#at least i managed to finish cleaning it and hanging the new drapes before almost falling to my demise

[blearyfaced]

besties I'm here to inform I almost fell out of my bedroom window. twice.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV.  Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking. 

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight. 

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

 “How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them. 

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier. 

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck. 

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing. 

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm. 

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.” 

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies. 

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.” 

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray. 

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity. 

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other. 

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food. 

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall. 

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act. 

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought. 

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl. 

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer? 

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever. 

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before. 

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower. 

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness. 

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him. 

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace. 

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.” 

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap. 

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.” 

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.” 

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real. 

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her. 

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight. 

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars​​, @greatcircle79​​

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter three

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

*

“Bec?” 

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice. 

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.” 

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next. 

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone. 

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self. 

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever. 

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.” 

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.” 

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together. 

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place. 

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that. 

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.” 

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.” 

Beca nodded. “Thanks.” 

“Are you coming to bed?” 

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.” 

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for. 

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least. 

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago. 

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration. 

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse. 

*

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch. 

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen. 

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news? 

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York? 

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July. 

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it. 

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted. 

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island. 

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up. 

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace. 

To: Sarah 

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards. 

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?” 

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones. 

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head. 

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator. 

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read. 

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke. 

“A pack of Marlboro, please.” 

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?” 

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?” 

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.” 

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?” 

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.” 

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.” 

“There’s a shop right across the street.” 

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else. 

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this. 

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s. 

“Beca?” 

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe. 

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea. 

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?” 

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?” 

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it. 

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.” 

“Coming right up.” 

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.” 

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.” 

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.” 

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.” 

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile. 

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.” 

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.” 

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?” 

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.” 

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?” 

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…” 

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently. 

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts. 

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect. 

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting. 

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.” 

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet. 

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

[statticscribbles]

Sides

Sumarry: Sweet Pea/Reader-  Sweet Pea hates the Northside, they take everything after all.

You’re fifteen when you realize just how serious the new tattoo Sweet Pea has is. He spends the night reassuring you. You insist you don’t need the reassurance he tries to give; only asking if he’s okay, if the way his nose sits means it’s broken. He pushes off your concern, joking about how his good looks are ruined. “Of course that’s what you’re worried about Y/N.” He’s about to say more but you quiet him with a kiss. “Worried about you.” You stare at your bed tracing the pattern on your sheet as he tilts your head back up, kissing you again. Your brush your hand carefully over his shoulder, you hadn’t had much blood to clean up, but the dark purple and bruise’s that are starting to form have you worried about where your hands rest as he deepens this kiss. He pulls back slightly watching as you hover your fingers over the bandage on his neck. “You’re a Serpent now huh?” He nods, his face pinching almost in pain, as the smile drops off. “It’s safest, Y/N you know what would happen otherwise.” He starts and you nod resting your head on his uninjured shoulder. “Of course, we all have to survive somehow.” You try to laugh off the grim statement; he nods smiling back in understanding before you both return to kissing each other. You don’t tell him you’re joining next week, how you’ve already started memorizing the dance. You want to surprise him.

You consider the fact he stares at the ground the entire time he talks to you once you finish surprise enough, you keep your hand around his wrist rubbing circles against his palm. “Sweets, you okay?” He nods swallowing before tugging you towards the door. He silent on the way back to your place, he doesn’t look at you. Only asking if your parents are home, you roll your eyes confirming they’ve gone out and as he walks you to the door he shyly asks if he can come in. “Sweets, what’s going on you seem?” You don’t finish your question before he’s kissing you, pressing his lips against any free skin he can find before returning to your lips to make out for a moment, he pulls away and you’re breathless. “Did you like the dance then?” “Couldn’t have practiced in front of me?” He grumbles into your neck before sucking a hickey into it. You laugh shaking your head as he leads you back to your bedroom.

“Where’re you getting your tattoo then?” He hums tracing the skin on your thigh, as you cuddle on his chest lazily making out. You’re about to respond when you hear a shriek. Sweet Pea sits up tense but your mother snarls, jerking her arms, shoving him off your bed and smacking your face as she gets between you and Sweet Pea. She grips his shoulders all but shoving him into the wall. He stumbles watching you nervously before he’s shoved out the door, your mother screaming about calling the cops. You roll your eyes at her threat, knowing they wouldn’t come all the way to the Southside for anything less than a murder.

He appears at your window an hour later, your mother having gone to bed. She’d tired herself out from yelling at you, threatening to move states. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be fine.” You breathe out a sigh as he repeats this. Running his thumb over your cheek. “Serpent’s protect their own, I’ll make sure you’re okay.” “Remember to ice your shoulder.” He nods. “Kiss for good luck?” He smirks and you laugh. “I thought Serpent’s didn’t need luck.” He shrugs smiling as he kisses you again. “Can’t hurt to have my girl make sure.”

You wake at three am. Your mother screaming at you. She has you pack a bag, drives you to your grandparent’s house on the Northside, and almost throws you out into the driveway. “This’ll teach you to schmooze around with Serpents. If you contact any of them you’ll move with me to California.” She drives off. Your grandparents welcome you with open arms despite it being almost four am. You find out an hour later your mom’s fully moved out of Riverdale, leaving you with your grandparents. You grimace as they sign everything for you to transfer to Riverdale High.

You’re not surprised when they sign you up for track practice, the one sport that trains all year round, mornings and evenings. Keeping you too busy to go anywhere but school or home. Your mother sends you a monthly allowance; enough she thinks she’s buying back your love. You excel at track, you try not to dwell on the idea about how good you are at running away from your problems but it creeps in the back of your mind. You’re stretching watching the footballers moving onto the field.

“Hey Arch. How’s training going?” He rolls his eyes nodding to the four guys running suicides on the field. “Coach is gonna kill ‘em.” You laugh nodding. “More glory for you an Reggie then right?” He nods turning as the coach calls him over. You’re not entirely sure how you managed to become friends with Archie Andrews, while most people considered him fairly stuck up by default of being popular he reminded you just enough of Sweet Pea your ignored the gossip and whispers. Neither of you hang out outside of school. You don’t have friends out of school anyways.

Archie seems almost excited after practice; you’re stretching after you last lap and watch as he walks over to you moving from the gossip mill of the rest of the jocks. “You hear about Southside?” You tilt your head at his question. “No, you know I don’t do anything outside of this.” You gesture to the track stretching out your hamstrings. “Southside High got closed, they’re all transferring here.” You raise an eyebrow. “Really? All of them? The serpents too?” You try to quell your excitement. Archie nods. “Yeah, everyone’s hyped about it, Jughead, you know him yeah?” You nod as Archie smiles. “He’s the guy dating Betty.” He clarifies and you laugh. “Arch, I know him, know most of the Southside, it’s where I grew up.” He furrows his brow nodding. “What?” You watch him as he shakes his head. “Nothing. We’re all meeting at Pop’s you in?”

It doesn’t take much convincing for your grandparents to let you go out after school. One of Archie’s smiles has them more than happy to let you go anywhere. He rolls his eyes. “It’s the footballer status, makes everyone think I’m a goody two shoes ya know.” He laughs as you elbow him, walking towards the neon sign hanging above Pop’s. “You’re not a goody two shoes? Compared to any of the Serpent’s you are.” You laugh and his hand on your shoulder stops you. “You heard the rumors about them right?” “Rumors?” He huffs. “Jesus you really don’t get out do you? Basically everyone is saying they hate Northsider’s don’t be surprised if they call you out.” “I’ll keep that in mind, you wave at Betty who scoots to make room for you. You order a shake and wait, listening to Jughead explain about the Serpents. You know most of them; you’re not surprised that Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea seem to be Jughead’s go-to group. They were always the kindest out of all of them. You’re nervous about school on Monday but try your best to shake it off, nothing had changed about besides where you lived.

You’re sitting in the student lounge, half draped over one of the arm chairs when you hear the doors open and see a few of the student’s rush out to watch the Southsider’s, they’re led by Jughead, not a surprise but you easily spot Sweet Pea, his neck tattoo fully healed, he’s glaring, and you note how much taller he seems, how his entire body seems hard and tense, most likely muscles coiled under his jacket. You find yourself standing, moving into the fold of leather effortlessly, you’re not sure if any of them recognize you, you can see Jughead’s brow furrow as he catches sight of you, and you dart around to the stairwell hoping he’ll assume you were trying to cross the hallway. You watch peering from the staircase as Veronica and Cheryl keep tension’s rising.

Fangs pulls you into a hug the minute you walk into the student lounge you watch Archie glare and Jughead tense, you cough slightly, his grip half choking you. Reggie and the other Bulldogs look ravenous, desperate for an excuse to fight. “Fucking hell, it’s been at least two years Y/N.” “Let her go.” Archie doesn’t even look up; you can hear the snarl under Fang’s breath. “Fuckin’ Northsider.” He turns sitting back down after Jughead shoots him a look. You smile again trying to convince yourself of something before you feel Fang’s hand on your shoulder. “Your grandparent’s said your mom took you with her to California. We didn’t know.” His voice is soft; you know Sweet Pea doesn’t know you’re here from his tone. “My grandparent’s said they’d send me with my mom if I went back.” You shrug sinking into the couch leaning on him. “How’s Riverdale then?” You laugh questioning him, he snorts shaking his head. “They poisoned you yet?”

You wake up before your alarm as usually pulling on your running gear and leaving a note on the hall table as you jog to school. A warm up before the coach makes you run laps and do hurdles. You don’t notice Archie or the rest of the team. You don’t notice the Serpent’s a dark blur as you run. You don’t have to close your eyes to forget, the blur from your own motion doing the work for you. You don’t need to think of anything besides putting one foot in front of the other; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You finish another lap, watching as the coach signals for you to take five. You’re stretching confused when Archie doesn’t move over, you turn looking for him, spotting Sweet Pea and him slightly too close to be friendly. You start to walk over, watching Fangs holding Sweet Pea back. You hang back close enough to hear, but enough to not be noticed for the moment. “Hey calm down. What happened?” Fangs asks, you know he’s spotted you but doesn’t give it away. Archie rolls his eyes, Reggie and Veronica eyeing Sweet Pea with distain. Jughead arches an eyebrow. “He’s a Southsider, hates us anyways. We didn’t do anything.” Archie spits. “You have no idea what the Northsider’s have done, what they’ve taken from us, from me.” He glares face blank except for the rage behind his eyes. You watch Jughead shove him back shaking his head. “Sweet Pea let it go, it’s not his fault.” Sweet Pea turns his glare sinking on his face as he casts an angry look back to Archie. You look down to your phone, a message lighting up the screen.

-Pop’s half six. - You furrow your brow at the odd number, laughing when you realize the snake emoji means Fang’s must’ve gotten your number from someone. You’re only slightly early, sitting at a booth keeping your hood up as you cast glances out the window. You can hear a motorcycle pulling up and you wait for Fang’s to walk through the door, you try to hide the gasp when Sweet Pea walks through instead, looking almost in pain as he steps farther into Pop’s. He’s looking for someone glancing back at his phone frowning; you knit your eyebrows together as yours lights up.

-Change of snakes ;D- You roll your eyes and wait, Sweet Pea looks likes he’s trying his best to bury the nerves he’s feeling as he sits down in front of you. “Hey Fangs told me I was supposed to meet him here, but you’re his replacement?” He sounds nervous, his voice catching at the end of his question, just how you remember it. You tug your hood down; offer a half smile at his shock. “Still a Serpent then?” You nod at his jacket, at the tattoo on his neck, fully healed and exposed. Your fingers hover over it, before you pull back, his hand catching yours. “You can touch it, won’t hurt.” You nod fingers ghosting over it; he swallows glancing towards the door before the waitress sets a shake in front of you with two straws. Sweet Pea’s face pinks slightly and you laugh. “Fangs idea of helping you settle in then?” You speak between laughs. He nods shaking his head. “I didn’t know.” You offer a half smile.

“It’s okay, my grandparents said if I tried to contact any of you again I’d have to move to California with my mom. It was hell just getting my tattoo.” His head jerks up and his eyes narrow. “Your what?” You smirk, pulling your skirt up showing him the serpent tattoo that sits on the upper part of your inner thigh. “Pretty isn’t it.” “When did you-?” He shakes his head glaring. “Forget it.” He stands shoving himself backwards and out of Pop’s leaving you staring after him, scrambling to pay as you rush outside.

“Sweet Pea! Hey. What happened?” “You went an joined the Serpents and didn’t have the decency to let me know? Not even a note to get passed along?” You swallow shaking. “Did you miss the part where-“ “No did you miss the part how the serpent’s stay together, that we’re a family? You left. You abandoned everyone, you-.” He throws his hands up glaring at you. “You left everyone. You didn’t leave any trace behind, your trailer was empty by the end of the day, you abandoned everything! You abandoned the Southside! You left! You left me. You left me Y/N.” You take a step back and how heartbroken he looks about to step forward before you spot Reggie out of he corner of your eye.

“Y/N, this Southsider bothering you?” He asks looking from Sweet Pea to you. “No Reggie it’s fine, really we’re-“ “I’m leaving don’t get your panties in a knot Mantle, I won’t hurt your precious Northside princess.” He mocks growling and pulling out of the parking lot letting his bike roar to life.

“Heard you and Sweet pea got into a fight? I thought you were his girl?” Fangs lounges on the bleachers as you run the track. You don’t answer shaking your head and continuing to run. Fang jumps from the bleachers, effortlessly keeping up with you. “Come on Y/N you can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for him still?” You swallow shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter how I feel, I’m a Northsider now, scum of the earth according to him.” “Come on Y/N he doesn’t think not about you.” You slow to a jog as you finish your next lap. “Of course he does, last night when we were in Pop’s he got so angry I had a Serpent tattoo, said that I abandoned everyone, that I abandoned him. Did he really think I wanted to?” Fangs looks helplessly at you shaking his head. “Y/N he didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure..” You huff, turning towards the locker room. “Sure sounded like that.”

You duck behind the locker room door peeling your track clothes off and changing into your regular clothes. “Oh my god, you’re one of them!” You turn confused to Cheryl who glares. You sigh pulling your jeans up to cover your Serpent tattoo. “Yeah I-“ “You’re just Southside trash like the rest of them. You were lying the entire time you’ve been here. Who knows what you’ve been doing, or dealing behind closed doors.” She scoffs stepping in front of you. She offers you a snide glance and you don’t hesitate to push her against the lockers, nails digging into her shoulders. “Listen Northsider, if we’re playing sides here you’re more of a drug pusher than I am, what with Daddy’s precious side business.” You shove her back before grabbing your bag and walking out of the locker room.

You’re surprised you make it to lunch without getting called into the principal’s office but when you sit down in the student lounge, and the Bulldogs leer from the corners do you understand. Jughead appears shaking his head and beckoning you with his hand. “Since you’re Serpent you’re my responsibility. What you- where are you going?” Jughead shouts after as you turn away. “According to your right hand man, I’m just a Northside princess.” You spit out and vanish through the doors.

Your sitting in Pop’s curled into the back of one of the booths as far away from the door and the windows as you can get, nursing a milkshake and a basket of fries, waiting. It takes only an hour for Sweet Pea to walk through the doors. He sits down scowling. “Heard you threatened Cheryl, aren’t we supposed to be getting along with the Northsider’s?” “I’m not a Southsider anymore though.” You hiss back. He nods; he pays for your shake pulling you along towards the door. “Where are we-“ “Mine.” He states tugging you along to his bike.

It takes minutes to get to the front of his trailer; you’re not surprised at how everything looks the same, from the door to his bed. You stand nervously as he steps past you and pulls on your arm sitting you on the bed, knee bumping yours. “What was that argument the other day really about?” Your hand settles over his knee, his hand over yours. “You should have said something, should have let me know.. All these Northsider’s got to spend years with you.. They take everything. That’s all Northsider’s do to us.” “I know Sweets, technically I’m a Northsider. What happened while I was gone? What did they take?” You pull back as his hand moves from yours gripping against his stomach, trying to keep himself together. Your hand brushes the back of his hair, and his neck.

“Sweet Pea?” He doesn’t say anything, pulling you against his chest, sucking in a breath and sighing. You don’t say anything about the tears you can feel against your head, simply holding him as tight as you can manage. “I’m here, I’m back. It’s okay Sweets I’m still your girl, still yours.” He nods shaking only slightly, the only sign he’s upset as he rubs his face with a spare shirt from his bed. He sighs kissing your forehead before moving back to your lips. You hover your hand nervous about touching him, expecting bruises and blood spatter from his initiation. You smile hopefully, your hand finding its way around his neck as he pulls you closer to him. “Feels familiar yeah?” He laughs you smile back at him. “Not too familiar, we’ve both changed. Two years is quiet a while yeah?” He swallows glancing towards the door. “You should head home, it’s late, the Southside isn’t safe for a Northsider this late.” “Sweet pea.” You choke slightly feeling tears well up.

“You should go Y/N. can’t have Reggie or any of the other Northsider’s worry about their princess.” He shoves you off slightly and you stumble gripping back at his arm as he turns from looking at your face. “Sweets? Please can I stay? Please.” You can see him swallow, hands shaking. “Y/N, please. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

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Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 5/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

It took two sets of the alarm to wake Petra up the next morning. Still sleepy, she yawned and slowly sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she looked out of the window. The weather was awful - the sky was grey, heavy clouds were hiding the sun and making everything look gloomy. It was raining too, the sound of raindrops, hitting the window, was defining in the otherwise silent apartment.

Petra groaned - she hated the rain. Sure, occasional summer drizzle was enjoyable, but weather like this? The cold and harsh autumn rain? The mighty wind that threatened to blow the umbrella out of her hands and then throw her onto the ground as well? She hated it more than anything.

But, whether she liked it or not, Petra had to go to work. So with a heavy sigh, she got up from the bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold floor. Draping a robe over her shoulders, she was going to head to the bathroom. A sound, announcing a new message on her phone, stopped her. She reached for the phone, quickly unlocking it. It was seven in the morning. Who could be messaging her so early?

Remember the cafe we visited yesterday? I'm waiting for you there. Don't take too long.

So it was from Levi! But didn't he request a day-off? And what was the meaning of his text? Was it his awkward manner of asking her out on a breakfast? Was it his way of apologizing for the failed interrogation?

Whatever it was, Petra wasn't courageous enough to call and ask him about it. She'd get ready quickly and meet him there. Certainly, things would be cleared out then.

After taking a quick shower and putting on a dark blue dress and a striped black jacket, Petra got in a taxi and soon arrived to the cafe.

And as she got out from the car, the small red umbrella as her only protection from the thick rain, Petra felt dread settle in her stomach. There was shivers running down her spine, and they had nothing to do with the droplets of cold water hitting her face.

The cafe. It was surrounded by police cars.

Fearing the worst, she made her way through the crowd of police officers, ignoring the trembling in her knees. Her hand was clutching the umbrella almost painfully. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could barely hear what the others were talking about. Only when she walked up to the entrance and saw Levi, sitting on a curb and comforting the owner of the cafe, that sweet old lady with a kind smile, only then Petra allowed herself to breathe out in relief.

"What happened?" she demanded from Levi, looking around in alarm.

"Another murder," Levi answered curtly. "The body is inside, I've been waiting for you to show up, so we can get a look at it together."

Petra nodded, ready to start the investigation. Before he got to his feet, though, Levi turned around, whispering something to the old woman. His voice was too soft for her to hear, and Petra turned around, giving them at least some semblance of privacy.

"Let's go," he said as he stood next to her.

"Detective," the woman called, before Levi and Petra disappeared inside. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

For a second, hurt flashed in Levi's eyes. He reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry for yours too, Dorothy."

The woman, Dorothy, looked so sad, so weary and tired. Petra's heart clenched painfully, as she was reminded of her own mother, who had died years ago.

"We'll find the killer," Petra promised her heartily. Levi turned his gaze on her, but Petra didn't let it steer her. She stared straight at Dorothy. "We'll find him and bring him to justice."

The old woman smiled weakly, but genuinely. "Thank you, dear," she whispered softly. "It means a lot."

Petra smiled back, but before she could give Dorothy a reply, she was roughly dragged away by Levi.

"Never give promises you're not sure you can keep," he said sternly.

"But I—"

"You're right, though," Levi continued, cutting her off. "We'll catch that bastard. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that."

Without sparring her another glance, Levi pushed the door to the cafe open, walking inside.

***

As soon as they entered, a short red-headed woman approached them.

"Detective Ackerman!" she exclaimed, clearly surprised. "Why are you here? Isn't today your day-off? Today is the anniversary of—"

"I know what day it is," Levi gritted through his teeth. "But we've got a dead body in the cafe. So, maybe, you would be so kind as to walk us through the case, Nifa?"

"Ah, of course, I'm sorry,” Nifa pursed her lips, looking up at Levi with caution. But then she sighed, taking out two pairs of sterile gloves and handing them to Petra and Levi. She straightened out and started leading them to the scene of crime.

"The woman, waitress, had her throat slashed, just like the previous victin. According to the owner of the cafe, the waitress had a night shift and was supposed to be working till seven am. At a little past six, the owner came to help with preparing for a morning rush and that's when she had found the body. She called the police and we arrived at half past six. Judging by the rigor mortis, the victim was killed approximately three or four hours ago. There," she gestured at one of the booths, where a woman sat, her head lying on the table.

The first thing Petra noticed about the victim was the yellow jacket that was draped over her shoulders. She wasn’t surprised by its flamboyant, cheerful color, or the fact that it looked like it was put over the victim after her death, no, it was the state of the jacket. The color definitely was bright and vivid before, but now it was covered with dust and soot. The hem and sleeves looked torn and ragged. It seemed as though... the jacket was burned.

Next to her, Levi took a sharp intake of breath.

"We don't know for sure yet!" Nifa blurted out, seeing the expression on Levi's face. "We'll need to search for DNA or—"

"No, it's Hange's," he murmured. His hand was slightly trembling, as he reached out to gently stroke the dirty clothe. His eyes were filled with affection and his lips curled into almost a smile, as gazed at it. “Only that idiot could wear such an ugly jacket.”

Petra and Nifa exchanged a worried gaze.

"That bastard," Levi growled a second later, all signs of that softness gone. He squeezed the hand on his side so much, his knuckles turned white. "He's playing with me again. Fucking asshole,” he spat, his eyes burning with rage. “Well, he can play as much he wants, I'll catch him anyway. And then I'll make him pay." Levi paused, lowering his head and taking a deep breath. Then he looked up, fixing Nifa with sharp gaze. "What else did you manage to find?"

"Not much," she answered honestly. "We couldn't find any fingerprints or other signs of the killer. The victim obviously didn't put up a fight, there is nothing under her fingernails and the only visible injury is the cut on her throat."

"Could she be dragged like the previous victim?" Petra asked.

"Possibly," Nifa nodded. "We'll determine it for sure at the lab. The killer obviously tried to keep this scene of crime as clean as the previous one, but we found traces of blood on victim's blouse and skirt."

"Is there any blood on the jacket?" Levi questioned.

"There is blood," Nifa confirmed. "But it's not fresh. We’ll need to run tests at the lab. To find out, whether the blood belongs to the victim, or...” she paused, staring at Levi apologetically.

“Or if it is Hange’s,” he finished for her. “Well, whatever you find, it’s probable that the jacket was put on the victim after her death."

Petra nodded, satisfied with herself. She came to the same conclusion.

"What about security cameras? Did they manage to catch something?"

"There are no security cameras inside the cafe, but we are still looking for them in surrounding areas."

"Alright," Levi concluded. "We'll take it from here. Let's go and ask around," he told Petra. "Maybe, we'll find a witness."

"Wait a second," Petra stopped Levi with a hand on his sleeve. Her eyes were still focused on that jacket.

It looked like....

Petra quickly put on sterile gloves and carefully tugged at one side of the jacket, revealing the inner layer. Just as she thought, there was something in the inside pocket.

A note.

Grinning victoriously, she took it out. The smile disappeared from her face as soon as she read the contents. Her heart missed a beat as soon as she read the contents.

Levi snatched the note out of her hands before Petra could begin to tremble.

"What is this shit?" he muttered, looking at the note. "You'd better stop looking for me, detective. Or the next souvenir I'll bring you will belong to your new partner," Levi cursed as he finished reading the note aloud. He crumbled the piece of paper in his fist, clenching his jaw.

Petra watched him with a detached face. The edges of her vision began to swim, as the words, written in that note, kept replaying in her head, ringing louder than the noise around her. Her limbs grew limp and her heart rate quickened, as she fruitlessly tried to breathe.

Even though, it didn't happen to her ever since she graduated high school, Petra could never forget the symptoms, the way her body felt in the beginning of a panic attack.

She tried to take a grip on herself, remember the lessons her father taught her. But his words, his wise advices kept escaping her, getting out of her reach before Petra could piece them together.

Her father always said, he always said that in situations like this the most important thing was to... was to…

"Breathe," Levi's gruff voice penetrated through the fog around Petra. "Petra, you just need to breathe, c'mon," he gently but firmly squeezed her shoulders. "In and out, slowly," he instructed her patiently.

After Petra managed a couple of calm exhales and inhales, Levi sighed in relief. "Here," he pressed on her shoulder to sit her down at a chair. Immediately, Nifa appeared with water and granola bar in her hands.

"Are you alright?" she asked, genuinely worried.

"Yeah..." Petra nodded shakily, avoiding looking at Nifa and especially Levi. She felt like an idiot. It was just some stupid note, and she almost fainted because of it. What a badass detective she was. "Sorry for worrying you."

"I understand if you want to drop this case," Levi told her, surprisingly soft.

"No!" Petra jumped from her sit. Nifa, who was hovering over her and measuring her pulse, gave Levi an angry look. "I just overreacted, but I'll be fine, I promise! I can take it!"

Levi watched her for a long moment, his eyes skeptic and doubtful.

"I can't always be there to protect you."

"I know.”

"And yet you still want to continue the investigation?"

"Yes," Petra answered without hesitation.

Levi kept staring in her eyes, as though searching for a sign of doubt. When he couldn't see any, he sighed and shook his head.

"There is nothing I can say that would change your mind, right?"

Petra nodded with a smile.

Levi cursed under his breath. "Tell me when you're ready. Rest for a while, and then we'll start the search."

"I can handle the investigation by myself today," Petra offered. "It's your day off after all."

Levi frowned. "I shouldn't leave you alone."

"I can go with her!" Nifa cheerfully exclaimed, putting a hand on Petra's shoulder.

"Don't you have to be at the lab?" Levi asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nah," Nifa waved her hand. "I already came here at half past six, the boys can take care of the rest. Besides!" she turned to Petra. "I always wanted to take part in investigation. Oh, we're going to have so much fun!"

Petra couldn't keep a smile off her face, Nifa's excitement was infectious.

"Fine," Levi rolled his eyes. "Go together, but be careful. Do you have a gun, Petra?"

"Of course."

"And my phone number?"

"Yes."

“Good, if you see anything strange or suspicious, call me immediately. Deal?"

"Deal," Petra agreed. And before Levi left, she reached out to him. "Can we talk before you go?" she threw an apologizing look in Nifa's direction. "In private."

Levi tensed ever so slightly, but nodded without hesitation. "We'll be back soon," he said to Nifa and then turned around, leading Petra out of the cafe.

Before they left, he grabbed the granola bar Nifa brought to Petra.

Navigating through the crowd of policemen and curious pedestrians, Levi reached to his car. He opened the passenger door, gesturing for Petra to get in. Then he sat down in the driver's seat.

"Eat," he ordered, thrusting a granola bar into her hand. "And talk."

"Djel Sannes asked me to spy on you," Petra blurted out, shutting her eyes tightly. She was afraid to look at Levi's face. What if he gets angry? What if he is disappointed? What if he stops trusting her?

"Oh," Levi breathed out, surprisingly calm. "I didn't expect that. Did you agree?"

"What!" Petra opened her eyes widely. "Of course, not!" she exclaimed, but then paused, remembering their conversation with Sannes. Technically... "Well, truth be told, I did agree... But only to fool him! I'm not going to report anything to him!"

"You should," Levi said, shocking Petra even more.

"I... I don't understand."

Levi tiredly rubbed his forehead. "I need to discuss it with Erwin first, and I know I'm asking a lot of you..."

"Nonsense!" Petra cried out. "I'm on your side! And I really want to help!"

"Thank you," Levi told her earnestly. His eyes were a little softer than usual. It made Petra feel warmer.

"After what I just revealed..." she began uncertainly. “You still trust me? I could be working for him actually."

"No, you couldn't," Levi answered without an ounce of a doubt.

"And what makes you so sure?"

"Because you're a good person, Petra. And," a little smirk appeared on his lips. "You are a terrible liar."

Petra let out a surprised chuckle. She looked at Levi, feeling her smile grow wider. "So... What do you need me to do?"

"As I said, I need to talk with Erwin first, but... we could make a double agent out of you. You'll give Sannes some false information and then tell me his reaction. I need to know how much he knows."

"You can count on me!" Petra cheerfully promised. A moment later, however, a little frown appeared on her face. “By the way… why does he hate you so much?”

For a long moment, Levi was silent. His fingers drummed rhythmically at the steering wheel, as he appeared deep in thought. Petra was starting to think she won’t get her answers, but then Levi turned to look at her, staring right into her eyes.

“The trust should go both ways, I suppose,” he said. “I... found an informant. I don’t know who they are and I’ve never met them, but every once in a while, they bring me little messages with information. It’s the location of Sannes’ next deal, or a name of some politician who was bribed by him... that kind of stuff.”

“And these messages… they turn out to be true?”

“Every goddamn time. Sometimes I act on them, do whatever I can to stop Sannes’ dealings. Not always, of course, or Sannes would have me removed a long time ago. But he still suspects me, I guess.”

“Oh.” That was a lot to digest. "Oh!" Petra repeated, suddenly remembering. "Nifa is probably waiting for me! I should hurry!"

"Be careful!" Levi told her as she opened the door. "Don't forget to eat," he pointed with his chin at the granola bar she was still holding. "And call me if anything goes wrong, okay?"

"Of course!" Petra waved at him, and then ran back to the cafe.

Despite the worrying information Levi had revealed to her, she felt giddy and relieved, as she maneuvered between the pedestrians under the still going rain. He trusted her. Maybe, they’d be able to become real partners after all.

***

"I'm going to be honest with you," Nifa mumbled after taking a bite from a chocolate cake. "Today kinda sucked. I always thought that detective work was more exciting that just going around and asking people the same few questions."

Petra sighed. She felt exactly the same. They've spent the majority of the day, trying to find some witnesses, but were met with failure after failure. Now she and Nifa sat in break room at the forensics department, drinking tea and eating cake. Moblit was right after all, their tea collection was more than impressive. And Nifa's pastries were delicious.

“I'm sorry that I've dragged you into this," she told Nifa. "You're probably regretting your decision to accompany me."

"Oi, don't be ridiculous. It wasn't as thrilling as I hoped, but it was still better than being stuck in here."

"Huh?" Petra frowned. “You don't like working here?"

"No, don't get me wrong," Nifa answered. "I love my job, but I spend day after day, surrounded by dead bodies, and, more terribly, three boring nerds," she pointed to Moblit, Abel and Keiji, who were discussing something at the other side of the room. "So thank you for taking me with you," she smiled prettily. "I hope we'll become friends!"

"I would like that," Petra smiled back. Nifa was really nice. She would love to be friends with a woman like her.

"I hate to interrupt, ladies," Abel approached them. "But we'll be starting the dissection soon, so..."

Nifa groaned. "What do you need me to do?"

"No, no," Abel assured her with a nervous smile. "The three of us are more than enough for the job, but detective Ral probably isn't as used to smell as we are."

"Oh, of course, I didn't think about it. C'mon," Nifa took Petra's hand, dragging her upwards. "Let's go to your office then. I know where detective Ackerman hides his precious tea stash."

"You want to steal his tea? Won't we get in trouble with him?" Petra fretted, following Nifa out of the break room and up the stairs.

"Don't worry. If your partner wants to yell at me, he'll need to come down here first. Which I doubt he’ll do."

"I thought he visited your department a lot," Petra said with no small deal of confusion.

"Only when he needs an autopsy report or for us to look over some evidence. And he never stays for long."

"Oh."

"It wasn't like that before," Nifa noted sadly. "Before..."

"Detective Zoe's death?"

"Yeah,” Nifa shook her head. “Before that he frequently visited our department. He always complained about the smell," a wistful smile appeared on Nifa's face. "But usually, whenever detective Hange went, detective Ackerman followed. She always managed to bring him out of his shelf. Wait!" Nifa took out a phone from her lab coat. "You really need to see this!” she pushed Petra into an empty hallway, all the while searching for something on her phone.

"Found it!" she exclaimed, thrusting the phone in Petra's hands. She pressed play and cocked her head, hovering above the phone alongside Petra.

A video started to play. Whoever was recording it had really shaky hands, and the image wasn't in a good quality, but it was obvious that it was recorded in some kind of a bar.

"I took it two years ago. We just finished one extremely troublesome case and decided to celebrate with a night of karaoke," Nifa explained, as the camera focused on a small stage.

Three people were standing there, their hands wrapped around each other, as they struggled to keep themselves upright. One person in particular seemed painfully familiar.

"Is that..." Petra gasped, not quite believing her eyes.

"Yes, it's detective Ackerman, Сaptain Erwin and detective Hange," Nifa snickered, watching Petra's shocked expression.

Meanwhile, the first notes of "Don't Stop Believing" started playing. Immediately, Captain Erwin and detective Hange started singing. Erwin's voice was deep, and unsurprisingly, quite nice. However, the effect was somewhat ruined by his extensive slurring. Detective Zoe, on the other hand, wasn’t actually singing. It was more like she was screaming the lyrics into the microphone.

As soon as he noticed that Levi wasn't singing along with them, Captain Erwin nudged him. However, it had no effect at the other man, so Erwin redirected his gaze at Hange. She glanced at Levi and scowled, elbowing him in the side.

Someone in the background shouted "Detective Ackerman, don't be shy!", and Hange elbowed him again, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Levi rolled his eyes and tugged Hange by the shirt down to his level, so he could reply to her. Whatever he had said made Hange threw her head back and laugh. For a moment, Levi was staring up at her, seemingly mesmerized, but then he shook his head and started singing. He was barely heard, since Captain Erwin's and Hange's voices were so much louder, but there was a soft look in his eyes and a small smile on his lips, as he watched his friends.

"I can't believe that it's the same Levi I know," Petra confessed after the video was finished.

"You should have seen him and detective Hange doing a power duet to “I Was Made For Loving You”. That was something,” Nifa giggled again. “Too bad I was too drunk to record it. So yeah,” she said, hiding the phone back into her pocket. "Detective Hange had an uncanny ability to make your partner more fun."

"Yeah, I wish I could see him act like this..."

"Oh gosh! I'm sorry for putting the mood down! Let's change the subject!" Nifa linked her hand with Petra's, as they started walking again. "Do you know any interesting gossip?"

"G-gossip?"

"Ah, I can see that you don't," Nifa shook her head in disappointment. "Alright then! Do you have a crush on someone from the precinct?"

"What!" Petra's cheeks flamed up. "Of course, not!"

"Liar," Nifa sang. "C’mon, you can tell me! I won't tell anyone!"

And before Petra could deny it any further, she noticed Oluo on the other side of the hallway. He noticed her too. Smiling happily, he hurriedly made his way to her and Nifa.

"Petra!" he greeted. "You didn't change your mind?"

"Of course, not," Petra assured him, ignoring Nifa's curious gaze.

"Awesome, I'll pick you up at seven!" Oluo’s smile grew wider. He waited for Petra to smile back and then left, still grinning from ear to ear.

"It looks like I've got my answer," Nifa's voice was full of smugness. "For how long have you been dating?"

"It's our first date," Petra revealed, deciding that it was easier to just tell Nifa everything she wanted to know.

"First date? How romantic! What are you going to wear?"

"Er," Petra glanced down at her dress. "I was actually going to wear this..."

"No!" Nifa's hands flew to her face. "You can't just come in your work clothes! Absolutely not! Change of plans," she announced, as she turned around, dragging Petra along with her. "We're going shopping."

"But! It's only three o'clock! Our shift has not ended!"

"Calm down," Nifa rolled her eyes. "No one will notice if we leave earlier. Besides, we've done a lot of work today. We deserve some rest."

"But—"

"No buts!" Nifa ordered with a strict face. "We need to hurry, you don't have much time left. It's your first date! Everything should be perfect!"

Petra surrendered with a sigh. Obviously, there was no point in arguing with Nifa. She obediently followed after her new friend.

***

"Look at you!" Nifa cooed, as she finished painting Petra's lips. "You're so pretty! Honestly, I'm starting to envy that Oluo guy. If the date ends up being horrible... well," she winked with a sly smile. "I can always make it better."

"Stop it!" Petra playfully smacked Nifa’s shoulder, blushing furiously.

"It's just an offer," Nifa shrugged. "But seriously, he'd be the biggest idiot in the world, if he doesn't ask you out on a second date," turning Petra around to face full-length mirror, Nifa smiled softly. "You look gorgeous, Petra."

"I..." Petra stared at her reflection, eyeing it critically. She wore a knee-length blue dress. It was simple, but the color accentuated her eyes nicely. Her hair was put up in a small bun with a few strands failing at the side of her face. She had to admit it - she looked good. "Thank you. It's all your doing."

"Nah, I didn't do anything."

"Don't say that!" Petra protested with a strict face. "You took me out for shopping, you helped me pick the dress, you even helped me with make-up and hair!"

"Alright, alright, I accept your gratitude," Nifa smirked cheekily. "And now I take my leave. Your date will be here soon," she turned around, walking out of Petra's room and heading to the front door.

"I had a lot of fun today," Petra admitted, while Nifa was putting on her coat. "We should do this more often."

"Absolutely," Nifa nodded in agreement. "Good luck with your date," she gave Petra a quick hug. "And be careful."

"Of course," Petra promised, returning the hug heartily. "Thank you once again."

"You really need to stop thanking me so much," Nifa scolded, but then smile was back on her face. She waved her hand. "Goodbye!"                                     

Petra closed the door after her, and then walked back to her bedroom. She checked herself in the mirror once again. She nodded to her reflection, more than satisfied with her attire. Then she grabbed her purse, putting phone, keys and lipstick inside. Her gaze darted to a drawer, where her gun was hidden. Maybe, she should take it? Petra almost refused this idea, normal people don't bring a gun on a date. But then again, normal people don't receive death threats.

No one would know that I have it, she tried to reason with herself, but it would make me feel safer.

Ignoring the sensible part of her, Petra swiftly put the gun inside. She closed the purse, and then the doorbell rang.                                               

She hurried to the front door, opening it. Oluo stood on the other side, holding a bouquet of daisies and smiling shyly.

"For you," he said, awkwardly handing her the flowers. He desperately avoided looking at her face. Petra smiled, charmed by his bashfulness.

"Thank you so much," she leaned in to give him a small peck on his cheek. The skin there immediately reddened. Petra giggled, as she took the flowers from his hands. Oluo's eyes instantly snapped to look at her.

He gasped.

"You look..." he cleared his throat, tugging nervously at the collar of his dark red shirt. "Good. Yes, v-very, um, good."

"You don't look so bad yourself," Petra looked him up and down, smirking slightly, when she saw that the blush on Oluo's face became a deeper shade of red, almost in tone to his shirt. She turned around to find a vase for the flowers. "Just a moment, please! I'm almost ready!"

"Just don't take too long," Oluo huffed. "We have a reservation."

The smile didn’t leave Petra’s face while she was putting the flowers into a vase. It seemed like the good old Oluo was back. Of course, she enjoyed watching his embarrassed face, but, as weird as it was, she liked his usual self much, much more.

Huh, Petra mused, as Oluo helped her put on a coat and she felt her heart rate increase, when their fingers brushed against each other, she really liked that idiot. Who could have thought?

***                                                                                                                           

"...And that's how I ended up cleaning the entirety of Erd's apartment," Oluo concluded, hanging his head in defeat.

“You really should stop making bets with him,” Petra rolled her eyes. “He’s clearly smarter than you.”

“Oi!” Oluo cried out, offended.

Looking at his pouting face, Petra started laughing. Gosh, she had never felt so relaxed while on a date. Usually, she was anxious, picking her words very carefully, worrying about her posture and make-up. But being on a date with Oluo was easy, talking and joking and teasing was almost natural. She didn’t remember the last time she enjoyed herself so much.

“So, now that I’ve told you all the embarrassing stuff that happened to me over the weekend,” Oluo drank from his glass of wine and looked expectantly at Petra. “What were you up to?”

“Well, you know,” she self-consciously tucked a stray lock of hair behind ear. “This and that.”

“C’mon!” he nudged her leg under the table. “You’re a detective now! And a partner of Levi Ackerman himself. Spill it out, Petra. How does it feel working with him? Is he as badass as everyone says he is?”

“He’s an ace detective, that’s for sure,” Petra said, remembering her first day and the way Levi cracked the case even before she went to question the suspect. "But sometimes..." Petra stared at her plate, mindlessly tossing the food around. "Sometimes I feel like he looks at me and sees someone else, you know? And he gets frustrated when that illusion is shattered."

"Oh. That must be tough for you," Oluo reached out and covered her hand with his.

"No, no, it's fine," Petra put on a smile. Oluo's gentle touch made her feel all fuzzy inside. "Despite all of this, I like working with Levi. He's really great at what he does. There is a lot I can learn from him."

"What about your case, though? I've heard it's really messed up."

"I..." Petra faltered, not knowing where to begin.

"You don't have to tell me, of course!" Oluo blurted out with a panicked expression, mistaking her uncertainty for unwillingness. "I mean, it's probably confidential and…"

"No, it's not that," Petra assured him. "You're not a civilian after all, and, besides, I trust you," Oluo's eyes softened at her words and he squeezed her hand a little tighter. Petra sent him a grateful look. "I just... it's so complicated, but maybe, you can help me. See something that I don't, you know?"

"Alright," Oluo nodded with determined face. "Tell me about it."

"So the whole case revolves around detective Hange Zoe? Levi's previous partner. On both scenes of murder, we found evidence that's directly linked to her... The glasses were confirmed to be hers, and Levi recognized her jacket that was draped over today's victim... And both scenes of crimes, the apartment complex and that little café, play a big role too. It’s clear that these places were important for Hange, and… for Levi. And!" Petra put her hands into her hair, getting more frustrated as she recalled more details from the case. "There are so many things that make no goddamn sense! Where do Zoe's things come from? What does the killer want from Levi?

Petra took a deep breath and then continued.

“And another thing! The first scene of the crime was meticulously cleaned, the woman had her throat slashed, but there was no sign of blood. The second was mostly clean, too, but blood wasn't cleaned out from the victim's clothes. So the killer goes out of his way to ensure that the scene of murder is clean, but he's clearly not obsessed with it. Then what is his deal? Is it just a habit? Why does he do that? Ah, just thinking about it makes my head spin! There is so much I don't understand."

Petra took a large gulp of wine, avoiding Oluo’s eyes. She probably told him too much, burdened him with her work problems. The first date shouldn’t go like this. You shouldn’t talk about murders. And to think that she didn’t even mention the most disturbing thing – the today’s note!

"Hey..." Oluo began to gently caress her hand. Petra looked up at him, and was shocked to see a proud smile on his face. "Don't beat yourself over it. You haven't made much progress, but you're trying. And, I think, you're asking all the right questions. Now all you need to do is to find answers."

"And that's the hardest part," Petra muttered bitterly.

"Maybe," Oluo agreed. "But you're smart, Petra, and, god knows, you're stubborn. You can do this. I believe in you."

"Oluo..." Petra whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Thank you so much. I... I really needed to hear it today."

"Oi, c'mon, don't start crying on me," he bent over the table, wiping tears from her face. "You’re not crying, because the date is so terrible, right?"

"No," Petra shook her head, chuckling. "The date is perfect."

"So that's a guaranteed yes for a second one?" Oluo asked with a smirk on his face that was clearly put there to mask his nervousness.

"You know what?" Petra smiled widely. "That's a guaranteed yes for the third date too."

"Yes!" Oluo pumped his fist in the air, attracting attention from all the patrons at the restaurant. Some looked at him with amusement, while other's eyes were filled with annoyance.

"Now let's eat our delicious dinner," Oluo told her, already stuffing his face with pasta. "Now that I'm not afraid that my awful table etiquette will push you away."

"Oluo," Petra smirked. "We've worked at the same office for years. I already know that you eat like a pig."

"And yet you agreed to a date with me."

"And yet I did," she answered with a sweet smile.

***

"Don't take me home," Petra said, as Oluo started the car. He froze with his hand still on the ignition key, staring at her with an opened mouth and wide eyes.

"No!" Petra cried out, as it dawned on her, how Oluo might have interpreted her words. "I need to go to the precinct, and not, um, you know…"

"Thank god," Oluo muttered, as he drove out of the parking lot and onto the street. "Not that I'm against it!" he quickly added. "But let's not move too fast, yeah?"

"Yes," Petra smiled, happy that she and Oluo were on a same page.

"Wait a minute," Oluo fixed her with a suspicious gaze. "What are you going to do at a precinct? It's almost nine pm!”

"I was hoping... to get some work done?" Petra answered sheepishly. "Your words... kinda motivated me."

“Well, of course, they did. I’m an awesome guy,” Oluo said with a pride smirk that made Petra roll her eyes. He was absolutely ridiculous. But, good lord, did she like him. “But shouldn’t you go home and rest? Can they even let you in at that time?”

“If I tell them I need to work, I’m sure the security will gladly let me in. Besides, I’m not going to spend the whole night there, don’t worry. I’ll just look over the autopsy report and then head home.”

“Promise?” Oluo briefly looked away from the road to give Petra a careful look.

“Promise,” she replied, feeling her heart skip a bit. Oluo’s concern, even it was really unnecessary, was extremely endearing.

“Fine,” Oluo huffed. “Go and do your job, you workaholic,” he stopped in front of a precinct and hurried to get out, so he could open the door for Petra.

“Text me, when you get home, okay?” he took Petra by the hand, helping her get out of the car.

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to press a brief kiss on his lips. “I’ll be waiting for our next date,” she whispered, enjoying the dazed look on his face.

Still smiling from ear to ear, Petra entered the precinct.

***

That same dreamy smile was still present on her lips, as Petra made her way through the precinct. She reached the hallway, where their office was.

And the smile disappeared instantly. A cautious, almost worried expression took its place.

There was a light coming underneath the door to their office.

Who could be inside at such hour? Was it Levi? But it was his day off.

It didn't make sense.

Petra slowly reached into her purse and took out a phone, her eyes never leaving that little shimmer of light. With trembling fingers she dialed Levi's number. One beep... two... Petra anxiously waited to hear Levi's ringtone on the other side of the door.

The hallway was silent.

"Petra?" Levi's voice in her ear made Petra jump. She hurriedly backed away, taking a few steps away from the door. "Petra, do you hear me? Is everything alright?"

"There is someone in our office right now," she whispered. "It's not you, is it?"

"What the fuck are you doing at the precinct at night?" Levi asked angrily.

“I wanted to do some work…”

“Jesus—” it was obvious that Levi was pissed and wanted to yell at her, but he took a deep breath, calming himself down. "Doesn't matter now," he added in his normal voice. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me and don't go in there, understood?"

"Y-yes," Petra answered shakily.

"Don't do anything stupid." Levi warned and then ended the call.

Putting the phone back into the purse, Petra carefully took out a gun.

Levi would be there in ten minutes. It wasn't that long. She could wait for him. It would be a smart choice.

Unfortunately, Petra wasn't feeling particularly smart tonight. She gripped the gun more securely and quietly made her way towards the door. The clicking could be heard inside, as though someone was typing on a computer.

Petra narrowed her eyes, feeling angry. She just couldn't let some stranger, probably a criminal, go through their stuff. It was illegal. And her job was to protect the law. So ignoring her trembling knees, Petra busted the door open and immediately aimed her gun at the intruder.

Their face was obscured by strands of hair, as they stared intently at the computer screen.

"Freeze!" Petra shouted. Thankfully, her voice didn't waver.

It didn't, however, have much of an effect on the stranger. They continued typing something with an impressive speed. They didn't spare even a single glance in Petra's direction.

"I said freeze!" she repeated with more force.

"And what happens if I don't?" they asked in a deep voice, still not lifting their face. "Will you shoot me?"

"Breaking into detective's office is illegal!"

"Technically," the intruder finally looked up. Petra gasped as she took a good look on their face. The hand with a gun fell limply at her side. "It was my office too. Still is, considering that my desk is unoccupied."

Unbelievable. Impossible.

She looked a little different from the woman on the photo Petra found in Levi's desk. She looked older and more tired. There were wrinkles on her face. Her shoulders were slumped, as though an invisible force was dragging her down. There were deep, almost black circles under her eyes— well, eye. Her left one was covered with a black patch.

But even with all those changes, there was no doubt in Petra's mind as to who was sitting behind Levi’s desk.

"...D-detective Zoe?" Petra uttered, staring at Hange with wide eyes.

"Oh, they still remember me in here," Hange noted with a self-satisfied grin. "That's flattering."

"Y-you're alive?"

Hange chuckled, her eye sparkling with amusement. "You have excellent observation skills, detective."

"B-but! How?!" Petra cried out, ignoring the jab.

"Ah, that's quite a boring story. A really long one too, and, unfortunately, I'm in a hurry."

"Wait! You can't leave just yet! Levi— y-you have to see him. He'll be so happy to find out that you're still alive!"

The smile slipped from Hange's lips instantly.

"No," she said coldly. "He can't see me. And you can't tell him that you've met me, Petra."

"How do you know my name?" Petra asked with a deep, suspicious frown. She was sure she didn't introduce herself.

Hange turned her face away. "I know a lot of things," she nervously fixed her glasses. "I... watch over him."

"So you still care about Levi!" Petra pointed an accusing finger at her. "Then why don't you want to meet him?"

"I have my reasons," she sounded strained, almost desperate. It seemed like— seemed like Hange wasn't trying to convince Petra. She was trying to convince herself.

It was obvious that Hange wanted to reunite with Levi. Petra could see that desire in the poorly hidden pain at the bottom of her brown eye. In the hard line of her mouth. In her palms that squeezed the edge of Levi's desk so hard her knuckles turned white.

And it was obvious that there was something keeping her away from acting on that desire. Some conspiracy Petra couldn't even begin to understand. Some plot, set in motion long before Petra became a detective. Possibly even before Hange's ‘death’. But she didn't care about that. Nothing mattered for Petra as much as the sadness in Levi's eyes and her wish to make him happy.

Besides, whether Hange wanted to meet him or not, it wasn't important anymore. That choice was made the moment Petra crossed the threshold.

"Levi will be here soon," Petra stared straight at Hange. "I called him before entering the office."

"No!" Hange's face twisted with panic. "Why would you do that? Fuck, I need to go," she glanced back at the computer, typed a few more words and then rose to her feet.

She wanted to leave. Petra couldn't allow it.

She raised her gun, aiming it at Hange.

"He misses you so much," Petra whispered softly, trying to plead with Hange. "Please, just let him see you. Let him know that you're alive."

"No, I can't, no, not now," Hange ran a shaking hand through her hair. "I have to go."

She took a step forward, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that Petra's gun was trained at her.

"I can't let you go," Petra firmly planted her legs, staring up at Hange defiantly.

"What?" Hange lifted an eyebrow, giving Petra an unimpressed look. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"I won't hurt you," Petra promised. "But I'll do whatever it takes to make you stay."

"Oh, Petra," Hange shook her head. "You're a sweet, sweet soul. And it pains me to do this, but if you don't let me through, I'll have to fight you. And I will hurt you."

Petra anticipated that answer. She also knew that in a fight against Hange Zoe, she didn't have a single chance. It wasn't her wide shoulders, or muscles that were showing even beneath the oversized green shirt. It was years and years of experience that separated them. Hange was skilled, she was smart.

But Petra didn't have to win this fight, just hold out until Levi arrives.

Hange moved fast, so fast Petra was barely able to take a fight stance. She tossed the gun onto the floor and raised her arms, thinking that Hange would hit her in the face. But Hange approached her and laid her hand on Petra's shoulder. She was going to throw her onto the ground, Petra realized, but it was too late to move away. Hange lifted her leg, meaning to kick Petra.

She wasn't quick enough.

Their struggle was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hange tensed immediately, squeezing Petra's shoulder painfully.

"No." she whispered, her eyes filled with panic.

"Petra!" Levi shouted behind the door. “Where are you?”

"I'm here!" she screamed back, watching Hange carefully. All color left her face and her breath quickened, as she watched the door.

"Petra!" Levi threw the door open. "I told you not to fucking go… inside."

Levi's hand remained on a doorknob, as he froze on a spot, his eyes wide and mouth open.

"P-petra?" after several seconds of looking at Hange, he turned to her. His gaze, which usually held so much indifference, was now filled with implore. Petra helplessly stared back, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what Levi needed to hear.

"It's me," Hange said, understanding what Levi needed without words. "It’s really me."

"Hange," Levi breathed out. His voice was filled with so much relief and happiness. He ran to her, almost knocking her to the ground. Instantly his arms circled around Hange, as he held her in an almost suffocating embrace.

It must have been painful, Petra thought. But Hange didn't seem to care. She wrapped her hands around Levi just as tightly.

“Please tell me this is not a dream,” Levi asked in a shaking whisper. He lifted his head to stare at Hange. “Please tell me you’re really here.”

“I’m here, Levi,” Hange replied, almost choking as she said his name. “I’m here, with you.”

"You are alive,” Levi spoke fervently in her shirt. "Hange, you really are alive, I can’t believe it."

Hange moved one hand to Levi's head, stroking his hair gently. "You can't get rid of me that easily, shorty."

Levi softly chuckled, not making a single move to untangle himself from Hange.

They would probably stay like this for a very long time, Petra concluded. They more than deserved it. And they also deserved some privacy.

So Petra picked up the gun that was still lying on the ground and then quietly walked out of the room.

Before she closed the door, she threw one last glance at the still embracing couple.

So that was Hange Zoe, huh? A person, who can make Levi come completely undone with just her presence?

Petra smiled to herself. These two suffered for so long. She was glad that they finally managed to find each other again.

[stardustanthem]

red daisy inn | Geralt x Female reader | SMUT/ NSFW 18+

Description: Geralt is back from one of his adventures, quick to find you in the brothel you live in, just as he always does when he returns from killing monsters. This time though, it’s a bit different.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: let’s try some smut like 18+ !! oh and cuss words if you’re scared of those or what not

— • —

You pulled your clothing back over your body, fixing your hair as you adjusted on the bed. The man next to you settled into the bed beside you making no effort to move, which quite frankly pissed you off. He hadn’t even paid you, and he had forced you to keep busy for hours. He didn’t even have the damn equipment to keep you that long. He was just wasting your time, and now he was going to settle in and not pay you?

“Excuse me, sir, I’ll take what I’m owed now,” You speak confidently, rising to your feet. The man furrowed his brows with his eyes shut and draped an arm over his plump belly. You grimaced at the thought. You’d had many men, but lately you wished you could just see the one man that brought your meek and disappointing life a tinge of light. He hadn’t come to see you in months, and you almost wondered if he was even alive.

“I paid the brothel keeper. Your payment is with him,” The man grumbled. He rolled away from you onto his side and began snoring softly just as you thought to remark. You tied the hanging strings at the top of your loose fitting gown and grabbed your shawl trying to put it on you as neatly as possible for the next guest. You wanted to clear up the payment issue with Allard before pursuing more customers.

Storming down the steps in a hurry, your hair blowing behind you as you ran, you make it to the office at the front of the brothel just as Allard is locking up his office to leave for his upstairs apartment, “Allard! Allard please wait-”

“Good Gods, Y/N, what is it now? I’m headed home for the evening. Burne is outside of you’re having any altercations with your guest, now please.” You stumbled back as he pushed past you, nearly falling to the ground. You had managed to catch yourself.

The man in the room had kept you locked away to fuck, and fondle him for hours. Not to mention Allard probably didn’t even have a form of payment for you, and now Allard was leaving without listening to the issue at hand. For fucks sake, Burne wasn’t going to help, he slept out front half of the time. He wasn’t a guard, he was a sleeping giant that probably made more than you. Damn this place.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” A soft voice spoke from behind you, placing a hand on your upper back and smoothing your hair out of your face, “Were you hurt?”

You looked up into a pair of brown eyes, her face framed but wavy red hair and felt relief, “No, Freya. I’m not hurt. That fat bastard won’t pay me what I am owed, said he paid Allard. Well now Allard has left and I don’t know if I even have money waiting for me in that damn chancery.” You weren’t going to cry, but by gods you were exhausted from the whole ordeal.

As a fallen woman in the brothel community, you had practicallt no rights. You’d just been part of the room that man paid for, nothing more, and it would be setting you back at least a day to make up for the time you had wasted. Freya knew how hard it had been for you lately with Geralt not having come back yet. She was your best friend and confidant. You whispered into the early hours of the morning about the days you would no longer live here and be free to roam the lands and live amongst the continent with the finest royalty. These were fantasies, and they kept Freya going for sure, but if you had to be honest... you’d trade everything to go with Geralt on his leave.

As if your thoughts had manifested your desires, you suddenly heard the pounding of horse hooves coming toward the ‘Red Daisy Inn’, and suddenly your heart swelled. It could be anyone, it was always possible it couldn’t be him, but just as your doubts started to settle in you saw him in the doorway dimly lit by candle light.

He had new cuts on his face, one strikingly long from just above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. His hair was an absolute mess, but he was just as handsome as you remembered. His eyes scanned the faces of the other girls among the hallway of the Inn until suddenly they landed on you. His eyes weren’t warm like they typically were, his leave had been much longer than it usually was, and by the animalistic darkness to his eyes you could tell it hadn’t been intentional.

You hadn’t even taken two steps forward before he had you scooped up into his arms, one hand at the back of your neck forcing you into the most hungry kiss he had ever given you. You tried to keep up with his assault but this was new to you, from him at least. You can’t deny you enjoyed it though, you felt your insides tingling with ecstasy at his mouth and it hadn’t even explored you yet.

He pulled away from you, shielding you into his chest as he turned to Freya, “My usual room, now,” he ordered at her staring down at her as she grabbed the key to the room at the top of the Inn from the key holder next to the door of Allards locked business room. He snatched it from her and threw you over his shoulder carrying you up the steps as quickly as his legs would carry him. He was ready to fuck the absolute hell out of you. He was practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation.

The door nearly broke off the hinges as he shoved it open. You fell to the bed as he dropped you, watching as he shut and locked the door behind him. Your body was in an absolutely overdrive of emotions. Your heart racing, your heat aching, but you were so excited to see the golden eyed hero. You reached for him, terrified that if he stayed near the door too long he might actually leave through it. You weren’t ready for that so soon. He was here, and you wanted to show him how much you missed him, just as he did you.

Geralt untied the strings on his pants and removed his shirt in the four short strides it took to get to the giant king sized bed in the middle of the room. Gawking wasn’t your typical behavior, but seeing his cock for the first time in months had you in a trance. He released a semi-audible growl and snapped his fingers at you, “My eyes are up here.” This in itself caused you to take your lower lip between your rows of teeth. You weren’t used to being this shy with him, but you just couldn’t help it. You wanted him, but you also wanted to bathe in your time together. You had missed him, terribly, but it was like a breath of fresh air to know he had missed you too.

The white wolf himself climbed onto the bed, on top of you, laying between your legs as he slipped your shawl out from under you and tossed it aside. You watched as he slowed his pace, untying the strings attached to the top of your gown. He pushed the opening in your gown on your chest open and pressed a gentle kiss there earning a whimper from you. Geralt felt himself hardening just from the sound itself. He wanted louder sounds from you, he craved them. His journey had been long, and he was going to have you in a puddle at his feet when he was done with you.

He sucked on the spot, making you release a sigh of content before he once again fell into his animal-like behavior. He nipped and groped every inch of free skin he could before yanking your gown over your head. He took in your bare figure before him. Nipples taught from the heat of the moment, legs wide open ready to take him in full stride, and the sheen of sweat across your body. He wanted to lick you clean.

So he did just that, starting with the mound between your legs. He placed gentle kisses from your knee to the center of your legs on both sides before dragging his wet tongue over your heat. You instinctively grabbed a fistful of his hair, arching your body into him as much as you could. This was the difference with Geralt. He made it about you just as much as it was about him. He sucked ever so slowly on your bundle of nerves, before slowly inserting a finger into your hole. He continued sucking as he slowly moved his fingers, making you more and more aroused by each stroke. If he could make you this happy with just his fingers and his mouth, imagine the rest.

He continued like this for what felt like forever, your stomach filling up with electricity and butterflies but just before you were pushed over the edge into oblivion, he pulled away from you. You stared up at him, knowing damn well he couldn’t take it any longer. He was ready to take you.

Geralt positioned his length at your entrance, glancing at you before slowly inching his way in. Your eyes rolled back slightly as your walls adjusted to the familiarity of it all and without warning he began aggressively pumping himself into you. He leaned down, biting your neck enough to cause slight pain but not enough to draw blood, grunting as he pounding his cock into you as quickly and as hard as he could.

The build up within your lower region was quick to burst as you screamed out his name in a state of euphoria. Geralt wasn’t finished with you though, just because he had made you cum once didn’t mean you couldn’t do it again, especially since he hadn’t. So he continued. He supported himself with one arm, removing his face from your neck as his amber eyes locked on yours. His free hand snuck its way down to your heat again, massaging as generously as he could the proximity of your bodies. You felt yourself building up again, Geralt’s intense gaze on you not helping in any way.

His amber eyes burned intensely into yours, stealing away to glance at your mouth before his mouth found yours again. You cupped his face in your hands, roughly kissing him in return just as you reached your second release, another moan pouring from your lips into his mouth. You could feel his cock twitch just as he bit your lip a little too harshly, drawing blood, he grunted heavily muttering a, “Fuck, Y/N,” before his movements stopped altogether. Like a gentleman, he moved to lay next to you, taking the time to catch his breath before helping you clean up.

You were speechless. Good Gods, say something. Anything, “I missed you an incredible amount, Geralt.” And just like that, your emotions came to a head and you find yourself sobbing quietly into his chest as he pulled you closer. The last few months had quite honestly been horrible, and Geralt being here now made you realize how awful they actually were.

Geralt caressed you softly, from the base of your neck to your lower back, one hand tangled in your hair. You’d never told him you had missed him before. This was new. It all felt so new, but it felt like the right thing to say. You felt him tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as his lips touched your lobe, “And I, you.” His voice was rough, but deliciously so. He pressed a few gentle kisses to your neck before pulling away from you, “I’ll draw a bath. Does that sound alright to you, Y/N?”

You wiped at your eyes and nose before sitting up and nodding, not meeting his eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead preparing a bath for the two of you as you let yourself be washed away in your thoughts, only to be brought to by Geralt scooping you out of bed and gently dropping you into the bath water. It was almost too hot, but with Geralt being who he was, you knew he had made the bath with himself in mind. As if on queue he settled into the giant bath across from you, leaning back against the side of the tub, “I’m sorry I was away so long.”

You voiced your fears finally to someone other than Freya and it felt relieving, “I thought you weren’t going to ever come back. I was scared you’d left me here to die.” You let yourself soak into the water, before moving closer to Geralt. His eyes remained closed as you quietly moved through the water.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you here,” he murmured sounding almost tired. Understandable as he had just traveled such a distance and fucked the lights out of you... but, unapologetically, you didn’t want him to sleep yet. You slowly reached toward him, your hand almost hovering over his Witcher medallion before he snatched your hand in midair, his head moving so his eyes could stare into yours, “It’s safer for you here.”

You stared at him, furrowing your brows before shaking your head and pulling your hand back, “The monsters you face out there are the monsters I face in here every day. My way of life isn’t that of a Witcher but I see monsters too, Geralt. I’m tired of being here,” you pushed his hand away and moved your body over his, straddling his naked lap, “I am tired of being away from you.”

His eyes softened, the fire place across the room coloring the pair of you a mixture of orange and yellow. He placed a hand on your cheek before pulling you into him again, this time your head on his chest, his legs extending for you to sit comfortably on his lap, “I won’t leave you here ever again. I swear on Roach.”

You smile at the last part, lifting your head from his chest as he searches over your face, memorizing your smile. You bite your lip gently before touching his lips with your fingertips, “On Roach, huh? Sure she’d kick you halfway to Temeria for saying such filthy things.”

Geralt smirks softly, moving to sit up, holding you on his lap still, “I can show you a filthy thing or two.” He grins and brings your face back to his, crashing his lips on yours before tickling your sides playfully. You scream and laugh at his behavior as the two of you fall into a playful banter of splashing each other with the bath water.

[ms-maj]

For @theheavycrown​ on her birthday. Sarah, thank you for all the laughter, support and friendship and for being an all around awesome human being. xoxo

It’s not that he doesn’t like mornings, he does, it’s just that Jughead Jones has come to learn that few good things happen before nine a.m. Yet here he sits at seven, a fine layer of silt covering his beloved Honda, his leather jacket, his helmet (next time he’ll make sure the route he takes avoids as many of those dirt roads as humanly possible; he really wishes he’d stuffed his backpack in the saddlebag instead of wearing it on his back.) The goggles he’s pulled down rest under his chin as he slides his helmet off, his hair feeling heavy and hot in the already building humidity. The helmet clanks against the steel frame as it hangs from the handlebars, dust kicking off in a little cloud as it sways. 

He sighs, peeling the filthy eyewear off his head and wipes the lens across his dirty jeans before hanging them on the opposite handlebar. This is not his scene. Well, it’s not not his scene, Jughead is pretty well known as the patron saint of all things forgotten and bygone,  so the flea market isn’t too out of turn but taking time off his life to pursue nothing but leisure? Not so much. So when he heard tell of the best collection of antique cast iron this side of the Mississippi he knew he’d be remiss if his cross-country culinary trek didn’t at least find him some new pieces to add to his ever-growing collection. The one that personally threatened to take over another corner of his small house, and the one he’s building a culinary empire on. He exhales forcefully, lifting his coffee from the holder, thankful he opted for the tall, solid cupholder as it somehow managed to save his necessary caffeine from the horrors of the open country road. 

Finish below or on AO3

Sipping on his "coffee" he watches as the vendors turn into the old yet still operating drive-in, the name Sunset peeling off the ancient sign. This weekend’s fare, Jaws and Jurassic Park, piecemeal spelled out in crumbling letters on the old marquee. Truck after truck, some with trailers and others just loaded to the brim, turn in a steady stream and supposedly have been doing so for the last hour. There’s a strange excitement that simmers just under the surface, it’s as if he knows he’s going to find exactly what he wants today, maybe even if it’s not at all what he’s been looking for.

Jughead likes to think he’s lived. In his—some glorious and others very much not—thirty-four years on this earth he’s eaten, what he thinks, is the finest food on every continent. He’s trained under classic French chefs in Michelin starred restaurants and with street vendors from Thailand to Peru. His own restaurant, a quaint throwback bistro in the heart of upstate New York is the culmination of those years and years and years of hard work. His passions, he’s come to find, cannot be confined, nor defined, simply by the walls of a kitchen. They’re in the pages of his acclaimed cookbooks and the mystery series he’s been stringing together since high school that he was sure would never amount to anything. 

But it did, and here he is. The very definition of latchkey, Jughead Jones grew up the poor son of a couple of addicts and con artists. The ones he hasn’t seen since he got his high school diploma. The moment that piece of paper was in his hands, he loaded his rucksack onto his rusted out Kawasaki and never looked back. 

He’s lived in trailers and dorms, in cramped studios and lavish flats, and once, in the projection booth of a drive-in theater. Very much like the one he assumes is in the middle of this one. He sighs, leaning back against his bike, forgetting the heat from the muffler until it starts burning beneath the heavy denim of his jeans. 

“Shit,” he mumbles as he shifts uncomfortably away, dislodging his near burnt calf but manages to spill the bitter, gas-station coffee he’d been absently cradling down the front of his white t-shirt. The next expletive out of his mouth is not so quiet. “Fuck me!”

The cup drops to the ground as he wipes at the seeping stain barehanded. “I might have a tissue,” he hears. Instantly he stops the futile attempt to clean himself, looking up when the laughter reaches his ears. “Though I can’t imagine it would be much help.”

The corner of his lip pulls up despite this recent bout of bad luck. She’s in a bold, floral print sundress with the kind of soft hem that dances with the breeze as it blows across the nearly empty lot. The sunhat is floppy, almost too big over the cascade of soft waves that hit her shoulders, she smiles, warm and amused before she takes her lower lip between her teeth, eyes darting from his to the growing spot of wet fabric sticking to his chest.

“I would say I’m well prepared,” he gestures back toward his bike with its ample enclosed storage, and his dust-covered backpack draped over the rear seat. “But apparently I wasn’t thinking this morning. This is also my last clean shirt, so, really batting a thousand today.”

Pink tongue peeking between her teeth as she laughs her eyes narrow as her head dips to the side. “Hmm,” she runs that tongue over her lower lip, looking at him with hooded eyes before seemingly catching herself; clearing her throat she starts again. ”I just pulled my car out of storage, I might have something in the trunk if you want me to take a look?” She half turns to follow where she’s absentmindedly pointing, and he sees the very moment her left foot doesn’t seem to get the memo. If he waits another second she’ll be in the dirt and without even consciously thinking about it, his arms wrap around her waist and keep her from toppling.

She lets out a shaky breath, fingers digging into the leather that encases his bicep. “Sorry, I, uh,” her head darts from side to side before she rights herself and extricates herself from his grip. “I wish I could say I wasn’t normally this klutzy but that would be a lie.” She sweeps the dirt and imaginary wrinkles from her dress and adjusts the hat that now sits just askew on her head.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he drawls, watching as pink colors her cheeks. “So, a shirt? Maybe?” 

Nodding, she turns (with a skosh more grace than before) and walks to the end of the makeshift aisle. “Right this way.”

 “You’re not trying to lure me behind an abandoned building so that you can murder me, right?” He thinks it sounds playful, flirtatious even, though both things are patently out of his wheelhouse, but he can’t help but wonder why this gorgeous woman even stopped and looked in his direction.

“Oh, no, see this building might be abandoned, but these grounds aren’t going to be for too much longer. And I have a feeling you might be a screamer.” 

Choking a little on his own spit, he slows, swallows, and drags his eyes back up to find hers looking back over her shoulder. She winks, then stops between the fins of some powder blue oddity Jughead has never seen the likes of before. 

“I don’t usually find myself at a loss for words but you seem to have found my weakness.”

“And what is that exactly?” She questions as he moves next to her, almost too close, he can feel her breath shuddering against his skin as she places an oddly shaped key into the opening on the trunk. 

“Klutzy green-eyed blondes,” he can tell he’s caught her off guard when she gasps as the latch lets go on the trunk lock. 

“Okay then,” she’s smiling back at him, that lip caught between her teeth again when he realizes he’s already mapping out their future and he doesn’t even know her name.

“Jughead. Jones.” he supplies, voice cracking like he’s all of sixteen again. He wasn’t nervous, not before this simple moment in which he provides his chosen name and she either laughs or…

Her dainty hand hangs between them. “Pleasure to meet you Jughead, I’m Betty Cooper."

His large, calloused hand engulfs hers, happy to find the spark he thought he felt before was very real, and much, much more than a spark.

Their clasped hands hang between them, neither too eager to drop. Betty finally pulls away with another one of those flustered head shakes, before she starts to rummage through the cavernous trunk. It’s fairly empty, save for whatever Betty is looking for, and it's clearly all the way in the back.

 “Okay, but really, you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought, you know hypothetically of course, about how many bodies you could actually fit in this trunk,” he’s taken a step back to get the full picture, which is mostly just Betty stretching the entirety of her gorgeous frame into the depths of the unknown to find him a shirt, but his writers’ mind can’t help but wonder.

She stops her scavenging and with a triumphant grunt, she’s righting herself, the strap of a black duffle bag between her fingers. “Aha! And honestly, who hasn’t seen an old car and thought about the sheer amount of fuckery one could get away with simply based on interior cargo space.”

He knows he’s staring, gaping really, but he can’t seem to help himself. Betty shrugs, unphased, and goes to open the bag. She rummages around for a few seconds then pulls out a Johnny Cash t-shirt. 

“I know it’s a little wrinkled but it doesn’t seem to smell,” she pulls the aforementioned garment from her face and hands it to him. 

“Even if it did it—anything is an improvement over,” he waves his hand over his sticky shirt and worries she can tell his heart straight-up skips a beat when she laughs. 

Jughead takes off his leather jacket, passes it wordlessly to Betty who tries to clean it as best she can with a small rag from her car. He slips his arms inside of his soiled shirt and pushes it up around his shoulders, sliding it off as he pulls on the clean one. When he looks back at Betty she looks a little perplexed.

“What?”

“Just wondering what prompted the middle-school locker room style shirt change. If my seeing you topless would’ve been too much for your delicate sensibilities than perhaps I’ve misjudged—”

“That is quite enough out of you,” he points a menacing finger in her direction but is laughed down. His glare breaks quickly and the smile that takes over almost hurts. Has he been that out of practice with even smiling that the muscles in his face don’t know what to do about it? It’s a definite possibility. It just seems to come so naturally around Betty that he doesn’t want to question, and subsequently, jinx it.  

“Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" Eyebrow raised, she leans closer, arm outstretched with his coat.

He reaches to grab it but he misses the jacket altogether and brushes his fingers against hers. "Sounds like you'd love to find out, " it's from who winks this time. Betty's grip falters and the leather falls into his hand. Words form on his tongue but before he can get them out a shrill ring cuts through the ambiance of the morning. 

The trunk is slammed close; the moment is gone. “Shit, it’s a client, and a big one so I have to take this. I, um, I’ll see you in there? Hopefully?” He knows the disappointment is etched on his face, but he tamps it down and nods in her direction. Her smile back is enthusiastic, she looks sanguine; before he turns around he hears, what he assumes, is a happy lilt as she greets whoever is on the line.

He stuffs the jacket and his soiled shirt into one of the saddlebags, slides on his trusty (and dusty) grey beanie, grabs a few canvas tote bags, and heads into the flea market. There’s a moment he thinks he hears her voice but when he turns he's met with the endless drone of tires as the lot begins to fill.

It seems silly—feels silly—to be missing someone after such a short time. Not only just since you’ve seen them but also because you’ve only exchanged a handful of words in the entire five minutes that you’ve known one another.

There’s a small line at the gate. As he waits to pay his admission, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and tugs at the edge of his hat, trying to keep this weird, swirly sensation inside instead of letting it bubble out lest he ends up skipping through the lanes. 

He lets out a mirthless laugh, the kind he finds usually echo throughout his empty home only this time it's met with the hustle and bustle of the early-bird crowd. There's no time to dwell, no reason to wait; just the time (and patience) to find himself that thirteen-inch Spider skillet, and maybe a new Dutch oven...or two.

Or, he remembers after he's grabbed new forty-fives for the jukebox, old carnival prints for Toni, a snake ashtray for Sweet Pea that he knows Val will hate but it's so ugly he can't help himself, that while he may be able to mail himself whatever he can't carry across the states...he still has to get it there in the first place.

It's why he talks himself out of the awful Rocky poster. It's not for him, of course, but rest assured it would be most appreciated by Archie and Reggie. Jughead can actually picture exactly where in their apartment where they'd hang it. Their housewarming present would have to wait until the next flea market.

He hasn't even made it to the small cluster of more upscale dealers before he's at the snack stand, walking away with a blue icee and cotton candy like the grown man he is. While enjoying his treats he's only half paying attention to the stalls and tables that line each of drive-in’s aisles, surely missing out on some choice vintage toys and housewares that he has no use (or room) for.

Mostly, his mind wanders as he weaves through the ever-growing throng. He’s been looking for a floppy sun hat but, unfortunately, many, many people seem to be concerned about the adverse effects of UV rays. Not that that in and of itself is not unfortunate, it’s just not helping him at the moment. If he couldn’t look down and see the physical evidence of their interaction, he’d believe he hallucinated the whole thing. The universe doesn’t just drop his idyllic dream girl into his path, well, it absolutely would allow him to see her once and then never again. But he doesn’t want that…

He wants to know what it feels like to have her legs wrapped around his waist, on the bike, in their bed. He wants to see her tangled in their bedsheets or sitting at the counter as he feeds her his latest culinary creation. Not that he’s ever been one to live inside the delusions, his upbringing has forced his ‘manifest your own destiny’ lifestyle to never rely on the dreams, just use them as touchstones for achieving said ruminations. But these, the daydreams are so vivid, so real that he almost walks right past the intended object of his affection.

And it’s only the melodious cant of saccharine condescension that brings him back to the moment. 

“I realize that I’m here later than we discussed, but that shouldn’t affect the price we agreed upon, right?”

Betty’s arms were crossed over her chest, head cocked to the side, the sunhat effectively obscuring her beautiful face, which by her tone, Jughead assumes is sporting a proper scowl. 

“It shouldn’t, no,” the vendor starts. He stands a good foot and a half taller than Betty, broad-chested and fully bearded, he runs a calloused hand over the gray whiskers. “It’s just that this is a highly collectible item—”

“Which you are being more than fairly compensated for! You acquired it for me, I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate now.”

“C’mon Betty Boop, you know exactly why. You’re looking so pretty today, go on a date with me and I’ll throw in that Griswold trivet I’ve seen you eyeing up,” Jughead sees the man's hands come down on the table as he leans closer to Betty. He watches her body swell with a deep inhalation that releases as her hands hit the table to mimic his pose. 

“Not if you were the last man on Earth, Andrew. Just sell me the damn dutch oven and I’ll be on my merry little way.”

The vendor sucks air through his teeth so loudly it whistles. “Doesn’t sound like I’m getting anything out of this…”

Jughead is practically standing over Betty’s shoulder now, the tension and frustration rolling off her like waves. “Andrew, I swear to all the gods in existence, if you don’t take the agreed price and put my dutch oven in this fancy bag here I’m calling your Gran.”

Jughead isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone deflate so quickly. The man grunts holds out his hand and in it, Betty presses a neat stack of cash. The large, lidded pot makes its way to the table and from his vantage point can tell it’s a Wapak and in pristine condition.

“Nice looking piece of cookware you got there,” he says loudly behind her. She startles straight, turns slowly, and greets him with the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen.

“Jughead!” Her arms are around his neck and face pressed against the planes of his chest before he can blink. She seems to realize herself and is out of his arms and standing in front of him within the second it takes to realize how much he misses her warmth.

“What, did you think you could get rid of me that easily? I still have your shirt,” his hands rest on her waist, he hasn’t dropped them, and she hasn’t moved further away so he’s going to assume it’s not unwelcome.

She hums.”Well, it looks much better on you than in did crumpled up in my trunk

“Everything okay here?”

“We’re just peachy, right Andrew?” Betty questions, turning away from him and out of his grasp. She grabs the bag he’s placed on the table and with a most unrefined grunt, hoists it over her shoulder.

“We’re good, Coop. Just try to be on time from now on, it’s not very,” he pauses. Jughead can feel the man’s eyes slide from Betty to him, looking him up and down with a displeased expression. “Professional.”

“Oh, Andrew. Green is not your color. If you weren’t the only person in the tri-state area who could get me this stuff then I would never give you my business, ever again. But since I clearly work for sadists who love forcing me to interact with you, we’re at an impasse,” she shifts the bag on her shoulder and continues. “However, you make any more assumptions about my professionalism or personal life, then they’re going to have to find a new liaison.”

Andrew groans. “Don’t be like that, Betty! You know it all comes from the heart,” he crosses a hand to his and pats, and then he’s reaching under the table. “Here’s that trivet you had your eye on.”

Jughead moves up next to her and takes the trivet before it reaches her hand. “Is this a 1739? I’ve only been able to find pictures of these!”

He holds the metal piece reverently between his hands, long fingers tracing the intricate lace pattern, running over the feet, brushing against the logo that was stamped into the bottom some seventy years ago. “You know Griswold?” Betty’s tone is more than just surprised, there’s a slight breathlessness he can’t quite place as he places the trivet into her hands. 

“Oh, uh,” his head shakes a little with the chuckle. “Yeah, cast iron is pretty much why I’m even here. My best friend told me that if I was looking for something special, this would be the place to find it.” Suddenly feeling very shy, he rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Interesting,” Betty’s eyes narrow and fix on him, but it doesn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Maybe it’s because an hour ago he was flirting like a lovesick teenager and he’s merely happy to be the object of her attention. He hears her bag hit the ground with a heavy thud. “If you’re looking for something in particular, this is your guy. I wasn’t being hyperbolic when I said he had the best. And if he doesn’t have it on-site, he’s usually able to procure it in a very short time.”

Andrew smiles at her praise and nods along. “Yeah, man, if you’re a friend of Betty’s you must be in the know. What tickles your fancy?”

Not really sure how to process, or address, any of what the man in front of him has just said, he locks eyes with Betty and lets out a sharp breath. She’s got the kind of smile that they used to write poetry about and he knows he’s done for. He’s smiling himself now and with a quick turn of his head he’s looking at Andrew again. “What do you know about Spiders?”

They’ve managed to walk the rest of the flea market, Betty picking up a few random items along with the (many) client requests. He learns she owns a small but successful antique shop in western Mass but she's rarely there. Mostly, she travels and he wonders what she's running from. She says it's to procure the things people want versus the things she thinks they would want to buy. It's not about the money, although it seems to pay well, she insists it's the history, the adventure, the joy it brings when she tracks down a vase-like what was on Grandma's table or an album that your grandfather taught you to dance to. She talks about antiques like he talks sous vide, the process, the art, how when it all comes together...life is magic.

"I can’t believe he’s going to find me a thirteen Spider! Do you have any idea how rare…oh, well, I suppose you do being an antique dealer and all that,” he bumps his shoulder (the one not carrying her stupidly heavy dutch oven) against hers, her head ducks in response but he can see the rosy hue on her cheeks. 

“If you’ve known each other for so long why all the shit for being late? And if I’m what made you late I apologize—”

“No, Jughead! Not even a little,” she grabs his shoulder and pulls him to stop beside her. “Andrew was just being a dick because that’s who he is as a person. Yes, I was late to meet him but that was because I was having a little car trouble this morning.”

“What, the marvel of modern engineering you’re tooling around in is finicky? Who’d have thunk?”  He holds out his (second) icee, offering Betty the last sip but she politely declines. He shrugs as best he can and finishes the cold red syrup in a quick gulp. The sun is blazing, scorching them from on high before he knows it. Jughead feels the sweat beading on his brow, threatening to drip down his face in the most unbecoming of ways. He's thankful they're heading back toward their respective vehicles. It's not that he wants this day to end, in fact, he's kind of hoping he can repeat it forever, but he really would like to get out of the sun. 

She smacks his arm playfully. “Don’t talk about Edie that way!”

“Edie? She’s even got an old ladies' name, Betts,” they finally reach said car and Jughead heaves the bags from his shoulder and drops them in the dirt.

Betty sighs as the lock clicks, trunk springing open. "She's an Edsel. You're not wrong about her being an old lady but trust me when it comes to classic cars Edsels are…"

Jughead scoffs. "I might have a proclivity for two-wheeled machines but I do know a thing or two about the four-wheeled varieties as well. The Ford Edsel, only produced between 1958 and 1960, was an ode to Henry's wife but was too modern and impractical to gain popularity. What?"

Jughead Jones knows a thing or two about food, and how people look when they're truly enjoying something. At this moment he'll tell you he feels like braised short ribs or a perfectly cooked steak or a decadent slice of dacquoise, with the way Betty is looking at him.

She swallows, audibly. "No one knows Edsels. No one knows they exist let alone know actual details about their launch, and subsequent failure."

"Hmm, sounds to me you just haven't been meeting the right people," he hoists her heavy bags off the ground and puts them in the trunk. 

Betty's hand reaches for the lid and lingers for a moment before she gently closes it. "You might be onto something, Jones.”

He steps forward, careful not to invade her space too badly but unable to resist the urge to be closer. “Do you maybe want to grab a bite to eat?”

The diner is nice, albeit the interior leaves a little something to be desired. It’s cliche in the way you want a retro establishment to be; walls lined in old adverts, gas and oil cans on shelves, kitschy to a fault. They're tucked in the corner, in a  red, squeaky vinyl booth and had to cross a very large expanse of cheap, sticky linoleum. He just hopes the food makes up for the fact he had to peel his feet up with every step. That’s not a sound one wants to hear in the place where they’re going to eat.

He explains as much to Betty, how atmosphere can change and engage perception, how the menu is designed to make you want the items that make them the most money, and not necessarily the ones that they cook well. After their food comes and he samples the fare he raves about the milkshakes but is unimpressed with everything else. 

“This is farmland, Betty. I passed not two, but three farms coming back. And at least one of them had Angus! Why are we being served frozen burgers?”

Betty eats a fry and pretends to look thoughtful.“I guess it never crossed my mind, Jug. You certainly have strong feelings about food.”

“Yeah, and that’s about the only thing,” he leans back in the booth and lays his arm across the back. “It might align very closely with what I do for a living.”

“You’re a chef,” Betty says matter-of-factly. “That explains your love of cast iron cookware and,” she vaguely gestures around the room. “How you know so much about the business. Still doesn’t answer how you know about Edsels.”

Jughead chuckles in response. “Misspent youth” When she shoots him a questioning look he sighs. "There may be some less than savory characters in my past. I wasn't one of them per se but I could have been described as gang adjacent."

Nodding, Betty takes a sip of the cold confection in front of her. She starts to speak and pauses like she's rolling something around before she says it. Next, she's looking at him as though a lightbulb has gone off. "Wait, wait, you're not a chef you're the chef! The author," Betty’s eyes narrow ever so slightly before going wide, her mouth gapes a bit before she produces words. "You're Forsythe."

How the fuck? "How the fuck?"

"My client from earlier was looking for a dutch oven for her partner's friend, a chef, whose niche is cast iron cookware. This same friend has also authored a series of cookbooks and a youth mystery."

“And what about any of that makes you say my name is Forsythe?” His voice comes out lower than he expects, a harsh timbre colors his words. "And it was not a youth mystery. It sounds like some Tracy True or Baxter Brothers nonsense when you say it like that."

“You are. Holy shit! And they set this up! Oh, those sneaky, brilliant, beautiful women,” Betty buries her face in her hands and groans. 

“Would you please fill me in because I am feeling ten ways of lost and, if I’m being honest, a little creeped out.”

Betty looks up, soft eyes, and smiling. “Oh, Jug. Apparently, our friends have finally gotten sick of our wallowing.”

“What friends? Who has friends?”

She rolls her eyes. “It would seem we do. You see, Cheryl is my cousin and Veronica is my best friend from high school."

"Wait, Cheryl, as in Blossom? And Veronica Lodge?"

Betty nods in affirmation. "They were oil and water through most of our formative years and then after their first year at Sarah Lawrence, well, they came back together. Fast forward two years and enter Toni Topaz, who I'm assuming is the missing link here, yeah?"

"Toni would be one of the three people on this planet I consider family, " he's leaning across the table, elbows making divots in the surface when suddenly he has his own lightbulb moment. "Elizabeth? The itinerant eccentric antiquarian?"

“Wow, is that a Cheryl or Veronica description?" She rubs the bridge of her nose, head shaking as she takes it in. "Doesn't matter, but with a title like that, it's no wonder that you were never around when I was. Oh, and surprise! It would appear your pseudo-sister and her girlfriends are giving you a dutch oven for your next birthday. Congrats.”

Jughead is trying to process, though it feels an awful lot like failing. Until suddenly, it all makes sense. “She's the one who told me I needed to stop here and check out the cast iron. Insisted there was something I needed, something she was certain I would find."

"Well, " Betty looks up at him from under the thick veil of her lashes. "Was she wrong?"

 For years he’s traveled from place to place; running from anything and everything. Even when he decided to put down roots it was relatively far from even the best of his friends. No one could just ‘drop by’, it’s not like he’d have been home anyway. He’s buried his loneliness in new recipes; it’s scratched into the margins of his favorite books, in the words poured from his own hand. He looks at the woman sitting across from him, strawberry milkshake in front of her, glowing under the harsh neon lights that contrast so glaringly will all her soft edges. 

The realization comes easily. He doesn’t have to think about anything more than ‘do I take this risk’ and he’s never been one to say no to risks before. 

He drops his arm, reaching across the table, and before it can rest on the Formica Betty slots her fingers between his. “She has never been more right in her life, but please don’t tell her that."

Betty’s laughter peals through the restaurant. He smiles despite himself. For the first time that he can recall, something good came before nine am. As a matter of fact, when her thumb traces the back of his hand, he’ll even go as far as to say it's something great. 

[hargrove-mayfields]

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming Pt. 2

Billy can’t believe he’s doing this. 

Can’t believe that he’s pulled up outside of 8253 Loch Nora, a gift box in his passenger seat, unwrapped because that would look like he cared too much, a lit cigarette fogging up his windows, and a sense of dread settled heavy in his heart. 

Just because Harrington bought him the fanciest thing he’d ever had the pleasure to own didn’t mean he had to return the favor, right? 

Wrong. Because it wasn’t just your typical, ‘I’m loaded, and you’re dirt poor, so let me get you this novelty that costs more than you have in the bank because I'm better than you’ from Steve, but something more like a peace offering. 

A peace offering from the loser of the fight, which made Billy look like even bigger an asshole than he already was. 

Like, it was bad enough that he’d even beat Steve up in the first place, but then to just ignore his attempt at reconciliation and keep up the machismo shtick? Even he was better than that. 

So he’d fretted for a week about what a rich boy would want, and shoveled sidewalks for old people and flirtatious mothers to be able to afford it. Not that the Hargroves didn’t have enough money for a dinky little gift, Billy just wasn’t allowed to spend his father’s wages on anything less than necessity. 

Christmas presents for some boy definitely didn’t fall under that category. 

In the end he decides on giving him a flask, decorated with similar filigree to that on the zippo, only it’s much more cheaply made. He hopes the sentiment is still there, because he knows Steve can put alcohol away faster than you can say chemically dependent teenaged washup. After all, just a few nights ago at Jenny’s Christmas Party, he saw him drink a whole bottle of vodka in under a minute.

Besides, regardless of whether or not it’s something he needs or cares about or is just going to throw away, it’s just to get even, this isn’t some life changing gift exchange. No sweat. 

Maybe Billy has that all worked out in his head, but then he’s got another problem. He can’t decide on how the present is going to get to Steve. 

If he should just leave it on the porch and bolt, if he was going to ring the doorbell and hand it right to him, or if he would just drive right on down back to Cherry Lane and keep the stupid hip flask for himself, and pretend the whole thing never happened so he could move on with his life. 

He loses the chance to choose when the double doors to the house are pulled open, and the silhouette of the one and only Steve Harrington appears. 

It would be more than weird to drive away now when he was obviously already parked outside, and even weirder to just sit in his car until Steve goes back inside, so he sucks it up, grabs the box off his passenger seat, and steps out of the Camaro. 

Rounding the front of his car and taking a few steps toward the porch, Billy decides to toss Steve the box without so much as a muttered ‘heads up.’ They’ve been playing basketball together for two months now, and he knows from experience that Steve’s surprisingly good at dodging fists, so he’s pretty sure he’ll catch it. 

And he does, if not a little clumsily, with a stupid, shocked look on his face. Billy might even say he almost looks as dumb as the sweater he was wearing, which had a Christmas tree crocheted into the center and was at least fifty percent tinsel. 

If his head was screwed on straight, maybe Billy would’ve even said ‘Merry Christmas Steve, thanks for the beautiful fucking zippo I use it every day, sorry ‘bout the face’ but it wasn’t, so instead, what he said was actually more along the lines of, 

“Save your donations for the red kettle Harrington.” 

And then he thinks he’s out of the woods, thinks the lack of an answer is the symbol he needs to put this drama behind him and pick a new pretty boy to pick on, but just as he pops the Camaro’s door, Steve finally lets his response tumble out of his mouth. 

“Why don’t you come in, Hargrove?” Steve turns the box over and over in his hands, nervous as he tries to get out what he’s going to say. “Nobody’s home, and I made a bunch of cookies. Got some spiked eggnog too.” 

And, it wasn’t like Billy’d rather be back at his own house right now, that was actually the last place on earth he wanted to be, so he wasn’t beyond entertaining the notion. 

He isn’t easy though, he’s not the type to just, waltz on in to some McMansion looming over him just because he’d been asked so politely. Especially not when the circumstances of this specific circumstance were the way they were.

“Whatd’ya put in it, the eggnog?” It’s a stupid question, just a way to stall until he can come up with an excuse to go in the mansion by his accord, but the answer, well, it’s not much better. 

“Chicken Cock.” Steve says it with such an air of nonchalance that Billy isn’t sure he’s heard that right, but then again, the people down in the Midwest referred everything with weird nicknames that he’d never even heard of. What was puppy chow anyways?

He can tell there’s a bewildered look on his face, though it gets overtaken by a slightly humored smile as he asks. “‘Scuse me?” 

Blame it on the bitter cold if you please, but a flush appears on Steve’s cheeks at the realization of what his words might sound like to somebody who had no idea what he’s talking about. “I-It’s a spirit, it’s really strong and- why don’t you just come try it, yeah?” 

Its cute, but Billy needs one last attempt at casting out the line before he gives in and accepts Steve’s offer. “Real smooth, Harrington, but I gotta get back to the festivities at home.” 

“Sure, ‘cause you're totally the type for that.” Steve rolls his eyes in a sort of false annoyance before he starts on his mockery. “Bet you sing carols, and bake cookies with your little sister and tell stories of your favorite Christmas memories around the Yule log and-“

“Alright, Harrington. Since you asked so nicely.” He couldn’t keep saying no with Steve practically begging him to come inside, so, stepping up onto the stoop, Billy scrapes his boots against the porch rug to knock off the snow so he can go inside. “But I’m outta here by midnight, alright?” 

With a smile, Steve steps aside to let Billy through the door. “Deal.” 

Ornate woodworking and fancy wallpaper goes unnoticed, because the first thing Billy notices about the Harrington mansion is that it is an absolute disaster. although he would expect a cleaning lady to have come through and kept the place all nice and pristine like you see in the magazines, there was shit everywhere. 

Piles of bubble wrap and newspaper stuffed into plastic containers, wires and strings and tape all over, a power strips and thumbtacks, and suddenly Billy realizes something. 

“This your attempt at Yuletide cheer, Harrington?” 

For a moment he looks at Billy confused, but follows his line of sight to the heaping boxes of decorations scattered throughout his living space. “Oh, no, I just didn’t finish yet.” 

Billy can’t help it when he blurts out, “It’s Christmas Eve.” 

Steve nods dumbly, something that should at this point be his registered trademark. “Uh-huh.” 

“And all your decorations are in a pile in your living room?” Even Billy knew better than to wait until the last minute to get things done, and Harrington always seemed so on top of everything, regardless of if he was doing it right, so it was kind of jarring to see him in such a disheveled mess the night of Christmas Eve. 

Steve says, in a tone so casually condescending, “Seems that way, yeah.” 

“Didn’t leave enough time between your panty raids to get it done?”  Snark is met with snark, but, because of the circumstances, there’s not the typical edge to it that would be expected from the two of them.

“I manage my escapades perfectly fine, thank you.” Steve toes at a box heaping with ornaments and labeled with the words ‘to throw out’ written in cursive on the side. “My parents just think decorating is too undistinguished, so I’m only allowed to have them up for a few days.” 

“Right.” Billy agrees like he understands, but he really doesn’t. How can sprucing up your house with a bunch of fancy and expensive trinkets and decorations be any worse than leaving it empty and barren? Rich people. “And how, exactly, would they know if you put them up early?” 

Tossing a strand of garland that had previously been draped over the back of the chaise, because of course they have a chaise in their first living room, Steve says, “Shut up and help me put them up then.” 

So he does. He untangles giant knots of tinsel, of lights and of icicles, and unwraps all of the Harringtons’ precious glass ornaments for Steve to put on the artificial trees (he’s allergic to pine) in the entrance hall and the dining room. 

He puts up the glass stocking holder and hangs the silky, designer stockings, which, judging from the faded fabric and the peeling letters written in red glitter glue to spell out STEVEn, are from a time when Ruthie and Stephen Sr. still darkened these doors. Alongside them on the mantelpiece, he hangs a handful of Christmas cards from Steve’s random relatives up on a thin piece of ribbon. 

The banister of the grand staircase is wrapped in miles of scratchy garland, enough that they can hardly see the wooden finish underneath, and matching wreaths are hung in the windows and on the doors. 

Just to prove how rich they were, the Harringtons also have a rather extensive collection of those ceramic trees, not the type you make yourself, but the expensive ones you can order from Avon and other designers Billy can’t even pronounce the name of, and they’ve put one on just about every surface that is close enough to an outlet for a plug to reach.

There are so many extension cords run through every room, Billy’s worried that Steve might end up burning up in a house fire, but it’s worth it to see the twinkling lights reflecting on blank white walls, the soothing colors brightening up a space he could imagine was typically devoid of life. 

And in the end, having wrestled with dusty old decorations to transform Steve’s house into something so, so pleasant? spirited? entirely unfamiliar to someone like him? he thinks he’s earned the hard whiskey he was promised at the door. 

Hours go by, and the two of them are sitting in the center of the giant French Country rug, a cotton and silk substitute for the Persian Steve turned out to be allergic to, backs against the coffee table and more than a little tipsy. 

Leaning back on his elbows, Billy lets his head fall back, his sprayed curls fanning out over the mahogany surface, where they have a bayberry candle burning out of the top of an empty bottle of Stephen Sr's liquor of choice. 

Blinking slowly up at the ceiling, the blur of the colorful lights making him dizzy, he asks, “So, how does this work, without your parents here, d’ya just, buy your own presents and put ‘em under the tree yourself?” 

“Nah. They mail them to Miss Hetty the help, and she brings ‘em to me in the mornin’. 7 a.m. sharp.” He pops the p on the “sharp” like he’s proud to admit he has a nanny at almost 19 years old. 

“The help. Think that’s somehow more depressing.” Billy ignores the way Steve’s eyebrows furrow together and his quiet, mumbled out, “Rude.” 

“Don’t think I have much room to talk though.” He sits up again so he can look at Steve. “Your zippo’s the only thing I’m gettin’ this year, ‘cept for maybe a-a good backhand or two after Susan gets her family photos.” 

A smile cracks across the other boy's face as he lowers his voice, sounding all too excited to say, “Guess that makes us a couple-a misfits then, huh?”

And Billy can’t help the laugh he lets out at that god awful reference, true as it may be, and it's with a smile on his face that he says, “God, you are such a cheeseball, man.” 

“Hey! I saw an opportunity, and I had to take it.” There’s a smile equal to his own on Steve’s face, as he laughs at what he said with Billy, and the moment passes. 

In the silence that follows, they sit just like that, appreciating their moment of camaraderie that they know is going to come to an end soon, as the grandfather clock chimes for another hour gone by, the bayberry burns down another few centimeters, and the headachy feeling of too much alcohol starts to set in. 

It was nice to not be surrounded by faux affection and suffocated by the fear of stepping out of line, but like all good things, Christmas Eve must come to an end at some point, and so it was that, around quarter to twelve, Billy makes his first attempt to stand on drunken feet. 

Based on the fact that he doesn’t immediately fall on his ass, he’ll probably be alright to drive, not that he really has much of a choice, so he grabs his keys off the coffee table and announces his departure. 

“It’s been real Harrington, but duty calls.” 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks man.” Steve waves Billy off and leans forward, letting his forehead come to rest against the surface of the laminated hardwood, obviously more affected by the whiskey than the other boy. 

But Billy finds himself cemented to the spot, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his denim jacket as he tries to get together what he wants to say, because he still hasn’t properly apologized. 

Not that it’s something he’d normally do, but some things can’t be fixed with Christmas Decorations and cinnamon spirits. “Look, I’m sorry, about the, the fight and everything Harrington, I just-“ 

“S’okay.” Steve tries to look at him, but he's barely able to sit up anymore. He’s got an arm slung over the top of the coffee table to keep himself upright, and his words slur to be almost unintelligible as he tells Billy, “Already forgave ya.” 

“But, I don’t- you shouldn’t-“ Taking a deep breath through his nose to collect himself, Billy continues, “How did you know I deserved that?” 

“Chalk it up to the Christmas spirit.” Accenting his words with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, Steve smiles a knowing little grin and says, “Go on home, Billy.” 

“Right, I’ll, see ya round then.” He starts to walk away, taking steps made shaky from the alcohol in his system, but from behind him he hears Steve say softly, “Wait.” 

Turning around, he raises his eyebrows to show Steve he’s at his attention, and Steve, eyes glossy and cheeks as red as the big man’s suit, looks him right in the eye (and the heart) to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Billy.” 

“Yeah, you too, Harrington.” The softness in his tone feels like a betrayal to himself, and he thanks the lord above that Steve is too drunk to hold it against him.

One last look over his shoulder, and he sees Steve face down on the coffee table again. Chuckling to nobody but himself, he thinks that maybe the flask wasn’t such a bright idea after all. 

Shutting those heavy double doors behind himself and getting back in the Camaro, while his hands shake and his heart races, is a strange feeling to say the least. 

Just up and walking away from the most genuine expression of compassion he’d ever experienced, knowing that, with what’s waiting for him back at home, he’s not going to ever let something like this happen again, makes him feel like he should just go running back in there, forget about curfews and abusive fathers so he can pursue this, this whatever with Harrington, but he knows that isn’t really an option. 

Knows he’ll get too attached if he doesn't leave now, that nipping that growing feeling of acceptance, of forgiveness, of warmth in his heart three sizes too small, right in the bud before it turns into something more wicked and ruins a perfectly good Christmas Eve, is the best possible thing for the both of them.

This was just an apology, righting the obvious wrongs that had taken place in November, and nothing more. 

Because having Steve Harrington three sheets to the wind and showing him the slightest bit of compassion wouldn’t be enough to break him down, no sir. This was Billy Hargrove after all, he didn’t let trivial things like throwing away potential friendships bring tears to his eyes, not in a million years. 

Or that’s at least what he’d like to think, but in all reality he does, shows up back at his own, completely average house back on Cherry with red rimmed eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed when he walks through the front door. 

So Billy spends the night just as he expected he would; a bruise forming on his cheek, wide awake in his bed, while visions of Steve Harrington danced in his head. 

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[sheerfreesia007]

Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 64)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 64)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words: 2,881

Warnings: Fluff, it’s all fluff

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​, @two-unbeatable-beaters​, @randomness501​, @sevvysaurus​, @paryl​, @talesfromtheguild​, @secretsihideinside​, @agingerindenial​, @mrschiltoncat​

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711​, @fioccodineveautunnale​, @phoenixhalliwell​

Author Notes: This was super cute to write for me. Story time: when I found out I was pregnant, even though we were trying to get pregnant, I panicked my brain is wired a little oddly and worry and panic take up most of my brain space. So I just texted my husband while he was at work that I was preggo. Not romantic at all. But I made up for it with all the cute stuff once the beast was here earthside. So this has a little bit of my own experience and what I wished I had done. I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

Gif Credit: Google

You stared at the plastic white and blue stick with the biggest smile on your face. Joy and elation coursed through you and you couldn’t help the tears that pooled in your eyes as your eyes stared focused at the plus sign in the little window. Pregnant. 

         Never in your life did you think something so simple as a positive sign could bring you so much joy. And then suddenly it hit you, you were pregnant. 

         “Oh goodness this is gonna change everything.” you said softly to yourself as a panic settled over you quickly. Were you ready for this? Is anyone ever truly ready to be a parent? As the panic seemed to ebb and flow over you, you took in steadying deep breaths trying to control your out of control emotions. There was happiness that flowed over you, panic that set your nerves on alert, excitement that made you giddy, doubt about what your future would hold, and finally love overshadowed all of them. You and Jack had created a life that was now nestled inside your body. 

Ever since your wedding four months ago you and Jack had brought up the conversation of having kids quite often. Unfortunately as soon as the two of you had come back from your honeymoon Jack had been placed on missions back to back. His expertise was needed in the field and though you understood it you didn’t like it. 

         You had ceased your birth control the day before your wedding and while your gynecologist had warned you that your cycles probably wouldn’t regulate for at least three months you had hoped it would be sooner. You and Jack had agreed that at first you wouldn’t actively try to get pregnant and let nature take its course. You had stopped using any form of contraceptive while the two of you were together and had enjoyed the intimate time that the two of you were able to get in between missions. 

         In fact if this little test was correct the last time Jack had been home for more than two days two months ago after a very stressful mission would’ve been the conception date. You smiled as you remembered the three days he had gotten off before he had to go back out in the field. Neither one of you had left the bed those three days for anything more than bathroom breaks and to collect the take out you had delivered to the apartment. Sighing softly at the memory your hand softly fell to your stomach as a smile formed on your lips.

           Exhausted, that’s what you were in fact you were beyond exhausted. Walking into the apartment building you greet Jeffrey with a nod and a wave as you head straight for the elevator. You had just finished up with your first doctor visit and had found out that you’re eight weeks pregnant! It had taken you at least a week to get the doctor appointment after you took your first pregnancy test but the doctor had reassured you that everything was fine and given you plenty of reading material along with telling you that you should start taking prenatal vitamins to help the baby along. He had even been able to take an ultrasound where you saw the tiny little bundle of cells forming inside of you. The picture wasn’t much to your eyes, you really couldn’t see anything yet but the doctor had promised that there was a baby growing there.

         You were excited to get up into your apartment so that you could finally relax after the tiring day that you had at work and at the doctor’s office. Jack was supposed to be coming home tomorrow afternoon and he had been promised that he wouldn’t be put on any more missions for at least two months. You were relieved to finally have your husband home with you for a good amount of time and couldn’t wait to share the news with him that you were going to be parents.

         You had planned it all out and ordered the ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug that you knew he’d love along with the ‘Promoted to Daddy’ t-shirt that you bought him and the ultrasound picture that the doctor had given you today. Both items were already wrapped in the gift box that sat hidden in the top of your closet. You were excited to gift him with this, and you had planned to make it special by taking him out this weekend to his favorite dinner for breakfast before taking a nice walk around central park before coming back home where you’d have the gifts waiting for him. 

         It had been absolute torture keeping this exciting news from him but you had wanted to make it special for him. You knew he’d be a little upset that you had been keeping this information for a week from him but you knew he’d understand your excitement to plan this for him.Every time that you had gotten Jack on the phone the urge to tell him was almost uncontrollable but luckily you had managed to stave off the urge. You didn’t want to worry him while he was away and that wasn’t how you wanted to tell him.

         Sliding the key into your door you sighed tiredly as you stepped in, your hand immediately taking out your phone and pressing the speed dial for the local chinese food place. You slipped your shoes off as you placed your order over the phone. Keys were discarded into the key bowl on the little table by the door, your jacket was hung in the closet and your purse was placed in the cubby underneath the table. As you moved through the apartment you felt your whole body begin to relax, you were so happy to be home.

         During the week you had known you were pregnant you began to feel the changes to your body. Mornings were usually spent with you battling nausea that never turned into morning sickness just tortured you with that anxiety and anticipation of getting sick. Afternoons were spent with your feet propped up on a high stool so that they didn’t completely ache by the time you left the labs. And evenings were spent with you usually curled up on the couch with take out or a simple dinner and some mindless tv or a movie on until you were too exhausted to move.

         You were excited for all of these changes in your life and your body but as of right now you were wiped out. Your whole body was tired, the little tiny baby growing inside of you was draining you of all energy as they grew. Walking into your bedroom you quickly changed into baggy pj pants and a large shift of Jack’s that still smelled like him. You smiled when you caught a whiff of his scent as it floated off the fabric. Even though he couldn’t be here physically for you there were ways that you kept him here. You sighed again as you moved to the couch to wait for your dinner to be delivered and you began to feel the sated feeling of being home seeping into your body.

           Jack nodded his head to Jeffrey as he entered the apartment building and the man grinned over at him before waving.

         “Good to see back Mr. Daniels. That wife of yours has missed you.” Jeffrey said kindly and Jack grinned right back.

         “I’ve missed her too, Jeffrey. Can’t wait to surprise her by being home early.” Jack responded conversationally as he quickly moved to the elevator. Eagerly pressing the button for your floor he leaned back against the elevator wall. He was more than happy to finally be home and to be able to spend some time being with you. It had been a long few months that he had been away. The little time in between missions hadn’t been enough to sate his desire to be with you. But he had soaked it up all the same, every moment he got with you was never wasted. 

         He idly wondered if you were still awake at this time, it was late almost close to eleven. He knew after speaking with you over the phone that this past month you had been assigned a new lab technician who was more comfortable speaking Hawaiian than English. So you being the kind and accommodating person you were you had set out to learn the Hawaiian language. And while you loved languages and loved learning new languages you were having some trouble connecting with this new lab technician. You had also been a little stressed about the workload lately and with him being gone so much he knew that added to the stress. But he was finally happy that with him being home now that he could help alleviate your stress.

         It wasn’t long before he was walking down the hallway towards the apartment door and sliding his key into the lock. Stepping inside quietly Jack could see down the hallway the flashing lights of the tv in the dark living room. He set his keys in the little key bowl with yours and quietly slipped his boots off and hung up his hat and jacket before setting down his travel bag by the door. 

         Moving down the hallway until he stood in the archway of the living room he smiled softly as he spotted you laying on the couch with a blanket draped over your body. One arm was flung out over the couch to hang in mid air while the other arm was resting above your head on your pillow, your mouth was hanging open and you lay on your back with your head turned towards the tv. 

         There were remnants of your dinner laid out on the coffee table and he quietly cleaned it up for you, setting the leftovers in the fridge. As he moved back to the living room he couldn’t help but admire your sleeping form. You must’ve been tired after work today to be able to just fall dead asleep like this without cleaning up first. He turned the tv off plunging the room in almost darkness, since you had kept one of the living room lights on low, before he carefully pulled the blanket from your body and smirked as he saw that you were wearing one of his shirts.

         Lifting you easily into his arms he settled your head on his chest and you subconsciously curled into him. He felt you hum against his chest and tried to snuggle deeper into his arms. As he started to move down the hall towards your bedroom with you in his arms he felt you stir against him.

         “Jack?” you asked softly and he smiled down at you.

         “I’m here darlin’. We’re just going to bed now.” he said softly.

         “Hmmm, ok. I got something to tell you this weekend.” you mumbled to him as you pressed your face into his chest and took in a deep breath. Jack smiled warmly down at you and your antics. He could tell that you were only half awake right now and the fact that you just sniffed him made his chest clench with affection for you.

         “Ok so then tell me this weekend darlin’.” he responded softly to you and felt your body slowly settle against him again.

         “Hmmm, yeah.” you mumbled sleepily and Jack thought you were sleeping in his arms when he felt you shift against him so that your lips were against his ear. “Hāpai wau.” I’m pregnant. You whispered in his ear and Jack shivered slightly against you.

         “What’d ya say darlin’?” he asked softly but the only response he got from you was a soft snore. Chuckling softly Jack shook his head and walked you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed. Quickly undressing he slid into bed as well and tugged your body into his where he curled around you finally feeling the connection between the two of you as your arms came and wrapped around him. He fell into a dreamless sleep with a long deep sigh.

           Breakfast the next morning was a hurried affair as since you had woken Jack up earlier to properly welcome him home. He had held a satisfied smirk on his face ever since as the two of you quickly got dressed and began to make your breakfast to go.

         “You talked in your sleep again last night.” Jack said softly with a hum as he pressed his front into your back as you made breakfast sandwiches for the two of you to eat on your way to work.

         “I did huh? What’d I say this time? Another honey incident?” you asked jokingly as Jack got out the tin foil to wrap up the sandwiches.

         “No actually I’m pretty sure you spoke in a different language.” he said amused as he looked over at you. You were looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “You said something like happy woo. But when I asked you what you meant you were already asleep again.” he said grinning over to you. “What does it mean?” he asked. When his eyes looked over to you he saw that you looked shocked and your skin was a little paler as your eyes darted around the stove.

         “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. I wonder why I said it.” you said quickly and began busying yourself finishing up with breakfast. Jack looked at you with narrowed eyes, you were lying to him. He moved closer to you but you turned off the stove and rushed out of the room. “I gotta get dressed and you make the sandwiches and wrap them please?” you called out to him as you left.

         Jack stared after you silently knowing that whatever you had said to him last night it meant something. And it was something that you hadn’t meant to say last night. He had a feeling that he had to figure out what you said last night now.

           You were walking down the hallway with your homemade lunch as you made your way to Jack’s office, deep in thought as you thought back to this morning and the close call you had. When he had asked you what the words meant that your subconscious had let slip out you thought you were going to have to ruin the surprise for him. But you had quickly brushed it off and though you knew he hadn’t bought your excuse you didn’t think he’d have the resources to research it.           Even walking into his office you thought you were in the clear because he sat there at his desk waiting for you with a bright smile on his face.

         “Goodness I missed having lunch with you.” he said warmly and you grinned over to him as you placed the lunch on his desk. “Come here darlin’.” he says as he holds his arms open. You smile brightly at him as you move to climb into his lap your legs straddling him and he hugs you close. “I’ve missed you wifey.” he says softly into your hair.

         “I’ve missed you too husband.” you return with a soft loving smile. Jack leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

         “So I learned something new today.” he begins softly and you feel his arms wrap low around your hips. You lean back to look into his eyes and you instantly know that he knows what the words mean that you let slip out last night. Tears well in your eyes and Jack’s face crumples softly with concern. “Darlin’ what is it?” he asks softly with a look of confusion.

         “It was supposed to be a surprise! I had it all planned out for this weekend and I went and ruined it.” you wail softly as the tears fall from your eyes. “I’ve known for a week and have been so good at not telling you so that it’ll be special and then I mess it up!” Jack cuddles you close and shushes you softly as his lips press to your temple in soft pecks.

         “You didn’t ruin a thing darlin’.” he reassures you. “This was still special and it’s more fitting for the two of us.” You look up at him confused as your eyebrows pinch together. “You told me you loved me in your sleep. You told me that you wanted to marry me in your sleep. And now you told me that we’re pregnant in your sleep. It’s just fitting that this is how you share your news with me.” 

         “Oh Jack.” you say softly as his hands come up and cup your cheeks and his thumbs brush away your tears.

         “I love you darlin’. And I’m so happy that we’re pregnant. I can’t wait to meet the little one.” he says softly as one of his hands comes down to rest softly over your stomach. You press your forehead against his and your flutter closed.

         “We’re still doing the surprise.” you gripe out and Jack chuckles delighted before kissing you deeply and tugging you closer into his chest.

         “Whatever you want darlin’.” he reassures kissing you deeply again.

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 16)

It was after breakfast when Olivia spotted a box in the living room, and out of curiosity, she peeked inside. It was filled with an assortment of items, such as a few books, some tools, and some metallic items she was unable to identify. She dug through the box, pursing her lips together in disappointment. She hadn’t had an idea of what she was hoping to find, but she hoped there are at least would be something in there she could enjoy.

“Whoa, there, kid!” Engineer’s voice piped up from behind her, and he gently pulled her away from the box. “What are you after?”

Olivia shrugged, peering back into the box again. “I dunno! Something interesting, I guess…”

Engie thought for a moment, tapping his chin. “Interesting, huh? Well, this is just some stuff for my workspace, you ain’t gonna find anything too interesting in here. Except…”

He reached into the box, pulling out a small camera. “I got this! It’s a real nice camera, see?”

Olivia leaned in to look at the device. It was smooth and sleek, though a little dusty around the crevices, and she watched as Engineer brushed some of the dust away with his finger. “There we go,” he hummed, before passing it to her. “Do you know how to use a camera?”

“I know a little!” Olivia replied, taking the camera into her hands and looking it over. “I saw Daddy use one once…” she turned it around, searching for the button, and she pressed it once she managed to locate it. Instantly, there was a flash, and the camera began to click.

Within a few seconds, the camera spit out a small picture, which Engie tugged out and held up to the light. “There we go! Give it time to develop, and then you got a nice picture!”

Olivia took it from Engie’s hands to get a good look at it, watching as the accidental picture she had taken of the carpet slowly developed. “Oh!” she gasped, feeling proud of herself as she showed Engineer. “Look! It worked!”

Engineer laughed. “Great, yeah! You can use it if you want! I got a bunch of these cameras laying around, go ahead and take pictures! I used to take all kinds of pictures as a kid,”

Olivia stuffed the picture into her pocket, and she turned away to scamper up the stairs. “I’m gonna take pictures of everything!”

“Yeah, go ahead!” Engie chuckled, picking the box up and rising to his feet so he could finish setting the office up.

Olivia ran up towards the bathroom, where she spotted Scout brushing his teeth over the sink. Without giving any kind of warning, she positioned her camera and took a photo of him, the flash catching him off guard.

“Gah!” Scout exclaimed, nearly choking on the toothbrush. “Jeez, kid, what the hell!?”

The camera produced the small photo, and Olivia tugged it out, waving it around like she had seen Engineer do. “Look what I got!”

Scout squinted at the object. “Camera, huh? Cool, but if you’re gonna take a picture of me, it better be a good one!”

“Good one?” Olivia repeated, stuffing the new photo into her pocket with the other one.

“Yeah! Hang on,” Scout wiped his mouth with a towel, before he took another, clean towel and draped it around his shoulders. He then struck a pose, flexing one arm and grinning. “Okay, now take a picture!”

Olivia held up the camera again, snapping a photo. Once it printed, she pulled it out of the slot and held it up to the light, giggling. “Looks like a magazine!’

Scout laughed, reaching for it. “Lemme see!” when she passed it to him, he stared at it for a moment before nodding in approval. “Yeah, looks great! You could be a photo-person or whatever, for newspapers and stuff,”

“Could I?” Olivia looked down at the camera, thinking about it. Any future job besides taking her father’s place had never seemed like a possibility…but, given her current circumstance, taking photos could end up being her job instead.

Just then, Lar-Nah stepped out of the other room, and when Olivia heard her, she turned right back around and took her picture as well. Lar-Nah jolted in alarm at the flash, letting out a yelp.

“What was that!?” she demanded to know. “Why are you taking photos!?”

“Hey, be nice to the kid!” Scout reprimanded. “She’s just taking pictures, she’s gonna be a photo-person maybe!”

Lar-Nah composed herself, before she just shook her head at Scout. “Photographer. You mean photographer. ‘Photo-person’ is not a job,”

Scout waved her off. “Same difference. Hey, kid,” he put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You wanna take pictures around the house?”

Olivia glanced back over at Lar-Nah. Lar-Nah lingered by the doorway, before she turned and headed down the stairs.

“Don’t worry about her,” Scout cleared his throat. “How about you take pictures of like, stuff outside? Or bugs? I dunno, that kinda thing,”

“I don’t want to take pictures of bugs,” Olivia wrinkled her nose. After a moment, she decided, “I’ll take pictures of Teddy!”

“Oh, the doc’s monkey? Sure, go nuts,” Scout turned back to the mirror, slathering shaving cream on his face. “I gotta shave real quick,”

Olivia tilted her head in confusion, watching him apply the shaving cream. “But you don’t have a beard,”

“Better go see Teddy before he takes his nap,” Scout suggested, raising his voice slightly, though it was clear he wasn’t trying to be mean. Olivia shrugged, and she headed back down the stairs in hopes of getting a picture or two of Teddy.

Upon arriving to Medic’s basement lab, Olivia stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked around, trying to remember where he kept Teddy. The basement had been rearranged slightly since the last time Olivia had been down there, so she tried to figure out where Teddy’s playpen had been moved to.

However, as she peeked over the doorway and into the lab, she noticed something unusual. There was a TV down there, now, and Heavy was seated on a couch in front of it. As Olivia watched, she realized that Medic was there, too, but he was curled up beside Heavy, cuddling against him.

The TV showed an old, black and white film, and a man on the screen tripped and fell into a trashcan as a laugh-track played. Heavy laughed out loud, as Medic just clicked his tongue and mumbled something about how ‘predictable’ the show was. Heavy leaned over, nuzzling Medic’s cheek with his nose and chuckling. Medic could not help but smile, exhaling of his nose as he nuzzled back. Then, the two of them kissed one another gently.

Olivia watched in stunned silence, blinking slowly. She almost forgot about the camera in her hands, and without thinking, she loosened her grip on it. It slipped out of her hands, and once she realized what had happened, she acted quickly and attempted to catch it. She managed to catch it, but not without accidentally pressing the button and taking a photo of her own sock by mistake.

Medic startled at the sound of the flash, and he jerked his head up in alarm. “Gott!” he exclaimed, noticing Olivia. “Child, did you take a picture of us!?”

“No, I didn’t!” Olivia pulled out the picture once the camera spat it out, holding it up for Medic and Heavy to see. “I-I was just—!”

Heavy shushed her, getting up from the couch. “Is okay. What you need? Need something?”

“I…” Olivia then spotted Teddy in his playpen, which had been moved over next to Medic’s cabinets. The little baboon was sleeping peacefully, sucking on his pacifier in his sleep. Olivia shook her head. “No…”

“All right,” Heavy smiled at her, though he seemed a little uneasy. “See that?” he pointed to a little bell hanging up outside of the lab. “Ring that next time, yes?”

Olivia looked up at the bell, and she nodded after a moment. “Okay…I will,”

She walked slowly back up the stairs, wondering about what she had seen. Were Medic and Heavy in love? She had seen old movies before where people kissed, and they usually did that when they were in love…she didn’t see what was so great about kissing, though.

Just as Olivia wandered into the kitchen, the side door swung open. She looked towards the direction of the sound, and it was right then that the Administrator walked in with Miss Pauling right behind her.

Miss Pauling noticed the camera Olivia held in her hands, and she nodded at it. “Hey! You’ve been taking pictures?”

“Yeah,” Olivia reached into her pockets, fishing out the photos she’d taken so far and showing them to her. “I got these ones!”

As Pauling bent down to get a look at the pictures, the Administrator set her purse down on the counter to watch Olivia show off her photos. When Olivia noticed Helen watching her, Helen cleared her throat and looked away.

“Olivia,” she began, before looking back at her. “I’m going to hold a meeting with the adults, so you will need to be upstairs for that,”

Olivia frowned, huffing. “I don’t wanna! I was just up there!”

Helen raised her voice just a little. “You have to, a meeting is no place for a child,”

Olivia crossed her arms defiantly, glaring up at Helen. “No! You can’t make me do anything!”

“Really?” Helen crossed her arms in return, taking a step forward. “That simply isn’t true…”

Miss Pauling suddenly cut in, getting between Helen and Olivia. “Hey, I have an idea! Why don’t you go outside and take pictures of plants and stuff, Olivia? It’s really pretty outside, that might be fun,”

Olivia turned to look out the window, seeing that it was, in fact, very nice and sunny outside. She looked down at the camera again, and then shrugged. “Okay…yeah, I can do that, I guess…”

“Good!” Pauling gestured to the door. “How about you do that while we have our meeting?”

“She should be supervised if she’s outside,” Helen muttered, leaning against the counter to rub her temples.

“Oh…yeah,” Miss Pauling looked around, and she spotted Zhanna lingering in the adjacent dining room. “Hey! Zhanna, can you look after Olivia while she’s taking pictures outside?”

Zhanna glanced up, and she nodded. “That is fine,” she walked up to Olivia, taking her free hand and leading her to the back door. “Come, little Olivia,”

“Okay…” Olivia didn’t really want to miss the meeting—she liked meetings, she liked being somewhere where she could feel important. But she didn’t mind being around Zhanna at all, and she found that she actually enjoyed taking pictures.

As the back door closed, Helen let out a long sigh. “What am I going to do with that girl?”

Miss Pauling fell quiet, before she placed her hand on Helen’s arm to get her attention. “We should really get the guys down here for the meeting,”

Helen shook herself, nodding in agreement. “Yes—yes, of course,”

Once Olivia and Zhanna were outside, Zhanna pointed out a patch of grass in the yard. “Look—grass, take picture of grass,”

Olivia wrinkled her nose at the thought. “But it’s just grass…”

Zhanna went quiet for a moment, before she knelt down in the grass and pointed to the soil. “Get close—see?”

“See what?” Olivia moved a little closer to try and see what Zhanna was pointing at. There, in the soil, sat a little stone, surrounded by smaller pebbles. At first glance, it didn’t seem terribly interesting, but the more Olivia stared at it, the more appealing it seemed somehow.

After a moment, she got her camera back out, snapping a photo of the little rocks. As the picture printed out of the camera, Zhanna glanced back up and reached for it. “Let’s see?”

As Zhanna took the freshly printed picture into her hand, Olivia stood behind her and watched it develop. Once it became visible, Olivia couldn’t help but grin with pride. “It looks nice!”

“It does,” Zhanna agreed with a nod. “You are good at this,”

“Yeah…” Olivia stuffed the picture into her pocket with all the others, before trotting away to the trees behind the house. “I’m gonna find more things!”

Zhanna smiled, and she stood up, following closely behind Olivia. “All right,”

Inside the house, the mercenaries were, once again, gathered in the study for another meeting with the Administrator. This time, however, the atmosphere was different.

“So—wait,” Engineer just shook his head with a sigh. “Sage is sending people after us, now?”

“I said he possibly will send someone,” Helen clarified. “He’s been known to do that with opponents, and well, we are no exception. That is why we should waste no time preparing our defenses,”

Heavy frowned. “This is very bad. Of course, we can destroy puny men, men like him. But…why he want this? With us?”

“It’s me he’s after,” Helen explained. “But its your job to make sure Sage or whoever he hires doesn’t penetrate this place and destroy us again. Once you do your job, I will deal with Sage myself…”

Demoman just stared at his shoe, digging his foot into the carpet. “Sure, you will,” he murmured under his breath.

Helen glanced up when she heard the muttering. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Demo responded, clearing his throat.

There was a pause, and Helen made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You may leave. Make sure you have your weapons on hand just in case,”

As the mercenaries dispersed, they began muttering amongst themselves once they were out of earshot from Helen.

“There she goes again, dragging us into a mess she created!” Medic huffed as he retrieved his bonesaw from one of the boxes. “Not that I don’t mind a new set of targets, of course, but goodness!”

Scout leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “Man, people don’t just settle things themselves like they used to…if I was her, I would’ve messed up that Sage guy myself! In fact, you know what? I’ll do it!”

Sniper just rolled his eyes. “No, you won’t,”

Spy watched these interactions from a distance, before he turned to look at Miss Pauling, who was busy putting away some folders. He made sure no one else was watching, and he then approached her and got her attention by tapping her shoulder. “Miss Pauling,”

Miss Pauling paused, turning to look up at him. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Spy thought about how to phrase his question. “Well…I would like to know about Helen: why is she doing this?”

“Doing what?” Pauling folded her arms, leaning against the cabinet.

“You know her better than anyone,” Spy went on. “What I’d like to know is why she even wants to keep dragging this on, why she’s doing all of this…why can’t she just…?”

“Die?” Pauling finished for him, a glare in her eyes.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Spy clarified.

Pauling sighed, leaning her head in her hand. “Yeah…sorry. I just…” she looked back up at him, brushing her hair away from her eyes. “It’s complicated,”

“All of it?” Spy questioned. “How is it complicated? Is there no simple, straight explanation as to why she’s staying with us like this? Why she cannot simply kill Sage herself?” another thought crossed his mind, and he added, “Why she’s keeping Olivia here?”

“God, Spy!” Pauling sighed again, a little more exasperated than before. “I told you, Olivia is gonna be fine!”

“I know you told me that,” Spy affirmed, lowering his voice a little. “But I am not inclined to believe you,”

Pauling’s hands balled into fists. “Oh, yeah? And why? What do you think she’s gonna do with Olivia?”

Spy looked all around to make sure Helen was not watching or listening in, and when he made sure she had left, he turned back to Miss Pauling. “I think she’s going to adopt Olivia, and then do something to her to get her fortune,”

Pauling went quiet, and she covered her face with her hands after a moment. “No…Spy…”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Spy pressed, starting to feel angrier by the second. “Miss Pauling, you know I respect you, but I cannot get behind this. Crimes committed against children, to me, are the worst crimes. You know this.”

“No…” Pauling just shook her head again. “No, no, you don’t understand. She’s not gonna hurt Olivia, Spy!”

“And how do I know that?” Spy persisted. “How do I know she won’t—?”

Miss Pauling suddenly blurted out, “Because Olivia’s her daughter! Helen isn’t going to hurt her own kid!”

The words hung heavy in the air. Once Pauling realized what she said, her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. “I…I…”

Spy blinked, his brow creasing in confusion. “What?”

[deceptive-jo]

Merry Christmas

(The final ficlet for this...year probably! And Merry Christmas to all my celebrating followers!)

Even the numerous inhabitants of Egotropolis celebrate Christmas in their very own way, with their families and friends. Let’s take a look around the houses, shall we?

Words: 1922

Ships: The Author x Actor Marc; Darkstache; Marvin x JBM

“Merry Christmas!” Mad Mike slid into the living room, clearly exited to already be getting presents. “What in the heavens are you wearing?” Author’s shocked expression was exactly what he had tried to achieve and Mike looked down on himself. His sweatpants were a simple light blue but his sweater could be a bit...much with its blues and pinks. “You look like you slapped the Trans pride flag in there and then dumped a gallon of glitter on it.” Admittedly that was pretty much what had happened after he asked Bim for help… Marc threw his arm around him, in his own nightmare of a red Christmas sweater, “I for one like it. Good job on that, kid.” He ruffled his already unruly hair before falling down next to his fiance. Mike preferred a place on the floor, with direct view over the presents. Author’s were already in his room, having gotten them on the end of his holiday celebrations (an USB-stick from Anti which’s content still no one knew, though it was certainly not due lack of trying on Marc’s side, and a Death Note from Mike- a hilarious joke they were sure but considering their connections Author couldn’t be too sure). The lights on the tree flickered for a moment before Anti glitched into the room, red and green lights flickering in his hair. Well, you took what you got and at least he was enjoying himself. “When’s that brother of yours supposed to arrive?” “Any moment now, surely”, a voice came from the entrance where the Host entered. The room seemed to light up as Author jumped over backrest of the couch and pulled his brother in a hug. “Glad you could make it”, Actor smiled as he passed him a glass of eggnog. “Merry Christmas everyone.”

~~~

Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache were awoken by the sound of rapid knocking on their bedroom door. “It’s Christmas morning, get up!” Dark could only burrow his head deeper in the pillows, “Just wait, we’ll be out in a moment.” They could almost see Bim dramatically draped against the door when he answered, “I’ve waited one whole year. If you’re not down in ten minutes we start without you!” Slowly Dark lifted his head, hairs askew, “This boy, I swear-”

Exactly ten minutes later the couple entered the sitting room, with its enormous tree and the pile of presents underneath. Bim looked like he should be held back and as soon as he saw the two Egos enter he bolted forward, only to get tripped by Yancy. “Youse need to chill!” Wilford watched the scene fondly, Bim somehow managed to pull half the Egos into his enthusiasm and now the Jims and Illinois ere figuratively vibrating with excitement (Bing was literally vibrating next to Google which was disturbing to say the least). “Okay, go on-”, he hadn’t even finished before Bim surged forward and began handing presents out in light-speed. The whirlwind only stopped when the Host, so far clearly light-asleep next to Dr Iplier, got hit into the chest with what was probably another note book (they could be glad Bim decided against throwing the box that turned out to be a new typewriter). Egos began opening presents, either tearing into them like small kids (the Jims and King, mainly) or slowly unwrapping and folding the paper together again (the Googles and Yancy). Dark nearly got strangled when Bim thanked him for the new set of ties while Wilford next to him was too busy examining the dagger that had been sent from the Cabin. Google was fiddling with some new gadget, judging by the accompanied message in clean letters on gold-white paper it came from the Mind Palace. Bing looked over his shoulder while trying to pay attention to Chase’s present at the same time. The Host turned towards the demon, pulling his attention away from the gold-black journal- no, scrapbook- he was holding. “A merry Christmas.” “It is indeed.”

~~~

"Holy shit, now that's a tree!" Jackie stared in amazement at the giant Christmas tree that filled up half of the open living room. Marvin turned around from where he was letting the last ornaments float into position, "Good Morning, darling." "Morning", the hero pressed a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek, "you did an amazing job. How long have you been working on this?" "Pretty much all night", the magician wiped off the sweat and slipped his mask back on. "You must be tired. Tea?" "Coffee..." He chuckled dryly when the cup was pressed in his hands. "Oh wow, this looks so cool! Uncle Marvin did you do this?", Connor came running into the room, his sister close behind. "Sure did, glad you like it, kid." "This is great for celebrating- can we open our presents now?" Chase came down the stairs and began leading them towards the dining table, "Nah, first breakfast, then presents." Ashley pouted but sat down and waited patiently until everyone had finished their christmas pnacakes before she jumped out of her chair and rushed towards the heap of presents. The others followed in a calmer pace (if only to annoy her a bit) and to her credit she waited until everyone was seated before reaching for the first present.

Surprisingly enough Ashley didn't open it but instead got up and handed the small box over to Jameson. Four more packages followed and once every adult had a wrapped box in their hands she looked at them excited. "Go on, open them!" The wrapping wasn't very neat but you could see the effort put into it and a moment later Marvin held a small item in his hand. A strangled noise escaped him as he stared down on the handmade bracelet. It wasn't anywhere near as high-quality as his usual accessories but he could see its aura, could feel the love radiating off of it. Looking over he recognised similiar bracelets in his brothers' hands. Jackie and Jameson were looking utterly delighted and over-joyed, while Chase and Henrik smiled, there were clearly tears shining in their eyes. "I made us family bracelets! Connor and I have our own already-" Chase didn't wait to pull his kids into a tight hug, his brothers joining right after. "I love you, sunshine, so much." "I love you too, daddy. Merry Christmas."

~~~

The Crankgameplays Mansion was bustling with energy, if a  bit different than the manor’s. All the Egos were seated in the living room, enjoying a movie marathon when a chime echoed from the kitchen. “Oh Blank, the cookies!”, Mrs Thomson looked up from her brochure at the dark ego who was already slipping out of the room. A mere minute later he returned with a plate piled with cookies. “Oh damn, those smell awesome!” Bernice snatched a cookie away, painted red and green nails matching with the green designer sweater she was wearing. “And they taste delicious. Good job, boy”, Father Ethan patted Blank’s shoulder as he fell back into his chair, but now with a small smile grazing his lips. The next hour or so passed in peaceful silence as the family followed the movie and enjoyed their cookies and hot chocolate. But of course it was interrupted when Mc Gee cam tumbling down the stairs from where he must have been decorating the roof, as he usually did. “They’re coming!”

Mrs Thomson rose with a shriek and rushed to the nearby mirror, nearly pushing Bernice out of the way. “Oh god already? They’re early for once- How does my hair look?” “Nice, my dear. Don’t stress yourself on this peaceful day”, Father Ethan once again made no indication to get up when the doorbell rang but luckily the Postman was already in place. “Well hello there, Gentlemen. Looking fine today!” “How dare you, I always look fine!” Mrs Thomson had to smile at the teasing, oh how she adored her grandchildren. Speaking of- the entrance hall was filled with people, taking off their jackets and shoes and shaking out the snow-filled hair. One of the black-haired men was standing in the middle, still in his coat and clearly struggling with the package in his arms. “Oh, let me help you!” With a surprising swiftness the old lady took the box from his hands. The young man’s eyes lit up, “Mrs Thomson, how wonderful to see you. You look lovely as always”, he bowed down for a light kiss on the knuckles. “You’re impossible, Author!” She hit him playfully on his shoulder but couldn’t hide the blush at his attitude. “You know me, I’m an old man after all- Marc were are the presents?” A hand reached out of the mass of people and a pile of wrapped gifts floated into the living room. “You brought presents?” “Yeah, you got some as well, we planned ahead this time”, Mike tumbled out of a group hug with his brothers and came over to greet her, “Merry Christmas, grandma!” With a smile she send him in the living room to follow Author into the kitchen. The writer was rummaging through the cabins, “Where are the plates in this house?” “What’s in the box?” “Uh...a cake, the Gingerbread house Mike failed to deliver...Sufganiyot from me and Rugelach because Host made too many- Aha!”, when Author finally re-emerged with enough plates the female Ego looked like she was about to faint. So many baked goods!

Once they entered the living room with their for plates everyone else had settled down around the  TV. Blank was trapped between Mike (chatting with the postman) and McGee, looking peaceful and happy for once. Marc was already in an animated conversation with Bernice and Father Ethan (he was about to snap his neck, should probably stop that) while Anti was hanging around Yandere. Mrs Thomson teared up at the rare sight of her whole family together and joyful, untroubled by their problems for once. A large warm hand came to rest on her frail shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Oma.”

~~~

The view from the Mind Palace was always magnificent but now that the sun was setting and reflecting the snow covering the hills one last time it nearly looked magical. So Roman was sitting at one of the large windows and painted. He’d gotten new brushes after all, those should be tested! The whole atmosphere was soothing. The Christmas tree and few candles were the only source of light while the full room offered enough light for Roman to draw, while Virgil played some slow song on the piano. Logan relaxed on one of the couches enjoying his newest book and the rare quietness. Janus was over by the tree crafting something that was either a simple wooden statue or a doomsday device (depending on which of his acquaintances sent it). He was completely emerged in the gift- where those tears shining in his face? Roman shook his head and decided not to stare too much. He did however exchange the canvas for a new one to turn the easel around and instead began to draw the group in front of him. Where the first four Sides were keeping to themselves and savouring the last hours of Christmas, Patton and Remus were huddled together on a love seat, with the dad Side nearly slipping off, while Remus had draped himself over the back rest. They were giggling over something on his phone while Patton’s lighted up constantly with all the Christmas wishes he must be receiving. Roman allowed himself a short sincere smile. Merry Christmas.

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 31]

Rating: M Words: 2511 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: They’re soft n smushy and cuddlebugs, apparently.

Also I've never had a concussion so I did some research but don't come at me if I've gotten something wrong hhahahah.

Enjoy!

Anna was sprinting down the hall, faster than she had ever thought imaginable in heels. They had counted the goal as good even though they gave Westergaard a minor penalty, and the whole arena had booed at the decision. It only took Honeymaren a few minutes to get down to the ice, and she immediately waved Anna off with a look of remorse. 

In the end, he had gotten up, but only with the assistance of Sven and two medics, and skated himself off of the ice very slowly, but at least he was moving. Sven had only managed to come back for the last few minutes, but the rest of the team put their best foot forward to play even harder and shut down the Stallions. When she left, she could’ve sworn she heard a screaming match starting between the coaches.

The arena was going wild as she ran into the locker room, and she could only assume the Ice Breakers had scored again, almost guaranteeing the win. Good. The Stallions would not have deserved this game.

“Kristoff?” Anna called, making her way back to the training room. She peered around the corner, knocking lightly on the opened door. He smiled the second he saw her, but she could tell something wasn’t right.

“Hi baby,” he hummed, but his words were just a touch slurred. “Did we win?”

She shook her head and looked up at the medic who was frowning just slightly as he examined Kristoff for other injuries. Anna tried her best to ignore the bandages on his eyebrow and cheek. “Game’s not over yet, honey.”

“Oh, I should probably get back out --”

The medic sighed, rolling his shoulders. “No, Bjorgman, you’ve got a concussion. You’re not going back out there.”

“I have a what?”

Anna frowned deeper and stepped into the room. “Is this normal?” She watched Kristoff’s nose scrunch as he looked around for a moment, as if trying to make sense of what was going on around him. 

“I wouldn’t say normal.” He definitely had no interest in humoring her. “But standard for a concussion. It’s fresh so the disorientation is… not too concerning, at least.” He finished scribbling some notes and turned to face her. “I’m assuming you’re his girlfriend?”

“Um, yes,” she nodded, her attention spacing for a moment as Kristoff grabbed her hand gently and squeezed at her fingers. “Is it… should we go to the hospital?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t…” He tapped his pen against his chin. “It doesn’t seem that bad. He said he has a headache and he’s definitely a little confused about what happened…” The medic moved to scratch at the back of his head and shrugged. “But his recall otherwise is fine, and he’s not nauseated and he’s conscious so…” 

He handed her a notepad and explained everything on it. “These are the things I did and his scores, if you want to run through it with him again every four to six hours or so for the first twenty-four, make sure it’s not getting worse… If it does, then yeah, go to the hospital.”

“Can… can he sleep? Or… I’ve heard you shouldn’t sleep right away --”

“That’s been debunked, luckily.” He dropped the clipboard he had been holding on the table and turned to face her. “Look, ah, just… monitor him. Don’t let him sleep if it’s getting worse, and if you’re really concerned, wake him up every three hours or so to check in. Before you let him sleep, make sure his pupils aren’t dilated, that he can walk and talk fine, and you should be okay.”

Anna felt her heart finally starting to calm.

“But, honestly, it doesn’t seem too bad. I know Bjorgman’s had a concussion before worse than this so, just monitor it.”

Anna nodded and thanked him, waiting for the man to leave before she turned to face Kristoff. A small smile stretched at her lips as he gazed down at her from the exam table. 

“Hi, baby,” he tried again, clearly a little annoyed that he hadn’t been getting her undivided attention as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You okay?”

“Are you okay?” She reached up to stroke his face, avoiding the cut on his cheekbone. “You got hit pretty bad.”

He nodded. “Feels like it.”

“Do you remember?” She watched his eyes dart back and forth, doing his best to recall the actual event, but his furrowed brows gave him away. “That’s okay, sweetheart.” She leaned up to place a small kiss on the side of his mouth. “You’ll remember after some sleep.”

The medics had managed to remove most of his gear, but they still took a moment to carefully get him into sweats and a t-shirt before heading out. Anna left his stuff in his cubby, figuring she could enlist Sven to help her come get it tomorrow, and led Kristoff out towards the car.

His voice came from above her, weak and sad and clearly still a little confused. “Can you stay with me?”

“Of course, honey,” she sighed, pressing her forehead against his arm that had been draped across her shoulders. “As long as you want me to.”

He nodded and she helped him into the passenger seat of her car, doing their best not to jostle him around too much. She knew the drive to his house was smooth, and had never been more grateful to drive down more private roads. 

—

When they got to his house, Anna had drawn him a warm bath, told him to relax, and ordered some food in case he came out hungry. He hadn’t said anything about nausea, so she had her fingers crossed and was hoping for the best as she set the hefty burrito bowls down on the kitchen counter.

“Babe?” She asked, thirty minutes later when he still hadn’t emerged. “Are you okay?”

She opened the door and sighed with relief. He had just fallen asleep, his cheek resting against his arm propped up over the side of the tub. But she knew this wouldn’t be comfortable for long. 

Anna stepped into the bathroom slowly, knelt down beside the tub, and stroked gently at his damp hair. “Kristoff,” she tried, softly as his eyebrows twitched below her fingers. “Baby…” A little louder, and one of his eyes cracked open just slightly. “Hello, honey,” she hummed, laying her palm against his cheek as he lifted his head. “Did the nap help?”

He rolled his shoulders and sighed, but nodded his head just a little. “Concussions suck.” His voice was hardly a whisper, and Anna pressed a kiss against his bare shoulder.

“I can imagine.” Then, a twisting of her lips. “Can you remember anything?”

A small shrug. “A little, I think.” 

“That’s okay, that’s good.” Anna let her hand drop from his cheek to rest flat on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. “I got some food if you’re hungry.”

Kristoff nodded and moved to stand, wincing just a little as he moved. Anna could see a large bruise forming on his ribs, no doubt where Hans’s knees had hit, and felt ready to strangle the asshole herself. “What’d you get?”

His eyes were soft and exhausted as he looked down at her, smiling when she offered him a hand to step out of the tub. “Burrito bowls. I figured they keep pretty well if you weren’t --” His stomach let out a large growl, and Anna chuckled. “Guess I got the right thing.”

“Hey,” his hand holding hers squeezed just a little and she looked back up at him, smiling as he brought his arms up around her neck for a hug. She pressed her cheek against his chest, not even concerned about his still-wet skin soaking her clothing as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and just took a moment to be grateful things weren’t worse. “Thank you.” 

She wanted to tell him. God she wanted to tell him. 

But it didn’t feel right. Not yet. Not when there was a chance he might forget.

“Of course,” Anna smiled, pulling back just a little. “Now get dressed and come get some food.”

Kristoff nodded and moved to grab his towel, grinning. “Yes ma’am.”

When he came out of the bathroom, Kristoff had realized how much the short hug had soaked her clothing, and immediately offered her something more comfortable. So he was in clean sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, and she was in a pair of shorts she had happened to leave here, and one of his smaller tees that still managed to hang well past her hips. 

The paperwork she had been given had a whole list of things to avoid, and it included all electronics. So they sat in relative silence as they ate, and Anna promised to run out and get some games that didn’t involve screens in the morning. Kristoff complained that he’d normally be reading, but Anna pointed to the list and sighed, telling him it was on the what not to do list. 

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I did it last time and it was fine.”

“Well, I’m saying no. Because the doctor says no.”

Anna was smiling though, even as he put up a front of annoyance, because with every passing hour she could see more clarity in him, as if just having someone to talk to was enough to help things start to come together for him. “But, if you want, I can read to you?”

Kristoff looked like he was holding back a smile. “I guess.”

But he hopped up quickly, insisting she leave the plates for tomorrow, and picked out a clearly well-loved copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Somehow, him being a fan of the great detective surprised her. “Really?”

He snorted and led her to the couch, sitting on one end, waiting patiently for her to settle beside him. “It was my dad’s - not that one, my adoptive one - favorite and he read these stories to us every night. So…” He smiled and leaned forward, an almost childish glee on his face as he laid his head into her lap. “They’re comforting.”

Anna smiled and began to stroke her fingers through his hair, smiling as he closed his eyes and clasped his hands together on his chest. “I like them all,” he mumbled, shrugging. “Pick whichever one you’d like.”

She flipped delicately through the pages and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, how about…” She propped the book up on the armchair to make sure her one hand stayed free to continue their path across his scalp. “The Red-Headed League.”

Kristoff didn’t quite find her little joke funny, but rolled his eyes and let a smile stretch his lips. “Sure, perfect.”

A soft throat-clear and she began. 

“I had called upon my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year…”

—

Anna woke up to a soft ringing by her head. She slid her hand around the armrest in a quiet attempt to find the offending device without jostling the man sleeping on her top of her too much. Finally getting it between her fingers, she silenced it before even looking at the caller ID.

She sighed with relief. “Hi, Sven,” she whispered, letting her free hand fall back to scratch lightly at Kristoff’s skull. 

“Hey. How’s he doing?”

A sense of guilt suddenly filled her throat at not even having thought to reach out to Sven earlier. “Oh, god I’m sorry. He’s…” she looked down and couldn’t help but smile. He had turned to his stomach, his whole body wrapped around hers as his cheek rested right right over her heart. “He’s sleeping. Seems all right.”

“Not too much disorientation? Memory okay?”

Anna chuckled, and decided it best to help lighten the weight on his shoulders. “He still remembers all the love and adoration he has for you, don’t you worry.”

Sven sighed, a small laugh echoing hers. “Well, good. I wouldn’t even let amnesia make him forget me.” There was a short lull, and he let out another heavy breath. “Hey, Anna… Thank you for taking care of him.”

She hadn’t even considered not taking care of him. “I… it’s really nothing I --”

“I don’t just mean right now… I mean…” He laughed, as if he was hesitating for a moment. “I’ve never seen him so happy. You…” He sighed, and Anna’s hand stilled in Kristoff’s hair. “You’re perfect for him, and I’m so happy you’ve come into our lives. And like,” he groaned, and she tried to ignore the tears she felt brimming her eyelashes. “I love you, and I know… how he feels. Even if he hasn’t said it yet.”

Anna’s mouth was contorted as she tried to hold back the sob she felt in her throat. “Well what the hell, Pederson. I’ve done so well at not crying today.”

“Well now it’s time, baby girl!”

They laughed together, and Anna couldn’t help but hum out a soft “Love you, too, Reindeer boy.”

“Ah, I’m never going to live that one down am I?”

“No way.” Kristoff started to move, his fingers flexing against her ribs. “Ah, sorry, I gotta go, he’s waking up --”

“Yeah, of course. Tell him I love him.”

“Absolutely.”

Before Anna had even finished hanging up, she felt Kristoff’s head lift from her chest, felt his whole body slide across hers, and felt his breath ghosting over her lips. “Who was that?” he hummed, his eyes slowly coming back into focus.

“Oh, just Sven. Making sure you still loved him.”

Kristoff chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. Well, at least it started out innocently enough. With a heavy sigh and deep regret, Anna pushed his shoulders back just slightly. “I think all of that would qualify as unnecessary physical exertion. And that’s --”

“Not allowed, I know,” he groaned, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. 

She laughed and careded her fingers through his hair. “Just for forty eight hours. Then we can give it a go.” When he let out a noise of annoyance against her, Anna tsked and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you go without for like… years? Don’t be such a baby about two days.”

“Well, It wasn’t on the table for those years.”

“Please.”  She knew he had women throwing themselves at him. She’d heard plenty of stories.

“Fine. I didn’t have you on the table. Or the bed. Or the truck.”

Anna snorted. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” She probably shouldn’t humor this because she was not confident she’d be able to say no for too long. “You clearly need some rest.”

Kristoff sighed and gave up the fight before climbing off of her and moving back towards the bedroom, immediately lowering himself onto the plush mattress. Anna followed, gave him a quick kiss, and promised she would join him after she cleaned up the kitchen.

He was out before she even shut off the light.

[ahtohallan-calling]

Is that a joke? When are we not interested? Haha love this au and love you!!

follow up to this drabble in my single dad kristoff/coffeeshop au verse, cw for sexual harassment

For what had to be the ten-thousandth time, Anna found herself immensely grateful that she’d fallen in love with a man of seemingly infinite patience, a man who was currently putting that patience to good use as he sat quietly in front of her on the edge of his bed while she ran her pomade-laden fingers through his hair.

“Thanks again for this,” she said as she leaned forward slightly so she could reach the back of his head. “I know it’s super last minute and that you probably just wanted to spend your Friday night relaxing for once and–”

“Anna,” he said, and she went silent, biting her lip.

Kristoff settled his large hands on the curve of her waist, keeping her close. “You do so much for me and Alice, it’s the least I could do,” he said.

“But you hate meeting new people and big parties and–”

“But you’ll be there,” he said with a lopsided smile. “So it won’t be so bad.”

Something warm swelled in her chest at the sight of him looking up at her, his honey-brown eyes warm and earnest and full of love, and she couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him with a happy sigh.

“Love you, you big ol’ softie,” she murmured between kisses, and he chuckled.

“Love you, too. But we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up and get dressed.”

“What, you don’t want me to go to a work party in my underwear?”

He nipped playfully at her bottom lip. “Let’s keep that just for the afterparty.”

—

She had bought the dress on her way home this afternoon– she really had completely forgotten about it until her friend had asked her what time she planned to arrive at the wrap party. It was for another show, one she had no part of, but as the face of Poppy’s Garden Tales she was expected to make an appearance at every event like this. This time, though, thankfully, her date wasn’t the little puppet like the PR team sometimes requested. “It makes for great photo ops, Anna”– well, her date this time certainly also made for great photo ops, and she was determined to get as many pictures as she could beside him tonight while he wore that tux that she’d managed to find in the back of his closet.

She knew he felt the same way and felt color rise in her cheeks at the thought of the way he’d looked at her when she’d finally finished slicking back his hair and changed into the dress she’d bought with him in mind just in case he’d needed a little convincing to come to the event. 

It was nothing like what she usually wore– certainly not what she wore to film the show, so she was sure it had been a surprise not only for Kristoff but for her coworkers as well. The dark green velvet was held up only by a thin pair of straps and fell to just above her knees; she had felt sexy in it when she stepped in front of Kristoff and watched his eyes travel from her face down to the heels she wore and back up again. Now she just felt awkward as she perched on a stool by the bar; it was a lot more fitted than her usual outfits, which did a lot to show off her almost nonexistent curves when she stood but meant that when she sat she was constantly tugging at the hem to try and keep herself decent.

She’d feel better when Kristoff was back and she could duck discreetly behind him to adjust the dress. He’d been by her side all night til now, gamely greeting every executive and director and cameraman Anna introduced him to, keeping a smile on his face each time someone gasped and asked, “Oh, you’re that Bjorgman? Whatever happened with you getting drafted for the NFL?”

But finally he’d leaned down and whispered, “Anna, I love you, but I really need a–”

“There’s another bathroom upstairs,” she’d replied, squeezing his hand. “Most people won’t bother going all the way up there, so you’ll have all the time you need for a break.”

He’d given her a broad smile then, a real one this time, before loping off away from the crowd as quickly as he could without drawing attention. And she was fine without him, really, especially now that she had a fresh cosmo in hand to sip on.

“Anna? Is that you?”

She glanced up to see one of the producers from another show sliding onto a stool next to her. “Oh, hey, Kevin.”

He let out a low whistle. “Almost didn’t recognize you in that dress. Quite a change from your Poppy sweaters, eh?”

“Oh, um, yeah, guess it is,” she said, unsure why the smile playing at the corners of his mouth was making her skin crawl; she took another sip of her drink to cover her discomfort.

“Really shows off your freckles,” he said, leaning forward and setting his left hand on her knee. “I didn’t know you even had them on your legs. Makes a man wonder if you have them all over.”

Her eyes landed on the gold wedding band glinting on his finger; she knew she should shove his hand aside, toss her drink at him, jump off the stool and run, but instead she sat, frozen, and watched his thumb begin to slide up and down on the inside of her thigh.

“Do you, Anna? Have them all over?” Kevin asked, his voice low.

She gulped, feeling a cold sweat begin to prick at her skin. “I— I—“

A large hand settled on her shoulder, and she jumped at the sudden contact; glancing up, she saw it was Kristoff. A relieved smile broke out across her face, a sharp contrast to the murderous expression on his.  

Kevin seemed unbothered, his smile only broadening as he looked up at Kristoff even as his hand slid further up her thigh, teasing at the hem of her skirt. “Hey, Bjorgman! Haven’t seen you around since high—“

“Get your fucking hands off my girlfriend,” Kristoff said, his voice ice cold and lethal. 

Kevin’s eyes widened as he jerked away from her, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Hey, sorry, man, didn’t realize you’d—“

“Keep your excuses and your goddamn hands to yourself,” Kristoff snarled, “or I’ll tell your wife about the little stunt you just tried to pull.”

Kevin stood and walked away so quickly the stool he’d been sitting on nearly fell over. Kristoff caught it just in time and sat on it, the dangerous glint in his eyes replaced by concern as he leaned towards Anna, holding out his hands to take hers. 

“You okay?” he asked, his brows pinching together. 

She managed a shaky nod. “Yeah, I— I need to make a couple more rounds, but then— then can we go home?”

“It’s your party, baby,” he said softly, squeezing her hands gently in his. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll be right there with you.”

She smiled gratefully at him as she stood. “What would I do without you, Kris?”

“You don’t ever have to worry about that,” he reassured her, setting a hand on the small of her back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

—-

Later that night, when they’d made sure Alice was still fast asleep in her bed where the babysitter had left her, and Anna’s face was scrubbed clean of makeup and Kristoff’s hair, still damp, hung in his eyes once more, they laid in bed facing each other, only moonlight illuminating the room. 

Anna ran a hand slowly up and down Kristoff’s arm, tracing the familiar lines of muscle she had a new appreciation for. “Kris?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Remember when I said I couldn’t picture you being scary and tackling people and stuff?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can now.”

He frowned a little and scooted closer, draping an arm protectively over her waist. “I can go punch the shit out of him if you want.”

She laughed at that, though she had to admit it was reassuring to hear him offer it. “No, you can’t— I mean, you can, but you shouldn’t. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy the show.”

“I did tell his wife, though, messaged her on Facebook. I did before I even went over there, actually. I snapped a picture really quick to send, I— I’m sorry that slowed me down a little. I just…”

“Did you really?” she asked, eyes wide. 

“Uh-huh.”

She launched herself at him then, flinging her arms around him. He fell easily onto his back under the onslaught of affection, grinning up at her as she hovered over him, her hair hanging like a curtain around their faces. 

“I love you,” she said, “so much.”

He ran a hand gently up and down her forearm. “I love you, too. And I know you can hold your own and stand up for yourself, so I hope—“

“No, I— normally I could, and I thought I…well, I knew I could, but in the moment I just froze, and…and you came at just the right time. And I’m glad I was wrong about you being intimidating, because the look on Kevin’s face was fantastic.” She leaned down and kissed him softly. “And I just wish I could see the look on his wife’s face when he gets home.”

Kristoff’s hand floated up to cup her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”

She kissed his forehead, just the way he always kissed her. “I am.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[clintashaotp]

Author’s note/summary: Sorry I’ve been so absent lately. I can’t be online as much anymore, sorry I didn't finish the April challenge! I’ll try to keep doing fics more often, but if I’m not online that’s why. This is a part two to my fic Meaningless. 

1577 Words

Understand You

...

A long time ago, Clint remembers being told that the best decisions are always the hardest to make. Though it’s probably been years since he’s heard that, he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about her. He can still remember her face as she walked out of the apartment. He’s never seen her so angry, and she’s an assassin, for God’s sake. The squeal of tires on gravel still rings in his ears. Even her driving sounded angry. 

But life goes on. 

They don’t talk for eight days. Clint knows it’s eight days because he keeps track of it. He watches her, and remembers every time he runs into her around headquarters, or sees her across the gym they both belong to, or makes eye contact with her at the local coffee shop. He has half a mind to block her number, but doesn’t have the heart to.

She doesn’t even try to text him a half-assed apology. Even a half-assed apology would be better than this silent treatment, as if she doesn’t care at all. Her stupid pride. She’s too stuck up to admit a mistake. It was right to break things off with her. She was just using him, and he doesn’t want to be with someone who just wants sex. But every time he sees the familiar flash of her red hair, he feels something. 

Wednesday afternoon, when he comes home from the gym, he finds a single rose on his porch. “What the hell?” he mutters to himself, but he picks it up anyways. “Weird.”

He unlocks the door, and the second the door handle opens confetti showers from the entry way. Clint jumps backwards, his instincts kicking in, but curiosity wins over, and he walks tentatively into the apartment. It smells heavily like perfume and spices, and Clint is starting to put the pieces together. When he walks into his kitchen, he sees her, sitting at the countertop. Music is playing softly, and there are two champagne glasses set on the counter. When she stands, he sees the matching red lace she is wearing, and almost drops his gym bag on the floor. 

“Natasha, how did you even get in here?” he asks, swallowing. 

“Please. New locks can’t keep me out,” she purrs, walking slowly towards him. “I wanted to show you I care. So here’s how much I care…”

She’s close enough now that her finger can trail along his jaw, and Clint backs away, shaking his head, laughing incredulously. 

“Stop the music, Natasha.”

“What?”

“Turn off the goddamn music.” 

She scrambles around the counter, switching off the stereo, looking confused. “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“What do you mean? What even is this, just an expensive way to win me back?” he throws up his hands, and she glares at him, a little intimidatingly. 

“I was trying to show you that I care about you,” she scoffs, crossing her arms, and Clint feels anger start to build. 

“This isn't caring, Natasha. This is sex. It’s never about feelings, Natasha, never!” he shakes his head, trailing off. “I don’t think you even know how to have an emotional connection with someone. Do you even know how? You don’t know how to love people. You don’t love anyone.”

He knows he’s gone too far, but he doesn’t expect to see the shininess of tears in her eyes. She still manages to keep her fragile pride in place, however, and she grabs a dress draped over the back of the chair and pulls it on. 

“I guess I’ll stop trying, then,” she says finally, and she walks past him, pushing out the door. He hears the steps of her heels fade away and he sighs into the empty apartment. 

Now he has to clean up the confetti. 

.

If possible, seeing her in public has gotten worse. Before, when he would make eye contact with her, she would give him a cool, even stare, but now her expression of slight hurt makes his insides squirm with guilt. You shouldn’t feel guilty, you did the right thing, he keeps telling himself. But he’s never seen her as upset as she ways the other night when they fought. He’s never seen her cry, not for real. It scared him. 

Friday, he meets with Coulson at a coffee shop for a meeting. Clint brings the coffees to the table, but the second he sits down, Coulson shuts the files closed with a snap. 

“What?” Clint asks, confused. “Wrong coffee order, sir?”

“You need to talk to Natasha,” Coulson says firmly.

“Wait, what? Sir, this is kind of private--” Clint tries, but his supervising officer cuts him off. 

“Nothing about your life is private to me, Agent Barton. You need to talk to her. I can’t have an emotional assassin on my team, it’s too big a risk.”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t know what I can do--”

“Clint,” Coulson says, a little more gently. “It takes a lot to hurt her. I don’t know what happened, but you need to talk to her. I can tell you’re both hurting.”

“I’m fine,” Clint tries, but Coulson chuckles a little, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Yeah, we’re all fine, Clint. Everything’s fine. But talk to her anyway.” Coulson smiles into his cup before adding, “And that’s an order.” 

“You can’t order me to--”

“I’m your supervising officer, Clint, I can order you to do whatever I want,” Coulson shrugs, and Clint sighs at the infuriating twinkle in the older man’s eye. 

“I’ll try,” Clint says flatly, and Coulson smiles contentedly. 

“That’s great news. Now, onto the situation in Belgium…”

.

Clint has been expecting her call, but he still waits until the third ring to pick up. 

“What,” he says flatly. He’s sitting at his kitchen counter, reading through a newspaper, but a tapping on the window makes him jump. Outside the window, standing on the fire escape, is a familiar redhead. 

“I want to talk,” she says through the phone, and Clint hangs up without a second thought. He turns around, trying to ignore her, but the tapping is so incessant that he slams his fist down on the counter. 

“Dammit, I don’t want to talk to you!” he says loudly, but he knows she can’t hear him. He hopes that she’ll get the message, but her gentle knocking keeps going, so he takes a deep breath, assumes a calm face, and walks over to his window. He opens it just enough for sound to travel through and Natasha crouches near the opening, looking up at him. 

“Clint,” she murmurs, and her voice is almost intoxicating. Well, cocaine is intoxicating too, and it’s not good for you either, Clint reminds himself. “I’ve made mistakes.”

“Surprised you’d admit it,” he says cooly, but her facial expression doesn’t change. 

“I’ve messed up. I used you, Clint. I ruined your relationships just to use your body for my own needs.” Clint doesn’t say anything, just watches her. “And I want to apologize. I don’t need to get back together, I just--”

“What are you doing?” Clint asks her quietly, and Natasha sighs, dropping her head.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to say I’m sorry, and I’m done using you. I’ll leave you alone now, I promise.” She stands, as if to leave, but Clint sighs, opening the window a little wider. 

“Come inside.” He pours two mugs of coffee from the already brewed pot as she climbs through the widow, and offers her a mug. “I’m sorry too.”

“No, don’t be. I’m the one who messed up,” she shakes her head. 

“No. I shouldn't have said the shit I did the other night,” he says, a little more firmly, and she looks up at him now, watching his face closely. 

“It was true, though,” she muses, and her eyes seem to see past him, to some place a long, long time ago. “I never really knew  love. I was trained to seduce and kill, and that was it. No one loved me there. Love got killed. Anyone who got attached to died.” Clint doesn’t dare interrupt. Natasha hardly ever talks about the Red Room, and so he keeps his mouth shut, listening. “And I guess I thought that love and sex were the same thing.” she turns to him now, setting her cup down on the counter. “That’s no excuse for what I did, I know that. But it was an explanation, at least.” “I think I understand now,” Clint says softly. “I mean, yeah, it was a dick move, but...I understand why you did it.”

Natasha just nods, looking away again. “Yeah.”

“Let’s start over,” Clint says finally, turning to her abruptly, and her eyes widen slightly. “Come on, let’s do this old fashioned style. Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Why are you giving me another chance?” she frowns, shaking her head. 

“Because...we both know why things went wrong last time. So now that we know, we can figure out how to fix it.” He steps forward slightly, taking her hand. “And I want to help you.”

“Help me what?” Natasha asks softly, and Clint puts a strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. 

“Help you understand this. Love. Living. Us,” he responds, and though he can’t see her face, he knows she’s smiling into his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together.”

[imagine-loki]

Books are Better Than People

TITLE: Books are better than People CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 17 AUTHOR: dance-in-moonlight ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine  taking Loki to the biggest library in the world, The Tianjin Binhai  Library in China. As soon as you walk in, he’s like a kid in a candy  store as he doesn’t know where to start with 1.2 million books  surrounding him… RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Hey guys… first of all, thank you if you patiently waited and are still reading. I’ve been gone for a long time and I’m really sorry for this. I was busy, then depressed, and then unmotivated. But I found my love for writing again and I desperately want to finish this fanfiction on a good note, so expect more chapters to come (I promise I won’t take so long this time). I’m aware this fic is very fluffy and family friendly, and I think I’d like to keep it that way. I hope you’re okay with this. Now have fun with the new chapter. :)

ADDITION: You are Tony’s personal assistant.

__________________________________________________________

The soft noise of water was the first thing you heard in the morning, accompanied by wind and then, the more you woke up, more sounds. Seagulls cawing against the sound of the sea, voices shouting now and then, the sound of some kind of machine by the docks; all almost carried away by the sea’s loud voice. You smiled, still half asleep. you had always loved the ocean. You’d definitely had to walk down there today and spend some time on the beach.

With a yawn you turned around and made yourself comfortable on the pillow again, ready to fall asleep for another few minutes when your hand brushed something warm. It took you a minute to catch up, then you opened your eyes with a smile. Loki lay inches apart from you, his face half-hidden by the pillow. His raven hair was hanging into his eyes and neck messily, moving slightly with every breath he took. His shoulder and one arm came out from under the blanket, bare and draped beside his pillow. Everything about him was peaceful and relaxed, the soft morning light added to it, making him look like a whole other person. He looked a good five years younger without the stress or bitterness in his expression. It was a beautiful picture, and you were truly thankful to be there to witness it.

Footsteps passed the bedroom door and seemed to be headed to the front of the house. The following clanking of pots made you conclude that the other Odinson had gotten up to make breakfast. So maybe it would be okay to wake him up, wouldn’t it? At least you had an excuse to reach out and tuck the loose strands of hair back behind his ear. You couldn’t resist to trace your fingers along the side of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft skin in the curve of his neck. You stroked the exposed shoulder and followed the arm downward, noticing the muscles underneath the skin. Finally you reached his hand, tracing your fingertips along his slim fingers and intertwined them. That seemed to do the trick. He stretched his neck and legs slowly, yawned, and with a tight grip on your hand he opened his eyes. You stared into two pools of moss, slightly darker than last night but just as deep and shiny.

“Good morning, sunshine”, you murmured and smiled through your lashes. You were very aware of the pillow lines on your face, your messy hair and your morning breath. Not a very pleasant sight in your mind. Loki seemed to disagree, for he eyed you and then reached out to pull you close without a word. You felt an arm beneath your neck, the other one was loosely draped over your side, and your face met his pale chest. This close you could perfectly examine every little detail of it.

“No, not good. Too early”, he groaned into your hair huskily, making you grin amused. So he was not a morning person.

“I suppose I can give you five minutes”, you replied and wiggled closer until you could lean your face against his chest. His flowery-mossy-musky scent immediately surrounded you, as well as his warmth.

“Hm, maybe ten”, you murmured and closed your eyes again. He didn’t make a sound, perhaps he was dozing off again. You didn’t mind, this moment could have gone on for hours if it had been up to you. __________________________________________________________

“Wake up brother, I made coffee! Come on, it is almost noon!” Thor’s voice thundered through the door, accompanied by loud thumping of fist on wood. You groaned and rubbed your eyes, then peeled yourself off Loki and sat up. You had napped in a tight hug before, but you had to get up before Thor destroyed the door. 

“We got it, give us two minutes”, you called out and ended in a yawn. Your gaze fell on the clock on the wall and you shook your head in disbelief. It was 8.30 am. Almost noon, really? So Thor was a morning person, Loki was not. Interesting. Maybe that was where their differences lay. 

“Y/N? Oh. I see. I’m sorry if I interrupted you!” 

“No no no, it’s okay Thor, really. We were just sleeping”, you quickly replied, a blush forming on your cheeks. Beside you Loki grunted and slid an arm around your hips. You smiled, part nervous part amused, and snaked your fingers through his hair. 

“Get up, your brother made breakfast. Doesn’t that sound good, hm?” 

“Is the sun even up? Anything before 9 o'clock is night”, came the muffled reply. You shook your head smiling and got up alone, grabbed another set of his clothes and marched into the bathroom. 

Fifteen minutes later the three of you sat on barstools on the kitchen counter, steaming cups of coffee and plates with sausages and eggs in front of you. Thor was devouring food like he hadn’t eaten in days, but still managed to keep a conversation. Loki was quiet, hugging his mug, looking more or less awake. You felt quite good; the food was great, the morning was beautiful and your clothes were comfy. You had stolen black straight cut jeans and a yellow turtleneck, both a tad too large but it passed as stylish. The 70s were back after all. 

Thor seemed to think of the same topic, for he used his fork to point at you. 

“We can get you new clothes, they’re a bit large.” 

You smiled and shrugged in reply. “I could find them like this in the women’s section labeled ‘boyfriend jeans’, it’s no big deal. And wide sweaters and pullovers are stylish too.” Loki looked up from his cup and chuckled in your direction. 

“They technically are, hm?” 

“Sorry?”

“Boyfriend jeans”, he clarified and watches your expression over the rim of his cup.

“Oh…Are they? “ Your heart jumped a little at what he was implying. It was a little rushed maybe, you met a couple days ago and so far you had kissed him, nothing more. Then again it felt like you knew him for ages anyway. You felt like a teenager that had no idea how a relationship worked, but you were happy with it.

“I should hope so.” He smiled warmly and leaned over to kiss your cheek. You looked down, beaming into your cup. A hysteric giggle escaped your throat, you hid it with a cough. Best day ever. 

“Congratulations”, Thor said from the other side of the counter between two bites of egg. He didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised or disturbed gladly. 

_________________________________________________________ After breakfast you gathered jackets and went outside. Wind hit you immediately, and you were suddenly thankful for your leather jacket. You had asked to see the ocean, but Thor wanted to go for another quest for land - he had mentioned someone named Valkyrie- so you agreed to go shopping first and then split up. 

Loki casually slid his hand into yours as you walked down the street, quietly for once. You intertwined your fingers and leaned into him as you looked at the adorable little houses and shops you passed. Apparently there was something like a mall near, but you didn’t quite believe it. 

You took the bus - Loki didn’t feel like teleporting three adults, it was too exhausting - and landed in a city, a little larger than the town but still somewhat idyllic, nothing compared to New York. 

The boys seemed to know their way around, for they immediately knew the right way to the mall and lead you there quickly. Not even ten minutes had passed until you stood in front of it. You were surprised. They had advertised it in a way that lead you to expecting something…larger. 

“Wow boys…that’s not a mall”, was the first thing you said. It was barely a small town shopping center. Loki looked at you with a raised brow, quietly shaking his head. 

“No I didn’t mean-… I mean if they have clean clothes, it’s enough for me”, you tried to save the situation. You heard Thor laugh behind you, it reminded you of the sound of thunder. 

“I am certain we will find something”, Loki - your boyfriend, eek! - replied quietly and pulled you into the building. It was larger than it looked from outside, and quite a lot of people were swarming the stores. You couldn’t help but sarcastically think that every citizen of this little town must have been present. After all you were a big town girl, the countryside was beautiful but you never really got used to it. 

The three of you went into the first shop to look for clothes. You strolled through the isles, looking at interesting pieces while the men followed you like obedient dogs. Although you had said earlier that any clothes would be fine, you found yourself shopping soon after. 

It took you a while, but eventually you decided for a pair of high-waist blue jeans and a knitted pullover in creme. The tight jeans and the wide pullover made a nice mix in your opinion and the boys seemed to agree. 

_________________________________________________________

“It’s beautiful”, you murmured as you gazed upon the beach. The cool air threw strands of your hair into your face and made you shiver, but it was amazing nevertheless. In front of you was nature in its wildest state: thick grey clouds hung above the dark and wind-lashed sea, a storm was coming. The boats that were tied to the quay jumped with every wave, helpless against the sea’s strength. 

“It’s cold and grey”, Loki replied quietly and grabbed your hands to warm them. You shook your head and looked at him. 

“But the forces of nature are amazing to watch. It’s so…" 

"Wild and untamed”, Thor completed your sentence from your other side. You turned your head to look at him. His fists were in his pockets, he stood relaxed against the wind and let it play with his hair and beard while he looked at something far out in the sea. As the God of thunder he probably loved storms, you thought. 

“I see”, his little brother murmured and now slid both of his arms around you. You bit your lip to hide the smile that was building on your face as you felt his warmth through your jacket and his chest against your back.

[detectivejigsawpines]

Relatively Relativity-part 4 (The chapter that begins and ends with slumber)

By the time the mini-grunkles’ newfound manic energy wore off, it was almost evening; they slowly staggered back to the front porch, covered in dirt and grass stains, and neither one seeming really capable of staying on his feet for much longer.

“Well...that was fun…” Ford mumbled as he pulled himself up the first step, “...gotta get back to work now…”

“Work?”  Stan blinked a little bewilderedly.  “Whatsis...work...y’speak of?”

He nearly pitched forward and smashed his nose before Dipper hurriedly caught him.  Mabel did the same for Ford; he was asleep before his feet were even off the ground.

“Wow,” Dipper muttered as they carried them inside, “do you think we’re this heavy when we’re our normal size?”

“Who’re ya callin’ fat?” Stan grumbled at him before yawning, and letting his eyes droop shut.

Dipper looked at the sleeping boys thoughtfully.  “...I guess we gotta put them to bed?”

Mabel smiled.  “I know just the place.”  She went over to Grunkle Stan’s big yellow armchair and set Ford down into it, before tugging off his shoes and his jacket for him.  He stirred a little at her fussing, but not enough to actually wake up, just snuggling into the thick padding.

Dipper shrugged, and put Stan on the other side, helping him out of his own coat and shoes.  However, instead of leaning back Stan ended up flopping over, so his head and part of his shoulder landed in Ford’s lap.

“Oops.”

Dipper reached out to straighten him, but Mabel grabbed his arm.

“Don’t you dare move them.”  Her eyes were wide with delight at being in such high levels of cuteness proximity, and her phone was back out.

With a roll of his eyes Dipper went to hang up their coats and then retrieve a blanket, which he draped around both boys.  Then, in the interest of his family’s self-preservation, he went into the kitchen and poured the rest of the Mabel Juice down the sink, before cleaning up the remains of their lunch.

****

By the time he came back Mabel had probably overshot her phone’s storage capacity with the amount of photos she’d taken, and he was forced to drag her away so the boys could sleep undisturbed.

“...So, what do we do now?” Mabel asked as they left the room.  “Do you wanna play cards?  I’m pretty sure old people usually play cards while kids are sleeping.  Or backgammon!  I’ve always wanted to learn how to play backgammon!”

Dipper didn’t answer; he’d paused midstep, his eyes trained on the full-length mirror which Stan (technically Soos, now) kept down here for some reason.

It was the first time he’d really gotten the chance to see what he looked like in his old body; he was mesmerized.  He moved his hand, watching his reflection’s hand move with it, trying to convince himself that this really was his body now.

He hadn’t expected to be so...big.  He’d been startled seeing just his old wrinkly hands, but seeing all of him at once, with his head about three feet higher up than normal and the torso filled out so he actually had shoulders now, was even more of a shock.  Dipper guessed he should count himself lucky that his clothes had grown along with him; he was not in a hurry to see himself naked in addition to being old (ugh, please try to erase that thought, mind).

He didn’t have the imposing posture Ford did, or the amount of muscles either of his grunkles had; but that was probably a given since he hadn’t gone through the same stuff as them.

Gingerly Dipper pulled off his hat, and got a good look at his thick gray hair.  It was only mildly comforting to see that he had a lighter stripe like Ford, so maybe it made him look kind of distinguished.

“...At least there’s no bald spots,” Mabel pointed out, ever the optimist.  She’d been staring at herself too, squeezing her face in an attempt to smooth out some of the wrinkles.  “And look-my braces are gone!”  She pulled back her lips so he could see her (slightly stained, but indeed braces-free) teeth.

Dipper managed a smile.  “Yeah, looks like you won’t be a metal mouth forever.”

“Hey!”  Mabel swatted his arm; they both laughed.

“I dunno if I like being all gray, though,” she admitted after a minute.  “Maybe I should dye it.  Like put in some pink or blue highlights or something.  What do you think?”

“...I think you’d look like one of those horrifying bingo hall grandma stereotypes.”

Mabel blew a raspberry at him.  “You have no appreciation for art!”

They both nearly jumped out of their skin when Soos’s voice asked from behind them, “So what’s the plan, dudes?”

In all the chaos of watching their mini-grunkles dealing with the effects of Mabel Juice, they’d forgotten about the former handyman-now-boss.  And, they realized as they turned around, they’d forgotten about his girlfriend and his grandmother, who were also living here now.

Soos gave the twins an apologetic smile.  “I got Melody and Abuelita caught up on current events so they wouldn’t be shocked when they saw you guys.”  He leaned in and whispered in as conspiratorial a voice as he was capable of, “They’ve both taken like a million pictures of the little Mr. Pineses.”

“Join the club, ladies!” Mabel beamed.  “I’m gonna need to import all of mine into a computer or something to clear up some space!”

Melody giggled.  “I know, right?  They look so precious right now, it’s hard to stop!”

“Yeah, I’m totally including a chapter about this in my fanfiction.”  Soos grinned.  Then he composed himself.  “Seriously though-what’s the plan for getting you dudes back to normal?”

Dipper sighed.  “Well, tomorrow we’re gonna go see if we can find more of those flowers so Grunkle Ford can study them better.  Maybe get some still-active pollen samples or something.”

“Sounds good, sounds good.”  Soos nodded sagely.

“Maybe you oughta wear gas masks or hazmat suits or something so you don’t get affected by them again,” Melody pointed out.

“Ooh, good point.  I’ll remind Grunkle Ford about that when he wakes up.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Abuelita asked.

Dipper smiled at her.  “For now, we probably just need you guys to keep the Shack running like normal.  But if we need anything, we’ll let you know.”

“You got it, dudes.”

****

Luckily Soos was able to lend Dipper some of his pajamas (which were super baggy on him even now, but better than sleeping in his clothes), and Mabel got one of Abuelita’s spare nightgowns, so they both had something to sleep in.

Soos had had the option of turning Stan’s room into his own, since he was Mr. Mystery now, but he hadn’t felt worthy of the honor, so he mostly still slept in the break room, using a new couch that folded out into a bed.  Melody slept in the room that used to hold all the cursed wax figures, and Abuelita had cleaned out another storage room for herself, so the kids were still sleeping in the attic.  Soos promised that they or their mini-grunkles could come wake him up if they needed anything, and the little groups said goodnight to each other before heading to their respective rooms.

Waddles, who apparently had been sleeping on Mabel’s bed all day, was a little startled when he first laid eyes on them, and didn’t seem to recognize his master at first.  But after a minute of sniffing at her hands and skirt, he seemed to realize that she was still herself, and just accepted that she looked a little weird now.  As she got into bed he happily climbed up and snuggled against the crook of her arm, grunting contentedly.

“Goodnight, Dipper!” she called to her brother.

“Night, Mabel.”  He was in the process of writing the day’s events in his journal next to his drawing of the flower, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Don’t stay up all night; you’re a senior citizen now, so you need your beauty sleep.”

“Whatever.”

Truth be told, part of Dipper wasn’t sure if he’d be capable of falling asleep-and not just because his joints kept making funny creaky noises every time he moved.  Too many thoughts kept running around in his brain, worrying about how they were going to fix this, what if they couldn’t, were they going to have to raise their mini-grunkles from now on, what were their parents going to think about all this, what if what if what if...

But when he finished his entry in his journal and turned out the light, he lay back and closed his eyes-

-and the next time he opened them, it was to morning light filtering in through the window.

********

Attaboy, Dipper.  Get some sleep so you’ll stop worrying so much.