Marie: Forrest Nash, let me introduce you, and all of Gallows Creek, to my boy, Henry Barrow.

Forrest: Hello, Henry.

Teddy: ow!

Marie: don’t mind him. he’s shy.

Forrest: what do you want, Marie?!

Marie: *examining her knife* well, since you did such a good job in piecing together everything that’s happened, I want your help in revealing what really happened that night twenty years ago.

Forrest: meaning?

Marie: I want you to interview us.

Forrest: and if I say no?

Marie: *tosses her knife in the air and catches it* *clicks her tongue and shakes her head* guess that’s a wrap on Forrest Nash, then.

Teddy: you bitch! What makes you think I’ll play along?

Teddy: OW!

Marie: seems like you found a good enough reason on your own.

<the interview is pretty much unchanged, with the added visual of Marie physically turning around and holding the desk when she gets too upset to answer>

Peggy: *getting closer* MARIE?! MARIE- huh?!

Marie: honey, put your auntie on the phone for me, please.

Peggy: GET OFF ME-

Forrest: PEGGY!

Marie: Peggy… it’s me…

Peggy: Marie?! Where are you?! Are you okay?!

Marie: I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, Peg. Your good friend Forrest has been keeping me company. For now.

Peggy: what- I don’t-

Marie: frankly im a bit sad you forgot my voice… I called up so many times hoping you’d remember…

Peggy: you… you were Dawn… that’s… that’s why you asked us to play that song…

Marie: good to talk to you again, Peggy.

Peggy: Marie, what happened to you?! You just disappeared one day and-

Marie: disappeared?! I was thrown out! I begged mom and dad to do something about what happened that night. But did they care? No. They told me to stay quiet. They only cared when they learned I’d been with George, and then…

Peggy: thrown out?! I don’t understand-

Marie: does the handsome young man in the dark trenchcoat look familiar to you?

(Optional teddy line here: familiar?! He’s your spitting image!)

Peggy: he’s…. Oh my God, Marie…. I’m so sorry.

Marie: it’s not your fault.

(The rest of the dialogue basically remains the same)

(If Peggy dies, Marie briefly drops to the floor before picking herself up.)

Yall sometimes I do cook okay

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Find the Word Tag Game!

@lungs-and-gills MARKO!!! Thanks for tagging me 🥰 This is my most favorite game.

My words are tired, weapon, red, and pierce. These are all coming from Blue like don't forget about me a childhood friends to estranged almost lovers to rivals to Best Friends (remix edition!) to lovers but for real this time original novel.

Tired:

"Nashery Owens, just where have you been?"

He jumps, but it's only Jo standin' on his bed with her dolls all around her and her hands on her hips. Her hair is thick, dark, and wired into frizzy braids on either side of her head. She's got freckles like him but hers are neat and contained over the bridge of her nose like the kids on TV, not like the explosion that's all over his face and shoulders and throat.

She's round, even for an almost five-year-old. Her birthday's comin' up right before Thanksgiving and she won't shut up about how that means she'll finally be old enough to follow him along to school. That means takin' the bus together, shooing her off during lunch, dodging her at recess, and then getting back on the bus with her at the end of he day. He's tired just thinking about it.

"You know that ain't my name."

Weapon: None 😩

Red:

Nash blinks at him. "What did Jo say?"

His sister says a lot of things, most of which he filters out until she says something that actually matters. Weeks can pass that way.

"She— On the bus? About— About us?" His cheeks flare red but he screws up his mouth and holds Nash's stare like he dared himself not to look away. "About us kissing and stuff."

"Oh." Nash does recall her going on about that, but he hadn't taken her seriously. Looking at Teddy now, he wonders if he should have. Or if at least he should have checked with Teddy sooner to make sure he wasn't. "She was just messing around."

"Yeah, I know, but did her saying it bother you?"

"No, why would it?"

Teddy's embarrassment burns away to a familiar irritation.

"I don't know, maybe because lot of people get all weird about guys kissing and I didn't know if you were one of them."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'm not. Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Weirded out by guys kissing?"

Teddy clams up, searching Nash's eyes through clear lenses. He takes a breath and pushes it out. Steps back. "No. See you tomorrow."

Nash watches him spin on his heel and strike off down the road with a peculiar twist in his belly. Like Teddy was tryin' to tell him something important and he just wasn't quick enough to pick it up.

Pierce:

It’s never been this bad before.

Something sharp like fire pierces his chest and he cries out, more a whimper than a shout. He curls up to protect himself but moving only makes everything worse until he’s spinning and even the floor holding him up feels distant.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Uncle Aaron’s coming. You’re gonna be okay.”

That’s Teddy’s voice but he shouldn’t be here. That’ll only set Daddy off all over again and then… Well, he’d take it out on Nash like usual, but he doesn’t think there’s any more he could take so maybe he’d just go after Teddy direct, or even Jo.

He fights to open his eyes, to tell Teddy to get out, to run, to hide, anything. Anything but be here for Daddy to find. But his eyes are swollen shut. Try as he might, he can’t open them, can’t see. He can’t move his arm neither and a bone deep shock of pain shoots up his leg and into his hip every time he so much as twitches.

Now the crying is coming from him, crawling out of his chest in great heaves, and it hurts, oh God it hurts. He’s never been strong enough to stop Daddy, but he could at least stand between him and Jo. Now he can’t even stand. He can’t even open his eyes.

Tagging (with no pressure): @arionawrites @thoughts-of-a-trying-tree @emelkae @jmrothwell @dontjudgemeimawriter @theschoolofathena @cataclysmicwriting

Your words are: dream, hope, crush, and fail

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Title: Field Day

Author: darriness

Word Count: ~1500

Summary: A chance to volunteer

Author's Note: For @tchrgleek who prompted "Prompt for your A Life in a Year verse: a 100 degree day in NY and one (or both) of them is supposed to volunteer for Field Day at school." Hope you like it!

AO3 Link

Field Day

“Whose idea was this?” Kurt pouts as he stands in front of the mirror, smoothing cream onto his face.

Blaine chuckles as he comes into the bathroom behind his husband. He rests a hand on Kurt’s lower back and smirks at him through the mirror, “I believe it was yours.” Kurt rolls his eyes, “And I also think you’re not supposed to use an entire bottle of sunscreen in one sitting.”

Kurt side eyes Blaine with a sigh, “Says the man who goes so golden in the sun he’s been mistaken for a Greek God on more than one occasion?”

Blaine shrugs with a little smile. Kurt pouts at the golden shoulder peeking out from underneath Blaine’s tank top as it settles back down, “Your skin mocks me.”

Blaine leans in and kisses Kurt’s creamy pale shoulder peeking out under his own tank top, “My skin loves you.” He whispers.

Kurt wants to stay annoyed, but he can’t help but giggle at the line.

Blaine smiles, always happy when he can get Kurt to laugh, before pulling back, “Are you ready now? The kids are practically vibrating to leave.”

Kurt turns back to the mirror, swiping a hand under his eye one more time even though no visible cream remains, before nodding, “As I’ll ever be.”

-- -- --

Kurt regrets his decision to volunteer them both for the kids’ school Field Day the more the day wears on. Not only is he sure he’s burning despite his careful sunscreen application, it’s at least 100 degrees out and his sweat has sweat. To top it all off, he’s about two minutes from throat punching half of the other parents here for eyeballing his husband like they want to eat him for dinner.

Blaine and Kurt got separated to different events upon their arrival and Blaine is within eyeshot but across the field, helping to run the toss across station. Kurt will admit to enjoying watching his husband move around in the sun from his spot helping to run the obstacle course - Blaine’s skin is shimmering from a light sheen of sweat and watching his muscles shift as he bends to pick up the tossed beanbags has been magical - but if one more school mom (or dad for that matter) finds a reason to approach Blaine and lingers too long Kurt is going to lose it.

“Papa!” Kurt turns away from watching Blaine to watch Matty approach at a sprint. Nash is at his heels and Kurt can’t help but smile at how happy they both look. He’s glad they’re enjoying the day.

“What’s up, buddy?” He asks, pulling the slightly sweaty 6-year-old to him for a quick hug when the boys reach him. He briefly thanks whoever or whatever is responsible for Matty still wanting to hug him in public. Lizzy, at ten years old, has shunned public hugs for at least a year now.

“Can I have a slushie?” Matty asks. His nose is beginning to pink under his hat and Kurt itches to put more sunscreen on his pale skinned offspring, but while public hugs are okay, sunscreen application is less so. He’s glad they were able to get ANY on Matty this morning.

Kurt squints an eye at his son, “Did you already ask and get one from Daddy?” He asks skeptically. He knows for a fact Matty hasn’t been to Blaine, but he doesn’t want to admit he’s been watching Blaine that closely.

“No!” Matty protests.

“I don’t know...” Kurt says slowly, “Stick out your tongue so I can see.”

Matty proudly juts out his pale pink tongue, untouched by sugary tongue staining syrup, and Kurt laughs.

“Alright, you can have a slushie.” He concedes, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, “Do you want one too, Nash?” He asks. Nash may not be his son, but with Rachel and Jesse not here (he still doesn’t know how they got out of this) he feels a certain responsibility for their son.

Nash bounces on his toes and nods with a grin so wide Kurt can see several spots where the 6-year-old has lost teeth, “Yes, please, Uncle Kurt!” He asks politely.

Kurt gives both boys the money they need to buy their drinks and then they are both gone. He chuckles to himself as they scream ‘Thank you!’ over their shoulders. He turns back to the obstacle course he’s supposed to be helping run but as his eyes scan over the rest of the field he pulls up short when he notices Blaine not where he last saw him.

There’s another dad where Blaine was just moments before and Kurt frowns, eyes scanning the field for his missing husband.

“Break time?” Kurt jumps slightly at Blaine’s voice behind him and spins to find his husband standing by the beginning of the obstacle course. He’s got a sweet smile on his face and he’s extending a juice box in Kurt’s direction. Blaine shrugs, “I almost chose water but I figured the sugar is good with all the sweating we’re doing.”

The slight pinking of Kurt’s cheeks now has nothing to do with the sun. It’s a simple juice box, offered with a smile, but it still causes Kurt’s heart to swell a little more with love for this man.

“Thanks.” He says, reaching for the box. Blaine had already popped the straw into the hole so Kurt immediately brings the box to his lips and sucks as the pair walk slightly away from the obstacle course area.

“Having fun?” Blaine asks as they walk.

Kurt nods but he tilts his head from side to side slightly at the same time, “It’s way too hot for this, but it’s been fun to see the kids having fun.”

Blaine nods, taking a drink from his juice box, “Lizzy even let me high five her in front of her friends.”

Kurt laughs, he’d seen that, “I’d call that a success.”

Blaine nods again and then the pair is quiet as they continue to walk slowly and drink their juice boxes. Kurt’s is almost empty when Blaine stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Can you...do me a favour?” He asks.

Kurt’s eyebrows go up at the seriousness of Blaine’s tone. Blaine almost seems to be wincing, as if he doesn’t want to ask whatever the favour is, but his tone also tells Kurt that it’s something he can’t NOT bring up.

“Of course.” Kurt says, wondering what could possibly have Blaine in this sudden mood.

Blaine sighs and looks away from Kurt to look over the field, “Could you maybe not...wipe your face with the bottom of your shirt anymore?”

Kurt pulls his head back in surprise. That is not at all what he was expecting Blaine to say, “What?” He says. Had he been doing that? He hadn’t even noticed. He’s not wearing anything fancy today so he figures maybe he’d done it once or twice. It IS really that hot out today. But why would Blaine want him to stop?

Blaine winces again and then sighs, “It’s dumb and neanderthal of me but...the amount of parents watching you like they want you for dessert is really starting to get to me.”

Kurt almost chokes on his tongue and then suddenly he’s laughing. Laughing so hard he’s doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“That’s...not the reaction I was expecting.” Blaine says slowly from above him.

Kurt eventually quiets his laughs and straightens up with a sigh, “Oh, honey, we are quite the pair.” He says.

Blaine’s eyebrows furrow and Kurt smirks at his oblivious husband - though...he figures he’s one to talk at this moment.

“I have been wanting to get violent with half the parents here for checking YOU out all day.” Kurt clarifies.

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up behind his sunglasses and his mouth drops open slightly, “Oh.” He says. Kurt nods and it’s Blaine’s turn to laugh, “I didn’t even notice.” Kurt shrugs, “I just know I wanted to throttle Keith’s dad.”

Kurt smirks and swings his eyes in Keith’s father’s direction. He shrugs again and curls his lip slightly, “He’s cute but...then I’d have a stepson named Keith.” He whispers the last part with a shudder and he and Blaine laugh quietly together.

They’re quiet for a moment after that and Kurt finishes the last of his juice box before sighing, “So, no more wiping my face with my shirt. Got it.” He says. He probably should stop anyway. It’s so unlike him to treat his clothes that way. Maybe the heat and sun are causing him to be delirious.

Blaine scrunches up one side of his face, “You know what,” He starts, “On second thought, don’t worry about it. Keep doing it. At the end of the day, you’re still coming home with me.”

Kurt nods, “And you with me.” He says.

Blaine smiles, “They should be jealous of us.”

Kurt smirks, “Oh, honey, there is no ‘should’ about that. They are DEFINITELY jealous of us.”

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Hi there! We're changing things up a little this week :)

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Alright, post Book 1 but pre-Ethan fleeing to South America Ethan x Naomi coming right up! I feel like that time would have maximum tension because they’re trying to find their footing again after fucking the souls out of each other’s bodies and sending them into orbit, and lowkey falling in love sleeping together, while maintaining professionalism.

~v~

For Both:

When I first saw them, I thought__________

Naomi: I thought “thank God someone else is here!” I was in over my head with that patient, and I didn’t even notice that The Ethan Ramsey was the one assisting me until much later.

Ethan: I thought she had guts. You don’t see too many first day interns that are ready to jump into the fray like she did.

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Naomi: He says Christ and any iteration of the word damn. Dammit, goddamn, goddammit, you get the gist.

Ethan: She says fuck.

Naomi: You’ve never heard me say that.

Ethan: She says fuck a lot, especially when she’s...*Ethan trails off and catches himself before he finishes that sentence. It’s a moot point all the same because now all he can think about is the young intern in front of him, hands pulling his hair, nails raking down his back, moaning the obscenity into his ear, into his pillows. He awkwardly clears his throat* Just trust me, I’ve heard her say it. Multiple times.

*and now he’s mad at himself*

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Naomi: Blue. They’re kinda hard to miss.

Ethan: Her eyes are brown.

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Naomi: He hates everyone, except for me and Naveen.

Ethan: Except for you? You think pretty highly of yourself, Rookie.

Naomi: Am I wrong? *Ethan doesn’t deny it, instead staying silent and Naomi smirks* Exactly

Ethan: I don’t think she dislikes anyone. I’ve never met a person like her, she makes friends with everyone.

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Naomi: He fiddles with his glasses a lot.

Ethan: She’s constantly biting her lip, especially when she’s really focused.

*she’s actually surprised that he picked up on that* Naomi: You notice that?

Ethan: I notice everything...about everything. It’s the nature of the job.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

*they both share an awkward glance before looking away and declining to answer*

Never Have I Ever...

Come into work hungover

Ethan: When I was younger, yes. But now that I’m older, I know my limits.

Naomi: No, because I don’t get hangovers due to my magical hangover cure.

Ethan: That god-awful drink is...surprisingly effective.

*the interviewer asks Ethan to elaborate on the time Naomi gave him whatever her hangover cure is, and he adamantly refuses*

Had a fistfight

Naomi: Yes, but in my defense I was drunk.

Ethan: *snorts* How is that a defense?

Naomi: I’m the daughter of an attorney, I usually try to resolve my issues with my words. But drunk Naomi is a little feistier.

Ethan: You mean you have a level of feistiness that I’ve yet to see?

Naomi: Oh yeah. Anyway, I was in college, I was drunk at a bar, someone spilled a drink on me, and it escalated. I think I broke her nose.

Ethan: An arrest record wasn’t on your file when we hired you.

Naomi: Like I said, I’m the daughter of an attorney, and the granddaughter of a DC judge. That has its perks.

Ethan: Yes, I’ve gotten into a fist fight before. I punched Nash in the face. And before that, i fought my old med school roommate.

Naomi: Ooh, what did he do?

Ethan: That’s not a story I’d ever divulge while sober.

Been kicked out of a bar

Naomi: Yes. Circle back to the previous question.

Ethan: No, because I’m an adult.

Gotten a tattoo

Ethan: Absolutely not

Naomi: I have a tattoo of the Cancer symbol on my left hip. It’s my zodiac sign.

*this stuns Ethan into silence because he’s seen her naked on more than one occasion and been...very well acquainted with the body parts below her waist, and for the life of him cannot remember a tattoo*

Broken someone’s heart

Naomi: No. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve had my heart broken, if that counts.

Ethan: Same as Naomi. I don’t think I have.

*they make a pointed effort to not make eye contact with each other, and Naomi bites down on her lip, letting the silence hang in the air. The alternative would be informing Ethan that he has indeed broken someone’s heart, and that just won’t do.*

Been in love

Naomi: I don’t know. Maybe? I thought I was in love with my med school boyfriend, but now that time has passed, I know that wasn’t love. At least, not the good kind. And there was a near miss after him, but nothing came out of it. The emotions were a lot stronger the second time around though, and i think it’s the closest I’ve come to it this far. I’m a hopeless romantic, so I hope I find it someday.

Ethan: No. Call me a cynic, but I just don’t see love as something that’s feasible and attainable. Putting that much trust and dependency in another person is not realistic.

For Naomi (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Naomi: I don’t know what’s left for a man like Ethan Ramsey. He’s already done so much in the field of medicine, unless he reinvents the entire wheel and turns it upside down, which I can see him doing. I can see him writing more, publishing more research, and of course winning more awards. If he wasn’t so anti-administration, he could be running this place. Or maybe he’ll start his own non-profit.

Naomi: As far as his personal life, I don’t know. You heard loud and clear that he doesn’t really believe in love. I hope one day he changes his mind or finds a companion, because underneath his extremely prickly exterior, he’s one of the best men I know and he has a heart of gold. He deserves the chance to let someone take care of it for him.

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Naomi: From afar, Ethan seems very larger than life, but I think the most impressive thing about him is his dedication to not just medicine, but his patients. I’ve never seen him not go above and beyond for someone he was treating.

Last thing he texted you?

Naomi: “Please consult Diana in HR regarding your official diagnostic team fellowship application. I know this year has been unorthodox to say the least, but there are still some steps that must be taken before the start of your second year. Thank you.”

Naomi: I’ve never received a text message that long.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

*her cheeks heat up furiously and she pulls her bottom between her teeth before answering, her eyes bright and watery*

Naomi: Am I a total glutton for pain for saying I’d jump at the chance?

For Ethan (Naomi is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in her personal life?)

Ethan: Dr. Valentine has so much potential and she’s going to be one of the greats. She’s going to be running the diagnostics team if she chooses to stay at Edenbrook, and I can’t see Naveen not trying to keep her here. She’s going to win awards, have awards named after her, publish research, lead trials, whatever. I hate to sound banal and cliche, but the sky really is the limit for her. I chose her for a reason, and I plan her helping her reach all of that potential.

Ethan: As for her personal life, I don’t know. Hopefully she finds someone that’s good enough for her.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: A-attractive? *the word comes out in a squeak, but he coughs to cover it up* Why on earth would you assume that I’m attracted to her?

*he goes on a ridiculously long tangent about how inappropriate it is to be attracted to your coworkers, especially your subordinates, and how he would never jeopardize Naomi’s career on something as trivial as attraction, and anyone with an ounce of common sense can tell that he doth protest too much*

Ethan: But if I absolutely had to pick something besides her good looks, it’d be her spirit. She’s warm and empathetic and optimistic, and I’ve never seen someone care as much as she does.

Last thing she texted you?

Ethan: “👍” I sent her a message about her upcoming fellowship and she sent back a thumbs up. Just that. I was a little annoyed.

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: As um...flattering as that might be, I would say no. I am an attending, she’s an intern, my soon to be fellow. That is crossing too many ethical lines, lines I refuse to breach.

Ethan: And I would say no because Naomi is...just a good person. And maybe I’m being biased, but I don’t know if anyone will ever be truly worthy of her. But I can say without a shadow of a doubt that she deserves so much better than me or what I could give her.

[half-bakedboy]

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?”

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.”

Or... Eddie gets the romance he deserves in the form of fluff-filled dates with Buck.

For @911fluffweek​​ - day one: Birthday or anniversary // First hug

(read chapter one on ao3)

There was no reason for Eddie to be so nervous as he stood in front of his coworker’s doorstep. He was attending a child’s birthday party with his son and the team he was growing to trust, so the white-knuckled grip he had on the present Carla had carefully wrapped for him was frankly unnecessary, to say the least. He had spent years as an army medic, getting shot at and ambushed at every turn, and for some reason, the prospect of gathering with his new team’s families was the thing that had his heart racing. 

“You have to knock on the door, dad,” Christopher whispered, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s hip as a teasing grin spread across his lips. Eddie ruffled his hair and rolled his eyes fondly before raising his hand with every intent to knock. Christopher was apparently done with his dad’s hesitation because a knock echoed in the entry and Eddie almost dropped the gift in his hands. 

“What would I do without you, kid?” Eddie asked, resting his hand on Christopher’s shoulder if only to make sure he stayed standing. 

“We probably would have stood out here  forever,”  Christopher groaned. Before Eddie could chastise him for his sassy nature, the door flew open and Eddie’s nerves increased tenfold at the sight in front of him.

Staring at him were baby blue eyes that Eddie thought he could get lost in attached to the most stunning man Eddie had  ever  seen—and he had seen a lot of men. Eddie had to look away to contain his anxiety, but everywhere he glanced was just another reminder kick right to the gut. The man had a smile that blinded like the sun, muscled shoulders and arms that bulged his patterned shirt, and a chest that pulled at the buttons spread down it. Suddenly, Eddie’s black t-shirt and jeans seemed too casual and he felt more inferior than he had ever felt in his life. 

“I’m Christopher!” His son shouted, pushing forward when it was clear Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Right, shit, I— Eddie. I’m Eddie. I work with Chimney?” He offered when the man’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Christopher had already made his way into the living room where the party had seemingly already started and the loud cheers of his name had the man letting up and opening the door wider for the stranger. 

“Buck,” he said, offering his hand when Eddie took a hesitant step inside, “Maddie’s brother. I didn’t realize anyone else was coming.” The words sounded like an apology, but Eddie didn’t need one. If anything, he was considering shouting out his own because he couldn’t stop his eyes from clearly checking the guy out with each passing moment. 

“I wasn’t supposed to come,” Eddie explained and Buck raised his eyebrows. Eddie realized how that might have sounded and held up his hands in defense, almost dropping the present if it wasn’t for Buck’s quick reactions. He grabbed it and settled it on the table with the rest of the wrapped gifts before crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Eddie expectantly. 

“You know, Captain Nash’s wife is a cop,” Buck offered and Eddie rolled his eyes with a laugh. 

“I was supposed to be covering Hen’s shift so she could come, but someone else took care of it so that I could be here,” Eddie finished as Buck led him to the living room. 

“And thank god for that! Diaz, your kid is a million times cooler than you!” Chimney yelled, high-fiving Christopher who was giggling ecstatically from where he was smushed between Maddie and Bobby. 

“He knows,” Christopher responded. Eddie let out a loud laugh and shook his head, holding up his hands in a shrug because he couldn’t argue with that. His kid was perfect and there was no way Eddie could match it. 

Eddie made his way around the room, greeting his team with large smiles, gentle hugs, and friendly kisses on the cheek. He had missed the warm feeling that settled high in his chest, his body light and airy and his mind clear of all of the nerves that had reverberated through it the entirety of the morning. Everyone in that room was family and they had welcomed Eddie and Christopher with open arms. 

Karen had offered to make him a plate of food while Bobby gestured toward the mini-fridge where he kept seltzer water and sodas. Maddie immediately pressed the baby into his arms so he could cuddle her and settle down like the rest of them had. Chimney and Hen teased him for being so damn awkward all while Christopher watched on with the widest smile on his face. It was too much for Eddie, so after a bit of time, he stood back and watched from a table on the outskirts of the party as they continued with their joy. Eddie had always been content with that. 

He didn’t realize he had company until Buck’s voice chimed next to him, “You don’t look old enough to have a kid his age.” He held out a drink to Eddie who eyed it suspiciously until Buck explained, “Iced tea. Maddie has made the best ever since we were kids.” Eddie took it and downed a few sips, practically moaning at how delicious it was, only to be interrupted by Buck’s soft chuckle. “So, you have a kid.”

“I do,” Eddie agreed, smiling widely at his son who held Jee-Yun in his arms delicately with Maddie’s hands hovering over the two of them as any mom would do. 

“Wife?” Buck asked and Eddie tried not to choke on his drink. He tilted his head toward Buck who just shrugged and waited expectantly for an answer. 

“Divorced,” Eddie said simply. 

“Dating?” Buck popped a pretzel in his mouth, staring at the people in front of him like his interrogation was completely normal under the circumstances. 

“Kid,” Eddie shot back. It was the only explanation he really had. 

“Really? That’s weak,” Buck said easily. Eddie turned to him, mouth open and arms crossed over his chest. He had known the guy for maybe ten minutes and he was already insulting Eddie’s life choices? Who the hell did he think he was? 

“It’s not like people are pounding down my door when my kid’s asleep in the next room,” Eddie scoffed, sipping on his drink to make sure his jaw didn’t hit the floor at Buck’s audacity. 

“Hmm, people,” Buck said slowly. “Interesting choice of words.” Eddie hadn’t done it on purpose—at least consciously—but he couldn’t be mad that Buck had noticed. “That kid would charm the pants off of anyone. What else?” Buck poked at the gaping holes in the excuse and Eddie wasn’t so sure he liked how easily Buck could already read him. 

“I don’t really have  time  to romance someone,” Eddie said. He gestured to his team before glancing back at Buck. “Maddie and Chim have their kid, Bobby and Athena barely get time alone together cause of their long shifts, Hen and Karen are busy with fostering. It wouldn’t be fair to them or anyone that might be interested to always have me with one foot out the door,” Eddie explained before stopping himself and whirling on Buck. “Why am I telling you this? You have some kind of magic power for pulling information or something?” 

Buck laughed just as Maddie walked up to them, Jee-Yun cradled in her arms. “I see you’ve not only met Eddie but have already pissed him off,” she noted and Eddie blushed, shaking his head to make sure she knew he wasn’t actually mad. 

“We’re fast friends, Mads,” Buck said, tossing an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulling him tight into his side. The blush on Eddie’s cheeks darkened considerably. 

“A few psychology classes and this guy thinks he can analyze everyone in our lives. And yes,” Maddie said before Eddie could correct her, “that means you, too, Diaz. I’m really glad you could come.” She pulled Eddie into a gentle hug and patted his cheek when she pulled away. “Don’t let this one scare you off. He’s as harmless as he is good looking.”

“You are way too good for my ego, sis,” Buck said fondly, kissing her cheek as she refilled her drink and walked back to the group. “But she’s right. I’m harmless.”

“And really good looking,” Eddie added and for the first time in their conversation, it was Buck who was struck speechless. Just as quickly as it happened, Buck’s grin spread across his lips and he leaned back against the table with a few nods of his head, looking quite impressed if Eddie had to guess. 

“Alright, Diaz, I’ll tell you what,” Buck offered as Maddie and Chimney started on the presents for their daughter. Eddie and Buck watched from afar, too lost in their own interactions to stop now and neither of them willing to leave the conversation they had started. 

“What?” Eddie asked. He turned to Buck when he noticed the man staring over at him and raised his eyebrows. Buck intrigued him and it had been a really long time since anyone had done that. 

“I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance  you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?” 

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.” Eddie choked on his drink again, sputtering uselessly as the rest of his team glanced over with a mixture of worry and expectancy in their eyes. He waved them back to what they were doing and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, pointedly ignoring the way Buck had started to rub his back comfortingly. 

“And why would you do that?” Eddie asked because he had to. Buck was beautiful, one of the most gorgeous men Eddie had ever laid eyes on, and there was no way he was going to let someone that  perfect  in when Eddie was sure he would fall in love. 

“Because you deserve it,” Buck shrugged, leaning into Eddie’s eye line as he continued, “and because I’m going to get you to spend more time with me either way. Might as well make it interesting.” With that, Buck joined the rest of the team, taking the empty spot next to Christopher and tossing his arm around Eddie’s son’s shoulders. Christopher was instantly enamored and Eddie wondered who was more in trouble; him or his son. 

All in all, Eddie wasn’t sure why he had been so nervous at the beginning of the day. He filled the next few hours with easy conversation, learning more about his team and their loved ones than he ever would have during a shift, and got to watch his son charm every single person in the room. He and Denny got on like wildfire and there were already promises of playdates being made as everyone helped Maddie and Chimney clean up the place. 

He had expected someone to stop him from helping, but no one did, and his heart grew a few sizes larger because he knew what that meant. They were a family at the one-eighteen. That’s what Bobby had said during his interview. Eddie had responded in truth, telling him that he had left the family he had behind in Texas, and that he wasn’t looking for another, but that he would work his ass off every day to prove he was meant to be there anyway. Eddie should’ve known that Bobby would take that as a challenge. 

Without even trying, Eddie was in over his damn head. He was already accepted into their family with each disposable dish he grabbed from the table and each napkin he used to wipe down the ringed surfaces. There was no escaping the closeness of them even if he tried. 

Then he hugged Buck at the end of the night and realized that he didn’t want to try. If it meant that he was held so tightly he feared letting go and that his son would continue to wobble on his feet with sheer exhaustion from the fun he had throughout the day, Eddie would let whatever was happening happen. Which apparently included giving Buck his number with the promise of romance. 

Oh boy, Eddie thought happily, he was definitely in over his damn head. 

[danijimenezv]

Amiga! These questions are bit different:

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Amiga these are genius dksaldnafjcsajd I am in love with this! The angst and longing from Book 1 is just delicious

Not Yet Wed Questions

The setting for this answers is: Post Miami, but before he quit.

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought __________

Jill: Wow.

Ethan: Care to clarify?

Jill: *blushes* Well, the first time I saw you was taking control of a medical emergency. It was amazing, and I was a bit awestruck. Of course, right after that, I thought that you were a handsome asshole.

Ethan: Of course.

Jill: …You’re not answering?

Ethan: I don’t feel like answering.

Jill: Okay, that’s either really good or really bad.

Ethan: You’re going to let it get to your head.

Jill: Really? Well now I’m intrigued. Do tell, Dr. Ramsey.

Ethan: I thought you were proficient.

Jill: Proficient? Seriously?

Ethan: You were just an intern on your first day, and you still jumped into action when a woman needed help. It was… not what I expected.

Jill: *grins smugly* So you were just as awestruck, is that what you’re saying?

Ethan: That’s not what I said.

Jill: It’s what I heard.

Ethan: I knew you would let it get to your head.

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Both: Fuck. *laugh*

Jill: Dr. Ramsey doesn’t regularly curse out loud, instead you can see the intention written all over his face. But I have caught him saying “fuck” a few times.

Ethan: On the other hand, Dr. Valentine curses like a sailor. Even for the smallest of things, you can hear her whispering “fuck” under her breath.

Jill: He also uses “goddammit” and “Christ” a lot.

Ethan: And when it’s not a situation, but a person, she uses “fucker”.

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Jill: Deep blue.

Ethan: Whiskey.

Jill: You know, I feel honored to be compared to whiskey. I know how much you value it.

Ethan: *stutters and blushes* What? I-I don’t… It wasn’t like that.

Jill: *smirks* Suuuuure.

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Jill: That’s a hard one.

Ethan: You’re exaggerating.

Jill: I’m not. You hate a lot of people.

Ethan: Hate is an overdramatic word.

Jill: Well, okay, then you strongly dislike a lot of people.

Ethan: Closer.

Jill: Does Nash count as coworker now that he has a deal with the team?

Ethan: Unfortunately.

Jill: Okay, so first Nash, and then in no particular order Dr. Cyrus, Dr. Wen, Dr. Toussaint…

Ethan: Those are more than three.

Jill: And I can keep going. Dr. Mirrielees, Dr. Rosario… June? I don’t know her personally, but I heard you complain about her the other day, so…

Ethan: Eavesdropping again, were you?

Jill: Never, just passing by and paying attention to my surroundings, like a good diagnostician should.

Ethan: Right. You forgot yourself.

Jill: Uh-uh, you don’t fool me. I’m possibly one of the few interns you tolerate.

Ethan: *sighs but doesn’t deny it* Round it up, Rookie. No point stretching out the answer.

Jill: Okay, fine. I guess mainly Nash, Cyrus, and Wen. And also probably some intern, or a handful of them. Not including me, obviously.

Ethan: Hrm, I think the most annoying of them is your partner on the Knoblauch case. The squirmy one.

Jill: Landry? Really? I admit he can get a bit annoying at times, but he’s just really nervous around you.

Ethan: Well, I don’t like him.

Jill: Your turn to answer.

Ethan: I would go with Nash as well, but other than that, I don’t think you hate any other coworker. Dr. Valentine seems to get along with everyone, it’s… disconcerting.

Jill: It’s called being a people person. But I do find Dr. Cyrus and Dr. Lozoya irritating. Don’t tell them, though.

Ethan: I do believe, however, that I made it to that list at some point.

Jill: What makes you say that?

Ethan: Your impertinence and constant point to defy me.

Jill: I defy you because I can. That doesn’t mean I hate you.

*Ethan is stunned into silence*

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Ethan: She sometimes snorts when she laughs.

Jill: Oh my God, you’ve heard that?!

Ethan: What’s wrong with that?

Jill: That’s not endearing, that’s embarrassing!

Ethan: She also scrunches up her nose or bites her lip when she’s too focused on something. It’s cute.

Jill: *stares at him with wide eyes* You think I’m cute?

Ethan: I think your quirks are cute.

Jill: Right… Dr. Ramsey places a finger on his temple, either when he’s deep in thought or when he’s fighting the urge to strangle someone, usually an intern. He also pinches the bridge of his nose a lot, especially when he’s annoyed.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

*They stare at each other pointedly, and then look away, blushing.*

Jill: *clears her throat* I don’t do crushes.

Ethan: *raises an eyebrow in challenge* Lahela?

Jill: Not a crush.

Ethan: Then what was he, exactly?

Jill: Friend with benefits.

Ethan: *chokes up* Christ…

Jill: Well, you asked!

Ethan: Is he still?

Jill: No, not anymore. Not since before… you know…

Ethan: Ah… *looks away*

Jill: Anyway… I would say your crush is probably Chief Emery. Or, well, me.

Ethan: *in a warning tone* Jillian.

Jill: What? Bree said this was off the record. Someone has to acknowledge what happened, and you’re clearly not going to, so might as well be me.

*Ethan looks down regretfully*

Never have I ever

Jill: Ohhh, I love this game! And look, we even got paddles with I have/I have never.

Ethan: What are we, in high school?

Jill: Would you rather do it with drinks? During work hours?

Ethan: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose* Let’s get this over with.

Jill: Knew it.

come into work hungover

*Both raise the ‘I have never’ paddle.*

Ethan: I admit, I was not expecting that.

Jill: You just have to think the worse of me always, don’t you?

Ethan: Speaking as someone that saw you party up at Donahue’s the night after your first shift, yes.

Jill: Okay, fair, but I have an advantage over the rest of people.

Ethan: Which is?

Jill: Genetically speaking, the Valentines don’t get hangovers.

Ethan: You say that now because you’re young.

Jill: My brother is not, and he still doesn’t know what having a hangover is like. And we’ve obviously tried it out.

Ethan: Okay, I’ll concede. That’s an unfair advantage.

*Jill grins widely and winks*

had a fistfight

*Ethan lifts the ‘I have never’ paddle*

Jill: Liar. You told me you punched Nash.

Ethan: For it to be a fight, the counterpart has to actually throw a punch as well. Nash never got the chance.

Jill: Okay, then I never have either.

Ethan: *blinks in surprise* You’ve punched someone?

Jill: A kid at school bullied my little sister once.

Ethan: Once?

Jill: Yes. I gave him a black eye, and he never dared to say anything else about Ivy.

Ethan: How heroic.

Jill: *shrugs* My sister was mortified, as the delicate princess she is, but I think it was worth it.

Ethan: It’s a little hard to imagine, given your height.

Jill: The smallest are always the feistiest ones. We’re like Chihuahuas.

been kicked out of a bar

*The two of them raise the ‘I have’ paddle*

Jill: You?

Ethan: A friend of mine from med school got a little carried away. What about you?

Jill: I was busted with a fake I.D.

Ethan: You went to a bar when you were underage?

Jill: Does it make it better if I say I wasn’t drinking?

Ethan: Why else would you go to a bar?

Jill: It was initiation week at Léman Prep.

Ethan: *blinks several times in confusion* I’ll pretend to know what you’re talking about.

Jill: Well, you know how high school was like. If I hadn’t done that, they would’ve eaten me alive. It was survival 101.

Ethan: What happened afterwards?

Jill: I made the headlines, and my grandparents had to pay a shit ton of money and pull a lot of strings to bury the scandal. And I got the biggest lecture and grounding of my life.

gotten a tattoo

*Both show the ‘I have never’ paddle*

Ethan: It’s not my thing.

Jill: Neither is mine.

broken someone’s heart

Jill: I have. My older sister nicknamed me ‘heartbreaker’ during my high school years.

Ethan: And you say this proudly?

Jill: I’m not proud of it, I’m just saying it how it is. I’ve always been clear with people about what I want and what I don’t. I don’t lead them on with false promises, but a few of them tried to change my mind, unsuccessfully.

Ethan: Well, I don’t think I have.

*Ethan lifts the ‘I have never’ paddle. Immediately, Jillian takes it from him and switches it for the ‘I have’ paddle. She doesn’t say anything else, just looks away, pained, and Ethan just stares at her aghast.*

been in love

*Both choose the ‘I have never’*

Ethan: I don’t believe in being in love.

Jill: I do, but I don’t think it’s for me. I had to watch my older sister almost lose herself from the heartbreak it brought her, and I don’t want that…

For Jillian (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Jill: Professionally speaking, I see him still at Edenbrook, running the diagnostics team. He’s really committed to the team’s vision, helping those who have nowhere else to go. Probably with a new book out and a lot more of research published as well. He’s brilliant like that. Personally… I think he’s too self-sabotaging to actually achieve something in that area. Although, I don’t rule out the possibility of Dr. Ramsey rekindling his romance with Chief Emery. I’ve seen the way they look at each other, and I’m no idiot, something is still there… Either way, I do hope he finds someone that makes him happy. He’s a great man, and he certainly deserves it.

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Jill: I want to say his intelligence, but it’s actually his heart. Underneath all that grumpiness and mean remarks, he actually has a heart of gold, so full of compassion. He cares so much about his patients, and even about interns under his supervision. He goes out of his way for them, and that tells a lot about the kind of man he is.

Last thing he texted you?

Jill: “Dr. Valentine, the results we were waiting on are out. Please make your way to my office. I need another perspective, in case I missed something.” Always so formal.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

Jill: *chuckles bitterly* He wouldn’t… ask me out, I mean. Ethan is a man with a serious black and white view of the world, including his moral stand. I already tried to climb the walls he set around himself, and I ended up falling flat on my ass. So I don’t think it would ever happen. If, miraculously, he hit his head, forgot about his current dilemma and asked me out on a date… I’d say yes, in a heartbeat. But I don’t think that’s in the cards.

For Ethan (Jillian is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in her personal life?)

Ethan: Professionally, I see Dr. Valentine surpassing just about any doctor. She’s one of the brightest minds I’ve seen, so it wouldn’t be hard to picture her becoming a big name in medicine. I hope she’ll be in the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook, but she could land anywhere and still have a successful career, wherever she’ll go. Probably with a book written and research published, maybe even winning awards. She’s that great. Personally, still close with her friends. On the romantic front, I’m not sure… From what I’ve seen, Jillian is not one to settle down. I’ve seen her rejecting good relationship prospects without so much as a second glance, and I’ve heard around that she doesn’t want to commit to anyone… which is good for her, because that means she won’t allow her personal life to interfere with her professional success. Though, I do wish she finds someone that makes her happy, someone worthy of her, that can give her everything she wants and deserves. I hope she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: She’s not listening, is she…? *runs a hand over his face in frustration* I know I’m not supposed to, but I find everything about her attractive, from her physical looks to her intelligence, ambition and compassion. But mainly, I think it would be her charm. I know most men would say the same thing, it’s her signature, but the way she carries herself with confidence and charisma, without truly realizing the effect she has on everyone else… She’s witty and flirty, and warm, and… just herself.

Last thing she texted you?

Ethan: “I doubt you missed anything, but I’ll be right there.”

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: I know for a fact that she wouldn’t ask that. Like I said before, Jillian Valentine is not one to date. Off the record and hypothetically speaking, if our situation was different, I would say yes, without a doubt. Even if I don’t deserve her, even if I’m not worthy of her, I know she’s an incredible woman, and I’d be lucky if she decided she wanted to be with me. But I know better, that’s all hypothetical. In reality, she’s still an intern, running for a spot in my team. Not only would it be unethical and inappropriate, but it also would be damaging to her career and her reputation. She’s worked too hard to get exactly where she is, and I care too much about her to hurt her like that, so it’d be a no.

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst, @takeharryandgo, @aestheticartsx, @choicesfanaf, @fireycookie, @liaromancewriter, @trappedinfanfiction, @tsrookie, @genevievemd, @lucy-268, @writinghereandthere, @queencarb, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @ohchoices, @anntoldst0ries, @bluebellot, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @mysticaurathings, @iemcpbchoices, @itsjustamesshonestly, @shanzay44, @lsdw-blog, @heauxplesslydevoted, @starryeyedrookie, @casey-v​, @mercury84choices, @chaoticchopshopheart, @quixoticdreamer16

[greeneyesandtea]

Elf on the Shelf

The Elf on the Shelf was a huge deal in the Styles home this year with Baby boy Styles declaring he is now Big boy Styles due to his promotion three weeks ago when Scorpio baby Sebastian or Bashy as Alex had taken to calling him arrived. Now that Alex came to the age of realizing the purpose of the Elf on the Shelf Harry saw on pinterest like any other mom it relatively soon became Lia’s job to organize and create a cheerful but messy Elf on the Shelf idea every night from November because  quarantine already has made things gloomy babe and tonight was no different in the Styles home.

“So I saw this one it looks pretty cool. We throw flour on the table and have Lala walk across the house tracking flour all the way to the kids rooms.” Harry said, pointing his screen to her back as she was facing the stove,Lia quickly turned around to see the mess Harry wanted to cause and her eyes rolled so hard that she could practically see her skull.“Your face is screaming shut the fuck up Harry.”

Lia was putting the water to boil for the bottles that Bashy uses during the night feedings since Harry found it was the best time with his little mate.He now had a little lad and best mate,all he wanted for years and now that he’s got it his world has been completed.Lia’s world as well has been complete but that doesn’t mean their perfect world hasn't come without their challenges.

“Because you just suggested I track flour though the home I clean everyday with a baby strapped to my nipple.” Lia turns her body around completely this time to make full eye contact. “You make the mess.You clean it up.You and Alex can both learn the lesson together now.”

“We know the lesson.I know the lesson. I just like seeing you bent over in those green panties you call shorts during breakfast.” Harry stands from the island padding on his hanukkah sock covered feet, a gift from Ben and Mer and wraps his arms around his now grumpy wife, his chest to her back and  “I’ll help clean.” Lia cranes her neck to look at her husband and raises a brow at him. “This time I promise.Jeez a man doesn’t do it once and he never lives it down”

Placing the last bottle in the pot and placing the lid on it,the couple takes a minute after to soak the warmth and smell of each other in the oddly quiet home.The home was usually filled with baby gurgles and whines of  mommy please! One more snacky! and the music Harry plays as background noise.

“Something else babe please I really don’t want to have a hectic morning tomorrow. Bash hasn’t been still for days now I don’t want to deal with a crying baby and a mess.Let’s just keep looking,let’s see what mess Lala can get into tonight yeah?” Lia turns herself around placing a soft kiss on the tip of his chin and grabs a hand that fell on her ass and walks him over to the table where they eat breakfast because of the bench Harry just needed to have there because one day that bench would be filled with Styles babies.

After a few scrolls through google and pinterest before Lia saw it! Mischievous Lala was going to cut a few pieces off the boys pajamas and on the white board she was going to tell the Styles boys that Santa needed proof Lala was watching to see if the boys were being good or bad.

“Look baby.Lala can cut some holes into their pajamas,they’re growing out of them anyway.” Lia took the side of her thumbnail and started biting at the cuticle and showed Harry her Pinterest board of Elf on the Shelf ideas.

“Stop that!” Harry batted Lia’s hand away from her mouth and ghosting his lips on hers quickly Lia almost missed it because of how fast it was. “Well let’s get the scissor and start cutting.I’ll write Lala’s message.” With a pat on the bum the couple springs into action.

Slowly making her way into Sebastian’s nursery taking in the sound of her baby’s gentle breathing.Lia took the swaddle off on one side and cut three small holes.One on each shoulder blade and one right on his breast milk filled bloated tummy. Lia quickly swaddles Sebastian back up before he feels the breeze come from the hallway that will surely wake him up and one thing she knows about her new addition is that no one absolutely no one wakes him up from his peaceful sleep.

As Lia was walking out of the nursery Harry had just finished taking the final piece off of Alex’s pajamas which had more pieces cut off. Alex being a stomach sleeper like made Harry let out a giggle as he cut two big pieces right where Alex’s bum cheeks where kept warm by the pants but due to Harry’s humor now missing one patch in fabric on the center of each bum cheek and two holes on each sleeve but worst of all was Harry took it upon himself to give Alex a trim.I piece of curl that kept getting in his eye it didn’t drastically change his hair but with lockdown both parents decided a haircut was not worth the risk of getting anyone sick.

Waiting for Harry to leave the big boy bedroom only to meet his missus in the hall.Everything was fine until Lia trailed her eyes from her husband's face to his hands.

“Harry Styles!” The parents have mastered the whisper yell very well and this is what Harry knows is a true I fucked up moment  “I said cut a few pieces of his pajamas not cut his hair! Harry Oh my God your nan is going to have a fit she loves Alex’s hair.” Taking the hair from Harry’s hand and seeing the stand that now in Lia’s hand looks much longer than it did in the Sunflower shaped night light dim.

“It did not look that long in the room.I swear!” Their eyes zone in on the little bundle of hair and little giggles escape from both their lips.

“It’s okay.” Lia turns to walk down the hallway and turns around before she takes a step down the stairs. “I like being the only woman in this house and Lala fucking up Alex’s hair only secures that.”

With a white board and dry erase marker and a small tiff on whose handwriting is better You’ve spelled your own name wrong dummy the pair went to sleep peacefully holding each other.Harry’s arm around Lia’s waist and a leg between her knees and Sebastian only waking up once during the night. It was going to be a good day tomorrow was Harry’s last thought before he drifted into sleep holding his wife.

Harry’s high point ended at 9:30 am because a sob rang through the home,the sob came from Alexander Nash Styles.Alex was standing at furthest five inches from Lia’s face.

“Mummy.” The choked out sob rang through and Lia opened her eyes confused and then had wide eyes after she registered her baby was in tears and had a bright red face damn near hyperventilating.

Both parents springing up from their position wrapped in each other to pull their four year old into bed with them.

“What’s wrong baby? Did you throw up, it's okay.” Lia asks with her sweet Alex perched in her lap.

“No.” it barely came out but when it did the force of the cry almost made him throw up.This was not a normal cry for Alex this sweet boy who barely cried as a baby let alone a toddler was having a full on terror cry.Shoving his face in his mom or Mum as Harry insisted chest,Lia could only rub his back and shh his until he calmed down after a few more sobs.

“Now that you’ve calmed down,want to tell momma what’s wrong?” Lia took a hand and placed it on the side of his face and placed a kiss on Alex’s puckered lips as he already knew that was his mummy’s motives. “Thank you for the kiss.Now let’s wipe these tears and tell mummy what happened.Did you have a bad dream?”

Alex shook his head so hard it collided with Lia’s collarbone making her wince a bit.

“Lala cut-” little whine slipped from his throat. “Cut my pants on my bum and then...cut my curlies.” The cry started again Lia and Harry shared a look and then a giggle which caused Alex to look at his parents. “Oh no Bashy.What is Lala cut Bashy too.”

The thought of his baby brother getting a tailor job from Lala scared him so much and took him to protective brother mode.Alex made a mad dash to the nursery making both parents move  out of bed because Bashy could not be woken up on due to someone else.

“Careful it’s only been three weeks!” Harry warmed his wife who was quick to jump out of bed but Lia waved him off speeding down the hall in her green sleeping shorts to see what Alex was going to do after one noticed that Bashy had fallen victim to Lala as well.

Lia was met with a plea from Alex to get his baby brother out of his crib and check him.

“No,Alex come on let’s wait for him to wake up on his own unless you want a cranky brother.” Lia keeps her voice down as Harry goes to pick Alex up and starts to walk him out.

“Let’s let baby brother sleep,I'll check him later.You and I can make breakfast,let mummy and Bash sleep for a little longer.” Harry said as he walked down the stairs but before he could respond Sebastian’s cry rang through the house and caught the attention of Alexander to which Harry threw his head back and hoped Lia could get the message telepathically and change Sebastian fast before Alexander threw another fit.

“Put me down daddy! I need to check Bashy now!” The four year old thrashed himself in his daddy’s arms and had more strength than Harry had thought.Alex was a little man on a mission running up the stairs and down the hall to his baby brothers room.Harry chased after him but was not fast enough because he heard the cry that came from Alex.

“Oh no!Lala got Bashy too!”

And the sob continued leaving Alex’s mouth which caused Bash to let out a cry and the parents at a loss for words.For the first time in three weeks both their babies were crying at the same time and neither knew how to begin consoling them.

“I should have just let Lala track flour through my house.”

[cryinginthebackseat]

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.  

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

                                                         fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel​ @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass​ @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

[hlupdate]

Of all the disciples to worship at the altar of Stevie Nicks, none have managed to capture the attention of rock's reigning priestess quite like Harry Styles.

The 26-year old rocker (who this week received three Grammy nominations) is the Gucci-clad poster-boy carrying the torch for a bygone era of music history that the Fleetwood Mac front-woman helped crystallize. Styles recently cited the group's 1977 (and still charting) classic “Dreams” as one of the first songs he learned the words to growing up. Their friendship began in 2015 after the former One Direction member presented his idol with a hand-piped birthday cake after a Fleetwood Mac gig in London. (“Glad she liked carrot cake,” he later said.) The years since have seen the duo's mutual affection blossom into one of pop culture‘s most cherished bondings.

Last year, when Styles inducted Nicks into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, he proclaimed the 72-year old “everything you’ve ever wanted in a lady, a lover, in a friend.” Nicks has gushed about him in interviews as everything from “the son she never had” to the “love child” of her and bandmate Mick Fleetwood. Styles earned her official seal of approval after covering “The Chain” every night of his first solo tour in support of a record that sounds closer to Crosby, Stills & Nash than anything he released under his prior band.

“Harry could've lost a lot of fans but he didn't. I’m so proud of him because he took a risk and didn’t go the One Direction route," Nicks recently told Vogue over the phone. "He loves One Direction, I love One Direction, and a gazillion other people do too, but Harry didn't wanna go the pop route. He wanted straight-up rock-and-roll circa 1975.”

Nicks has been embracing some of the busiest years of her dual careers as both Fleetwood Mac front-woman and solo sorceress—and doing so in the midst of a global pandemic. Since she last performed with Styles at the Forum for his Fine Line release show in December, she’s released a 24 Karat Gold concert film and “Show Them the Way,” her politically-minded single and first piece of original music in six years. After Miley Cyrus asked for Nicks's blessing before releasing her “Edge of Seventeen”-tinged “Midnight Sky,” the two joined forces for an exhilarating new mash-up titled “Edge of Midnight."

In honor of Styles making history as the magazine’s first solo cover-boy, Nicks caught up with Vogue to answer all our questions about their cosmic connection. Currently beachside with her quarantine bubble in Hawaii, she’s been doing what one would expect Stevie Nicks to be up to during a pandemic: writing new music, dancing around her house to “Watermelon Sugar“ and “casting little spells.” As befitting rock’s foremost storyteller, our intended 30-minute chat turned into a two-hour confessional about her love of Styles, working with Cyrus for the first time, joining Fleetwood Mac, the president-elect Joe Biden, the Met Gala, betta fish funerals, and much more.

Did you get a chance to look through Harry's cover story yet?  

Right before I called you I sat here and looked at all the pictures on my new iPad. What can I say? That's my Harry. I think the thing that’s most wonderful about him—and I've told him this and sometimes I think he takes it the wrong way—is that he’s such a kooky guy. He’s the type of person you'd wanna live next door to. He’d look out the window, see you having a hard time planting flowers and rush out asking "Can I help you with those roses?" "Sure but you are Harry Styles, right?" That's who he is.

I really only know him to a certain extent but I have gotten to experience some big moments in his life like when he released his first solo record at the Troubadour. I always think of Tom Petty saying "So you wanna be a rock star or you wanna be a pop star?" It's two completely different things and he really could have gone pop like his friend Zayn [Malik]. I was sorry that Zayn didn't keep going more because I thought he was really good. But he took the pop route, which I think was right for him. Harry could've lost a lot of fans doing rock-and-roll but he didn't. Harry did a long tour with that first record and said “I'm a different person now. I have a full-on rock band and this is what I'm gonna do.” With many of my records I’ll stuff down peoples' throats until they like it and that's exactly what he did. Then he went away and wrote Fine Line, one of my favorite records.

What were your immediate thoughts listening to Fine Line for the first time?

Me and four of my friends sat with Harry in his living room  in London and listened to it a few times before it came out. But it wasn't really Fine Line yet. The first time we listened to it nobody really said anything. The second time everyone started to go "I think this song is great but it should be second in the sequence." By the third listen it was five girls screaming "Well Harry really now, I think you need to take these four that are called "Harry Songs" and do this and that—” while he’s sinking in his reclining chair thinking "Are these women ever gonna leave? Thanks for your opinions but oh my god stop already."

What changed when you heard the record in it’s finished form?

This record means a lot to me. When it was all put together I listened and said "Oh my god, The Beatles live." A whole lot of people live in these songs. Fleetwood Mac lives there. I live there. When I listen to "Fine Line” I hear melodies that would've worked on “A Day in the Life.“ It has that same kind of complexity. I think the Beatles would've thought “Here we’ve influenced a young man who took some incredible things from us and made them his own years and years later.”

Earlier this year you posted a message saying that Fine Line is Harry’s Rumours. Can you elaborate on what you meant by that?

When Harry asked me to do "Landslide" with him at the Forum I asked why and he said "Because I want you to be there. You were there for my first night at the Troubadour for the first record.” That night I wrote him a letter that said “This is your Rumours so you have to really respect it and adore it because these kinds of records sometimes don't ever come again.” Fleetwood Mac went on to make many great records but people would bet their life on the fact that Rumours was the one. And this might just be the one for Harry. We were all kind of the same age when we made Rumours. I was 28 and Lindsey was 27. I actually don't even know how old Harry is—he's that timeless to me.

Do you have a personal favorite of his songs?

Every one represents a different thing to me. “Sunflower” is such a great little song. He loves to do crazy videos and one time I called him and said “I have an idea. You're gonna be a bee and the sunflower would be your girlfriend, and you guys would get married and live in a beehive with your little bee children. You’d sing the lyrics “kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor duh duh duh” and show this entire bee relationship.”

What did he think of that pitch?

When I finished the other end of the phone was silent. I said "No really, think about it. It’ll be fantastical like a Francis Ford Coppola movie.” He’s like “Yeah, okay...” (laughs). I also love the "Adore You” video with the little fish because I have my own special relationships with fish.

In what sense?

I always have two betta fish but they have to be separated otherwise they'll kill each other. I stick my finger into their aquarium and the blue one will swim around my hand like a little dolphin. When my fish get old and suddenly die I have funerals for them in my backyard where I play Celine Dion. I have them filmed and everything (laughs). It’s too much but I thankfully haven’t had any recent fish deaths. I haven't even been able to sit down and show Harry the videos of my little fish so when I saw the “Adore You” video I couldn’t believe it.

Why is it important for you to foster these relationships with younger artists like Harry who’ve been so openly influenced by you?

I'm inspired by them. I'm inspired that Miley wants to make music with me. I’m inspired that the Haim girls are my biggest fans—and I theirs. A lot of these kids are making the amazing records I’ve been waiting for them to make. I’m not like other 72-year olds. I listen to current music because I want to be current. When people find out how old I am versus the music I'm listening to they think it doesn't gel at all. I’ve been collecting musical knowledge since I was in the fourth grade listening to the singles my grandfather used to bring home. I listened to Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers until the sixth grade when R&B radio became Top 40. I said goodbye country and hello R&B, so it’s not like I'm ever stuck on one thing. What I love about Harry is that he's very old-school but still modern. And that's kinda like me.

You both also transitioned from massive groups to equally massive solo careers rather seamlessly.

When I decided I wanted to be a solo artist I'd only been in Fleetwood Mac for a few years. I tried to figure out a way to do it gracefully because I didn’t wanna break up the band. I just wanted to sit at my piano and write poetry. After we did a record and a really long tour the band scurried off to different parts of the world while I’d just be home writing songs for a year and a half. What did they care what I did while they were all on vacation? I’ve always said all the way through these two careers I've had: if you're in a band first, never break it up.

I know Beyoncé because I spent a day with Destiny’s Child making the “Bootylicious” video. I owe them a debt of gratitude because that’s the one time I ever got to pretend I played rock-and-roll guitar! But when Beyoncé made the decision to be a solo artist she did not see herself going back to Destiny's Child every couple of years. And that's a perfectly acceptable decision because sometimes that's what people wanna do. I, on the other hand, said why not have the ability to go back to Fleetwood Mac whenever I want? Being a Gemini I get bored really easily, so being able to have those two careers was great.

Do you think One Direction would ever reunite?

I think it's a good idea. For all we know, One Direction is completely broken up forever. But I think those guys are friends and five or ten years down the road they could all go "You know what, wouldn't it be really fun to do a One Direction tour?" Because that's what people do. I wouldn't be surprised if they did reunite at some point just because they can. And because it would just be fun. Harry is the kind of person who would never stomp on that idea. He would never say (imitates posh English accent) "Never! I would never do that again!" Because why not just keep the door open?

Was there any particular detail or passage in Harry’s cover story that stuck out to you?

According to this article he can get in a car with his friend to drive all over Europe then drive back by himself. I stopped driving in 1978 because my driver's license expired and I'd already made a lot of money. I very smartly thought "You know what, if someone even hits you and it's not even your fault but you're a little drunk, you are done. You're finished and the fortune that you've made is gone, so why should you drive anyway?” By then me and Christine were very cloistered, but Harry's able to live a freer life because he's a guy. He's like Mick. He has a free life.

Would you say that you don’t?

I'm only comparing us in the way that Harry goes off to the Bahamas to work on songs then flies back to LA then London then Italy—I can't do that. I can't do that by myself. He's able to do whatever he wants by himself and it's a whole different way of life. Being that Harry is a guy, he's able to be a loner more than I am. As a woman I'm not free to do all that. Even when I was his age I couldn't just get off anywhere I wanted. When we were on the road Christine and I didn't have a clue in the world what the boys did. We went to our rooms with security guys standing outside. It's not like we ever escaped to go club-hopping in downtown Manhattan. We never got to live that life so freedom as Harry knows it is very different than it’s been for me.

Did you ever have any figure in your life who provided some sense of mentorship the way you have to artists like Harry?

I didn't really have anyone. If I had any guiding force at all it probably would've been Christine McVie because she was five years older than me. And five years is five years, you know? Chris was friends with Eric Clapton and knew all the famous musicians in London. She’d married John [McVie] and done a bunch of records with Fleetwood Mac before I came along so she'd been in the music business for a long time. I was breaking up with Lindsey when she was breaking up with John. She was my therapist and my go-to person for just about everything. We had each other to get through that really difficult situation where no one was gonna quit the band. Christine and I kept the whole thing together by telling the three men "You quit because we're not stopping” Thank god I had her, but I think on the other side of that thank god she had me. We really were a force of nature.

I’m curious to what extent fashion plays a role in your and Harry’s relationship. Have you gifted him any accessories that were significant to you?

I actually gave him a ring at the Forum thing. It’s very masculine and has a pink stone in it. I told him it was a pink diamond but it really isn't, it would've cost $5 million. It was mine and I really loved it but I thought "This should be for Harry.” You can see it on his hands in the "Falling" video where he’s playing the piano. If Harry and I were in a band together we’d be trading all kinds of crazy stuff.

How did you come to decide on your all-black stage uniform?

I started getting paid when I joined Fleetwood Mac but up until then I didn't have any money to buy food. All of a sudden we were going on tour so I just packed up my normal clothes. We started eating because there was room service and there I was gaining ten pounds in the middle of the tour. I didn't fit in any of the clothes and I didn't have time to shop so when I got home I said “I can never do this again.” I knew a friend who knew a designer and I told her I needed a uniform because I can't be thinking about what I wanna wear every night. It makes it so much easier since everybody that's in Pittsburgh isn't necessarily gonna be in Philadelphia. Harry's done the same thing with his white pants and pink shirt.

What are your thoughts on him being the first solo male cover in Vogue’s history?

It makes me feel so inspired. I'm extremely jealous he's on the cover of Vogue because I'm seventy-two years old and have wanted to be on the cover my whole life. I’m such a magazine hag, so I’m incredibly jealous of Harry but I'll get over it. As far as all the crazy things he's wearing, you do whatever you have to do to be on the cover of Vogue. I'm very proud of him and I think it's great that there's a man on the cover… but I should've been in the corner off in the distance (laughs). Did you know I've never been to the Met Gala?

We would be honored to have you at the next gala and every one after that. I’m putting this in the article to make sure it’s in the public record.

As Mick Jagger says, "We still have our freedom, but we don't have much time." I would like to be not much older than I am now so I can wear a fantastic outfit and entertain everybody. It's a dream of mine and most of my dreams have come true, but I need to not be ninety when it happens.

Harry and you could perform together.

We wouldn't even have to rehearse. We've got a couple of duets that are really great. We do "Landslide" and “Two Ghosts” together really well. We actually have five or six terrific acoustic numbers that we could do at the drop of a hat.

You hinted earlier this year that there might be a role for Harry in the miniseries based on the stories of Rhiannon. Is there any update there?

This is probably the third-biggest thing I've ever done in my life after Fleetwood Mac and my solo career. There’s a lot to be done in the movie business before I can start riding my horses across the mountains of Wales. I've signed with a movie company—I'm not gonna tell you who—and we just signed a writer. I'm not gonna tell you who that is either but there’s an amazing part for Harry. My favorite character in the series is the only man who goes through all four books. He's a magician who doesn't wanna be king and I think Harry would just be so perfect.

Have you and Harry discussed collaborating on any future music together?

We're open to making music together because we've been very successful when we go onstage just to do one song. I would love to be in a band with Harry but even if I never saw him in person again he’s made a record that breaks my heart in a million places like Fine Line. As far as music goes there's plenty of fun things that he and I could do. We can just reach out to each other and do it. I’m always ready to slip back into those high-heel black suede boots and become my alter ego.

This interview has been edited for clarity and space.

[somersetmummy]

(A/N) This chapter takes place right at the beginning of the story, prior to TNA Chapter 1. Some characters property of Pixelberry.

Original characters: Katie Hide (MC), Jenny Blake

New characters: Lucinda Hansen

Rating/Content Warning: Mild adult language

Word count: 2005

Summary: MC Katie Hide is an English rose, living in New York. She’s down on her luck and desperately needs a job before her visa expires and she’s sent back to London. A chance conversation with a friend leads to an unlikely opportunity. Little did she know that one little interview would change the course of her life forever.

- Bonus social edits at the end -

Just like any other Thursday morning of recent weeks, Katie and Jenny were killing time together in their favourite coffee shop just down the street from their shared apartment. It had become Katie's haven and her go-to place when she wanted to lose herself for a few hours people watching, letting the stories of their lives unfold around her.

She'd always had a knack for paying attention to the details, noticing things which passed by most others. It was a skill she'd relied on heavily in her work, always giving her the edge, at least it had until the time it led to her downfall at Panacea Labs.

Katie had recently walked out of her job after piecing together a scheme under the radar to roll out a costly new drug for treating MS, despite there being multiple warning signs that it was ultimately ineffective but instead just masked the symptoms. Anyone else would've just glossed over the signs, not even noticing, but to Katie, the anomalies jumped off the page unmistakably. It was when she tried to escalate her concerns that she was shut down and her life in the lab made a misery by the VP, Declan Nash.

It hadn't taken long for her to realise that the company was more concerned about profits than actually helping people and she knew that the battle to fall in line and keep her job wasn't worth it. After calmly and quietly sending a company wide report on her findings, she gathered her things and walked out before she could be accosted by security. Little did she know that Nash had already been keeping tabs on her communications, in his eyes she was a trouble maker, and the report never saw the light of day.

Unfortunately for Katie, the current opportunities for young women in the biotech and pharmaceutical world just weren't what they should have been and she spent the next few weeks furiously searching for something else to avoid her work visa being revoked. 

Having moved from London to attend the New York Institute of Technology and graduating with a Masters in Chemistry & Bio Engineering three years ago, she'd fallen in love with the city and the life she'd built. She didn't know exactly what the future held and couldn't put her finger on why, but she had a very strong feeling that she needed to stay in New York.  

Today, Katie had planned to work through all the job adverts remotely relating to her experience and qualifications, with Jenny on hand to offer moral support. Tiring quickly of hitting one brick wall after another, they'd long forgotten the laptop and instead had spent the last 30 minutes idly chatting about Jenny’s upcoming gallery event when Lucinda arrived, phone to her ear, her body tense and voice sharp as she wrapped up a call with her boss.

"Of course I've got someone Angela, I wouldn't put my name in the mix if I didn't. My candidate is going to blow the others out of the water, I just know Mr Dalton will be impressed....no not just impressed, he'll be awestruck..."

While waiting for her to wrap up her call, Katie heads to the counter to order Lucinda a much needed coffee and returns to place it down in front of her just as she hangs up. She tosses her phone onto the table and slumps back in her chair, defeated.

Jenny stares her down waiting for an explanation which she and Katie both know Lucinda desperately wants to give but is holding off for dramatic effect.

After a long sip of coffee and a moment of holding her head in her hands she finally exhales.

"I am so SO SCREWED."

Katie and Jenny share a look before returning their attention to Lucinda.

"I've just promised my boss that I have the perfect candidate for some billionaire business man's nanny position....." She glares at them both as if they should understand why that's a problem. "I never touch these sorts of jobs, I only ever look for candidates in finance, nannying isn't worth my time."

Katie chooses her words carefully, knowing how Lucinda can bite back pretty quickly when she's stressed. Speaking softly, cautious not to poke the bear, she looks Lucinda in the eye and internally braces herself for whatever might come next.

"So what made this one so different?"

Fortunately Lucinda seems to finally be relaxing, she replies more quietly.

"Filling this position will put me on the map, nobody in the firm has been able to secure someone for this guy, they only seem to last a few weeks before they quit so the sign on bonus never kicks in. If I could find the perfect person I wouldn't only get a great bonus, I'd be next in line for promotion to Senior Head-hunter."

Her demanding demeanour melts away and she's left looking almost vulnerable. Something Katie knows Lucinda doesn't find at all comfortable.

"Anyway, I'll figure it out, I always do."

She gives Katie and Jenny a soft smile, allowing herself to momentarily forget about her woes so she can refocus the attention back to them.

"So what were you guys talking about before I came in?"

As Katie opens her mouth to speak Jenny cuts in on her behalf.

"Oh Katie's just been trying to work out how to get a job before her visa renewal date comes up in a couple of weeks."

Katie lets out a sigh of her own, suddenly remembering how dire her employment prospects are and feeling equally as defeated as Lucinda.

"I can't believe I've worked so hard for my degree, I found the perfect job in the perfect city but now it's all gone down the drain and I'm going to have to go back home and never see you all again."

Jenny wraps her arm around Katie's shoulders, pulling her close. "Oh come on, like you'd be able to shake us off. Even if you are in another country!"

As suddenly as Lucinda dramatically entered the coffee shop she slams her hand onto the table making the others jump.

"THAT'S IT!" She cries, her idea almost exploding out of her. "This is just too perfect...."

Katie and Jenny share a confused look before turning back to Lucinda who is practically foaming at the mouth, clearly onto something, though they're not quite sure what.

"You need a job, I need a candidate." She says in her signature matter of fact style.

Katie still has no idea where Lucinda's going with this.

"It's win win. I'll put you forward for the nanny position, you'll get a great job which means you get to stay in New York, I'll get my bonus. Not to mention I'll look like a damn superhero at work!"

The cogs start to turn in Katie's brain as she begins to digest what Lucinda is proposing.

"But I'm not a nanny....and what about my visa, it's only valid for work in relation to my degree."

Lucinda waves her hand at her, dismissing her concerns. "No problem there then. This guy's family owns one of the biggest Biotech companies in the country, surely that's related to your degree? He's so desperate for a successful match I'll make sure the visa thing is part of the contract."

She cuts back in quickly just as Katie opens her mouth to object.

"And as for you not being a nanny, what about all those times in the lab when you had to pull rank and sort out the shit that went down between your useless colleagues? You've done more nannying of adults in the last two years than most actual nanny's do in their whole career with children."

Jenny suddenly chimes in "OH MY GOD, this is genius!"

Defeated, Katie turns to look at Jenny in disbelief. She may have had a chance saying no to just Lucinda but with Jenny on board with this idea as well she may as well give up now.

"This will solve both your problems, I mean come on, who wouldn't want to work for this guy..."

Jenny turns her phone to Katie, clearly having been searching while she and Lucinda were talking. On the screen Katie sees the most devastatingly handsome man she's ever come across. He's nothing like the guys she'd known before, this person, was a real man and the sight of him caused her stomach to flip.

While undeniably handsome, it's not just the physical attraction that she's drawn to. Her eyes move to the company bio underneath his headshot and in true Katie style, she scans all of the accolades and achievements the company has to boast about. Her mind races at the possibilities. There's no mistaking that working for this man could open the door to so many opportunities and experiences in the future.

With a sigh she resigns herself to the fact that Lucinda might actually be on to something, this could be the break Katie had been waiting for and would certainly solve her imminent visa problems if she could get it taken care of as part of the contract negotiations.

With a silent nod and slight shrug of the shoulders, she begrudgingly agrees, much to the delight of her friends who squeal at each other in delight. Lucinda immediately pushes her shoulders back, standing to attention, furiously beginning to type on her phone.

"You TA'd for your old professor right?"

"Yes, I did a year as their assistant after graduating. Mainly doing research and going to conferences with her."

Lucinda's eyes never leave her phone as she works her magic, spinning Katie's words into an impressive resume. After a moment she raises her eyebrows and flits her eyes over to Katie, a small gesture which Katie realises is an invitation to elaborate.

"Oh, yeah so that's actually how I got into Panacea Labs, I met a rep at one of those conferences."

Jenny rolls her eyes at the mention of Katie's old company, now affectionately known by them both as Pariah Labs. Despite what she felt about Katie's previous employer, she was immensely proud of Katie's achievements and wanted to make sure they were included.

"Weren't you the youngest lab boss thingy they'd ever had?"

"Senior lab technician." Katie corrects, knowing full well that Jenny hasn't got a clue about the finer details of her work. "Well, yeah eventually, after two years of working my butt off. But I hardly think they'd rave about that in any reference they give me. If they even give one to begin with..."

Lucinda waves a dismissive hand at her.

"With this resume, you won't need any reference from those bastards. Trust me."

Katie had no idea what Lucinda had written or how she'd managed to spin her experience to be more favourable for a nanny position but it must've worked because half an hour later Lucinda slammed her hand down on the table once again, causing everyone around them to jump out of their skin.

"YES! It worked...he wants to see you, you've got an interview tomorrow at the Dalton Enterprises headquarters".

She turns her phone to Jenny to show off the email and they fall into an animated conversation, no doubt planning how they're all going to celebrate once Katie inevitably gets offered the job. As they fall into a blur in the background, Katie looks back over the picture of Sam Dalton on Jenny's phone, not quite sure how she can be so hypnotised by someone through a photograph.

There's something about him which feels familiar, something drawing her in. It's almost as if they're viewing each other through a looking glass and she wonders whether in this exact moment he is feeling the same magnetic pull towards her, a stranger whom he hasn't even met yet. Tearing her eyes away from the phone, Katie's tries to steady the stream of unanswered questions flooding her mind and focus on how she's going to win this man over.

"Here goes nothing."

TAG List: @shewillreadyou @chemist-ana @txemrn @silma-words @thefrenchiemama @secretaryunpaid @sfb123

- Bonus - pre-interview pep talk with the girls -

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

Ahhh, I can't pick an AU from the list so whichever one you like best ❤

It took a minute to be bitten by the right bug for this one @therogueheart but here we go! 

THE DAMNED DISGRACE: A Buddie Pirate! AU:

“Buck!” This couldn’t be happening…!

“Buck! Buck!!” Maddie was being dragged away from him and all he could do was watch…

“Buck!”

Buck’s eyes shot open at the last one. That wasn’t Maddie’s voice, it was her lover’s. Call me Chimney. Sure enough, The man was crouching over his cot, shaking his shoulder. “I found them.”

Buck was instantly awake, sitting up. “How?! No, no matter, will they help us?”

Chimney shrugged. “Not sure yet. I got a meeting with some of the crew in an hour at The Hangman’s Noose. Get dressed.”

Buck snorted at that. Get dressed. He was already wearing his only shirt, and his pants hung from a nail on the wall above his head. A far cry from the carefully kept suit coats and neckerchiefs of his teaching days. He reached for the pants and pulled them on, before running fingers through his too-long hair. It curled around his ears and over his forehead now, a look he despised. So vulgar, Evan, like a common waif, his father’s disapproving tone rang in his ears. He reached over to the cracked water basin and gathered some in his palm, splashing it over his hair and forcing the errant strands back. “Let’s go.”

Chimney led the way out of the decrepit inn they had managed to find a room at, and through the slurried streets of the harbor, ducking around hawkers and shoving aside pickpockets. Buck struggled to follow, envying Chimney his inherent ability to navigate, while simultaneously thanking God a thousand times over that he had the man’s help at all. 

He didn’t know Chimney’s real name, nothing about him at all, except that the man had all but dropped on top of him not a day after Maddie had been abducted by Commodore Douglas Kendall of the royal navy. Buck had still been inconsolable, barely able to stand for fear and panic while his own parents went about their lives, insisting that a commodore was a finer marriage than they could have expected for someone of their standing and Buck should be happy for her. They had not seen the terror on Maddie’s face, hadn’t been held to the floor by four men with a gun trained to his head while the commodore laughed, didn’t have her screams of terror and calls for help still ringing in their ears while he was able to do nothing but watch. 

When his own parents preferred to pretend Evan did not exist, Maddie had been a beacon of love and care. She’d pulled him out of his self-imposed obscurity and helped him earn his teacher’s license, enabling him to pay her love forward to other children who just needed someone to believe in them. Maddie was his whole world, and then she was taken.

And there had been nothing Buck could do about it until Chimney had forced his way into Buck’s bedroom three days later, holding a knife to a guilt-and-grief stricken Buck’s neck, demanding to know what they’d done with her. Buck's ill pallor and multiple bruises and cuts went a way toward convincing Chimney that Buck had not been complicit in Maddie’s abduction. The final straw had been Buck dissolving into Chimney’s less-than-prepared arms and bawling like a child. 

Chimney was Maddie’s lover of two years. He worked as a chimney-sweep, which Buck could only assume was the source of his nickname. They had planned to run away and marry as soon as they had enough money to start a new life together. Maddie was supposed to meet him a few days ago, and he’d assumed when she didn’t show for three days that their illicit love had been discovered and she’d been sent away to prevent the elopement. 

“Buck!” Chimney called at him, and Buck forced himself to focus on the present, pulling a small pickpocket’s hand out of his already-empty pocket with an apology and picking up his pace to catch up with Chimney. Chimney had been understandably reluctant to bring Buck with him on the search, but Buck had threatened to go it alone. It was also Buck that had come up with the hare-brained idea to rescue Maddie, an idea that--if they were truly lucky--was about to find wings.

“This is it.” Chimney murmured. He looked Buck up and down and then snorted, reaching up to muss up Buck’s carefully water trained hair. “Let me do the talking, okay kid?”

Buck nodded, resisting the urge to try and pat his unruly curls back into place as they stepped into the dimly lit pub.

Raucous music competed with yelling and loud laughter, making the room feel even more full than it already was. Buck kept a close tail on Chimney, terrified of getting lost amidst the motley mix of patrons mingling around. Soon enough they arrived at a table in the far back. It listed to the side a little, its sticky top home to two mugs of ale. At the table sat two men, both looking rough and worn around the edges. 

“Chimney Han?”

“Yeah.” Chimney sat down and gestured for Buck to do the same. 

The first man nodded quietly and waited. The second man, clearly the lower ranking of the two, eyed Buck, a leer growing on his face.

“You been on the harbor long, Your Grace?”

Buck startled. “What? I’m not--” 

Chimney nudged him in the side, silencing him. “You with the crew of The Disgrace?”

The second man chuckled. “That’s us. What do you want?”

“We want to join your crew.”

The first man’s eyes narrowed and he sat forward. “Why?”

Chimney snorted. “We heard you’re the only tars stupid enough to go after Commodore Douglas of the navy, and we want to help.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What’d he do to you?”

“Made off with my future wife. This man’s sister.” Chimney poked Buck. “We want her back and we want to make him pay.”

The man nodded slowly. “What kinda work are you good for?”

“I can fight knives, hand-to-hand, and I’m good for any work. I was a chimney sweep so I’m not afraid of heights either.” Chimney remarked. He clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck isn’t as experienced, but he’s tall and strong and willing to learn and work hard.”

Buck nodded dumbly, praying he looked earnest and tough and helpful enough. 

“I dunno, Cap, I’ve seen his type before.” A hand clamped on Buck’s shoulder from behind and Buck startled terribly, whipping around in his seat. “Burning red as a lobster on day one, never get their sea legs, useless dead weight.” 

A man was looking down at him. He was deeply tanned and tall. Though Buck was fairly certain he was taller by an inch, the man standing behind him was broader and packed with muscle. 

The man took in Buck’s face and chuckled. “Look at you. You startle so easily, like a child. And you think you’ll be useful to us?” He sneered. “What did you do before you decided to try joining the most damned pirate crew on the seas?”

“Me?” Buck did not like this man, but he fought to hide it and keep his composure. “I’m a… was a teacher.”

“A teacher?” Buck turned back to the man called Cap. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, and he assessed Buck and Chimney both before nodding.

“I don’t like it.” Eddie interjected.

“You don’t have to, Eddie.” Cap smiled and rose in his chair. “They’re coming with us.”

“What?!” Both men turned to Cap, but he ignored them, instead facing Chim and Buck his voice steel. “The rules are simple: You don’t pull your weight, you go overboard. You try to betray us to the navy, we’ll cut you into small pieces and send them to your sister. Everything else you’ll learn on the ship.”

Chim nodded. “Fine by me.”

Cap turned to Buck.

“Yes, of course! I swear! Thank you!” Buck shot out of his seat and reached out a hand to shake. “We won’t let you down, Mr. Cap!!”

He heard a loud sigh from the angry man--Eddie--behind him and the man sitting next to Cap laughed. “That’s our Captain Nash, you toff.”

“Oh.” Buck turned beet red and quickly lowered his hand. Next to him, Chimney sighed, but rose as well.

“You won’t regret it, Captain Nash.”

“If I regret it, you’ll regret it more.” The captain rose. “Let’s go.”

[tarlosbuddie]

CapSwap - Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Summary: Taylor Kelly is back at the 118 and she’s producing a new TV Show where Bobby Nash and Owen Strand will trade places for an entire month. Bobby will fly to Austin to take over the 126 when Owen will be the Captain at the 118. 

Or a dad swap between the two Daptain.

Word Count: 2640

Chapter: 1/?

When Bobby Nash received a call from the fire chief, he expected another suspension. It’s the only thing that comes to his mind now when the highest-ranking member of the department personally asked to talk to him. To be fair, the 118 had its fair share of suspension and Bobby is driving to the fire chief office, wondering which one of his team is going to be benched again. None of them deserve it, but life keeps throwing them curveballs so Bobby is just expecting the next one. They are all doing fine lately, at least at work. Sure, half of them still need some serious therapy to get through their trauma, but Bobby trusts them to deal with it. He is about to enter the office when he sees a small red-haired woman talking to the chief and laughing with him. Bobby can barely see her face, but he recognized her voice and he is annoyed already. She is finally leaving the office and the chief waves at Bobby to enter.

“You remember Taylor Kelly?” the chief asks. Bobby is surprised to see him smiling this way. He knows he should be relieved because it probably means that no one is getting fired, but a reporter is never good news for him.

“It’s kind of hard to forget her and her cameras,” Bobby says. He is trying his best to keep his tone respectful while addressing his superior.

“Her news report about the 118 did great for public relations”, he explains. “The department had to cut some parts they didn’t like, but otherwise it helped with public opinion.” 

“Do you want her to make another video? Because I know you liked her work but I can’t say I was happy having her around” Bobby says.

“You won’t have to worry about Taylor” the chief replies and Bobby is relieved for a moment. But then he opens his mouth again and the relief is short-lived. “You will be going to Austin,” he says and Bobby’s jaw drops. “Miss Kelly had a great idea to improve public opinion. You will swap places with another captain for a month. We already cleared everything with the other department. They are sending their captain on Monday” he adds, leaving no room for argument. 

“Chief, with all due respect” Bobby tries.

“Captain Nash, your station has not the best records at the moment.” he cuts.  “Between your suspension and Mr. Buckley’s lawsuit, you are not in our good grace. Take this as a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of the public and in my eyes too,” he says firmly. “This is happening whether you like it or not.” 

“My family is here, you can’t uproot me without my permission.”

“It’s only for a month. So I suggest you start packing because you are leaving in a few days. Unless you are willing to add insubordination to your list.”

Bobby is about to walk out of the office when the chief adds “It’s going to be a good experience for you and your team. Don’t see this as a punishment, use it as an opportunity to learn a thing or two. I’m sure AFD will be happy to have you there.”

Taylor is still in the hallway when Bobby leaves the office, but he ignores her and goes back to the station. 

He explains the situation to the team as soon as he arrives. They are all around the table, waiting for a breakfast that wasn’t cooked since Bobby wasn’t there to feed them. Eddie is the first to react to the news.

“Wait, Taylor Kelly is coming back here?” he says much to everyone’s surprise.

“Well, I didn’t think that would be the part that bothers you” Bobby teases. “I’m glad you are not too sad about having another captain here.”

“Of course I’m sad, Cap,” Eddie adds. 

“I’m not excited about this either, but we don’t have much of a choice. The chief sent me the contracts, the cameras won’t be here all the time. They just want to produce an entertaining piece about how a different captain can change things in a station but I think it’s mostly an excuse for Taylor to step up her game”.

“It looks like she already did Cap”, Buck says. “She was always ambitious and that’s one of the things I learned to respect about her. She went from traffic reports to news reports to producing her own show.”

Buck complimenting the woman that went Buck 1.0 on him and leaving him in a parking lot was not something Bobby thought he’d ever seen but he was even more surprised by the murdering look on Eddie’s face.

“What do we know about the new cap?” Hen asks. 

“I’m going to Austin, so I think that’s where the new guy is coming from.” Bobby answers. He sits on the table next to them and handles all of them the contracts to sign. He didn’t really read them in the chief office before being practically forced to sign his copy. But now that he has his in his hand and a hot-barely-drinkable coffee in the other he reads a paragraph that makes him want to spit his coffee. “What the hell?” he screams to himself but everyone raises their head from their reading to look at their captain.

“Everything’s okay Cap? Buck asks, a little worried. The youngest member didn’t even bother to grab his own contract and was reading from Eddie’s as he was close enough to see it. Both his hands were filled with food anyway.

“The Captain of the 118 would live at the Strand’s house for the duration of the contract” Bobby reads, voice higher than he would have hoped.

“Does this mean you will have to live with his wife or something?” Chimney asks, his curiosity is picked and he is dying to know more about what already appears to be a month of chaos and fun.

“His boy,” Bobby says. “It says that the Captain from the 126 added a clause in the contract saying that he didn’t want his son to be alone and that he wanted me to keep an eye on him. I’m going to babysit a teenager?” Bobby assumes. “Thank God the firehouse is the only place I’m exchanging with him because I wouldn’t want to come home to Athena to tell her that some stranger would live under her roof.”

The rest of the shift goes back without any major surprise. Every time they come back to the house in between calls, Chimney is on his laptop, googling things and laughing, Eddie is even closer to Buck, questioning him about Taylor Kelly even as they step into the showers after a call that left them covered in ashes and sweat and Hen is talking to Bobby while keeping an eyes on the boys, already guessing how insufferable the three of them will be on Monday.

When Bobby comes home after a long, mostly boring, shift, he feels anxiety building in his stomach at the idea of having to break the news to his wife and her kids. He waits for the diner to be over to start talking.

“So, the Chief called me into his office this morning,” he says first.

“Everything’s okay? Nothing to do with Buck I hope? I swear, this boy has been giving me more gray hair in 3 years than my kids in a lifetime.” 

“Buck’s fine. His ex girlfriend, though.” Bobby starts.

“Abby? She was a sweet woman,until she broke our boy’s heart.”

“Taylor Kelly.”

“The news reporter?”

“It’s Taylor Kelly, the TV productor now. She pitched an idea to the Chief and he signed for it with a big smile.”

“What idea? She’s not gonna film you again, is she?” Athena says in the same annoyed tone than Bobby.

“I like her” May says before her brother hits her arm for her to stop talking. “What? She’s good. She did some very interesting news pieces and she gave a lecture to my school to encourage young students to go to college.”

“So what did that angel of a woman did for my husband to look so pissed?”

“She’s producing a show called the Swap.”

“I’ve seen an episode” the young woman cuts again. “She had doctors trade hospitals to show how leadership can affect a place. It was great! One of them was super uptight and-” she stopped talking when her eyes met Bobby’s. “Oh shit.”

“Langage!” Athena says. “Is there something I’m missing?”

“She’s doing a firefighter version. And I guess I’m the very uptight one.”

Of all the reactions he imagined all day, the only one he didn’t imagine was the sound of his wife bursting into laughter.

“Sorry” she says, covering her mouth to stop the loud noize coming out of it. “Sorry, it’s not funny.”

“It’s really not” Bobby says.

“I’m just trying to picture you in that show, with a new team. And oh god, that poor captain is not ready to handle the 118.”

“Hey, they’re a great team.”

“They’re your kids, Bobby. You love them and I do too. They are great at their jobs.”

“They’re the best,” Bobby corrects.

“But they are also a bunch of living disasters. How long has it been since one of them ended up in the hospital? I hope the new cap doesn’t like his hair too much, because he’s gonna end up with a head full of gray hair within the first week.”

“I was hoping a little more empathy for your poor husband who’s gonna live in Texas for a month with the son’s captain as a roommate.”

“You’ll do great, honey. I’m not worried about you.”

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away.

“Are you serious, dad? Please tell me you’re kidding me.” TK whines. He places his mug on the sink and walks toward Owen who is waiting for him by the door to go to work.

“It will be a nice change, TK. Plus, the department told me I didn’t really have a choice since they needed the money to pay for the House renovation I ordered. Apparently I went a little over the budget.”

“You spend half the budget on that fancy coffee maker Judd can’t even get to work without your help.”

“Stop complaining and move your ass to the car or we’ll be late. I hope you’ll complain less when the new cap is here cause he’ll be the one driving your whining ass to work.”

“He what?”

So maybe Owen forgot to mention that part. It was the only thing that had him hesitate before saying yes, he promised he wouldn’t leave his son alone after what happened in New York. He tried to negotiate for his son to come with him but the productors insisted only the captain could come, so he only managed to have the other captain to live with his son at all time. He also knew TK wasn’t alone anymore, he saw the way Carlos looked at him the day he came picking him up at the station. He knows he will be fine but he’s not taking any chances when it comes to his boy safety. 

When they both arrive at the station, Mateo has a hot cup of coffee ready for Owen and TK goes to the kitchen to make himself his own cup. Judd is fighting with the machine and holds his hands up in defeat.

“I give up. This thing hates me, I swear.” 

“Someone is in a mood” Marjan laughs from her spot in the kitchen where she’s cooking something for breakfast.

“You’re about to be in a mood when you hear the cap’s latest idea.” TK comments. He’s about to drink the coffee he just poured himself when he sees Judd’s puppy eyes. “Did Buttercup teach you that trick? I’m not rubbing your belly if that’s what you want.” The dog comes to his favorite firefighter and TK gives his coffee to Judd. “Fine, you can have mine, but only because my hands will be busy doing this.” He says while starting petting the dog.

“So, what’s that idea of yours, cap?” Paul asks.

“First, it’s not my idea, it’s the department.” Owen says. “Second, don’t listen to my grumpy son, it will be fun.”

“What would be fun?” Judd asks, definitely not convinced but his captain enthusiastic tone.

“Go ahead, tell them cap, we’ll see if they are all as thrilled as I am” TK says.

“I’m going to Los Angeles for a month.” 

“For a vacation or something?” Marjan asks.

“For a damn TV show,” TK cuts.

“A what?” they all ask pretty much at the same time.

“It’s a captain exchange. I will go to  a new station for a month and their captain will come here.”

“Maybe we’ll get a captain that knows how to read a book” Michelle comments, thinking about the first time they met. He didn’t realise that she had arrived. She has a wide smile on her face and Owen counts this as a sign that she’s enjoying the idea, maybe a little too much. “So, who’s that new captain I’m gonna share the station with?” 

“Robert Nash, from Los Angeles’ station 118” Owen replies and Judd and Paul share a look. They are definitely taking note of that guy name to google for info later. “The cameras would be here a few hours a day so you need to sign those contracts.”

“And if we refuse?” Judd asks.

“From what I heard, it’s not like we have much of a choice. But I’m sure you’ll love the new guy.”

“I’m sure we will. But what if we want to keep him at the end of the month?” Michelle teases. 

“Then I guess I’ll stay in LA, with a team that respects and loves me.”

“We love you,” Mateo says.

“Speak for yourself, probie. I might call Robert Dad within the first shift.” TK jokes.

“Remember everything you’ll do can be caught on camera. I’ll know everything. And I know at least one person will miss me.” Owen says. He walks toward Mateo who’s smiling proudly and puts his hand on his shoulder, before bending to stroke Buttercup “You’re my favorite teammate, buddy.” He says to the dog. The team laughs at the disappointed looks on the youngest member’s face before hearing the alarm.

“Do we know anything about the other firehouse?” Paul asks when they climbed into the truck.

“We? We don’t. But I do. They gave me a file with the resume of each member of the 118.”

“Come on, Cap. You’re not gonna share that with us?” His son says. 

“Nop. That’s what you get from not liking my ideas, son.”

Paul and Judd exchange another look and TK knows that they are plotting something. It’s not like Owen is the best at hiding secrets and they all know that file will be on the second drawer of his desk. They won’t even need a distraction to get it since their captain will spend half an hour in the mirror when they’ll get back to the station after this call.

Marjan is driving toward the emergency they are responding to when all the phones except Owen’s start buzzing.

Paul sent a bunch of pictures in their group chat. Owen knows this chat exists and assumes he’s the subject of half the jokes and memes they are sending but he loves that his team gets along so well so he really doesn’t care about it. This time, it’s not him they are laughing at. Paul just sent them pictures and infos about Robert Nash. TK tries not to smile when he reads the texts.

Paul 🚒:It’s on 😈

Cowboy Judd 🤠: Let’s the fun begins

[kitchenscene]

austin’s 911 / buddie fic rec

[ long post, so all fics are under the cut ]

tags: @michaelgrantnash , @bisexualbuck , @terryjeffordss

﹂cause love is whatever we want it to be by wafflesofdoom

summary: "he and buck, there was a sort of an inevitability to their relationship that scared eddie to his core, sometimes – but more and more now, he was realising that his fear was holding him back from something amazing.he –well, eddie was going to sweep buck off his feet."

personal opinion: there’s this line – ‘falling for you just felt inevitable’ –that just stuck with me. this is one of those fics that i’ll probably still be thinking about years from now.

﹂the ivory keys by tkreyesevandiaz

summary: buck didn’t think he’d come back to this one thing again. as a kid, he’d crashed into the habit like a beautiful accident. he’d stumbled upon the old instrument in the guest house where his parents usually held brunches and parties for other aristocrats in their circles, at age eight. after hearing the reverberating sound from the keys, it became an obsession to learn.

personal opinion: very very very sweet. i literally had dreams about this fic after i read it.

﹂encore by pline

summary: “I’m going insane.”

“Did something happen?”

A dark, bitter laugh bubbles out of Buck – a mockery of joy.

“Everything keeps happening, and it’s still the same fucking day. It’s always the same and every time it’s different and I can’t do anything.”

Or

Buck keeps reliving the same day, over and over again.

personal opinion: oh my GOD oh my god i love time loops. the angst !!! (make sure you read the tags though for tw)

﹂knocking on heaven’s door by MomentsOfWeakness

summary: buck isn’t sure where he is. the last thing he remembers was being out on a call. now he’s here, in a place he has never seen before surrounded by people he doesn't know. it's bright. that's all he can really tell.

based on a tumblr prompt where someone asked for buck and chris both ending up in purgatory at the same time before they ever met in life. buck has a ticket back to the living world but he gives it to chris who is supposed to die. an old man, seeing what buck did for chris, decides to give his own ticket for the living world to buck, because the world needs more people like him.

personal opinion: i included this on an old fic rec post and i’m linking it again because i love it. this is so poetic and lovely.

﹂eddie begins by malmal88

summary: these are words he’s never spoken out loud before. each experience that counts as proof has been folded up and carefully tucked away inside of himself. he spent all the time in between each one of the cornerstone moments trying to prove to himself, to his father, to anyone who was paying attention that it wasn’t true. he was almost successful at it. but there is only so long you can deny who you are.

personal opinion: this is part of a three fic series, and it’s one of my fav eddie centric fics. all three together are a masterpiece.

﹂i’ll see you in my dreams by talk_too_much

summary: in which buck finds himself inexplicably married to his best friend, but it’s fine, he’s figuring it out.

personal opinion: this is part one of a two fic series, definitely read both of them. not much i can say plot wise without spoiling it, but this is a fic that i come back too a lot.

﹂it wasn’t fate that led me to you by theskyisblue

summary: evan buckley was seven years old when his vision for the red string of fate came to life. his mother had talked with him for hours that day, explaining to him what he saw, why he saw what he saw, and how he should never breathe a word to a single soul about what he saw. he was still too young to understand that the red string of fate was more complicated than his seven-year-old mind made it out to be, that love was far more complex than a simple fated partner and a happily ever after.

personal opinion: oh it’s got a Moral at the end, which i like. happy ending, but not in the way you’d think.

﹂carnations by red_to_black

summary: evan buckley has never once been given flowers in his life. that is, until he mentions it in a fit of self-pity at the firehouse. then they're everywhere. what he can't work out is where they're coming from.

(or: buck mentions never getting flowers before, and a certain someone decides to remedy that.)

personal opinion: one of those fics where it’s so cute that i have to set my phone down for a sec and take a few breaths or else i’ll get overwhelmed. love love love.

﹂kiss me like you mean it by HaleyDingle

summary: 5 times eddie kisses buck + 1 time he really kisses him.

personal opinion: i think i’ve reread this like five times at least. very sweet.

﹂stick with you by soft_satan

summary: eddie licked his dry lips as he reached for his radio, trying to keep his movements slow and delicate to prevent any more damage to himself or buck.

“Diaz to Captain Nash.”

“Go for Nash,” came Bobby’s quick reply.

“You two okay? Where are you?”

“We’re in a bit of a sticky situation here…”

“We’re a shish kabob, Cap!” Buck chimed in. Eddie rolled his eyes.

personal opinion: oooh babey the angst. the self sacrificing bullshit. i love it.

﹂to glimpse red by tkreyesevandiaz

summary: red was the color of passion, of seduction, of happiness and prosperity. it was the color of danger, of fire, of violence, of blood. but in this moment, red was the color of pure terror.

personal opinion: oh im a slut for navy seals!buck and this delivers.

﹂the urgency of now by wayfarer

summary: buck is pretty sure the universe is actively trying to murder him at this point. there’s just no other explanation. in the last two years he has been blown up and subsequently crushed by a fire truck, suffered from a pulmonary embolism, nearly drowned in a tsunami and now this. how many times can he almost die before it stops being an accident and starts being some kind of cosmic hit put out on his life?

or, a building collapses on Buck and Eddie. confessions ensue.

personal opinion: i don’t usually cry when i read fics but this made me cry like a little baby.

﹂if i didn’t have you by rebeccaofsbfarm

summary: Eddie groans, but he gets down on his knee, setting their beers on the pavement. He works to unknot the laces, then ties them again. He goes to stand, but Buck stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Eddie…” he looks up to see that Buck’s eyes are the size of dinner plates. He leans on his knee, trying to understand why Buck is so flustered, and then he hears the shutter of a camera. In his peripheral, he sees that a crowd has gathered around them, and half of the people have their phones out, recording.

Eddie’s eyes connect with Buck’s, and while he is panicked, Buck is trying so hard not to laugh that there are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. The crowd must see it and misread it as Buck being overcome with emotion, because they coo in response.

“Fuck,” Eddie curses under his breath, quiet enough that only Buck can hear him. “What do I do here?”

Buck snorts, “Sorry man, I think you’ve got to commit now.”

personal opinion: fuck dating we’re skipping straight to proposals.

﹂waves (it comes and goes) by SunSpell80

summary: evan buckley left his past behind when he left home for good at age 19. but an unexpected phone call on a quiet shift disrupts the life he's built for himself: forcing him to confront his past in order to build a new future.

personal opinion: make sure you read the tws but oooOOh the slowburn ? the family drama ? i live for it

﹂you’re gonna have a great time by waytotheend

summary: chris leaves a list of 20 things buck can do to cheer eddie up while he's at camp; somehow it turns into a 20 steps plan to woo eddie.

personal opinion: ‘i don’t know buck, i’m nine’ sends me every time.