#at least patrick was a lot more audible

[crunchycrystals]

still a bit sad about the way the speak now tv features were handled like compare the one verse hayley williams got to phoebe bridgers and taylor swift sharing the bridge on nothing new like why couldnt she give them more stuff to do aaaajgaskjlagkjsla

[padf00ts-l0ver]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑.

(chapter one)

A/N- Ah! The new modified chapter of Betty Becker is now finally here! Will probably make more edits because i’m too indecisive but for now- it’s fine.. ENJOY<3

BLOG NAVIGATION

“So what are we watching?” Tara was over at your house tonight, her Mother out of town on business, so you two planned on pizza and a movie night which was just starting to kick off right about now. Snacks all laid out over the couch, warm blankets over both of you.

“I have no idea..” you replied, eyes stuck on the screen of your TV, you’d seen mostly everything on Netflix and scrolling through all the same columns of movies wasn’t very amusing.

“Scary movie? Romantic comedy? .. High school musical?” Tara loved the high school musical movies, she’d always attempt to put one on whenever any of your friends had a movie night, but a lot of the time they were quickly switched over, you had to laugh.

“Tara babe,” a smile decorating your face, “we’re not watching people sing away their feelings tonight” amused, you scrolled down to the thriller movie genre.

“I don’t know what you have against them,” she looked over at you, “Zac Efron is a god, nothing beats the soundtrack of those movies, literally nothing”

You chuckled, “okay, what about.. American Physco? Patrick Bateman?” Both you and Tara had watched it multiple times, but you were definitely not complaining, Christian Bale is forever iconic in this movie.

“We literally watched this last Saturday” her lips pulled in a thin smile, head tilted, still waiting for you to cave and show Troy Bolton on the screen.

“So?” you said rhetorically, pressing play and hearing her groan playfully.

Your parents agreed to getting you and Tara pizza for dinner, but when they called the worker told them that delivery would take at least an hour, so they just drove up to get it instead. Your house was further out from the main town, so it took about 15 minutes to drive there, and another 15 back, depending on the traffic in town, you’d have no problem with it closer to your house though, given how secluded it was.

You were getting hungry, despite all the little snacks you had set out, and by the audible rumbling of Tara’s stomach, you knew she was too.

You let the movie run, it was only just starting anyway, “Hey, do you want me to make us some popcorn?” you asked her.

“Yeah sure, that’d be great” she smiled, “d’you want some help?” she asked, ‘she was always kind’, you thought.

“Uhh.. no- but you can keep me company” you smiled at her, she returned it.

---

The popcorn was now in the microwave and had about 2 minutes left until it was all done, so you began to get some bowls out the cupboards.

“Hey, do you remember if Amber was doing anything tonight?” you asked over your shoulder,

“Uh- no, I don’t think she said anything,” Tara said, eyebrows pinched together, trying to think of just what your friends plans were tonight, but coming up with nothing, shrugging her shoulders.

“D’you wanna text her? See if she can come around? It’ll be like old times, the big sleepovers we used to have together in like- 6th grade.” You laughed slightly at the memory of you all, 3 small 12 year old’s building life size forts in your trampoline to sleep in for the night, or attempt to sleep in.. you never made it past an hour before hurrying back inside.

That was one of the last better times you could remember of the three of you, before everything started going to shit.

“Betty- the three of us had a sleepover like 2 weeks ago? Stop trying to be nostalgic right now” she teased.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, your eyes darted toward the sound, “who is it?”

“Speak of the devil..” she looked up at you from across the bench, your eyebrows raised in questioning, though you had a pretty good idea of who it was. “Amber.” She told you, you made an ‘ah’ sound in response.

“Tell her to come over!” you urged, waiting to see this pan out, Amber was always hard to get, even when it came down to hanging out with her friends after school. “I would, but my phone’s dead, I’ll charge it later.”

She did, typing out ‘you should come over here, Betty and I are waiting on pizza and popcorn, movie night ;)’ pressing send and waiting for those three lines to show up..

You leant over the counter slightly, lifting one of the knives in their block, not taking it out fully, just looking at it, passing time.

Tara’s phone buzzed, ‘you’re gonna have to do better than that’

‘we’re watching American Physco’, which got a quick reply of ‘SOLD’ and a follow up, ‘I’ll leave in a minute x’

But just then, a loud RING of a telephone caught your attention, startled you dropped the knife back into it’s place. You glanced at Tara, who also had been caught off guard by the loud noise and walked to the landline, in the living room. Since the living area and kitchen was an open floorplan with no doors blocking the two areas, it was only a few steps you had to walk until the ringing stopped.

“Hello?” you answered, head tilting to the side, looking over at your friend, who stared at you questioningly, not knowing who was on the other end.

“Hello.. who is this?” you smiled slightly, a small laugh caught in your throat, here we go.

“Well, shouldn’t you know who you’re talking to? You were the one who called me..”

Tara signalled your attention across the room, still wondering who was on the phone, you took the phone away from your ear, pressing the speaker button, allowing her to hear as well.

“I suppose you’re right, huh?” they said, voice deep, supposedly unrecognisable.

“I suppose I am” smile still present, a teasing tone to your voice.

They laughed on the other end, “I was actually looking for Leslie, Leslie Becker.” Your Mother.

“Ah, well I can assure you that I am no Leslie, who’s asking for her?” you walked back over to the kitchen, where Tara was waiting for you, standing next to her.

“I am.” They answered.

“Well obviously” you giggled, “But who are you exactly?”

“You can tell her Charlie called..” they said, sounding all too friendly, Tara had her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, never hearing your Mom mentioning a ‘Charlie’ before, neither had you. “I’m from her group, she’ll know who I am.”

“From her group, huh?” your lips puckered in thought, “I don’t think I’ve heard anything about this- group” eyes looking down at the cell phone.

“Oh, you would have” … “trust me.”

“Hm.” You only hummed in response, eyes now finding Tara’s, she reached down and covered the speaker of the phone for a moment.

“They sound kinda sketchy? Don’t you think?” she whispered to you.

“Mm- I don’t know, maybe I just haven’t been listening when my Mom’s been talking about that group?” you smiled reassuringly at her, her eyes still concerned, but alas she let her hand off the speaker.

“I’ll let her know you called.” You said, raising you hand to hang up, until-

“wait!” they said.. “she talks about you, y’know.”

“well, what does she say?” Tara looked down at her phone again, beginning to type a message to Amber, ‘some weirdo calling on Betty’s landline, think it’s her Mom’s secret boyfriend or something lol’

“She tells me about your love of scary movies..” the voice said.

“I do really like scary movies” you replied, a small smile etching onto your face, amused with how this call was going.

“Hm, what’s your favourite scary movie?” They asked you.

Tara’s phone vibrated signalling another message, ‘Haha good luck with that one, LMK how it goes ’

“Well, I mean you’ve gotta love the originals right? Stab would have to be my personal favourite, very 90’s.” you played along, Tara made an almost inaudible sigh of disappointment, not wanting the person on the other line to know she was there, but needing to remind you of her disliking toward those movies.

“Stab, huh?” they seemed curious now, “wouldn’t that be a little scary? Considering you live in the town that all those murders started in?”

“That makes it all the better don’t you think? All those other movies, you know they’re fake.. but with these ones, you know that people really lived it, y’know?” you said.

“That’s true.. do you remember the beginning?” they asked, before stopping, “That’s a silly question, of course you- of all people would remember the opening scene to Stab, right?” your eyes shot to Tara’s, hers started back at you, looking unsettled at the message behind their comment…

“What are you talking about?” tongue moving to the side of your cheek, eyebrows furrowed.

“You know what I’m talking about” they replied, a light tone to their voice, playful almost. “It was your Aunt who started the whole franchise, isn’t that amazing?”

“I have a fantastic memory, would you like me to remind you?” they questioned, rhetorically, because after just a moment and before you could reply they said- “It started off with Casey Becker, home alone, she answers the wrong number and starts unknowingly talking to the killer, who makes her play a game..” it was eerily quiet for a moment, all that was heard was yours and Tara’s breathing.

“Would you like to play a game.. Betty?”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! You jumped. Startled by the sound of the microwave going off, signalling the popcorn was ready to be taken out, you let out a breath and noticed Tara do the same.

“Fuck you. You’re weird.” You hung up the phone, “Hey, I think I’m just gonna go lock the doors, y’know- just in case..” you told Tara, chuckling reluctantly, trying to lighten the atmosphere, leaving the kitchen.

She nodded, opening her phone again messaging Amber ‘it was some physco, about to lock the doors.’

Getting an almost immediate reply, ‘WFT?? U 2 OK?’

[parvulous-writings]

Some Things Can’t Be Resisted // Patrick McKenna x Reader

Request: hi lovely!!! I read your camerlengo reader oneshot and just want more hnnnnnnngh!!! how bout the seven deadly sins prompt, specifically lust ?? 😏😏😏 with lots of kisses from those sinful lips of his 🔥🔥 you are incredible !!!!

Requested by: Anonymous​

Summary: The request!

Warnings: Breaking the rules and vows of the Papacy- 

Words: 1.6K 

Notes: This is possibly one of the best ways we could have kicked off the 7DS prompts! I’ve been wanting to start it for a while, but I didn’t know who to write for or which Sin to use. 😭 Also, when I tell you I squealed upon seeing this request, I mean I screeched. Slight dodgy middle, I’m sorry for that, but the make-out is at least semi-decent I think.   Sidenote: I didn’t delve into full smut here, it’s mostly heated makeout and suggestiveness :)

Not my gif, but you know I just had to use this one

You kept your head down as you briskly walked through the vast and towering halls of the Vatican, keeping to yourself and desperately hoping that none of the Cardinals, Priests or other officials of the Church noticed your odd and slightly suspicious behaviour.  You were on edge, the most apprehensive you had been in a long time. All you had done was visit the man you had found yourself entangled with of late- in more ways than one- and yet, you felt like even the walls of the old building were chastising your choices, even though only you and your lover were truly aware of the entire situation. You had only spoken to him for a few minutes, but the thoughts that had been running through your head through every moment of the conversation, they had been what you could only, and rather ironically, describe as sinful. 

You rounded a corner, your eyes still firmly glued to the floor, as you drew into yourself a little bit more. You tried to push the dirty thoughts from your mind, desperate to not focus on them, but you were suddenly wrenched from your anxious mental playground when you felt a hand around your wrist. You gave an audible gasp as you were yanked into a slightly shadowy corner, quickly pinned against the wall, with a hand covering your mouth to stop you from crying out too loudly. After a moment given to you to focus, you realised it was only the man that you had departed from a few minutes prior.  “Patrick, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” You asked him, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one could hear the hushed conversation between you two. “I left you barely ten minutes ago!” 

“I needed to see you again,” He whispered hastily in reply. His eyes darted back and forth just after yours, before landing to rest back on your face again. “I can hardly take my mind off you...” He admitted, his face dangerously close to yours. You’re slightly shocked by the sudden comment, and you try to step back from him. “Patrick... We can’t do this here...” You warn him, not wanting to get caught by any passers by. He grabbed your hands again, clutching them in his own.  “Then let’s go to my office... Please... Just a few minutes.” He almost sounded like he was begging you. You gently place your hand on his cheek.  “Alright, alright...” You soothe him, and he starts to lean into your touch. “But you have to walk beside me, without holding my hand. I don’t want you getting in trouble with anyone.” You tell him seriously. He hardly seems to be listening, but nods slowly in agreement before reluctantly pulling away from you. 

He briefly looked over his shoulder to you, gesturing discreetly for you to follow him. After a moment’s hesitation, you do so, jogging slightly to catch up with him. You’re about a pace or so behind him, not getting too close, so that your legs didn’t get tangled up in the deep black robes that he had to wear.  It took you both maybe about two minutes to make your way to his office, which was formerly the office of his father. He shut the doors as soon as you had come in behind him, making sure that they were securely locked, so that no one may walk in on the pair of you. 

Patrick leant against the door for a moment, trying to compose himself, before straightening up, and turning to face you. “You must forgive me for my behaviour, I... I don’t know what’s come over me...” He told you, starting to pace over towards his desk. You move along with him, taking a seat on one of the two chairs in front of the dark-wood desk. He looks at his hands, palms spread out on the cold, lifeless surface, trying to shift his mind from the constant, lustful, sinful thoughts of you. It was of little use, and to no avail. After another minute or so of being lost in his thoughts, he brought his hand up to quickly pull the pure white collar out from around his neck. He let it fall to the table, his piercing blue eyes focusing on it before moving up to lock with yours. He straightened up again, beckoning you over to him with two fingers, not saying a word. 

Without breaking eye contact with him, you rise from your chair, edging around his desk, you are standing just in front of him in a few seconds. You open your mouth to quietly ask him what’s on his mind, but you are silence before you can speak by his lips pressing against your own.  You’re shocked at the sudden action, and push him away slightly. Though you knew he couldn’t get you out of his head, you’re mostly surprised by how forward he’s being, especially in his place of work, his place of worship.  “Patrick, what do you think-”  “Please.” He whispered hurriedly to you, “Please, my darling.” He cupped his hands over your cheeks, keeping you close. “We needn’t do anything too much... A-and no one will ever know...” He assured you. You debate it for a moment, before pressing your lips slowly back against his, only giving him a small taste of your sweet lips. 

“Slowly, Patrick. Calm yourself.” You soothe, and for a moment, he does regain at least some of his composure. However, he quickly loses it again when he feels his lips touch yours again. His side of the kiss is hungry, wanting more, lusting for more, lusting for you and your touch. Your side of the kiss is more calming, trying to get him to slow down at least a little bit. It didn’t work very well to say the least. He turned you both a little bit, backing you up until your rear hit his desk. He still hungrily attacked your lips, his hands moving to rest on your hips and the small of your back. 

You started to melt against him, letting him devour you in more than just one sense. You lips slid against his as he hummed quietly in approval, his teeth nipping affectionately at your bottom lip. Your hands moved to his neck and up into his hair, tugging gently at the mousy brown strands as you feel his slightly kiss-swollen lips trail over to your jaw and down to your neck. He was moving slowly as he paid close and loving attention to every inch of skin exposed and available to him. Occasionally he would nip at your skin, but was careful not to leave a mark.  Oh how sinful it would look for you to leave his office, leave his presence, with marks of how much and how well he had loved you.

You let your head fall back for a moment, giving your Holy lover more and easier access to your neck. He pressed some gentle kisses over your collar bone towards the crook of your neck. You gave a quiet yet audible gasp as his lips brushed over a particularly sensitive area, and he immediately picked up on the reaction. He pressed another, slightly hotter kiss to the area, almost testing the waters, seeing if you would tell him to stop before he continued. You pressed your hand on the back of his head, and at the cue he dived right in, nipping gently at it with his pearly white front teeth, thoroughly enjoying himself. After a minute or so of him repeating his actions, of him basking in the small gasps and whines you let slip past your lips, he pulled back.  “I hope you can cover the marks I give you...” He mused quietly, stroking the side of your face delicately with his fingers. You nodded slowly, and pulled his face towards yours again, giving him another deep, and more loving kiss. 

You chuckle as you pull away, smiling rather cheekily at him. “You better put that collar back on, Father McKenna.” You tell him, picking up the fabric and pressing it against his chest for a moment. “You have an image to uphold, don’t you?” You tease quietly, and he laughs gently at you, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “Alright. But I only do it because you ask me to.” He rubbed his nose gently against your own, before reluctantly stepping back and fastening the collar back into the neck of his robe.  You get to your feet, straightening out your clothes to make yourself a little more presentable. “You know... If you really can’t get your mind off of me, then... We could always go... A little further.” You suggest quietly with a rather sly smile. Patrick returns a similar look to you. 

“Oh?” He replies, in a very teasing voice. “Perhaps I will take you up on that.” He subtly gestures for you to move with him as he walks to unlock the doors, and you do so without question. “Would you object to meeting me on the steps of the Vatican? Tonight, at nine, perhaps?” He suggested, raising his brows as he spoke. You pretend to consider it.  “Would the Cardinals be suspicious?”  “Not likely, they would most likely be at home, saying their evening prayers.” He informs you. You nod slowly in understanding. 

You then lean forward just before your lover can open the doors for the pair of you, pressing your swollen lips to his again, tilting your head slightly as you slip your tongue carefully into his mouth, exploring it as his tongue pressed back, fighting to gain dominance. Eventually he did win, and your lips continued to dance for a moment longer, before you pull away.  “Does that answer your question, Father?”  “Oh, yes. Yes, that’s perfect.” 

[sorryjustafangirl]

mascot mysteries

a/n: me posting something that isn’t at like midnight? wow. anyway i thought this was a super cute idea so i hope you all enjoy it :)  this is also a gender neutral reader! and this is a covid-free AU

Pairing: Nolan Patrick x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

warnings: a few couple words, a little bit of anxious movements, Gritty (if that needs to be a warning)

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! also the gif isn’t mine! all credit to the incredible gif-maker!

tagging: @barzypatty​

You walked into the Wells Fargo Center, admiring the arena. This was your dream job ever since college. Honestly you couldn’t believe you got it. You pull out your phone with the emailed instructions of where to go. You look for the “hallway next to the washroom” only to discover there are three different hallways that have signs directing to the washrooms. 

Well fuck. 

“Are you good there?” You look to your left to see two guys, likely players based on their attire. One was taller, with longer hair and a small smile. The other one was shorter but looked more rambunctious. It looked like there were in a little bit of a rush, but you were really lost. 

“I’m actually kind of lost. I’m looking for conference room B8? But the instructions I have are really vague, so I have, like, no idea where I’m going,” you admitted, folding into yourself a little bit.

“That’s on our way! Come with us, we’ll show you where it is,” the shorter one said, motioning you over to where the two of them had stopped. “So, you’ve never been here?”

“It’s actually my first day on the job, so, um no. I haven’t been here before either, I, uh, grew up in Canada,” You cursed yourself. This was your first impression with the organization and you couldn’t even make a conversation without the stammering.

“Cool! Me and Patty are from Canada too! Shit, sorry, I’m TK and that’s Patty,” He said, motioning to the taller guy beside him. “And don’t worry about getting lost, Pats here got lost on his first day too,”

“Good to know I’m not the only one whose bad with directions,” you directed your comment to Patty, making brief eye contact with him. A rosy blush brushed his cheeks and you caught a mumbled “yeah”

“What do you do….?” Patty prompted, his voice quiet, but somehow you still heard it. He couldn’t deny you were pretty. 

“Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N. And I’m in media? I don’t know my exact title, but working for one of the best marketed media teams was too good for me to, uh, turn down so…” You said, slightly talking in front of TK so you could answer Patty’s question.

“Oh cool! Maybe you’ll get to meet Gritty, he’s the fun residence troublemaker,” Travis popped in.

“I thought that was your job Teeks,” which earned a jab from TK into Patty, who just snickered. 

“Travis, bud!” The three of you stopped to see someone else motioning for TK, who jogged over to the other man. 

“C’mon, the conference room isn’t too much further, I’ll walk you there,” Patty said, already making some steps forward. After a small comfortable silence, he stopped in front of two double doors. “So, uh, this is it. Good luck on your first day,” 

“Oh! Thanks. And, um, thanks for showing me where it was,” You tugged down on your jacket. “I guess I’ll just….” you motioned behind you to the doors.

“Oh right, yeah, I’ll, uh, let you go,” You gave a small wave and turned towards the conference doors and he turned back to go where he came from, only to turn around after a few steps. “Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You took a few steps back towards him.

“You’re in media, yeah? So you might be at games or maybe even practices?” He scratched the back of his neck, slightly mumbling towards the end.

“Uh, yeah maybe. I’m not too sure where they’ll put me just yet but I like being in the action. I know that might seem weird ‘cause I’m sorta shy and quiet but..” You wrung your hands together. 

“No, no, I get it. It’s like being a different person, when you’re behind the camera or something. You get to be someone else and it’s nice. I get like that on the ice sometimes. I can make the big hits and stuff and no one treats it like it’s different from being quiet outside the game,”

“Yeah, like a different person. That’s exactly it,” You met his eyes again. Holy shit, why is he so gorgeous?

“Y/N Y/L/N?” A head popped out from behind the conference room doors. “We’re ready for you,” 

“Great, thank you,” You turned back to Patty. “That’s, uh, that’s me, but I’ll hopefully see you around, Patty?” 

“I’d like that a lot. And uh, you can call me Nolan,” The blush came back to his cheeks but you could barely notice over the heat in your own cheeks. 

“Bye Nolan.” You gave him one last smile before entering the conference room and closing the door, slowing entering the room. Once you came into sight, the people around the table jumped up. 

“Ah! There they are! Our new Gritty!”

***

After that first encounter, you seemed to bump into Nolan more. Before work, sometimes after work. You would make casual conversation, both mumbling, but you just got each other. And it didn’t take too long for him to muster up the courage to ask you on a date. While you were slightly hesitant, he was quick to assure you that “I may have asked G to ask management if it’d be okay with our jobs and, uh, everything’s fine, so…?” which earned him a kiss on the cheek and a yes. 

The problem was your job. You loved being a mascot. Seriously, you did. You were hooked after that first varsity game you went to in college. The energy of the crowd, interacting with the players and fans, the anonymity. The anonymity was the issue. Behind the costume, no one knew it was shy ol’ you. You could do anything and no one would tell you that you were being too rowdy or obnoxious. No one expected anything out of you except fun. It was perfect. And being Philadelphia’s beloved mascot/political figure was the dream. Telling Nolan risked the anonymity of the job. But to not tell Nolan was becoming an issue. He understood you had to work during game days, but it was becoming increasingly difficult not to see you with the other better halves in the stands, especially since you worked here. There was no reason for you not to be there. Every other teammate of his got to see someone they loved in their jersey but he didn’t. 

When he brings this up, all timid, you are so quick to make a compromise. Before every home game, you’d meet in the tunnel for a good luck handshake. It might seem ridiculous but he got to physically see you before each game and it was a fun, quirky ritual. 

“It’s like a different person right? You get in your zone and I’ll get in mine,” You told him. He responded with a kiss. 

But you were running out of excuses why you were late either before your handshake or after his game, where you would also meet him in the tunnel. You had used the “I caught up with work” at least four times, “I saw a coworker who wanted to talk” a few times, and even resorted to “I got lost” once. You could see it was throwing him off a little. He was still playing perfectly fine, but it didn’t have that same “umph” he sometimes brought to the ice. 

It was the home game against the Penguins when he finally snapped. That’s how you knew it was bad. Gritty was asked to do the fun pre-show, and you hadn’t had time to change to see Nolan before the game. He threw more hits, had more aggression, and more than the normal Pennsylvania rivalry. You couldn’t help but think that part of it was because you didn’t show up before the game. He’d even gotten in a fight with Tanev early in the second period. 

So, during the intermission between the second and third, you asked your team to lead you down to the tunnel and grab Nolan out of the dressing room. The Flyers were up 3-0 so you didn’t think it’s be a huge issue with Coach. 

He quietly exited the room, confused on why he got pulled out. A member of your team just gestured to you in your costume, which did little to clear up his confusion. You held your hand up in a fist for a fist bump, the first move in your handshake. When he still gave that bewildered look, you softly grabbed his gloved hand and pushed it against yours. When you lifted your hand up for a high five, he still needed some prompting. But when the down low high five came, you started to see the gears in his head turning. He gave a small chuckle and slowly worked through your handshake, ending with a pinky promise and a kiss to your respective thumbs. When you’ve finished, he just gives you that small side smile and shakes his head, with a chuckle. 

You can hear the boys getting hyped up in the dressing room, and then the buzzer goes, so you break away from Nolan, but stay in the tunnel. As the boys single-file pass you, you give them each a boop on the head, with some extra love given to Nolan. 

That third period, Nolan seems to have his “umph” back. An assist and a goal, and he celebrated both by glancing up to you, celebrating as per usual with the fans, especially after his goal. 

After the game, you go and have your own shower, all sweaty after the 5-0 Pennsylvania battle. You took your time, knowing you’d have to have a semi-serious conversation with Nolan. But when you join him in the tunnel, he’s all smiles. He wraps you in a hug, spinning you around, before setting you on the ground and nuzzling into your neck. You run your fingers through his own freshly washed hair. The two of you stand there for a bit before he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. 

“Like another person, eh?” You smiled and tucked your head into his chest. 

“Oh shut up, I don’t even know if you’re allowed to know.” A hearty laugh escaped him.

“Secret’s safe with me, babe,” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head as you started to make your way out of the arena. “Fuckin’ Gritty, I can’t believe it. I thought you were ignoring me,”

“I’m sorry, Nols. It’s just a lot to take in. Didn’t want to scare you off,”

“Well, I’m sticking around if that’s alright with you.” You looked up at him, and his cheeks started to redden, and not just from the game.

“Yeah. That’s alright with me,” You leaned into the crook of his shoulder, glad you didn’t have to hide any part of yourself from Nolan anymore. 

Bonus: “Did you ever actually punch a kid?”

“Oh my gosh, I’m not answering that,”

“It’s a valid question babe! I’m not going to stop you, I just wanna know,”

feel free to let me know what you think! thanks for reading

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track fourteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

“Today’s lecture is on end of life. Death. Passing. However you want to refer to it, it’s about the process of a human being who was here, not being here anymore. And it’s particularly about your role in helping them go peacefully.”

Indy swallowed hard. 

The wound was still fresh. It didn’t matter that it was May. Bekah’s funeral could have been just yesterday. She could see the wood grain of the podium she’d delivered the eulogy at in front of her if she closed her eyes for a few seconds too long. 

Instead, she looked forward, found her professor in the front of the lecture hall. Dr. Ginn. A quirky woman, who seemed determined to live up to Indy’s first impression as she climbed onto her desk and sat with her clicker in her hand, legs criss-cross. 

“Now. Doctors and death, they don’t mix. If I had to guess, a doctor’s worst fear is death. They spend their whole lives fighting it. But nurses? We’re different.”

Indy liked the sound of we.

“For us, the priorities shift. As nurses, your job is just as much to push epi as it is to hold someone’s hand. And you are the one that makes that call. You are the last comfort that a lot of people have in their lives. You are the backbone for the family, for the friends who are there to say goodbye. And you are there to make sure your patient goes as peacefully as they can. That is the most important part of your job, hands down. And if that’s not something you can see yourself doing, then you need to rethink and probably change your career.”

The hall was silent apart from the clicking of laptop keys.

“Now. On that lovely note, let’s get started. A code blue, or as I call it, an ‘oh shit’...” 

A message notification appeared on the right corner of Indy’s screen as she opened her notes.

Coffee after class?

Indy smiled, and in lieu of listening for a moment, she let her mind wander back to February...

Grayson was really trying. But it was hard to break habits that he’d been so comfortable with since the first day that he met Indiana. It took so much mental effort to not hold her hand, to not brush her hair behind her ear - so much that Indy nudged him in the side as they walked.

“Where’d you go?”

“Sorry, just thinking.”

She had a good guess of what he was thinking about, or more specifically what he was waiting for.

An answer.

Indy could hear Nicole in her mind, telling her to be careful, to be careful with her heart. She thought of what her mother would say if she met Grayson as she walked beside him on the sidewalk. It kept her mind busy until they got to the familiar door that Grayson pulled open for her. If nothing else made sense, at least there was always Jet’s, with it’s comforting constant vanilla smell and that favorite blue chair that Indy beelined for while Gray went to the counter. 

Patrick looked ready to commit murder when he realized who was ordering, but Indy shot him a smile from across the store that softened him up just enough for Grayson to make it out with their coffees unscathed. 

“So he definitely hates my guts,” Gray mumbled as he sat down, making sure his back was to the bar. 

“He’s a protective one, you know this,” Indy teased as she sipped her coffee. 

“How soon did you start working here again after… after I left.”

“I gave myself a couple days. I definitely wasn’t at my peak on my first day if that’s what you’re asking.” She let out a dry chuckle. 

“Did you start here or the hospital first?”

“Same time. The tech job kinda fell in my lap, and I needed the money for rent. I only really came back here so I could afford therapy. They have a benefits package for all their employees.”

Grayson froze, but his cup quivered in his hand as he shook.

“I… because of…”

“No, no no, not because of you. I mean, I did talk about the stuff going on with her cause we’ve been having sessions but I was planning on going since graduation. I wanted to get a handle on the whole flying thing.”

The reason went unspoken, and Grayson’s hands didn’t stop shaking, though his breathing came a bit easier. 

“Is it going okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, haven’t really been on a plane to test anything out. But I did better than I thought I would when you were flying out, considering. So that’s a good sign. And my therapist is really nice, we’re a pretty good match.” 

“Good. That’s good.” It wasn’t lost on him what it meant that she still cared that he was on a plane. Hope riled in his belly and he beat it back down as best he could. 

There was a lull that was filled with the sounds of coffee beans grinding until Indy spoke up again.

“What have you been up to out in LA?”

Grayson swallowed. He looked at her quickly, her soft smile that made him feel like he could tell her anything, no matter how embarrassing it was.

“Honestly? I did fuck all. I mean, I did the basics I guess, with the companies and stuff. But I kinda let the misery have me. You did a hell of a lot better than me, that’s for damn sure.”

“I wasn’t doing great, believe me.”

“But at least you were trying,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “And I caused all this, I didn’t really have an excuse.”

“It’s in the past now. Nothing we can do to change it.”

“For the record, I wish I could. More than anything.”

“I know.”

“I really am sorry Dee. I know it’s not enough, but I am.”

“I know that too.”

The next beat of silence was painful, and it took a moment for Grayson to realize that it was now or never. 

“Remember how bad our first date went? How I had that whole plan that just totally didn’t work?”

“The thunderstorm. I remember.” It made her smile, and she could picture every frame of it, from the ocean hallway to the remnants of apple juice on his lips.

“And I told you I was gonna save the real date for later.”

Indy nodded.

“Could we… can I do it now? Can I take you on a date?”

The thought brought butterflies to Indy’s stomach, but she blamed it on the coffee.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll show you. Technically Jet’s was first on the list anyways, but the next part is a surprise.”

With that, she stood up and followed him out into the street.

They started their walk separate, but it only took a moment for Indy to grab onto Grayson’s hand. He told himself it was out of necessity so they didn’t get split up in a feeble attempt to keep his hopes from getting away from him. Still, his stomach fluttered high above the pavement as they enjoyed the setting sun and willfully ignored the chill of the wind whipping around the buildings of the city. Eventually, his plan unfolded when they reached the entrance of the Highline. It was one of Indy’s favorite places in the city, but she knew she’d never told Grayson that. He just knew her well enough it seemed. 

They walked in peaceful silence for a while, hands squeezed tight against one another’s despite the lull in the foot traffic.

Indy smiled at their luck when they finally found an empty bench with a nice view of the skyline. She tugged Grayson over to it and kept her eyes forward for a moment before she looked over at him. His eyes were on the sky, skin flushed pink from the pigment on the clouds or the chill of the wind, she couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. He was beautiful, and he was hers if she wanted him.

Across the walkway, a young girl walked with her mom, who had a baby carrier strapped to her chest with a head of fuzzy hair just visible within it. The mom was rushing it seemed, and Indy realized the baby was crying loudly, sharp wails that became more audible as they passed by. The girl was dragging a small lion stuffed animal behind her, and Grayson watched as it slipped out of her hands and onto the concrete. 

“Joey! Momma, momma I dropped Joey! Joey!” The girl cried out, but her mom continued to tug her along as she reached back for her lion. 

Grayson was on his feet before Indy could say a word, jogging by and scooping up the small stuffed animal. He politely tapped the mother on the shoulder to get her to stop, then squatted down to the girl.

“Is this Joey?”

She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears as she held her hand out for her toy. He passed it over slowly with a smile.

“Hold on tight to him okay?”

“Okay mister,” she said, voice high and quiet.

And right then, Indy saw everything she ever wanted. She saw her kids, with Grayson’s hair and Grayson’s eyes and Grayson’s laugh, she could see him carrying them up to bed, see him dancing with a little girl standing on his toes in their kitchen somewhere, see him passing her a little stuffed animal. She could see him in every facet of the future she hadn’t let herself imagine since he’d left, but her fantasies came rushing back so fast it felt like she was floating.

As if she could ever want anyone else.

She reached over for his hand as he walked back over, intertwining their fingers and letting him sit down before she finally spoke.

“I love this city. I love this city so much. It’s always been all I really needed.” 

Grayson felt lightheaded as he prepared himself for what she was going to say. 

“I know,” was all he could say.

Indy took a deep breath and turned towards Grayson with a soft smile. She could see the apprehension in his eyes as he waited for her to say something else.

“Did I tell you that Devin came to see me while you were gone?”

He shook his head. 

“He came to check on me, since I wasn’t answering anyone.”

Grayson’s throat was tight as he pictured it in his head, the guilt overwhelming him. He reached over and squeezed her knee - a silent apology. 

“He helped me figure out that I want to go into nursing, helped me get my head on straight.”

“He’s a smart guy,” Grayson said quietly. 

“He told me I need to go for what I want. ‘Ask yourself what you really want the rest of your life to look like, and then do whatever you have to to get there’. That’s what he said. And I thought that’s what I was doing. I was going after a PhD, and my life in New York, and all these things I always wanted. Things I thought were really important. But they aren’t.”

He frowned. “Dee, your dreams are important.” 

“I know, I know, and I’m not saying I’m giving up on that. I just mean my priorities I guess. I had them twisted, and I was missing the most important thing.” 

She smiled his favorite smile as he tried to swallow.

He couldn’t make himself ask, just in case he was wrong, but she put him out of his misery after a moment.

“You. You’re the most important thing.” 

She was suddenly blurry as his eyes filled with tears.

“I’ve never been good at change, but you’re worth it to me. If being with you means spending less time in New York, then it’s worth it. And I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like you weren’t.” She was crying too, and Grayson lifted his free hand to her cheek, wiping each tear with his thumb.

“Never. You never made me feel like that. I was the one that ran, because I never wanted you to feel like you ever had to give up anything for me.” 

“Because you don’t realize that you’re worth giving things up for. You don’t realize how worth loving you are.”

He was fully crying now, a broken laugh making it’s way past his lips.

“Does that mean you still love me?”

She smiled.

“Never stopped.”

And she kissed him, and all was right in the world again for a moment. It didn’t matter that there were people walking by, and that their cheeks were wet from their tears. They were kissing and that meant that everything would be okay.

Any stranger that walked by surely had to feel the relief in the air when they pulled back and realized they could lean right back in without a single care in the world. He let go of her hand only to move it to her other cheek, to hold her steady there cradled in his palms as she kissed him between smiles - his whole world in his hands.

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to love her loud. 

He pulled back just enough to bring her up to her feet and then his arms were wrapped around her waist, spinning her around until she was breathless and the city was a blur behind both their eyes. And for the first time that he could remember in too many years to count, he didn’t care who could hear him, and he didn’t care who was watching. 

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I missed you.”

Being back in each other’s arms was as easy as breathing. She didn’t stray an inch from his side, soaking in the warmth of his body next to hers as they made their way down from the highline as the city started to light up. By the time they made it home her toes were numb from the cold but her cheeks were still warm, seeing that every time they had to wait for a crosswalk Grayson ducked down to kiss her again.

When they got to the lobby, Grayson squeezed her hand.

“I gotta get something out of the truck, I’ll be right back.”

“You want me to wait here or head on up?”

He pondered it for a minute.

“Wait for me.”

She nodded. She always waited for him, after all. 

He disappeared out of the glass doors at a jog and Indy heard a chuckle from the side of the lobby. She looked over to see the receptionist smiling down at her computer. Indy prided herself on being a very low maintenance tenant, but she still smiled and waved to the woman behind the counter whenever she passed by. Her name tag read Cara in neat white letters. 

“Sorry if we were loud,” Indy said sheepishly. Cara laughed. 

“Just happy to see you smiling that’s all. I’m glad he’s back.”

Indy blushed bright red before she answered. “Yeah. Me too.”

Grayson was slightly winded when he came back, and he was grateful for the long elevator ride as he held the small gift bag in his hand. Indy pretended she didn’t see it like her mom had always taught her to when she received a gift. Still, her eyes flickered to it each time she knew she could get away with it, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

When they finally got inside the apartment he led her over to the living room by the hand and passed her the bag.

“I didn’t know how today was going to go, but I wanted you to have this either way. Figured you could put it on your shelf. When you’re ready.”

Indy pulled the tissue paper out and saw the rose gold edge of a picture frame. She pulled it out and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh.”

Bekah was smiling. 

It warmed the whole image in a way that had Indy’s eyes burning as she tried to place the day. She was curled up on the bed next to Beks, but she wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, she was looking at the girl beside her. Her little sister in a way, who was tucked away under her halloween blanket. 

“That’s the night we had the word search tournament, and you both schooled me,” Grayson explained quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist and squeezing at her hip under her sweatshirt. She remembered then, noticed the activity book in the corner of the picture. 

“I didn’t even know you took this.”

“I know you like pictures, I meant to take more of you guys. But I like her smile in this one. Yours too.”

Indy sniffled and leaned her head back onto Grayson’s shoulder. “You’ve made me cry twice now you know.”

He kissed her temple and moved a hand to her forearm.

S-O-R-R-Y

He drew a heart afterwards, and even invisible on her skin she could tell it was lopsided. It made her smile, and she soaked in the feeling of him next to her for a moment before she spun around to kiss him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips before pulling him in for a tight hug that had her up on her tiptoes when he wrapped her up. They held each other for a moment before Indy got an idea.

“I have something for you too. Wait here.”

Grayson kept his hands on her waist, thumbs rubbing over her skin underneath her sweatshirt. 

“Stay,” he pouted.

“It’ll just take a second, I promise. Just wait here.”

She kissed him quickly just because she could and disappeared into the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her. 

He lasted about 45 seconds before he was picking at his fingernails. Then he was taking a few steps towards the door, fighting the urge to stick his ear up to it to see if he could get a hint at what she was doing. 

Another minute passed, and he felt like he was going to lose it.

“Indyyyy,” he whined. “You’re killin’ me babe.”

“You’re so dramatic oh my god it’s been like a minute tops.”

“One minute too long,” he teased just in hopes of making her laugh. It warmed his heart to hear it, even muffled through the door. It still felt like an eternity before she finally reappeared with her hands behind her back. 

“You know, you didn’t need to get me anything. Having you back is more than I deserve already.”

Indy’s laugh was louder this time since she was right in front of him.

“Who knew a Jersey boy could be so damn sappy,” she teased. “I don’t have a frame or anything, but here.”

She pulled out a piece of paper and passed it to him quickly, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet while she waited for him to read it. It felt like an eternity while she watched his eyes scan over the letters, seemingly missing the UCLA logo in the top corner.

“Did you… are you reading? Did you see it?”

Grayson looked up with a smile and drew a circle in the air around his face.

“Dyslexic,” he reminded her gently.

She bit her lip and tried her hardest to be patient, waiting until his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Wait… wait. What is this? UCLA? Nursing?” He looked up at her cautiously, trying to keep his excitement in check in case he’d misread. “What is this?”

“Well. There’s a lot of good nursing programs out there. And LA has some top notch hospitals too. Especially pediatric ones. Figured it couldn’t hurt to apply, and they’ve got a pretty good tuition coverage package, it’s close to your house, and-”

Grayson’s lips were on hers, his excitement palpable.

She kissed him back with a smile, relieved to finally tell someone about the grand plan she’d made in her head now that all the pieces had come together. 

“You’re sure?”

Indiana smiled. “You’re worth it. You’re what I want, forever.”

He kissed her again, making up for lost time and telling her everything he couldn’t find the words for. They walked backwards until the back of his legs hit the couch and she ended up crawling onto his lap, beaming down at him when they finally broke apart.

“You’re actually coming to LA. We’re gonna live there.”

“Guess I gotta start apartment shopping,” she mused.

Grayson rolled his eyes. “Shut up and c’mere.” 

He bailed them to the side until Indy was fully on top of him.

“I’ll build you a shelf for our bedroom. Fuck, I’ll build you 50 shelves as soon as we get there. Wait when do classes start, when do you have to move?”

“You’re cute when you’re excited,” she hummed, leaning down to kiss him again. It was slow and purposeful, warm in that familiar way as they remembered each other fully. “We’ll figure it all out,” Indy said eventually, scooting down his torso until her head could rest comfortably on his chest. She listened to his heart beat, a bit fast from either her presence or the coffee, she couldn’t tell. Either way, it was still her favorite sound, and as his hand moved through her hair gently, she knew she’d made the right choice, no matter where it took her. 

3 months later, the place it took her was the passenger seat of Grayson’s brand new tesla, which was delightfully cool despite the warmth of the incoming summer making the LA air dry and warm. Grayson held out a hand for her to pass her backpack, tossing it into the backseat as if it wasn’t weighed down with three textbooks. She pulled the door closed behind her and let her head rest back against the seat for a moment before she turned to him.

“Hi.”

He beamed, leaning over the console to give her a quick kiss. “Hey. Good day?”

“Long day, but yeah, it was fine. Got a shit ton of assignments per usual.”

“Hey, three day weekend next week though, and we’re going to New York. What’d you learn?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Meds, codes, diseases, death. Truly uplifting stuff.”

He reached his hand over to her thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb as his other hand moved the wheel effortlessly, pulling back out onto the road.

“Still want coffee? You didn’t answer.”

“Do I ever say no to coffee?”

“Fair points. Text E squared and see if they want anything.”

“They weren’t home?”

“No, they ran to the store, but they should be back by the time we get there.”

“If Eden went to Target without me I’m gonna be pissed,” Indy mumbled halfheartedly, typing out the text in their group chat quickly. “You know she’s gonna say she wants Jet’s.”

“Believe me I know, just ask Ethan. You’ve created a monster. We’ve gotta start asking Patrick to send beans in bulk or something, we go through them so fast now that she drinks it too.”

Indy just laughed and turned up the radio, unsurprised to hear Cudi from Grayson’s playlist he’d made for their car rides. It was routine now for him to pick her up from class, save her from the hassle of trying to find parking on campus. And it gave them some more alone time considering they lived with Ethan and Eden at the house. So, it wasn’t abnormal for Grayson to happily add 20 minutes to the drive to pick up coffee on the way home. Purdy’s was right down the street after all, and though their lattes weren’t quite as perfect as Jet’s, they held their own. 

“We should buy Patrick some fancy beans somewhere and take them with us next weekend,” Grayson mused. 

“You’re such a suck up, it’s not like he’s giving us free coffee,” Indy laughed. “You’re just still scared of him.”

“Fuck yeah I am! Every time we’ve gone home he looks like he wants to straight up murder me.”

She reached over to hold his cheek for a moment as she bit back her laugh.

“Baby. Patrick can barely lift a 50 pound box of syrup. Believe it or not, I think you could take him.”

He rolled his eyes but the comment wasn’t lost on his ego, especially when his girl leaned over to wrap her arm around his bicep and rest her cheek on it, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin left behind by his tank top. They ordered through the drive thru, surprised when neither Eden or Ethan responded to them. The car was peaceful, even more so when Grayson put it on autopilot and gave Indy more of his attention, trying to ease the stress he could feel coming off of her like it always did when she got out of class. 

“Tell me about your lecture,” he said, hoping talking it through would help her.

She sipped on her coffee as she spoke, starting without many details but eventually going more in depth as she got more excited. It was one of Grayson’s favorite parts of listening to her talk about the things she cared about, and even though half of the information went right over his head he listened intently anyways, tried to take it all in as the car drove them home.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Indy’s coffee was gone along with her stress, and Grayson knew all the steps to running a code blue. He hopped out first, grabbing her bag from the backseat and slinging it over his shoulder as they headed to the front door.

The first sign that something was different was the quiet of the house. Any other time that E squared was left alone, Grayson and Indy would come back to the speakers blaring, a scary movie on the living room TV, or the distant sound of a headboard knocking against the wall. 

But it was dead silent, and the pair looked at each other before they scanned the room. 

“They’re up to something,” Indy muttered, peaking around the wall to make sure Ethan wasn’t going to scare them. 

“For sure. Something is off with Ethan, just don’t know what it is.”

“Oh, you got a feeling huh?” Indy teased, bumping him with her elbow. He took her waist in his hands and pulled her back against him, making her laugh as he tickled her and buried his face in her neck. He never got tired of having her so close - it was just as intoxicating as the first time. 

“Sorry you don’t understand the twin connection.” 

“Well, use your psychic powers to figure out where the fuck they are then.”

He closed his eyes for dramatic effect, smiling when it got the laugh he wanted out of her. Just as he lifted his fingers to his temple, a bang sounded from the backdoor, making Indy squeal and cling onto Grayson. He went to move her behind him until he saw the culprit - a tennis ball bouncing away across the yard.

“You’re okay, it’s just E,” Grayson breathed, relaxing and moving towards the door to find where his brother was hiding. They walked into the backyard hand in hand, following the sound of music coming from the pool, which was finally finished in the back corner of the property. 

Ethan was at the entrance, his biggest smile on his face as he waited for them to get closer. Impatient as ever, he started walking towards them, meeting them halfway across the grass. 

“Took you guys long enough to get home. We bought new stuff for the pool, come look at it.”

“E, bro, I told you not to buy random shit on your own,” Grayson grumbled, obviously weary of his brother’s interior design skills.

“Eden was with him,” Indy reminded him at a whisper.

“Just come on,” Ethan said, grabbing onto his brother’s hand and starting to drag him towards the pool.

“Jesus bro, calm down.”

Ethan ignored him, looking to make sure Grayson was bringing Indy along too until they made it around the corner where the small pool was in view.

“Surprise!” Ethan beamed, holding his hand out towards the water. Beside it on the concrete were some new additions.

Four loungers, a beautiful teal color with rounded contour that looked perfect for tanning. In fact, Eden was on one of them sprawled out in her bathing suit, and she looked so comfortable that Indy barely noticed the miniature fifth chair next to her at the end of the line up. 

Brain fried from class, it took Indy a moment to piece it together.

5 chairs. 4 people. One smaller than the rest.

“No way,” she gasped, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Eden no way!”

Indy was already moving towards her best friend before she could get to her feet, ignoring Grayson’s confused calls of “what? huh?” from behind her.

“Yes way,” Eden sniffled, a nervous laugh coming through as she put a hand over her stomach.

“How far along? When did you find out?”

“A couple days ago, we went to the doctor to find out for sure this morning. She said we’re about 7 weeks.”

Indy pulled her in for a hug. 

“Wait. Wait.” Grayson was yelling now, catching on with no doubt a few hints from Ethan. “Holy fuck. Holy fuck, you’re pregnant?! She’s PREGNANT?!” He grabbed his brother’s face with both hands and shook him just barely. 

“I’m gonna be a fucking dad,” Ethan said, and Indy melted when she realized he was about to cry.

“You’re gonna be a fucking dad,” Grayson repeated, shaking him twice more before he pulled him in for the tightest hug Indy had ever seen them share. The girls watched them for a moment before Indy turned her attention back to Eden.

“How are you feeling with all this?”

“Well I’ve just started having morning sickness, my appetite has been super weird, vegan cheese makes me want to straight up die…”

“Right right, but I mean like… mentally. You okay? This is a big change.”

Even just standing there, the boy's excitement was slightly overwhelming, especially with Grayson literally running around yelling about being an uncle. She was sure that Ethan had been excited from the moment of a positive test.

“A very big change that we weren’t really expecting,” Eden said quietly, looking down at her manicured toes. 

“How are you feeling about it?” Indy asked again, reaching out to hold her hand. Eden squeezed tightly.

“Honestly? I’m fucking terrified,” she admitted. “And Ethan’s been great, it’s not that, it’s just… there’s a human in me. Right now. Just chillin’ in there.”

“Yep, there do be a human in there,” Indy laughed at her bluntness. “What are you scared about?”

“Everything. I’m afraid I’m gonna do something that’s gonna hurt them. I don’t know shit about pregnancy, like real pregnancy, and don’t even get me started on trying to push this thing out of me.”

“We’ve got a while to figure all that out. And you aren’t going to do anything that’s going to hurt them. You’re a good mom.”

“Jesus, a mom. Ethan keeps saying that but it sounds different coming from a woman. A fucking mom. You’re gonna have to teach me all the medical stuff… wait actually no I don’t think I even want to know what’s going on in there. I’ll just focus on figuring out how the fuck I’m gonna be a mom.”

“You’ll be great. And you’ll have Ethan too. Those two were pretty much born to be dads,” Indy said. They turned and looked to see Grayson hauling Ethan up to sit on his shoulders before running what she assumed was a victory lap around the backyard.

“Yeah… remind me of that for the next nine months. Regularly.” 

They both started laughing and pulled in for another hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” Indy sighed with the warmest smile, images of baby showers and Eden’s bump and the office as a nursery already spinning through her mind. 

“Love you aunt… Indiana? Indy?”

Indy scrunched her nose. “We’ll have to work on that one,” she teased, taking her hand and leading her over to their boys, who were still somehow yelling.

They both came running, but Grayson was faster, scooping Eden up and spinning her around so fast that Ethan was immediately scolding him, urging him to be careful.

“She’s not that delicate bub, it’s okay,” Indy reassured him, getting up on her tiptoes to give Ethan a hug. He squeezed her tight and whispered in her ear.

“She okay? You guys are the first ones we’ve told.”

“Just a little scared, like all pregnant people are. Totally normal.”

“Good. I’m glad you know, she’s been dying to tell a girl. Only so much I can do.”

She leaned back with a smile. “You’re doing great already.” 

Those words meant more to Ethan than she would ever know, but all he could do was smile and head back over to Eden, a hand across her tummy when she leaned up against his side. 

“We’re gonna tell Li when we’re all home next weekend, but Eden’s parents are coming over for dinner in a little while and we’re gonna tell them now so we can do it in person,” Ethan explained, pressing a kiss to Eden’s hair. 

“We’ll make ourselves scarce for the evening,” Indy offered, sensing the nerves already rising for Eden. She’d have enough of an audience. 

“Okay but first we gotta get a picture of everybody, we’re gonna make an album of telling everybody.” Ethan was already moving as he spoke, setting his phone up on the patio table with the timer on. They all posed with Ethan pointing excitedly to Eden’s non-existent bump before they all headed back inside, still buzzing with excitement. 

Grayson stayed particularly close as they gathered around the island, his hand resting on Indy’s hip as they all settled after a few moments. They all helped to straighten up the house in preparation for Eden’s family’s arrival, and Grayson appeared behind Indiana with a smile as she placed a blanket over the back of the couch.

“Date night?”

Indy had lost count of how many dates they’d been on, but those words never failed to make her stomach swirl.

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I know you said you have homework so… Monty’s, secret beach… with flashcards?”

“You truly know the way to my heart.” She kissed him softly and followed him to their room to change into beach clothes. As she sifted through the drawers, she couldn’t help but look at the shelf. It was bigger than the one she’d had in New York, more sturdy with thicker wood and longer, able to hold more frames. 

That was a good thing, because there had been some new additions. The picture of Nicole, the baby picture of her and Charlie, and the engagement picture with them and Devin all stood tall beside each other. Down the line came the picture of Indy and Grayson at her graduation, the one where he was dipping her back slightly and wearing her cap. Then was Bekah in her hospital bed - it still made Indy’s chest tight when she looked at it. There were two new ones since then - one of the four of them taken by Lisa in front of their tiny homes, and another of all of them at thanksgiving that they’d finally gotten printed.

“We need to get that picture we just took from Ethan, I wanna put it on the shelf.”

“I’m gonna have to build you another shelf,” he teased as he pulled his swim trunks up.

“Think you’ll probably be building stuff for the nursery first.”

“Shut up, do you really think they’ll let me?” His eyes lit up and Indy laughed as she pulled her New York sweatshirt down over her bikini top.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s gonna be so much fun! What all do you need in a nursery though? I mean a crib, obviously. A dresser? Do you need a dresser for baby clothes or can you just stack them up cause they’re so tiny?”

“We can talk about it while we drive,” Indy redirected him, taking his hand and leading him out of their room, down the hall and out to the car before he could bombard the other couple of the house with questions. 

The excitement was palpable for the whole drive, buzzing within the cab as they made their way to Monty’s, ordered their vegan burgers and raspberry lemonades and snuck away to their secret place on the beach. 

Considering it was a Wednesday evening, they didn’t expect it to be busy, but they were particularly excited to see that it was completely empty apart from a few stray crabs that went scurrying away at the sound of their footsteps. 

Grayson set out the blanket that was always in the back of the tesla for trips like this and Indy set down their bags and drinks, getting everything settled so they could simply sit down and enjoy their meal.

It was peaceful, calm as the ocean lapped up against the sand gently and they filled their tummies. Grayson was done before Indy, per usual, and he basked in the last remnants of the sun while she finished her fries.

“Wanna swim?” Indy asked.

“Thought we were supposed to wait 30 minutes.”

“That’s a myth,” she teased, standing up to her feet and helping him to his. They walked down to the water quickly, gasping a bit at the cold of the water. Still, there was nothing that compared to the feeling of being in the waves, and Indy braved it. Grayson had every muscle tensed against the cold, but he’d follow her anywhere. Soon enough they were up to shoulder height water, kicking gently to get over the waves when they needed to, arms wrapped around each other to keep warm.

“I can’t believe they’re gonna have a kid. Were gonna be Aunt Dee and Uncle Grayson. What the fuck,” Grayson murmured, half distracted by the way the orange of the sky was starting to reflect off of Indy’s eyes. 

“It’s gonna be so much fun to have a little one around. They’re gonna be such good parents.”

“You know who would be even better parents? Us,” he beamed. He looked so beautiful when he smiled, and Indy ran her thumb along his jaw.

“Let me finish school and find a job before you go putting a baby in me,” Indy laughed, but her heart warmed at the thought. She remembered the little girl on the highline, and she wanted it for the two of them.

“You’re done in like a year and a half.”

“Correct,” Indy confirmed it. 

“I always thought I’d be married before I had a kid,” Grayson said, trying to bite back his excitement. 

She wasn’t sure if it was the bliss of the water around them, or the steadiness of his arms, or the fact that she always felt like she was home when she was with him, but in that moment, she knew.

“Okay. Then let’s get married.”

“Are you serious? You aren’t fucking with me? You really wanna get married?”

“Did I ever give you the impression that I didn’t want to marry you someday?” She teased.

Grayson could only laugh, and look up towards the skies and thank whatever angels were listening and watching for all that he’d been given.

He was pretty sure he knew at least three that were there with him. 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much. Don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Indy kissed him. The feeling was mutual in the most effortless way, and there was a sense of peace that she wasn’t used to in that moment, knowing that everything would somehow work itself out and she would have him with her for the rest of her life. 

And for once, the timeline of her life wasn’t her priority anymore. She didn’t care what date she’d finish school, or when she’d get her job. And she didn’t care when he would propose, or when they’d find out they were having a child of their own. Because in all those moments, whenever they happened, he would be there, and that was all that really mattered at the end of the day. 

They kissed slow, quiet for a while, and as the sun dipped below the horizon Grayson carried her back out onto the sand. They wrapped themselves up in the same towel and found each other’s lips again, warm and familiar and safe as they lost themselves within one another over and over again. 

Her lips were chapped by the time they pulled away, both giddy at the realizations that they’d always know finally being said out loud. 

“How much homework do you have?” 

“Just studying, I can do it in the morning. What’s the plan?” She knew he wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t something he wanted to do.

“I’ll show you. Just trust me.”

“Okay,” she answered without a second thought. 

Twenty minutes later, with salty hair and big smiles, they pulled up to a tattoo parlor. 

“I thought you got all yours from Alexis now?” 

“Gotta get this one tonight. Special day.” 

Indy looked at the neon signs, and the artwork on the walls through the window. She pondered it for a minute, and something in her told her to go for it.

“I think I’m gonna get one too.”

Grayson perked up at that. “Really?” He knew every inch of her body, knew it would be her first one.

“Something small. Something for Beks.”

He smiled and kissed her temple before he got out to open her door.

Indy went first. A small lightning bolt, like the one on Bekah’s headscarf. And, the thunderstorm of their first date in the city. She got it tucked away behind her ear, in the same place of Grayson’s triple threes. His angel number, and her reminder of both of hers. It didn’t hurt as badly as she thought it would, but Grayson sat beside her anyways, rubbed soothing circles on the back of her hand while he held it.

D-O-I-N-G G-O-O-D he wrote. 

“Thanks,” she smiled softly. “Bet you won’t even flinch during yours.”

“That's the idea. You can study while I get mine, I want it to be a surprise.”

Hers only took a few minutes, and her lecture material was at the back of her mind once the artist cleaned her up and moved over the Grayson. He grabbed his wallet from her backpack where he’d stowed it and Indy took a seat in one of the chairs in the lobby, occasionally turning her head towards the mirror so she could see her new ink. 

Across the shop, Grayson took his shirt off. 

“You can pull the letters from these, and I want it right here.” He passed over the stack of flashcards he’d snagged, sure that they’d be able to find what they needed. 

“Bitch of a spot,” the artist said quietly as he prepped over his ribs, but he just laughed. From the view of Grayson’s covered legs, he wasn’t sure there was any spot too painful for him. 

“She’s worth it,” Grayson said, closing his eyes and waiting. The sting of the needle was familiar, and it did hurt as he moved over each bone. But when he looked in the mirror, it was all worth it. He didn’t even bother putting his shirt on as he paid the artist in cash, including a big tip, and headed out to the lobby. 

Indy was sifting through her bag. 

“Looking for these?” Grayson held up a small stack of flashcards with a devious grin. “Sorry, had to borrow them for my tat.”

Indy’s brows furrowed, and she stood up, moving closer as he lifted his arm and showed her his ribcage.

In small handwriting, her handwriting, was the word ‘forever’.

“Right where you always trace it.”

To her surprise, her eyes started to burn.

“Gray…” She knew how important his tattoos were to him, what each and every one of them meant. 

“Consider it a promise. I’m with you. Forever.”

He ducked down to kiss her, and she smiled against him, hand resting on his torso right below his promise.

She liked the sound of forever.

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

------------------------------------

On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear. 

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there. 

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself. 

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games. 

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...” 

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line … WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”  

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work." 

--------------

It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church. 

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family. 

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee. 

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road. 

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat. 

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it. 

She was also deadly serious. 

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.’ And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

---------------------

Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations. 

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep. 

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes. 

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair. 

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking. 

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either." 

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

-------------------

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs. 

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides. 

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill. 

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?" 

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?" 

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk. 

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?" 

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone;  the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!". 

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that. 

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away," 

He regretted it as soon as it came out. 

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip. 

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything? 

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

---------------------------

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way. 

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too. 

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion. 

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from. 

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

---------------------------------

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[angst-fairygodmother]

“Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?” with diego alsooooo i love youuuuu

A/N: Thank you for choosing Fic Flash Pass (happy much-belated birthday). I would like to express through the following series of emojis how excited I am to finally write a fic for you: 😁💙💙🎉🎈😁 Word Count: 2517

Being close friends with Diego Hargreeves meant putting up with a lot of weird shit over the years. It meant late nights where he showed up injured or exhausted and needing your help. It meant occasional knives flying past your head when you startled him. It meant his paranoia and lectures about how it wasn’t safe to walk home alone at night, even though he had taken the time to teach you self-defense early on in your friendship. For a while it meant repeated “just for one night” instances of his strung-out brother sleeping on your couch (because he was refusing treatment, and even though he wouldn’t admit it Diego cared enough about him to want to make sure he’d be okay). And you put up with all of it, without complaint, because Diego was worth it. 

You thought at this point that nothing he asked of you could surprise you anymore. And then he asked you to attend his sister’s wedding. Or really, practically begged you to be his date.

You were pulling a bullet out of his shoulder, lecturing him about how he was taking too many unnecessary risks, and if he was going to keep going after bad guys then he needed to start wearing better protective gear and he was damn lucky that his knife-harness was there to mitigate the wound. 

“Allison’s getting married,” he blurted out, cutting you off before you could start in on the second, familiar branch of your lecture (that he should really be getting his wounds treated by someone with actual medical expertise, not just a little first aid training). 

“Oh,” you said, not quite a question but also not quite not. You weren’t sure what he wanted you to do with that information.

“I have to go to the wedding,” he continued stiffly. 

“That makes sense. She is your sister.” You raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t asking me to muck up this bullet removal so you have an excuse not to, are you?”

You were loath to admit that if that was indeed what he was asking, you might just do it. There wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do if he asked, and after all this time you knew how to do it in a way that wouldn’t actually cause him worse harm. 

“I can’t go alone!” His eyes were wide and frightened, as if attending Allison’s wedding was a fate less than death that he had been asked to undertake. You couldn’t help but laugh at the expression. 

“I’m sure you can find a date, handsome guy like you. And Patch is still a friend, so she’d go. If only out of pity.” You smiled teasingly. 

“Will you…” he mumbled. “W-w-will you go with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Part of you questioned if you heard him correctly. But if anything, his stutter made it more sure than less. He only stuttered when something was really emotional for him, when his mind was fighting itself. But you didn’t understand why (or maybe you did and just didn’t want to admit it). 

“If you still want me to after the next five minutes,” you said, trying to calm your racing heart by collecting the supplies for the next part of his care. “Then I would be happy to go to your sister’s wedding with you, Diego. What else are friends for?”

“Why wouldn’t I--” his question was cut off with a shout of pain as you pressed a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the wound.

“Because of that,” you smirked, quickly cleaning the area and covering it over with gauze and binding.

~

The ballroom where the reception was held was beyond opulent: towering flower arrangements, crystal chandeliers and gleaming golden candelabras, and every spare inch draped in ivory silk. You could practically see yourself reflected in the polished surface of the floors. 

“Wow,” you breathed. “Your sister really spared no expense…”

Diego shrugged uncomfortably. “Allison’s always been a little dramatic,” he mumbled.

“It’s pretty,” you turned to smile at him. “Anyway, you should go mingle and at least say hello to her. I’m going to find our table.”

Diego followed you as you wandered off into the dining portion of the reception hall. When you raised a questioning eyebrow, he mumbled something about it making sense for him to know where the table was too, so he didn’t have to hunt later. You shrugged. 

After setting down your purse and shawl, you decided to mingle, maybe pick at a few of the hors d'oeuvres laid out on long, extravagant table displays. Once again, Diego trailed just behind you. You tried to ignore the oddity of the behavior as you picked up a shrimp puff and set it on one of the heavy little china plates. The fact that he wasn’t saying anything as he hovered annoyed you most of all. 

After the third conversation that you tried to have with other guests that ended in an awkward glance over your shoulder at a glowering Diego and a hasty retreat with a half-assed excuse, you decided you’d had enough. He hadn’t gone to offer his congratulations to Allison and Patrick. He hadn’t so much as looked around for his other siblings or anyone else he might know. He hadn’t eaten anything. He just...followed you. It was very odd behavior and it was getting on your last nerve.

Setting your empty dish down heavily on an empty table space, not even caring whose it was, you turned to him, arms folded over your chest.

“Alright, that’s it,” you snapped, not caring who might overhear. “What is going on with you?”

He frowned, puzzled and tried to deny that there was anything going on. 

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You have been looming and lurking and following me around like a lost puppy since we got here. Are you planning to stay glued to my side this whole evening?”

His frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again with an audible click. 

“Because if you are, the least you can do is dance with me.” You held out a hand. “It is a wedding after all.”

Hesitantly, he took your hand and let you lead him out onto the dance floor. He pulled you close to him, one hand in yours and the other wrapped around his waist. You placed your free one on his shoulder, his suit jacket soft and warm beneath your palm. You felt your face heat under his gaze, now focused down on you and you tried not to let it faze you, focusing on a slight crease in his lapel as if that would let you escape it. 

The two of you twirled across the floor, falling into easy step together, each surprised at the other’s dancing abilities. 

You licked your lips nervously. Something about being here like this with him was making you think about things you had pushed aside (namely the crush on him that you had developed and decided early on in your friendship wasn’t worth the risk of losing him in your life, fearing that you could never compare to his detective) and you wanted it to stop. But at the same time, for a moment everything was perfect, and you didn’t want to ruin it. 

“So…” you said eventually as the two of you slowed and the song changed. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hand shifted slightly, tugging you a little closer to him, your face practically pressed to his chest, as the next song began. As you danced and he avoided answering your question, you decided to find the answer on your own. You knew him well enough. 

There was a slight tremor in his hand which gripped yours a little tighter than necessary. His jaw is set tightly, twitching just enough for you to suspect he’s grinding his teeth together. His breath is a little short. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was...afraid?

“Seriously, Diego, are you alright?” you murmured, trying to catch his eye. 

He startled at the sound of your voice. “What?”

“You’re acting really strangely and you seem...upset. You haven’t spoken to your sister at all even though it’s her wedding.”

“I’m not upset. And I’ll talk to Allison later, she’s busy with all her other guests,” he argued, eyebrows knitting in a frown. 

“You’re not upset? Okay, then explain to me why you’re holding my hand so tightly you’ll be getting a bill from my physical therapist on Monday.”

He dropped your hand like it had burned him and stuttered out an apology. 

“Relax, it was a joke.” You frowned. “Let’s go out to the balcony. I feel like we both could use some air.” 

Without waiting for an answer you grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction of the double doors and the candle-lit, if slightly chilly, night. As soon as you passed out of the crowded room, you could feel the tension pour off of Diego and you breathed a sigh of relief. The pair of you moved to lean on the rail, shoulders just barely brushing. 

“I...don’t belong here,” he sighed. “I’m just going to screw something up.”

“What are you talking about Diego?”

He shook his head. “Allison has this grand life. Big movie star L.A. life, and if I talk to her I’ll...what would we even talk about? We haven’t seen each other in years. I haven’t seen any of them in years.”

“That’s not true, you saw Klaus six months ago,” you joked, not sure how else to comfort him. 

You knew what he was trying to say. He felt like Allison had moved on, and built a new life where her siblings were unwelcome, the invitation to her wedding a mere formality that for some reason all of them, save, thankfully, their father, had accepted. And on some level, you thought, he was probably right. 

“Is that why you were nervous to ask me to be your date? Not that I’m a date-date, but I can imagine why having a real date would make things weirder and that’s really not the point, anyway...Because you don’t think you should have come at all?” you asked.

He shrugged. 

“No,” you said, turning to face him and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “Please talk to me Diego. Maybe I can help?”

“How could you possibly help, Y/N?” he snapped, running his free hand through his short-cropped hair. 

“I don’t know! You’ve got me playing damn guessing games when I came to this wedding where all I know is you and the junkie in the corner talking to the air,” you gestured back through the doors at Klaus who was doing exactly that, “for you. Because I care about you, and I thought maybe you needed, maybe you wanted me here. So you tell me Diego. Or maybe I should just leave.”

“No!” his eyes widened at the threat. “Please don’t leave.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling tears well up in your eyes and praying that no one thought to glance outside to where the two of you were arguing. If there was a way to ruin a wedding it was the bride’s brother and his date having a screaming match. You had said your piece, so now you watched him expectantly, waiting for him. 

He sighed deeply and turned away from you, eyes seeming to focus on a point off in the gardens below somewhere. 

“I knew this whole thing was going to be uncomfortable,” he explained very slowly, and you instinctively reached over again to cover one of his hands with yours where it gripped the bannister tightly. 

“But I thought it would be worse not to come at all.”

You nodded in understanding, leaning closer to hear him better over the wind and the din from inside. 

“And everything’s easier when...with you So I thought...”

Your heart skipped a beat. In all the years of your friendship, he had never said anything like that before. You knew that you counted him among your best friends, and that he didn’t have very many friends in general, making you one of a rare and exclusive caliber, but to hear him come this close to admitting it was strange and new and oddly thrilling.

“But,” he glanced back at you before returning to his vigil, “you looked so beautiful tonight that,” he shook his head, “instead it reminded me of how incredible you are, and how it’s just one more thing for me to ruin.”

“Diego,” you frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s one more thing for you to ruin? My outfit? I would be pretty pissed if I was dressed like this and you pulled your usual superhero nonsense and bled all over me or something but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem here.”

“Don’t joke, Y/N. Not when I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m not joking Diego. Okay maybe I am a bit, but only because I’m not following you. What don’t you want to ruin?”

“You!” he cried, throwing himself back around to face you. “I don’t want to ruin you!”

You resisted the urge to call attention to the innuendo there, especially since doing so would probably include admitting that you would not mind it a wink. Instead you bit your lip, thinking fast and trying to piece together what he was saying to you, about you.

“How could you possibly ruin me Diego?” you blurted out. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I’ve already started you know,” he mused softly. “You don’t even flinch anymore when I show up injured and need you to stitch a wound or dig out shrapnel or glass. You have such a good heart and care so much, I don’t want you to end up...like me.” 

“There is nothing in the world that could get me to dress in leather and fight bad guys and get punched a lot. And the rest of you, I don’t see how it would be a bad thing to be like.”

He scoffed. 

“I’m serious Diego. After all, you have the biggest, sweetest heart and soul in the city. Or you wouldn’t be out there every night saving people. It’s what I love most about you.”

Your hand came up to cup his jaw instinctively, marveling at the feel of his stubble against your palm and how perfectly fit it seemed to be to rest there. He looked beautiful in the dim lights, like an artist’s painting of a hero or a god. You breath caught in your throat as he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Y/N, I…” he reached blindly out for you, catching your other wrist in his hand, sliding down hesitantly to lace his fingers through yours. 

“Diego, unless I’ve read the room completely wrong, there’s nothing more that needs to be said,” you chuckled. “So just shut up and kiss me, already?”

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 46: Martin

Having Melanie definitely helps, in ways Martin hasn’t been expecting.

In the first place, having someone new in the Archives who needs to learn the ropes—never mind that they’re still basically making it up as they go in a lot of ways—gives him a new project to focus on, and one that he doesn’t have to stress about hiding from Elias. He suspects Melanie catches on a lot quicker than she lets on, and really there’s not that much to pick up on, but she plays it a bit stupid and asks a lot of questions. On Thursday, when Elias is distracted by his weekly meeting with the library staff (which goes on longer now that Diana is gone, especially since he doesn’t seem to be telling them oh, yeah, she’s been dead for at least a year and got replaced by a monster and I let it happen to torture the Archivist), she points out that if he thinks they’re spending time trying to get her up to speed, he’ll leave them alone a bit longer. Martin isn’t sure about that, but he lets it go.

Besides that, while he doesn’t want to admit it aloud, Martin likes having someone around who’s more on his level. Melanie might have a degree, but it’s what a lot of the people up in the Library would have disparagingly called a “fluff” degree, one where she didn’t have to do the same level of intense research or the same types of papers. It means that, like Martin, she doesn’t have the same precision and academic style that Sasha and Tim do to their research and notes. At the same time, she’s been running her own thing for so long that, unlike Martin (or at least unlike Martin when he started), she isn’t afraid of operating on a hunch and a load of guesswork.

She fits in well. She’s got a bit of a bite to her, but her sense of humor is close to Martin’s, and they have similar enough tastes that they can have decent discussions but differing enough tastes that they can have spirited but ultimately friendly debates. They’ve also discovered an ability to riff off of one another. Melanie even installed a little widget on her computer that keeps track of how long she and Martin can toss jokes back and forth with a straight face before one of the others begs them to stop or laughs so hard they can’t breathe. So far their record is forty-seven minutes, but it’s only been a few days.

It’s enough to keep him distracted while he’s at work, at least. Same with Tim, or so he says. And when they’re actually focusing on the research and filing and recording of statements, it’s hard to focus on anything else. The problem is that they really can’t let themselves get too deep into it and risk falling deeper into the Eye’s thrall, so they have to pace themselves. Martin’s pretty sure it’s harder for him than it is for Tim, at least at first, but when he sees Tim’s hands shaking as he tries to resist picking up a statement, he reevaluates that a bit.

Weirdly, it’s harder to resist without Sasha there—she takes Jon Prime’s suggestion and skips out for the rest of the week—which tells Martin she’s absorbing a lot of the Beholder’s power. He ends up enlisting Melanie to make sure he and Tim don’t take work home on Friday. She practically frog-marches them down the block, then hugs them both and tells them to take care before peeling off to do whatever it is she’s planning to do for the weekend.

The weekend is the hardest part. Martin and Tim try to distract themselves, and each other, but so much of what they do reminds them that Jon isn’t there and they haven’t heard from him, except occasional texts. In sheer desperation, they collect Charlie—who misses Jon almost as much as they do—and take him to the London Zoo on Saturday. It takes a little bit for all of them to relax, but soon they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and eagerly talking about the animals and exploring the exhibits. Martin’s phone isn’t going to have enough space for all the pictures he’s taking, but he decides it’s worth it.

“You have a lovely family,” a zoo worker tells Martin with a grin as he’s snapping a photo of Tim lifting Charlie up so he can high-five a monkey through the glass of the enclosure, and Martin thanks him for the compliment without thinking twice about it. It’s not until they’re halfway home, Charlie worn out from excitement and exertion and sound asleep against Tim’s shoulder, that it catches up to him and he realizes that people they encounter out in public lump them together as a family—that people weren’t seeing him and Tim as babysitters or even uncles, but as a couple and Charlie’s fathers.

What surprises him is that he doesn’t start panicking over it. He just thinks well, that’s a thing and moves on.

Sunday they take Charlie to the St. Patrick’s Day parade; none of them have any interest in it, it’s just something to do to keep their minds occupied. Tim gets into a chat with a woman whose son is a little bit older than Charlie and seems thoughtful afterward, but won’t say anything. He’s a lot clingier that night, though, not that Martin minds.

Sasha’s back on Monday, seeming none the worse for the wear, and they settle into the usual business of things. Tim and Sasha do their usual weekly lunch; when they get back, Melanie offers to buy Martin lunch and they end up talking about the weekend. It turns out she was at the parade herself, with Georgie, and they have a decent laugh about not having run into each other. She’s curious about Charlie, though, and Martin ends up showing her the pictures he took over the weekend.

“So when are you going to adopt this kid?” Melanie asks as they head back to the Institute. It’s the first day of spring, but you wouldn’t know it from the grey and gloomy weather. It’s also started raining—shocker—and they’re huddled into their jackets with the hoods pulled up because both of them are too stubborn to carry umbrellas unless it’s pouring buckets. “I mean, you said he’s an orphan, and his grandmother doesn’t seem to care much about him. And it’s obvious he adores you all. Could do worse than having the three of you as dads.”

Martin nearly misses his step, but manages to recover. “It’s not really something we’ve talked about. But…hypothetically, if we were going to try and convince Mrs. Calloway to let us take him off her hands, we’d probably want to wait until after we’re sure it’s safe, you know? He’s a little kid. He doesn’t need to be mixed up in…all of this.”

“Fair. Meanwhile, you can just keep spoiling the hell out of him and rescuing him when you can.”

“That’s the plan.” Martin holds the Archives door open for her.

Elias is unusually present all afternoon, which puts all of them on edge. It’s not until they’re home and making dinner that Tim says quietly to Martin, “I think something’s wrong with Jon.”

Fear lances through Martin’s chest. “What makes you think that?”

Tim shrugs and hands him the lettuce. “We haven’t really heard from him since he left, except in texts. Sasha says he got in touch with her over the weekend and asked her to look into something for him—apparently Gertrude got arrested while she was in America—and she said he sounded kind of off. And now Elias is lurking about? I don’t doubt for a minute that something’s gone wrong and Elias is trying to either make things worse or find out if we know.”

“Surprised he didn’t say anything,” Martin mutters. He bites his lower lip hard enough that he feels it split and forces himself to stop. “U-unless, unless he was trying to see whether or not we could See across the ocean or whatever.”

“I’d like to think we would. Know if he was in danger, I mean. But…God. We didn’t know he’d been kidnapped or threatened or any of it. Anything could be happening and we’re not there to help.” Tim’s voice breaks on the last words.

“He’ll be okay,” Martin says, less because he actually believes it and more because he needs to believe it. “He promised.”

“Yeah.” Tim leans into Martin for a minute, then goes back to cooking.

Somehow they make it through dinner, and a couple games of backgammon after, but Martin can tell they’re both still tense and he’s already resigning himself to a restless night for both of them as they start to settle in. Melanie’s going to give them hell in the morning, he can feel it…

As the thought passes through his mind, his phone rings. A phone call this late at night is never good news, and Martin’s anxiety goes into overdrive. Something’s happened to Jon, or to Charlie, or to Sasha or Melanie…or else it’s the home calling about his mum.

He grabs for the phone and answers without looking at the display. “Hello?”

“Martin?”

Just his name, but the soft draw of the first syllable is as familiar to Martin as his own heartbeat, and he sits up straighter. “Jon? Jon, are—h-hang on.” He makes eye contact with Tim, whose head jerked up as Martin said Jon’s name, and fumbles with the phone for a minute before activating the speaker button and holding it out in front of him. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you just fine.” Jon’s voice is a little tinny but perfectly clear.

Tim gives a near-silent sigh and sinks down onto the side of the bed next to Martin. “Jon, thank God. We were starting to worry about you.”

“Tim?” Jon’s sigh is far more audible. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—i-it’s been a rough week. How—is everything all right with you?”

“We’re fine. No problems.” Martin puts the arm not occupied with his phone around Tim’s shoulders, and Tim slides an arm around his waist. “Are you—how’s the—did you find anything?”

“I—I don’t know. The address Gertrude gave Zhang Xiaoling to forward anything to didn’t really pan out; it’s a short-term rental place, there must have been a dozen people through there since she and Gerard Keay stayed. The owner said he heard calliope music from West Pullman park a few nights when they were staying here, but nothing more than that.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’m in Pittsburgh now. The records you found—that’s where Gerard Keay died, so I just…wanted to check up on that. The hospital—I could only find one nurse who remembered him being admitted. His cancer was pretty far advanced…he’d had a seizure, and they did their best, but he had another one and they couldn’t save him. The nurse was the one who told me Gertrude had been arrested—did Sasha tell you about that?”

“She did,” Tim says. “She also said you sounded…off.”

Jon’s silent for a moment. “I—was. I wasn’t feeling well. It took me far too long to realize, but—th-there was a statement I read while I was at Pu Songling, I thought I’d be okay, but a-apparently things have…progressed faster than I expected. I was—hungry, I suppose. I hadn’t thought to bring a statement. I was dizzy and weak and close to passing out, and—I opened the front pocket of my bag and found a statement in there. Was that—was it one of you?”

“Martin thought of it,” Tim says. “Right before you left, while you were showering, he asked if you’d brought a statement with you.”

“Tim’s the one who put it in your bag, though,” Martin adds.

“I should have thought of it. I should have—I really didn’t expect to be gone this long.” Jon sighs heavily. “Thank you both. Seriously. I—I might have been in actual danger if you hadn’t. But I’m okay now. I promise. I read the statement and…well, I’ve been asleep most of the day, honestly. I think I needed it.”

“Jesus,” Martin mutters. He has to close his eyes for a moment, and he feels Tim press closer to him. “The—did you, um, did you find out anything else about Gertrude?”

“Oh. Yes. She was arrested for trespassing—they found her in the morgue stood over Gerard Keay’s body, reading from a large, strangely-shaped book. Apparently his body was…mutilated, though they didn’t know if she did it, and she managed to talk them out of pressing charges somehow. The officer I spoke to doesn’t remember how. I—I may not have been able to draw as much power, being as drained as I was, but it’s also possible, even probable, that he really doesn’t remember.”

Martin looks at Tim, whose eyes reflect the worry Martin’s feeling himself. “So now what?”

Jon is silent again, but before Martin can repeat the question, he says, quietly but firmly, “I think it’s just another dead end, and I’ve decided it’s the last one. I’ve booked a ticket on a Greyhound to Washington, DC tomorrow. I’m going to stop in at the Usher Foundation, just in case they have anything that might be helpful, and then I’m coming home.”

Martin relaxes, and he feels a lot of the tension bleed out of Tim as well. “So you should be back…”

“Well, the bus doesn’t get into Washington until…hold on.” There’s the sound of fumbling and clicking. “I’d be there around five o’clock in the evening, so I likely won’t be able to even stop by the Usher Foundation until Wednesday morning. My intention is to be there as soon as they open. I don’t anticipate them having anything useful, honestly, so…if I’m fortunate, I’ll be home by Wednesday night. Worst-case scenario, early Thursday morning.”

“Call us when you know,” Tim says. “We’ll pick you up.”

“If it’s too early in the morning—”

“We’ll know enough in advance that we can set alarms. Come on, Jon, we’re not making you take the Underground home—or worse, a taxi. You’ve been away long enough. We’ll come and get you.”

“Okay. Okay,” Jon says softly. He clears his throat and adds, “How are you doing? How are—is Elias leaving you all alone?”

“For the most part. He was hovering today,” Martin answers. “We think he’s been watching you a bit, and…maybe just leaving us be to see what happens. He, um—we’ve got a new Archival Assistant.”

“We do? Who? Oh, God, did he transfer someone in?”

“Nope.” Tim pops the P hard. “He intercepted Melanie when she came by on Tuesday to read the Ivy Meadows file. Suggested she might want the job.”

“And she accepted?” Jon sounds horrified. “We warned her!”

“I know, but she’s good at this,” Martin tells him. “The researching and all. And…well, at least she knew what she was getting into. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Jon.”

Jon sighs. “I trust your judgment. Other than that…outside of work. Are you two okay? You’re not…overloading yourselves or—or overworking or anything, right?”

“No. We’re taking it easy,” Tim promises. “Checking each other. Sasha did a bit much, got a bit close, but she took a long weekend and she’s fine. And Melanie stopped us from bringing anything home over the weekend. We actually spent it with Charlie. Took him to the zoo, the parade, that sort of thing.”

“The p—right, right, it’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend. How was it?”

They take turns telling Jon about the weekend. Martin’s already transferred the photos off his phone and onto his laptop to save space, but he promises to show Jon when he gets home. Jon laughs in all the right places.

“It sounds like you had fun,” he says, and there’s a definite wistful note to his voice. “It sounds like Charlie did, too.”

“He did,” Martin says. “He kept saying how much he wished you were there, though. He misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him, too.” Jon sighs. “And I miss both of you. Badly. I-it’s not…this hasn’t been an easy trip. Not just the, the usual issues of travel. Airport food and customs and layovers. Mechanical issues and weather delays and people who don’t seem to have grasped the concept of deodorant. Hotels and taxis and…all of that is bad enough. Open-ended travel is bad. But…then there’s the issue of just being me. Of being the Archivist.” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s a lot harder to resist using these abilities when I’m alone. When I don’t have you two there to—counterbalance me, I suppose. It’s like I’m constantly balancing on a tightrope, and I know I have to keep walking the line, I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, but…”

“But?” Tim prompts when Jon trails off and doesn’t continue.

“The rope is only a few inches off the ground,” Jon says in a low voice. “Or that’s what it looks like. When I, when I look to one side or the other…it doesn’t look like I have so far to fall. I could so easily step off and be on the ground, and it wouldn’t hurt at all. I don’t have to balance so carefully. There’s a voice just over my shoulder, whispering for me to step off, to save my feet, that there’s more to life than this narrow back and forth…”

A chill runs up Martin’s spine. He recognizes the description, actually. What they’re doing, the way they’re all trying to avoid overusing their abilities…it does feel a bit like walking a high wire. Martin keeps telling himself not to look down, to take it slow, to put one foot in front of the other, because he knows if he loses his concentration for even a second, he’ll fall. In his mind, there’s a platform at either end of the wire, and Tim stands at one end and Jon stands at the other, so no matter which way he turns, one of them is there, reaching for him, waiting for him when he’s done. He’s safe as long as he focuses on them.

Somehow, he doesn’t think that metaphor will help Jon.

“Are you sure, though?” he asks. “A-about…the rope not being so high.”

“No,” Jon whispers. “If I look at my feet…if I look straight down, I know how deep the chasm goes, so deep I can’t see the bottom. It’s just—it’s so tempting, Martin. I d-don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on the two of you. I need to be able to do it on my own. But it’s hard. It’s so much harder when I’m alone. And the worst of it is that there’s a part of me, a tiny voice, telling me that it’s just me, that I’m alone, that no one will ever know if I give in to temptation, just for a moment. Just to try.”

Tim huffs. “That tiny voice sounds an awful lot like Elias to me, boss.”

“I know. A-and I know I’d…I don’t want to let you down.”

Martin can’t really explain what those words mean to him, but from the way Tim leans into him, he feels the same way. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and tries to sound practical. “We’ll talk about it when you’re home. But it’s okay, Jon. I promise it’s okay. You’re—you’re stronger than Elias wants you to be.”

“It’s so much easier to believe these things when you say them.” Jon laughs softly, but there’s a genuine lightness to it—like some of the dark dread has lifted from his mind. “It’s—God, what time is it? Five o’clock? You’re not still at work, are you?”

“Time difference,” Tim reminds him. “It’s ten here.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me? You both need sleep,” Jon scolds. “You have work in the morning.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to go get food,” Martin retorts. “Actual food. You’ve been asleep all day, you probably need it. Get some food and take it easy.”

“All right. All right. I think there’s a restaurant attached to the hotel.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’ll call you when I’m on the bus.”

“You do that,” Tim says.

“Please be careful, Jon,” Martin says softly. “We can’t lose you.”

“I promise,” Jon says, his voice solemn. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you both.”

He ends the call before Martin can respond, or actually process what Jon’s just said. The stunned look on Tim’s face indicates he feels the same. For just a second, Martin lets himself hope…but no, that can’t be. And even if it is, it’s a conversation all three of them need to have, not just him and Tim. They can’t make decisions like that without getting Jon’s input.

“Come on,” he says instead, reaching for the charging cable to plug his phone in. “Jon’s right, we need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, sounding a bit dazed. “Sounds good.”

They crawl under the blankets and turn off the light. Tim rests his head on Martin’s shoulder, and Martin runs a hand through Tim’s hair without conscious thought. For a long time, there’s no sound but their breathing. Martin assumes Tim has fallen asleep, but as relieved as he is to have heard from Jon, his mind is buzzing too hard to actually let him rest.

Suddenly, Tim murmurs, “She’d seen us before.”

“Who?” Martin is instantly on the alert, wondering who he needs to be worried about, who might be set to hurt them.

“The woman at the parade. She’d seen us before, when we took Charlie to the fireworks. She was asking where Jon was.” Tim’s head shifts restlessly. “She thought Jon was Charlie’s bio-dad and…”

Martin nods slowly. “One of the zookeepers complimented me on my ‘lovely family.’ I—I think a lot of people just…assume we are one.”

“I’m not upset by that.” Tim’s voice is drowsy. It’s like this is the last thing he had to get out to keep him from sleeping.

“No,” Martin agrees. There’s another lump in his throat and he has to swallow around it before finishing. “Me, neither.”

And maybe that is what’s blocking him from sleeping, because the next thing he knows the alarm is going off and sunlight is poking through the gap in the curtains and Tim is still warm and safe in his arms, and they’re one day closer to having Jon home.

[l8rhader]

Post (well, sometime before the time jump to the airport before their wedding  which I would argue still hasn’t happened even though it WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 6 MONTHS AGO BUT LET'S JUST IGNORE THAT PART LOLOLOL so let’s call this October in the timeline of-) come out of the things unsaid  my Adult Reddie, quarantine, Tik Tok AU.

Addition based on this video!!

Eddie sat curled in the corner of the couch, a glass of wine curled between his fingers. He stared at the phone in his other hand as though it offended 6 lines of his lineage. Well, no, like it had offended 6 of his closest friends. He kept trying to type out witty responses, but after looking at the profile attached to the laundry list of degrading comments, it was clear that the user was... young. Very young. Like, younger than the T&C's young but, come to think of it, he wasn't sure they'd mentioned an age. But after an hour of comment after comment on his videos, the latest series being him teaching Richie how to play piano (despite how rusty his skill set had been) and Richie teaching him how to play guitar (even if most of those videos were cut short because Eddie couldn't keep his hands to himself). Most people thought it was cute.

Except 69LonnyTheLiger420.

By the time Richie came out of the bedroom, he was in the worst mood. "What it do, baby boo?" he said, dropping into the couch beside him and wrapping his arm around Eddie’s back. No response. Dejected, Richie leaned in closer and tried again. "What's the hap, cap?" He nudged Eddie’s cheek with his nose, finally startling him into reality with a high pitched hum. "I said, What's the tea, sweet pea?" Eddie crinkled his nose and shook his head, dismissing yet another nickname. "Do you not love me anymore?" he laughed, knowing that clearly wasn't the case, but something was definitely off. "Eds, what's up?" His eyes searched Eddie's for a moment before the notification noise for Tik Tok went off. Richie snatched the phone and opened it, frowning at Eddie’s notifications.

"Give it back. It's nothing. It's-"

Eyes wide, Richie fought down the decades old urge to flee. Instead, he hissed out, "Christ, babe. Does this happen a lot?"

Eddie shrugged. He supposed it happened fairly often. They were gay and happy and unapologetic and rubbing their new love in the face of millions of followers. It made sense, to an extent. This particular batch was just a lot.

Shaking his head, Richie tugged Eddie up by the hand. "No more phone,” he said, guiding him up the hallway toward their bedroom.  Eddie made an exaggerated reach for it and Richie, instead leaned over, sweeping him into a fireman’s carry.  “No more phone.”  He shoved the device down into his pocket before slapping Eddie’s ass and eliciting a yelp in response.

“Put me down, jackass.  I’m a grown man.  I can wa-”

“Grown is an exaggerated term, toots,” he joked, navigating the hall with ease, despite his fiance kicking his feet and pounding his fists, calling him all sorts of creative names that thirteen year old never could have come up with.  He tossed Eddie down on the bed and pounced on him.  “I don’t know if you remember, but we literally bullied a space oddity to death.  I think we are uniquely qualified for a response to this little shithead.”

With his hands on either side of Richie’s neck and his bony knees dug in just above his hips, he dumped Richie on to his side.  “I think that it’s a little kid and it’s not worth, I don’t know, screaming at him in the middle of a Chinese restaurant.”

Feigning offense, Richie whimpered “That was ONE time, and,” he pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, adding “AND that’s something I only reserve for fans when I’m under emotional duress.  This wretched little crotch goblin is clearly not a fan of either of ours so an emotional outburst is far above them.”

Eddie closed his eyes and shook his head, pulling Richie in for a kiss.  “I love you, but just let it go.  It’s not worth it.”

“You’re upset, babe,” he said, landing on the one nickname that Eddie never fought him on because he was too busy fighting off the butterflies swarming in his belly when he said it to actually argue.  “That means it’s worth it to me.”  The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile seeing Eddie’s resolve falter.  “You’re worth it all.”

The next morning, the video Eddie posted didn’t feature him at all.  Instead, it was five of 69LonnyTheLiger420′s least creative jabs, mainly mentioning their ages and their sexuality, floating around Richie’s head as he sat at the keyboard in the room that belonged to Eddie months and months of quarantine prior.  “You’re prob’ly just a kid in middle school and I don’t wanna fight a kid in middle school,” he crooned, accompanying himself with easy chords.  “Instead of fighting kids in middle school,” he leaned into the camera like he had a secret, then smiled.  “I’m gonna fuck your mom!  I’m gonna fuck your mom.  I’m gonna fuck your mom.”  He bopped back and forth, looking slightly reminiscent of a character from Peanuts.  “Don’t be such a saddie ‘cuz you got a new Daddy,” he added with a cheeky wink, “I’ll help you find a suit to prom.”  He dragged his middle finger up the keys dramatically in a fairly effective glissando.  “But, fuck with me and I will fuck your mom.”  He raised his eyebrows and gave a little half-hearted salute. 

Eddie swung the door open, then leaned against the doorframe looking at his fiance.  “Please don’t go the Burnham route.  I’m already sick of the people who compare you to Mulaney.”

“Why?  They’re good guys.  I don’t min-”

With a pointed stare, Eddie folded his arms.  “But you’re Richie Tozier.  You’re funny on your own.  You don’t need anyone else’s schtick.”  

Richie batted his eyes and smiled through pursed lips.  “You think I’m funny?” he cooed.  He may have played it up for Eddie’s consumption, but it still made him flutter when he actually admitted it.

Sticking his hand out and grabbing his phone to edit the video, “Come on, they put the final season of Schitt’s Creek up early so I am down for a rewatch,” he called from the hallway.  “At least I didn’t make you propose to yourself.  I love Patrick and all, but-”

”I proposed to you!  Twice!” he said, still blushing as he stood from the tiny collapsible piano bench.  “And does that mean you think you’re Patrick in this equation?  Because, baby,” he said, finally bounding into the living room, “apart from my eyebrow game, the kinship to the drinking of all wines, your startlingly similar boring fashion and comparative petite-ness,” Richie wagged his finger then swiped the remote from under the TV, “you are judgy, neurotic and,” he added quickly, “simply the best.”  He plopped down next to Eddie and wrapped him in his arms, kissing his neck.  “You are 100% the David here.”

They settled in for their binge watching.  Eddie’s phone dinged a few times, notifying them that the Losers were on the case, now.  Bill and Mike responded with a video of their own using the Pas de Deux from Us sporting matching unimpressed looks as they both tossed rocks from their garden idly in time with the music with the caption “Sticks and stones...”  It was basically nonthreatening, if maybe a little ominous, unless anyone seeing the video knew the Losers and their history with bullies, which they surely doubted.  A duet from Bev and Ben, flatly responding Beep Beep came next.  Finally, Stan’s response was of himself and Patty on the couch.  She was looking at her phone confused, Richie’s song audible in the background, finishing the loop and restarting.  “I think at this point the Mom jokes should be retired, Rich.  Eddie’s going to start getting jealous if all these little assholes start calling you Daddy, too,” he said, smirking at the screen as Patty chastised him from off-camera.  

Richie smiled, watching the responses over Eddie’s shoulder between episodes.  Even though momentary clips of the Losers were nice- it was better than nothing- Eddie really fucking missed them.  At least he knew that they’d always have his back.

[benisasoftboi]

Unorganised thoughts on Trails of Cold Steel IV:

WHY ARE THEY CALLED CLASS VII?

WHO ARE CLASS VI?

Anyway - I started playing Trails in August, and I’ve finally, finally caught up (yes I know Hajimari I can’t read Japanese) and like... what do I do now?

It’s a fantastic series and I’m so, so glad I picked up Trails in the Sky on a whim last summer

This game was long. Is it longer than the other ones? It felt that way

The best part was the first chapter because Rean wasn’t in it and yeah I still don’t like him!!! But seriously, it was astonishing how much more I was enjoying things without him

I audibly groaned when goddamn bonding points returned in the second chapter

Actually that was a lie, the best part was Any Time My Angel Estelle Was On Screen

I missed her so much

I let her get the final hit of the game against the boss because she’s the best

Speaking of angels I caught three Wazy cameos!!!

Also Gilbert came back and if there had been a camera on me... I quite literally teared up a little I was so thrilled

I hate the curse it is dumb and rips all the nuance out of the characters. People do not need a goddamn evil curse to be swayed to extremes by overzealous nationalism. Trails I know you are better than this, I played Sky and Crossbell

Fav new location was Milsante (liked Alster too, though). I really like going to tiny little outposts and villages in JRPGs, they make the world feel more real

What the hell was up with the Osgiliath Basin? As in, Giliath Osborne??? Is this going to be a Hajimari thing?

Oh yeah, HOT TAKE, Alan Richard >>> Giliath Osborne. I was reading an LP of Sky FC while playing the game, and Richard’s motivation is clearer and less over-complex, more sympathetic, and he’s just generally a far more human character

Alan Richard best political antagonist in the series fight me (Rufus Albarea distant second)

For best supernatural/cult-y antagonist I’m stuck between Weissmann and Joachim. Or maybe Campanella lol

Oh uh speaking of characters named Georg I will never not hate everything about the George and Angie subplot. Angie should have died and George should have stayed evil, or it shouldn’t have happened at all. As it is, it was a complete waste of time - you could take it all out and NOTHING would change

Angie would have been the perfect character to sacrifice as well, she’s just important enough that it would feel like ‘oh shit’s getting real’ but not so important that it’s unbelievable

(like Olivier. I could not fully believe they’d actually kill him, and the moment Laura told me ‘they never found the bodies’ I was like, oh, so they’re definitely all still alive, cool)

I mean, it would be a Bury Your Gays, but honestly... there are things I like about Angie, but is anyone really looking to her as a lesbian role model? I hope not. Yikes

So yeah I guess I hate George now for getting my hopes up and then being boring. Shame

I did the Towa romantic ending, of course. I genuinely think she’s the best match for Rean, of all his love interests

Chaaaracters

Rean: Still the least interesting person. Not a good sign when I’m sadder about the robot dying than the main protagonist yeeting himself into the sun (side note, the two endings thing? Unnecessary and dumb). There is no reason girls would like him this much, blah blah I’ve said it all before. Liked his new hair. Honestly would have respected it if they’d had the balls to kill him off. I basically never even used him in battle lol, Juna became my new team leader

Juna: Honourary protagonist imo. I’ve changed my mind since CS3, she’s my fav new Class VII without a doubt. She’s just really good and full of personality and depth and OH GOD WHY IS SHE CRUSHING ON REAN WHY FALCOM WHY

Kurt: pls falcom don’t try to force this aroace king into a nonsense ship with Sully I liked her but what are you doing, anyway Kurt is great and he got cool new swords and he got to hang out with Mueller, who I adore, I love Kurt

Altina: I also love this little bunny. Her relationship with Millium is so lovely and seeing her grow and become her own person made me so happy and OH GOD WHY IS SHE CRUSHING ON REAN WHY FALCOM I LITERALLY SAID SHE HAS THE BEST RELATIONSHIP WITH REAN OF ALL THE GIRLS BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T DO THAT IN THE LAST GAME WHY DO YOU HATE ME????

Musse: Yeah I’m still not sold on Musse but I liked her better this time! I like a smart, confident girl! Just stop being weird about your teacher and we’d be golden!

Ash: Good boy. Sweet boy. Ash and Joshua game now Falcom

Alisa: Still cannot believe she’s presented as the deuteragonist by the marketing - but you know what? Solid arc, she got some closure with her parents, maybe she and Jusis can get together for tea and complain about their messed up families. She’s never going to be a character I like all that much, but I don’t dislike her. I just wish she hadn’t clearly been written as ‘Rean’s love interest’ before anything else

Elliot: I love Elliot, I really do. I mean, I wish he hadn’t been flanderised to the point of speaking in music puns half the time, but he’s a solid, consistently pleasant character

Laura: Goddamnit Falcom please give Laura anything resembling an emotion regarding her dad dying. Also you tell me she’s kind of oblivious and stuff but we never see it. I like Laura but she really could have been more

Machias: I love Machias, fight me fan base. He’s so funny to me. It feels like, at this point, all he really wants is a nice office job, near a nice coffee shop, where he files papers and sometimes gets to yell at corrupt rich people, but NO, he has to run about in dungeons and fight monsters, and are you FUCKING kidding me, ANOTHER crazy snake cultist!?!? It’s great, he’s the only one who’s just done with it all and love it

I low key headcanon that he and Jusis are kinda dating at this point, but we don’t see anything because the games are from Rean’s POV and they don’t want to tell him because they know he’d be weird about it

Jusis: I still really like Jusis! He’s interesting, and his surrogate brother-sister relationship with Millium is so sweet (yes, I saw that bouquet catch, Falcom, and I hate it, stop it, gross). Awesome to see him confront his brother, obviously I let him have the final blow. Rufus was a great antagonist. Jusis has some of the best development over the games, and is also really fun to use in battle (apparently I am the only one who feels this way though :/ ah well)

Fie: I was surprised by how much I liked Fie’s confession scene, seeing as I don’t like Rean/Fie at ALL. Fie finally gets to have feelings about her dad, and we see her working with Zin at the end! Very happy for Fie, best girl

Emma: Ahhh I still find Emma kinda dull and exposition heavy, but she also had a nice arc, I liked her relationship with Rose, all good

Rose beat me at Vantage Masters for 40 minutes lol

Gaius: It’s still extremely funny to me that Gaius became one of the most important people on the continent *off screen*. And he still doesn’t really do anything. He has his own airship now, I guess. Justice for Gaius

Sara: Kind of faded from relevance after CS1, but I do really like her all the same. And I loved her speech at the end

Crow: At the end his hair got darker and everyone was like ‘you’re back to normal!’ and I literally did not realise he was meant to have been looking different

But anyway Crow is a really good character and I literally never didn’t enjoy him. I love the bit where Jusis and Machias team up to call him a cringy edgelord, because they are right. Crow is fantastic

Towa: Towa has never done anything wrong in her life and all of Erebonia should pay for her therapy

Patrick: I cannot believe how much I love Patrick now, compared to CS1. He’s just such a sweetie. Good boy

Elise: Take her to the sun with you, Rean. Pointless character

Alfin: Is she the heir now? I hope so. She’s such a funny character, not my fav, but I enjoyed her

Angie and George: Should have died, moving on

Celine: I love her, but did she really need a human form? No, no she did not. Great character though

Tita: Special mention, because you know what? I do not like this version of Tita! Like I said, I was reading FC recently and she was so much better there! Now a third of her lines are just her saying ‘Agate’ in various different tones. And it feels like she’s lost a lot of her confidence, where’s the little girl who followed us up Carnelia Tower? I would have preferred them to just not bring her back at all

Duvalie: Haha I love Duvalie she’s great. Stop implying that she’s crushing on Rean. Literally WHY would she. Ugh

Rose: Everything about Rose is great, I would play a full game about her backstory. More Rose

Ships!

Obviously I like Machias/Jusis because I am BASIC

I didn’t like Olivier/Schera back in Sky, but you know what? They sold me. It’s cute (even if I feel Schera’s character was neglected in favour of Being A Love Interest, sigh). Though I’m not sure when Olivier made the switch from ‘Schera is one of many people I flirt with’ to ‘Schera is my one and only’?

But am I the only person who’s kinda on the Oliver/Schera/Mueller train? I’m not normally into OT3s, but Olivier and Mueller have one of the best dynamics in the series, and Schera and Mueller would probably get along great if they were ever allowed to properly interact. And you know Olivier would be down

Like I say, I do not like Jusis/Millium at all, it’s not a ‘I like another ship better’ thing, it just massively skeeves me out because of the maturity difference 

Ash/Tatiana was unexpected but adorable

Patrick/Elise, because I want Patrick to be happy and Rean to be mad

Also Elise/Alfin, sorry Patrick

I hope Anton and Sharon really do get together. Sharon deserves unconditional love and Anton deserves a happy ending

Sharon also deserves to hook up with Sara like once

I also sort of feel like Sara/Claire would be fun

I’ve actually like Gaius/Linde from CS1, I’m happy it’s kind of a thing now!

If Lila/Maybelle is the LET’S GO LESBIANS Trails ship, then Emily/Theresia is LET’S GO BABY LESBIANS

Vincent/Margarita. They’re both horrible people. At least this way no one else has to deal with them

Joining my Kloe/Josette in the ‘crack ships I love that have very, very little canon basis’ is Fritz/Kairi, based on their interactions in that one mission and then that they’re eating together at Mishelam. It’s pretty much just a height differences thing, lol

Miles/Elnan. I have literally no justification for this

Other stuff There was this one scene where Gaius says how nice it is that Mueller cares about Olivier and Mueller just snaps his head round and the scene ends, and I don’t think it was meant to be funny but I laughed for like a full minute

The intro to the music at Mishelam is extremely creepy to me

I love the Pom Party mini game a whole lot

There were... a lot of typos in the second half of the script. It’s massive, so I’m not mad, but I hope there’s a patch at some point

BERYL BERYL BERYL BERYL BERYL I love her

Uh if we’re still doing romance next arc please give us a gay option, no Crow did not count

I hate divine knight battles! I really do! That last one against Ishmelga was really hard and not in a fun way! In a ‘this is bullshit fake difficulty’ way. Please don’t bring them back!

The true final battle, though? FANTASTIC, now THAT is a final boss! One of the best in the series, like that’s such a fun gimmick!

I got it trapped in break state and spammed Heaven’s Kiss/Quick Star, because I’m a strategic gamer 

I am embarrassed by how long it took me to recognise Lucy

KLOE CAMEO!!!

Oh and I assume Kaela is going to be important next arc, since it’s in Calvard?

I love Thomas??? And Rosine???

Why was the grandmaster reveal hidden behind watching the ending twice, why do that? Great scene, though

My theory is that she is Aidios, I will cling to this for as long as possible

I probably have like a million other things to say that I’m just not remembering right now. Look forward to random shouts into the void about it in upcoming weeks, followers

I really enjoyed this overall, despite the problems I mentioned above. It was just fun, I like the cast, the gameplay is great... just a solid game

Trails is a really fantastic franchise - not perfect, but what is? I’ve had such a fun time with it over the past half-year, and I cannot wait to see what happens next. Thank you, Falcom, the localisation team, the VAs - stellar job all around

This is normally where I’d end on a joke but like. Nah, I’m just happy. Cue ‘The Whereabouts of Light’

[writers-craft]

The Pit of Love

story i wrote for my creative writing class, not gonna re-read it, just gonna post it here because why not

Judith French looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. She looked a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy, for she had been crying just moments prior, and her mascara was smeared down to her cheeks, but her hair still looked nice. A few strands were poking out here and there, and it was damp from the water, but her bun stayed intact, despite all that occurred. And crying only emphasized the blueness in her eyes. It was like looking into the ocean, Len always told her. Blood was leaking from her leg—the one that met with the glass—and the inside of her once blue dress was now stained with blood while the outside had darkened with mud. Her bare feet, one on top of the other, had specks of the lake’s bottoms stuck to them. Heavens, she looked a mess. Evelyn Johnson would surely have a mouthful to say if she saw Judith’s appearance, or maybe this would be the one thing to make her go silent. Keith once said the woman would die talking.

“Where are we going?” she asked the driver, but it was not the driver who looked at her. It was his passenger, the man with the gun, but he spoke no words.

It was a Tuesday, Judith French knew, when she realized she utterly despised her husband. Leonard French worked as a travelling salesman. And he enjoyed buying and selling so much, he did it during his free time too. He often came home to Stony Point with a completely different vehicle from the one he left with. Upon her crash, Judith French briefly wondered what his reaction might be when he learned his precious Volkswagen Sedan was currently sinking to the bottom of the lake. He wanted to sell it to Thomas Richfield, a neighbor two houses over.

Neither the driver nor his friend seemed eager to speak to her, so she opted to look out the window instead. They were going so fast it was difficult to see anything but the blur of the grass. It had gotten so long and green this past month, due to all the rain. She could see cows, too, which meant they were nearing Maxwell’s farm. Evelyn Johnson tried to convince everyone last Christmas that Rey Maxwell killed his wife, who coincidentally was also named Judith, but the people of Stony Point knew Judith Maxwell had been sick for years. It was her time.

Judith French looked to the man who sat between her and Keith and glanced down at his watch. Out of the three of them, the driver, the man with the gun, and the one beside her, the one beside her was the biggest and the nicest of them all. He had been the one who helped her out of the lake. He noticed she was looking at his watch and twisted his arm to give her a better view. His watch told her it was a quarter till six. Len would be expecting his dinner on the kitchen table, but his dinner was at the bottom of the lake with his precious Volkswagen.

She nodded her thanks to the man and went back to looking out the window. They were about to drive past the covered bridge. That awful covered bridge. It was red, or at least it had been before the paint had chipped off. It was mostly brown now, and really quite broken. Most of the wood had been broken apart, leaving gaps all around the bridge. The gaps had mostly been boarded up, though, except for the ones too high to fall from. The roof had gaps in it too, but Stony Point did not bother repairing the holes on the roof. Evelyn Johnson claimed her father was mugged as a boy, but it was during a time when Indians and bandits ran wild. She told Judith French the story the night they met, then several other times after, but assured her that the bridge was safe now.

The children at Stony Point High School called the pit beneath the bridge the Pit of Love. Teens would spend most weekends hanging out underneath it. Len said he and Patty Lesley kissed several times under the bridge senior year. Patty Lesley was now Patty Brown and she worked as a middle school teacher. He assured his wife they only kissed in the pit, and nothing more.

Three men had recently died in the Pit of Love. The first was a stranger. Like Len, he was a traveling salesman. It happened while it was raining, no one saw him.  They found his car a few miles from the bridge with its gas tank on empty and his keys still in the ignition with a few empty liquor bottles in the passenger’s seat. Keith said he must have lost his footing stumbling drunk and fell through one of the gaps. A young couple visiting the pit found him early the next morning.

It certainly was the topic of discussion for a while in Stony Point. Evelyn Johnson enjoyed talking about it, at least. She said the man committed suicide. She claimed his wife wanted to divorce him and he was so distraught he flung himself off the bridge. But people soon got bored of talking about the dead man. They moved on to the next craze, which was the high school’s undefeated football team.

And then Patrick Walter Mathews Jr., high school senior and football champ, was found dead at the bottom of the pit shortly after. She remembered the day exactly, because she and Keith were at a motel the afternoon the boy’s body was found. It was the day when she accidentally smeared lipstick on Keith’s jacket, and Harriett soon after insisted Keith eat lunch at home.

Keith again labeled the death as an unfortunate accident. The whole town followed the Mathews’ to town hall and demanded they repair the gaps in the bridge. And the next day Rey Maxwell and his boys hammred in thick pieces of wood over all the gaps, the ones they could reach. Evelyn Johnson, of course, praised Rey Maxwell’s actions, claiming she always knew he was a good man, and who would ever think such a man could murder his own wife?

Len had been away when all the chaos occurred, even with the salesman. He said he met the travelling salesman at a conference once. At parties he spoke of him as if it were his brother. Judith French knew his real brother died in Normandy in ’44. He raised his glass to the dead man, and everyone followed suit. For the young football star, he offered his condolences for the boy— “Kid had a damn good arm,” he said to Patrick Walter Mathews Sr.—and then Evelyn Johnson pulled out her bible and said a prayer for both man and boy. Everyone bowed their heads and listened to her prayer, except for Judith French. She looked out the window and watched a little blue car speed pass her home.

“Where are we going?” Judith French repeated her words when they drove over the bridge. They rumbled a bit as the tires hit the wooden bridge surface.

The driver, the boy, glanced briefly at her through the mirror. She saw all of them fully after she escaped the sinking Volkswagen and had made it onto dry land. They were all dressed in nice suits. The driver, the boy, was leaning against his vehicle, shiny, black and long—Len would be able to recognize the type, but Judith French did not bother memorizing vehicle like her husband. He was a boy of about seventeen and small for his age. The man who sat beside him now stood in front of him then like he was his guard. The boy whispered something to him and the man with the gun handed him a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it for him. The man who was currently seated beside Judith French was beside her; he had helped her reach dry land after the crash.

No one said anything again. Keith attempted to, but the dirty handkerchief around his mouth prevented him from saying anything audible. She took a good look at him. He still had not buttoned his shirt since they last parted, half an hour ago. His white undershirt was now stained with his blood. He was sweaty too. He seemed to have a desperation in his eyes, and she wondered if she would die with him, but more importantly she wondered if she wanted to die with him.

She cleared her throat and turned back to the boy: “You’re quite popular here at Stony Point, you know,” she began. The boy did not look up, but she noticed his ears twitch. She heard Keith mumble something again. “You had us all believing those two men were to blame for their own deaths. I’m astonished, really. None of us ever thought anyone here at Stony Point could murdered.” Keith mumbled something again; she suspected he wanted her stop. “But, then there’s the third man in question. You got sloppy with him, didn’t you?”

The man in the passenger’s seat pulled out his gun and pointed it at her. Keith, at that point, was frantic. The man in between Judith French and Keith had to forcibly hold him down to prevent him from tackling the man with the gun. But the bullet in his stomach soon wore him out and he rested his head on the window and shut his eyes.

The boy chuckled and urged the man to lower his gun. “It’s refreshing to be around someone like you again,” said the boy. It was the first time she had heard him speak. His voice was deeper than she expected it to be, and a lot warmer.

“Someone like me?”

“You know, someone who tries to get to the bottom of things. Someone who cares. Someone good.”

She shook her head. “I’m… I’m not good.”

And he glanced up at her again, lingering a bit longer than last time. His eyes were blue, like hers, but his were lighter.

The third man was found dead in the Pit of Love three weeks ago with a bloodied bullet in his head. Like the salesman, a group of teens found him. She was with Keith when he got the call. Harriett and the boys were at her mothers and Len would not be back until that Tuesday, so they had the weekend to be together. He was not planning on working that night, but Judith urged him to take the call, in case it was Harriett.

She had a strange feeling that Harriett, or Len, would burst through the bedroom door at see them. Keith assured her they were safe, but the presence of Harriett or Len did not scare her; it thrilled her. She wanted them to see. She wanted to get caught.

Keith left quickly, and Judith French did not see him again until the following week. Harriett and the boys delayed their return a week, at Keith’s insistence, and Len arrived home the next day. Evelyn Johnson said there was a serial killer on the loose, and everyone believed her. The police blocked the Pit of Love with yellow tape and had a few officers on guard night and day.

No one knew who the third man was, like the salesman at the beginning. He had no identification on him, nor did his killer leave enough of his face to identify it with, but a woman one town over reported her husband missing shortly after the body was found. She identified the clothing on the corpse to be what she last saw her husband wearing.

The whole town was hysterical, including Len. He cancelled his next two business trips to stay and protect his helpless housewife. Harriett and the boys arrived again soon too. Keith said Harriett was growing suspicious. Judith French had mistakenly left her lipstick in one of her drawers. Keith tried to convince Harriett French it was her lipstick, but Harriet and Judith French did not wear the same colored lipstick.

She met Keith each time it was his shift at the Pit of Love. The officers with him would often give them space, turn their heads and pretend their superior was not with the local travel salesman’s wife. Most of the men on the force knew, but during dinner parties and other town functions, they would act oblivious. Judith French wondered if Keith kept their love affairs quiet, too; an unspoken rule between men and the women they betray their wives with. Judith always wondered if Evelyn Johnson was faithful to Rodger. Rodger Johnson went on business trips into Hughes every few months. Keith later told her that he went there to be with prostitutes. He got in trouble with the Hughes police once and Keith had to go bail him out.

She parked the Volkswagen out of sight, hidden behind bushes and a large ad for Chesterfield cigarettes and met Keith under the bridge. The pit was full of old cigarette butts and broken beer bottles, among other things. There was a sitting area made of old tires and boards of wood painted a faded red, most likely the wood from the bridge. Keith laid his jacket down on it to prevent splinters. And they were quiet, like always. The only sound was the occasional car driving over them. When Keith finished, Judith French fixed up her dress and smoothed out her hair, which was hardly disheveled. Then Keith kissed her goodbye and then she drove to the market.

She saw Mrs. Mathews there. Her hair was down, and she had no lipstick, but she seemed in pleasant spirits, despite everything. Judith French talked to her about her youngest, Carol, who would be singing at some recital later in the month, and her middle, Peter, her last boy, who was thinking about trying out for the high school baseball team. They talked as if her eldest had not been murdered a few months ago. And then Mrs. Mathews asked when she and Len were planning on starting their family, and she laughed and told her hopefully soon, like she always did.

It was on her way home when a sudden burst of emotion filled her, and she had to stop and pull over to collect herself. She sat, her forehead against the steering wheel, bawling her eyes out for no other reason than to get the emotion out. She let the tears fall freely, before drying her eyes and continuing her route home. She imagined Len probably listening to the radio or on the phone talking his way into a new sale, whether it be for business or for pleasure. She took a few deep breaths before continuing her drive home.

The boy’s vehicle appeared so quickly; she hardly saw it at first. She kept taking quick peaks at her rearview mirror, attempting to wipe away the smeared mascara. It was on the fourth or fifth wipe when she looked up and noticed the vehicle about to crash into her. She honked, then swerved quickly and drove into the lake. Her car door would not open, so she had to break the window glass with her heel and crawl out. She cut her leg on shuttered glass on her way out. The boy’s vehicle had stopped and reversed as she was climbing out, and the man in the back hurried to her before the vehicle had gone into a complete stop. She wondered if he was the one who persuaded the boy to stop, or if the boy had stopped on his own account.

She remembered yelling at the boy for his reckless driving. The man beside him grabbed his gun, but the boy stopped him from using it. She fell silent at the sight of it and dropped to her knees, her leg stinging as it collided with rocks and dirt, but she did not stay in that position for long. The man who helped her out of the lake, gently guided her back on her feet.

She caught sight of Keith, gagged and bloodied, as he walked her to the vehicle. Keith was leaning on the window, a bloodied handprint beside him, clutching the open wound on his stomach. For a moment she thought him dead until he turned his head to look at her. His eyes popped open and he tried to mutter something. The man with the gun, who had taken his seat in the passenger’s side by then, reached in the back to hit him. The force of the blow made Keith’s head it against the window hard.

The boy did not stop the car again until the sun, now an assortment of reds and yellows, was merging in with the mountains in the distance. They were in a field far away from Stony Point. No cars were in sight. Judith French watched as boy and his guard exited the vehicle and rummaged around the back trunk. They removed a few items, then the man with the gun opened the door on Keith’s side. Keith, too weak to sit up on his own, fell onto the man. The man kicked him away. The boy opened Judith’s side. He held a larger gun than the other man, but instead of pointing it at her, he held it to his side and offered her his hand. She took it.

There was chill in the air. She stepped onto grass that prickled the bottoms of her bare feet. The other man managed to lift Keith up off the ground. He stood as tall as he could, but the wound on his stomach forced him in a hunching position.

The boy let go of Judith French’s hand and lifted up his gun—Len showed her a similar gun in a photograph before they were married. He had called it a Tom gun, she thought. She felt strong hands on her shoulder and she turned to see the larger man holding her steady. The boy aimed the gun at Keith, and he shuffled a few inches backwards, then started mumbling something underneath his mask but he was quickly silence by the bullets passing through his head. He was now on the ground, no longer murmuring. She felt her heart sink as the boy shifted his focus onto her. The man holding her gently guided her next to Keith’s corpse. The boy again lifted his Tom gun.

“How did you kill the first two?” she asked.

The boy did not answer.

“Poison, wasn’t it? I’d use poison,” she said, “or something else to make it seem like an accident. But I think you’re like me.”

He lowered the Tom gun slightly and smiled. “How so?”

“You want to get caught,” she said.

[bigbrotherlouis]

i would love a directors cut for the first scrimmage scene from kinda like that this ends in smoke!

boy oh boy okay. i was very conscious while writing that this scene needed to do A Lot: it needed to establish, at least a little, what is standing in for a hockey game, establish the team fighting dynamic, and showcase patty’s powers. that last one, in particular, needed to be really sharp because it sets up the conflict and conceit for the rest of the fic, which is: it’s dangerous for patty to be touched. (original)

They’re close to the last people in the training room, wandering into the nearly full space. Nolan goes pink when everyone stops to look at him, the whole team in their blacks and oranges, the support staff in their whites and navies. (i had a whole world of worldbuilding that i wanted to do with this fic but my momentum got cut off in exactly the wrong way at exactly the wrong time. i might revisit it in the future, but by the end i was just trying to get everything DONE) It’s a clear delineation of team and not team, and Nolan seems to have picked the wrong colour. TK could’ve fucking told him.

“You could’ve told me,” he hisses and peers through the onset blurry confusion. (really enjoyed putting thought into what different emotions could manifest as! confusion makes everything blurry!) 

“Told you… oh. No, it’s chill. You’re new and usually it doesn’t matter if you’re in uniform.”

It makes him stand out more, a target on his back. An anomaly. He scowls at his shoes, breathing through the restless energy that’s taken up residence in the room. (nolan being set apart, by choice or not, is a big theme) If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought there was a storm coming, that Laughts had let his lightning go.

The last person on the team must finally find their way in because the door snicks shut with a click audible over the quiet talking. It’s like a signal, the way everyone goes quiet and swings their head in Nolan’s direction. It feels like being pinned and, for a split second, all he can feel is the overwhelming lilt of his own fear. It’s so strong, he half-wonders if he’s projecting or intaking, if someone nearby is getting hunted. (being the new guy is scary)

“Nolan Patrick,” something crackles over the speakers and Nolan flinches. “Welcome to the team.”

There’s a whooping that goes up from the boys, loud and unexpected. TK yells with them and looks like he’s a split second away from elbowing him in the side.

A black-suited figure comes down, one that Nolan recognizes as Coach, with Claude at his shoulder. He nods instead of extending his hand to shake. Nolan inclines his head back.

“Now, Patrick. We’ll get you back in the lab for individual testing soon enough, but we usually like to do the introductory session with everyone else, helps everyone know what they’re working with. No one’s going to intentionally hurt you, so don’t do any permanent damage.” (i did not want to write boring testing and wanted to get to the good part, so i made it work)

“I’ll try not to,” Nolan says after a second.

“Scrimmage first. You’re with Claude. Divide up, boys.” He yells the last part and the crowd starts to split between oranges and charcoals, lining up against opposite walls of the oval-shaped room. TK gives him a mischievous smile and then disappears, reappearing down at the other side of the long, long hall.

“Don’t be nervous, kid,” Claude says quietly, duly scanning the room as he takes in his team. He’s excited, Nolan can feel it patter against his skin like raindrops. “It’s all good fun, eh?”

“It’s training.” (nolan and claude’s dynamic is so important to me personally)

He smiles, sharp. “Fun training. Low stakes.”

Easy for him to say, he’s not being watched by a hundred pairs of eyes from every side, waiting to watch him fail. He doesn’t bother to say this.

“Just don’t get too close to Laughton. Or Coots.”

“I don’t know who Coots is,” he mumbles and Claude snickers, shifting his weight. There’s a warning whistle.

“Alright, Nolan. Are you defensive or offensive?” (i wanted to preserve some structure from hockey so it’s not so different. i messed with lines a little because i couldn’t think of a good reason why defense/offense shouldn’t be mixed, but i genuinely tried to keep people’s positioning consistent  with their real life position)

Nolan frowns deeper. “Uh, neither?” Claude swings around to look at him in surprise and he feels his shoulders inching up towards his ears. “Or maybe both,” he offers. “Not sure.”

Claude stares at him for a second. “You were second in the Academy and you don’t even know what’s your positioning?” (i actually couldn’t decide if nolan’s ability was more defense or offense, so i handwaved it)

Nolan chews on his cheek for a second. His ability isn’t so easy to position, isn’t so easy to fit into a designation. It‘s part of what makes him wanted. “Well… yeah. I guess.”

He mutters something that sounds like French and then heaves a sigh.

“Okay, just… don’t get flattened. Or shocked. (foreshadowing!) And don’t permanently harm anyone, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay behind me if you need protection but watch out for people coming around back. TK’s sneaky like that.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t hit anyone in orange.”

“I won’t,” Nolan says and Claude grins at him again.

“Watch out for JVR’s teeth.” (this is just claude messing with him)

“I don’t know who anyone is,” he reminds him, mildly exasperated, just as the second whistle goes, and the entire room explodes into furious movement.

Nolan’s done scrimmages like this before, of course he has, but it’s different this time. Different when it’s people who know their boundaries, know their abilities, and aren’t just trying to figure it all out. (i needed a reason for nolan to not keep his cool later, and this seemed as good as a reason as any) No one screams because they got hit by a too-strong blast, or shorts out in the middle of the neutral zone, or collapses. (the flip side is, of course, i then needed to describe the difference between juniors/the real thing) Instead, the two sides flow together like water, easy and fluid, as the sounds of a fight start up. It tastes like ozone again, sweetened by eagerness and fondness. They’re having fun, Nolan realises, like G said.

The two of them hang at the back of their crowd, a thin edge of frustration coming from Claude, and he knows that they’re in the back for him, that Claude usually is up front, leading. (claude likes to play, in every universe)

“We can—” he starts and cuts himself off when a… something… lands in front of them. Claude’s grin turns delighted, eager, hungry.

“Oh, a rematch, ya fuckin’ pigeon?” G says and the monster chirps, sharp teeth snapping. “You’re fucking on.”  (i chose JVR’s ability purely to make this joke. every power in here is either carefully chosen for plot reasons, or to make a joke)

“Uh,” says Nolan.

“Watch my back,” he manages to shout and then he’s launching himself at the creature. Nolan whirls around and watches his back.

“So you’re defensive,” says TK, appearing in front of him with a blink. He’s unwrapping a protein bar. (speedsters eating all the time is one of my favourite tropes) “Interesting.”

“I’m not— anything.”

“Okay, Mr. Number Two In The Academy,” he teases back, half garbled from the food in his mouth. “Are you supposed to be guarding?”

“I guess?”

TK snorts. “Let’s see what you can do, pretty boy.” (he’s watched too many bad superhero movies)

He blurs and Nolan feels something crash into his body, an impossible weight that nearly pushes him over. He gets his feet under him just in time, manages to stumble instead of fall, and TK is in the place he just vacated. (this served a lot of purposes! it slows down the fight scene a little so it paces correctly, gives a little more insight into both how TK processes scrimmages and his characterisation a little, and it gives them more time to build rapport.)

“Think I can distract your captain long enough for JVR to pin him?”

“I think you would’ve done it already if that was your plan,” Nolan answers, just as a hand clamps down on his shoulder. TK wasn’t lying about being a distraction, then. “Fuck,” he sputters out and the hand drives him down, impossibly heavy. (there’s a lot of potential abilities that could’ve sparked this reaction-- we see laughts do it later-- but i needed something not permanently damaging but still dire. i know later i say provy’s invulnerable, because that would be a quick way to explain for people, but what’s really going on here is that he’s controlling his density, and that’s what makes him hard to hurt.)  Without thinking, he wraps his own fingers around the strange wrist and opens up the connection, funnels everything he can through his palm, and lets loose.

His attacker screams. (a scream and a short sentence like this is a very effective tool in communicating the gravity of a situation.)

There’s a whistle and the whole room freezes, everyone turning to look at the two of them. Nolan’s on his knees and the man is hunched over him, only upright because of his knees braced against Nolan’s back and his fingers in a death grip on Nolan’s shoulder. (figuring out the physical positioning for this was fun)

Nolan can barely see, can barely process anything through the overwhelming shock radiating from every angle, and the terror rebounding between him and his attacker, getting stronger with every bounce. It’s black like oil, all-consuming as it slides across his vision and down his throat, tasting like sulfur. Everyone always said that fire-and-brimstone was anger, but to Nolan, it’s always been the scentflavourfeeling of pure, unadulterated fear. (okay, this is really what i wanted to show with this scene: exactly how dangerous nolan is and how that danger presents. people are wary of him because he can tell their emotions, but even though that’s embarrassing, the fact that he can control their emotions to the point where they forget everything else is where he gets truly scary. that’s why people don’t touch him. he’s also been trained to react on instinct to do the worst damage possible as fast as possible, and paralyzing fear is gonna get him there every time) He chokes, bends over his thighs, as the weight bears down on him. He’s going to be crushed by a stranger slash teammate on his first day. What a way to go. How embarrassing. (a moment of levity to showcase the danger, and to stay true to nolan’s character.)

He lets go out of self-preservation when his forehead bumps his knees, bracing both his hands against the ground, and there’s a burst of awe that cuts through everything like a beam of sunlight. (a clear contrast to the oil description a paragraph earlier) When he looks up, follows the feeling, TK’s eyes are wide.

“But Provy’s invulnerable,” someone says, stunned, and he wrenches himself away, sliding sideways so his attacker— Provy, apparently— can slump to the ground. Nolan’s on his back, staring at everyone who’s staring at him.

“I—” he starts and then stops, licking his lips. His brain is so fried, too much going through his body. It’s a lot of strong feelings, too many for all his defences, and it’s overwhelming. He tries again. “I.” (i don’t know if anyone notices but i do try to adjust my spelling to the spelling the narrator would use)

“Holy shit, Pat,” TK breathes. Provy groans and Nolan refocusses for a moment, touches his arm just long enough to push contentment through, enough to drive away the horror that lingers. It’s as much for Nolan as it is for Provy, clears away the rest of the black oil. “What did you do?” (trying to establish that patty’s not an asshole and

“If that’s number two,” Claude says, “then I don’t want to see what the number one can do.”

Nico can control fire, and can control it really well. It’s pretty sick to see. He deserved the number one. (someone asked me if this is because he went to the devils-- no, that’s just a coincidence lol i just needed a power that was conceivably more powerful than nolan’s) 

Provy pops his head up. He’s younger than Nolan thought, closer to his age and TK’s than Claude’s. He’s grinning, inexplicably. (the duality of provy-kind)

“That was incredible,” he says, and the happiness tastes like Nolan’s own. (worldbuilding!) Inorganic, but it’s the most he can do after putting the guy on his back. “But fuck, I never want to do that again.”

“So,” Coach says, shouldering his way through the crowd. Gingerly, Nolan sits up. “Provorov’s invulnerable to most physical attacks—”

“Haven’t been flattened in years,” Provy interrupts happily. Coach cuts a look at him and he snaps his mouth closed. (he’s still just a kiiiiid they’re all so young)

“—and the new kid comes in and does what no one else has done for years. What the fuck do you have sparking under your skin, bud?”

Nolan swallows. Abilities are weird. People are weird about them, even those who have them too, when it comes to ones like his. (patty being set apart, yet again!) It’s one thing to have some sort of physical power, one that you can turn off most of the time, and entirely another to be able to mess with people’s heads. He kept that shit under lock, as much as he could, even through the Academy. It’s normal to not reveal abilities to the teams, helps keep things secure and confidential. It’s why the rankings exist, so the teams spread out across the continent know a little how to prepare. Now that he’s placed, he should be able to talk about it. Could speak freely, if he wanted, but. But.

Anticipation tastes a lot like metal, that much different from the ozone of adrenaline. A complement. Nolan’s mouth is filled with the iron flavour of it as the whole room waits out to hear what he’s going to say. He licks his lips again, tastes it stronger.

“Empath,” he says quietly, and feels the emotions in the room change like the air before a storm. “I’m an empath.”

For a second, everything is too heightened and chaotic to make sense of, the team readjusting with the new information, and then it all settles into something understandable. The cherry-bright smell of curiosity, confusion blurring the sides of the room, fear and anxiety joining the anticipation on his tongue. There’s satisfaction too, humming gently against Nolan’s body, but he can’t figure out where it’s coming from just yet. (the satisfaction is coming from coach, claude, and tk, all for different reasons, but it also hints at emotions from different people having their own tint)

“Oh,” Provy drags out, running a hand through his hair. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Touch-based?” Coach presses.

“To transmit emotions, yeah,” he says. “Not, uh. Not for input, though.”

“Input, like—”

“Like I can tell what you’re feeling. All the time, as long as you’re near me,” he says and closes his eyes against the shift that causes too.

“Well,” Coach says after a moment. “Looks like we have some readjusting to do.”

and that’s the end of that segment! i don’t know if i accomplished everything i wanted to, but i certainly tried. i really liked how this came out-- it was punchy without being too long and not too many info-dumps. very nice @ me. i think packing a bunch of emotion in (as was necessary, given nolan’s superpower) and taking time to explain it was really helpful for the pacing. also it let me get away without trying to figure out so much  emotion. thank you!

[theclaravoyant]

i’ll give it to someone special [david x patrick]

AN ~ a belated prompt fill @just-a-funny-little-brain and @schittposting, ft. shameless fluff, mutual pining, Mariah Carey, and a slightly warped UA timeline for S3 because i do what i want. enjoy!!

"You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke." and "I was putting up Christmas lights, and I literally fell into your arms" from this OTP Advent prompt list

Read on AO3 (~2300 words). David x Patrick, David & Stevie

i’ll give it to someone special

When decorating, it was no secret that David Rose was an advocate of “if you want something done right, do it yourself.” This went double for the holiday season; with bright, clashing colour schemes in abundance, there was too much potential for a garish, tasteless disaster for him to allow an amateur to take over. He had a business and a reputation to maintain after all – plus, it was either this or the end-of-year budget review, so really, the jobs divided themselves.

At least, they did until the bell rung.

“Patrick!” David called, so that he wouldn’t have to be deterred from his process, not to mention make the inelegant descent from the stepladder in front of a member of the public. “Pat– oh, it’s just you.”

Stevie fixed him with a sardonic glare.

“And a happy Hanukkah to you too.”

David rolled his eyes, and made a point of turning his back to Stevie and continuing to thread out the fairy lights as she made her way further into the store. But he couldn’t quite turn all his attention back to the task at hand – especially not once she passed the counter behind him, and made a curious humming sound.

“What’s this?” she wondered, and David pretended he couldn’t hear the scandalous intrigue in her tone.

“Patrick and I exchanged some small gifts,” he explained matter-of-factly, “to celebrate our first holiday season together – as the store.”

“Uh huh.” Stevie was audibly unconvinced.

“Excuse you, Christmas is a busy time for retail,” David scolded, whipping around and rocking the step-ladder – damn, he’d forgotten it was missing a foot. But he pinched a nearby shelf, righted himself, cleared his throat and did his best to continue as if his blunder had never happened. “It’s important to keep up morale.”

Somehow, Stevie kept a straight face. “Morale.”

“Yes.”

“So, Patrick made you a mix tape… for morale?”

“… Yes.”

“Great! Let’s listen to it then, shall we? For your morale.”

Stevie’s eyes were fixed on David’s as she pulled the CD slowly from its case and slipped it into the side of David’s computer. David knew she was challenging him, but what could he do, object? She already knew he doth protest too much when it came to Patrick, but if he had any chance of coming out of this relationship – by which of course he meant this business relationship - without a broken heart, he couldn’t afford to stoke the fire. And apparently, there was no way he could so much as flinch on this infernal step ladder without shaking the whole damned thing and giving himself away, so though his heart clenched with a dizzyingly cruel hope that the mix tape might open with some kind of confession, he stood stock-still. Waited. Until those precious, familiar xylophone tones began to chime.

“I-I-I-I… don’t want a lot for Christmas…”

His heart almost buckled with relief. Stevie smiled slightly.

“The man’s got taste,” she praised. More sarcasm? David wasn’t sure.

“He’s learning,” he replied, and turned his back to her again to continue with the work she had so rudely interrupted. If he had to press his lips tight to keep from smiling, so be it.

-

“Patrick!” David called from the front room. “Pat-“

He cut himself off, falling to a mumble that was too muffled by the distance and the walls between them to make out. Whatever he had said was met with a flat, but equally muffled reply from what Patrick had long since learned was Stevie’s voice. Part of him wanted to pop out and say hi, but their Q4 turnover was hard to keep up with… and then, any hopes of getting up the courage to leave the back room fizzled when the first notes of All I Want for Christmas started playing.

Patrick took a deep breath, and tried not to think about David. Tried not to think about his hearteningly curious reception of the CD, or the way he had spent most of the morning checking that every Santa hat in the store was quirkily off-kilter by just the right amount, or how much Patrick longed to watch his shy and uptight business partner let loose and belt out some Mariah already.

No, he wasn’t thinking about that. They might not even be listening to his CD. Maybe they had just pulled up the song on Youtube or Spotify or something; surely, it was a Rose family staple after all.

Patrick, well, Patrick was just inputting the numbers. Into the spreadsheet. Putting that number… into that box… or- wait – was it that number? Was it that box? The data seemed to swim before his eyes as his heart began to race. The first rendition was ending and… yes, there it was, beginning again.

He got out of the chair and began to pace. His mind turned irretrievably to David. To the moment he had first realised he might have begun to like David. To the early mornings in his car letting the freezing air in to try and shock his system into figuring this damn thing out. To the hot flushes he got when he thought about wanting to kiss those pouting lips, or linger in a hug, or pull one of those damned sweaters over David’s head and lift up his shirt and –

And, well, he had to start somewhere, and for some ungodly reason the Spirit of Christmas had inspired him to pick here. With a plan that now that he thought about it, couldn’t have been any more impossibly vague if he’d tried. He could hear David and Stevie talking now under the music. Were they figuring it out? Were they wondering if it was a glitch? A mistake? At first, he’d thought being able to play this thing off as a joke would have been an advantage. Now, the thought that David might not understand – that he might have another… however long, to wait, before he got up the courage to reveal himself again in a more obvious way – if he were being honest, it was kind of killing him.

“Maybe I should just tell him,” he whispered to himself.

It didn’t sound that ridiculous out loud.

-

“Okay,” Stevie announced, when the song began for the third time. “I love ya, Mariah, but three times is too many.”

“My store, my rules,” David corrected.

“My finger on the play button,” Stevie pointed out, and pulled up a new playlist in the online search bar. The synthesiser intro of Wham’s 1984 pop classic Last Christmas started up and she smiled as David groaned out loud.

Then she peered at the track list of Patrick’s alleged ‘mix’ CD, scrolling all the way down, and noticed – “Hey, I think this whole thing is Mariah Carey.”

“Of course it is. Because she’s amazing, and Patrick is very attentive.”

“No, I mean, every single song on here is All I Want for Christmas. There’s like… fifteen of them. Look.”

She picked up the laptop and carried it over to David, frowning. David glanced over her shoulder toward the back room. Could Patrick hear them? Did he know? Had he done this on purpose?

“Maybe it’s like, a mistake. The CD’s glitching or something,” Stevie suggested. “How up to date is your software?”

“Maybe he’s… making fun of me.” Something felt hollow in his chest at the thought.

“That doesn’t sound very Patrick-y,” Stevie pointed out. “Maybe… he likes you.”

“Oh, pfft.”

“I mean, come on, a mix tape?”

“Um, I don’t think so. We’ve been over this, remember? He’s a baseball-playing, denim-wearing, straight, guy, okay, and I’ve developed enough crushes on straight guys to know how this works.”

“Did… any of those straight guys give you a mix tape full of Mariah Carey singing about how much she wants you?”

He couldn’t even will up a scoff to retort to that, and Stevie raised a confident eyebrow.

“’cause, I mean,” she continued, “most of the uh, ‘baseball playing denim wearing straight’ guys I know don’t like Mariah Carey. Or at least, they wouldn’t be caught dead admitting to another human being that they know who she is.”

“That’s not-“ David blundered, “Music doesn’t- Patrick doesn’t-“

But he couldn’t get out of his head, how deliberate Patrick was. The man thought about everything, and when he wanted something, he went for it. Researched intensively, but went for it. David admired that about his business acumen, as well as for general personality-having purposes – it was one of the reasons they balanced each other out so well – but more than anything, that told him it wasn’t a mistake. Patrick liked music, and he liked genuine connection. He would have sat there all night if that’s what it took to put together a CD, Christmas-themed or otherwise. And if the CD was glitching, the track list wouldn’t show every song the same. And if it was a joke, Patrick probably would have got David to play it in front of him, maybe tried to make him sing along.

And if none of this meant anything, Patrick wouldn’t be standing in the doorway on his way from the storeroom, trying to look determined and yet shaking like a leaf.

“Da- David,” he managed at last. “Can I talk to you?”

“That’s my cue,” Stevie murmured, and pulled back to escape the conversation. In her haste, she caught herself in the string of lights that was currently knotted between David’s fingers, and pulled. He yelped and pivoted to try and keep up and she panicked as the step ladder began to fall under the rapid change of weight. All of a sudden it was too late to untangle and there was no way of helping David without sacrificing the laptop, not that she could think of fast enough anyway, so Stevie cowered out of the way and clenched her eyes shut and hoped it wouldn’t end in disaster.

It didn’t. At least, the crashing sound wasn’t quite as horrendous as she’d thought and wasn’t followed by the string of cursing she expected from the upturned David Rose. She cracked an eye open (maybe he was fine, but maybe he’d cracked his head on a display table, was she ready for that?) and found –

And found Patrick had rushed forward at the last minute, and David had all but face-planted straight into his arms. David’s feet were still not quite under him, and he gazed up at Patrick with big, wide eyes in bewildered, vulnerable admiration. Patrick, for his part, was looking down at David in a stunned sort of silence, with a blush so furious it was colouring his ears, and yet there was tenderness in his expression and his hand on David’s back was so gentle and soft, Stevie could hardly look. Did they even know she was still here?

“Uh… thuh… thanks,” David managed at last, once his tongue started working again. His heart hammered against Patrick’s chest, and Patrick’s was hammering back.

“No problem,” Patrick said, and there was more, so much more on the tip of his tongue. His lips struggled to form the words. I like you, I want to kiss you. I want you right now. It sounded so childish, so far short of capturing the overwhelming feelings that seized him. And maybe he would have gone another however long without saying anything at all, if it weren’t for the fact that David chose now of all moments to ask –

“Was there, um, something you wanted to tell me?”

He looked… hopeful? Patrick hardly dared hope back. But David was smiling. He knew.

And when Patrick took a chance and seized his jittering confidence with both hands and closed the distance between them, David kissed back with a yearning that had been screaming to break out of his chest since the moment they’d met. Patrick could hardly believe the energy of it. It felt… like fireworks. Like a moment suspended in time. Like everything he’d ever been told this moment was supposed to feel like.

Then David’s lips were suddenly falling away from his. He’d tried to move his arms, forgetting that his feet weren’t yet on solid ground, and now the string of curses fell from his lips as he tumbled to the ground, hit his elbow with a crack on the nearby table, and rolled onto his back.

“Mother…” he groaned.

And yet still, he was smiling.

Because Patrick had caught him. Patrick had kissed him.

Patrick.  

David opened his eyes, and looked up at the poor man, who had blanched white as a sheet as his somehow-perfect moment had come crashing down around him.

“Um, so, I- I like you,” Patrick explained. “That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Yeah, no, I got that,” David agreed, reflecting on the breathlessness in his chest. He could do that again. A few dozen more times.

“Can I help you up?”

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.”

David tried not to stare at Patrick’s shoulder as Patrick offered a hand, and lifted him to his feet. He didn’t try very hard, to be fair.

“Can I buy you dinner?” Patrick asked.

“I would like that.”

“Huh.” Patrick smiled. He was on a roll. The whole thing felt rather dizzying, but it was all so much easier than he’d expected. Although, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Kiss David again? They were at work, and he hadn’t exactly recovered from the first time. But he couldn’t go back to the spreadsheets now. Sure, they were important, but they weren’t like this. He had way too much energy all of a sudden, and a craving to run up a mountain.

But a quiet clearing of a throat interrupted his grander plans. Both Patrick and David turned to the sound, to find Stevie standing gingerly amidst a tangle of fairy lights, which seemed to tie her every movement either to the stepladder, or to the two large bookshelves on either side of her.

“Uh, congratulations and all,” she said as meekly as possible, “but before you guys split, could you help me out?”

[ofelsewhere]

On Twombly’s 50 Days at Illiam

“Good photo op, right there,” Patrick says, gesturing at the museum attendant in Gallery 284. It’s president’s day. We have the day off. And so we’re meandering around the Philadelphia Museum of Art with the unspecific goal of getting inspired.

The museum attendant, framed by the doorway and silhouetted by a piece from Cy Twombly’s Shades of Night series, stares blankly at an empty wall. The Twombly’s rudimentary blossom of paint and scribbled text create an illusion of halo and crown around the man’s head.

It is a good photo op, but I’m slow on the draw. Through the next doorway is Gallery 285, where hangs the Virginia-born modernist’s galvanizing opus, Fifty Days at Iliam. And instead of lining up a decent capture, I start to wonder: what’s the wall got that the Twombly doesn’t?

I get it. He makes art look too easy. But come on. During a previous trip, in almost the exact same location, a museum attendant directed my companion and I, unprompted, to a gallery at the far end of the museum. There, he said, we could find the beautiful stuff. The masterful, enlightening stuff. The Renaissance. The Biblical. (Read: not this shit.) I’ve seen twelve year olds roll their eyes, middle aged men in fanny packs chortle, and school teachers audibly scoff in the presence of Twombly’s work.

So again, I wonder: what the fuck?

You pass by a lot of incredible art on your way to Illiam. As you split off the main hall on your way to the contemporary galleries, Degas’ Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen flanks you immediately to the right. You cross paths with major milestones of European Impressionism, the blurry and familiar pastels that fill kitchen-wall-thumbtacked calendars around the country.

As you head into the Contemporary galleries, you pass by Ellsworth Kelly’s monochrome works, neon 1980s VHS kitsch, cast sculptures of light bulbs and shoes, confounding white gridwork canvases, pre-cubist Picassos, and a sky-blue wash of paint that crawls up the arched ceiling.

That’s when the Twomblys really start.

There are sculptures: a half-formed block of cast bronze that tapers into what seems like a chariot wheel. Another features two of that same circle shape, one tipped over, broken diametrically, leaning against the other. Are these wheels? Coins? Pizzas? Shields? More circular forms, paired with triangle shapes, create thrones, chariots, wheelbarrows.

There are paintings: messes of canvas and oils with more canvas layered on top like the detritus of a complicated feeling.  

These are icons delivered to the world courtesy of id and super-ego. They are thought’s blurred anatomy. They are body parts of our collective unconscious clawing at surface, unable to breach. Not, at least, in any directly intelligible way. These are smatterings of a shared natural language. They are the symbology of a western canon, of all that we call “Classical” sidestepping the brain altogether and to be shot straight from the gut.

Continue past Gallery 280’s Geometric Abstraction, and through the meditative foyer of the aforementioned Gallery 284. And finally, Gallery 285. You are surrounded on all sides by Fifty Days at Iliam, the artist’s ode to The Illiad, Homer’s epic poem of the Trojan War. This is Twombly’s Trojan War. Gestural, gutterall, violent. There are dick-shaped chariots. Blooming scribbles of carnage and chaos. Misspelled character names. The scale is massive. The compositions are coherent, perhaps, only in their sense rhythm.

Tucked away in this chapel-like gallery in the far corner of the modern wing monstrosity and beauty, meaning and pure stupidity. And at the center of it all: a single bench, or perhaps more of an altar, from which to take it all in.

This is where people go to sigh.

[hockeylvr59]

Promises || Auston Matthews

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: When you go to lunch with your friend and return to his apartment to find a baby left outside everything changes. It’s an idea that has been plaguing my mind for the past few weeks. But wow putting it to paper it was a lot longer than I thought it would be.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3,730

Song Title: This I Promise You - N’sync

A bright smile lit up your face as you walked down the Toronto street with Auston’s arm slung over your shoulders. You couldn’t help but rib him a little over the game last night and how he couldn’t just not score against your favorite team. He’d rolled his eyes but tugged your body closer to his to fend off the winter air.

You’d met Auston shortly after you arrived in Toronto for graduate school. It had taken every ounce of willpower to keep your cool because as a lifelong hockey fan you were more than aware of just how talented he was. He was attractive too, but it never once crossed your mind that he would go for a girl like you, no one ever had before and they weren’t hockey superstars. Still, he was easy to talk to and you settled into a casual friendship with the twenty one year old.

With your graduate school schedule and his hockey schedule it was hard for anything more than the occasional text messages and phone calls but you both put the effort in to actually hang out at least once a month. Today you’d gone out to lunch and were now headed back to his apartment to watch a couple movies and just relax. You hadn’t seen him since before the holidays and yeah, you’d missed him just a little.

Entering his building, you worked off your hat and gloves while he summoned the elevator and by the time it arrived, you had your extra outerwear tucked back into your coat pockets.

“So...what movie are we watching?” You asked as you leaned against the elevator wall.

“Whatever you want. Within reason of course.” He shot back and you shook your head with a laugh.

“Well, I added the new Netflix movie about Robert the Bruce to my list and haven’t watched it yet. Or there’s always Marvel or DC movies, I may not be an avid fan but those are always good. Oh...or Disney, those are classics…”

Your rambling about movie choices was cut short when the elevator door opened and the moment you turned down Auston’s hallway you ran into his back when he froze in place. Peeking out from around him you gasped seeing a carseat sitting in front of his door with a backpack placed next to it. From the car seat you could hear soft crying and glancing up at Auston you could see the pure panic on his face.

Immediately all of your maternal insticts jumped into action and you tugged Auston toward his doorway before crouching down to peek inside the carseat. The baby inside was tiny, really tiny and immediately you were filled with a mix of emotions. Rage as to how someone could just leave a baby like this. Fear because you’d watched enough cliche tv to know what this all meant. And protectiveness because it was clear that Auston had had no idea and the baby certainly hadn’t done anything wrong.

In the minute it took you to make your initial evaluations of the situation, Auston hadn’t moved a muscle. Standing up you reached for his keys that were dangling loosely from his fingers and quickly unlocked the door.

“Auston...go inside and call your parents and agent.” There was a faint recognition on his face that you had spoken and after a moment he stumbled into his apartment. Once he was out of sight, you turned back to the baby whose cries had gotten louder. Quickly you unbuckled the infant before gently lifting them out of the seat to cradle them toward your chest.

“How could your mama leave you here little one…” You whispered quickly kissing its head before using your free hand to tug the zipper of the backpack open to see if there was any information there. Inside you found a birth certificate with Auston listed as the father, and though the mother’s name was listed you certainly weren’t familiar with it. The birth certificate signaled that the baby was a boy, Owen Alexander Matthews, who was born three days ago and as you read the information you snuggled him closer to your chest. Behind the offical document was a note that read that the mother couldn’t handle raising a child and that she knew the baby would be in better hands with Auston.

Besides the few papers there wasn’t much else in the backpack except for a small container of formula, a few full bottles and a small supply of diapers and wipes. There was a single change of clothes but it was clear that this baby’s mother never planned on keeping him and from the looks of it brought him here as soon as they were released from the hospital.

Though Auston was listed as the father on the birth certificate, you knew that the first thing he, his agent, and his parents would want confirmed was that he actually was the father. Pulling your phone out of your pocket you quickly dialed up a friend that worked for a biological lab and through whispers asked if she could come over to take swabs and run them for you. After getting agreement that she would be over as soon as she could slip away for a late lunch you gathered everything up from in the hall and carefully carried them and the baby into Auston’s apartment.

Inside, Auston was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and his phone was nowhere in sight.

“Aus…” You murmured as you quickly laid the baby back in the car seat for a moment before moving over to his side. “Did you call anyone?” Even without asking you knew the answer was no, but his lack of reaction to you confirmed that. “Alright. Unlock your phone, go take a shower and calm down okay?” You urged wrapping your arms around him for a moment when he finally stood up and handed you his phone.

As you heard the shower start in Auston’s bathroom you opened up his contact list, quickly finding his agent to make the first call. While none of these phone calls were going to be pleasant, you were certain that this would be the most painful. His agent was brusk and angry and you had to insist multiple times that there was nothing he could do right this minute and that he should not come running but simply be prepared for any fall out before you were able to hang up.

At the end of that first call you cringed for a moment hearing the little boy wail and something in you knew that he had to be hungry. So as you returned to the contact list for Auston’s mom, you ran one of the premade bottles under hot water and stashed the others in the fridge before again gathering the baby into your arms.

Once dialed, the phone rang for a minute and just as you were worried that she wouldn’t pick up Ema Matthews’ voice came through the line.

“Oh thank god…” You breathed, letting the little boy latch onto the bottle, immediately soothing his cries. “Mrs. Matthews, you don’t know me but I’m a friend of Auston and I...your son needs you and Mr. Matthews to come to Toronto asap.”

It was clear that she was confused and you had to fight back tears of your own as you spoke an explanation. “I...Auston and I were out to lunch and were coming back to his apartment to watch a movie and when we got here there was a baby outside his door.” Her gasp was audible over the phone and you rocked the baby boy in your arms slightly as you wanted for a verbal response. At first there was just a murmuring of Spanish before she started firing a million questions at you.

“No. I. I don’t know who the mother was. At least I didn’t recognize the name on the birth certificate. Yes. Looking at the baby he certainly has some of Auston’s features though I have a friend coming to take DNA samples to confirm paternity. No. She just left him and he’s only three days old and he’s so tiny. I don’t know. He...he hasn’t said anything since he saw the car seat and I...I tried to get him to call you but he was just on the couch with his head in his hands and I sent him to go shower but I don’t know.”

Throughout your explanation you could hear Ema calling for Auston’s dad and after a long moment she assured you that they were booking the first flight available and would be there as soon as they could. You were about to hang up when she asked your name and after hearing it you could catch a bit of a smile through the phone.

“Y/N. Thank you for being there. For taking care of Auston. We’ll see you soon.”

Ending that call, you noticed that the baby, Owen, had finished eating and after searching the bag for a burb cloth to no avail, you simply grabbed some paper towels to drape over your shoulder before gently adjusting Owen onto it and patting his back lightly to burp him. Once he’d burped you just let him remain there while you searched Auston’s contacts one more time. The sound of the shower had disappeared but Auston had yet to reappear and you didn’t want to push him yet, knowing that there were a million things running through his head.

You didn’t know any of his teammates but you knew the Marleau’s were like his second set of parents and that they had young children so maybe they still had a few things that could help until things were figured out. Dialing Patrick’s number you bit your lip from the heightened emotions of the past hour and when he picked up you once again explained what had happened before asking if maybe they had a pack and play or something from the boys that Auston could borrow so that the baby didn’t have to sleep in his carseat. You also mentioned him seeing if they had any infant clothes though you were sure that was a long shot. With confirmation that he would talk with his wife and bring over whatever they could find you thanked him and ended what was hopefully the last call you had to make.

Sighing softly as you once again surveyed the things in the backpack, you knew that they wouldn’t even last twenty four hours. So opening your own phone you quickly pulled up amazon and found the brand of formula that had been brought, a couple gallons of distilled water for mixing, a small pack of wipes and a pack of diapers. Looking at the bottles you ordered another set of the same brand as well as a set of pacifiers, a pack of white onesies and two more sleepers along with a bottle of infant laundry detergent. Hoping that would be enough to triage the situation you placed the order for same day delivery and just as you pressed submit there was a knock on the door.

Peeking through the peep hole you saw your friend and immediately let out a massive sigh of relief. Quickly you let her in and when she saw your face and the baby curled against your shoulder her eyes went wide and she pulled you into a hug.

“Wow...you weren’t kidding.” She mumbled and when you pulled back she pulled out two swab kits from her jacket pocket. “I’ll take the baby for a minute and swab him if you want to get the father’s DNA?” She offered and you both knew that really she just wanted to give you the chance to check on him because it was clear that the baby had needed all of the attention to this point.

“Yeah sure, just tear the wrapper, uncap, swab the cheek and recap?” You asked wanting to make sure that you didn’t screw it up. When she nodded you passed Owen off to her and took the swab she was offering before slipping down the hall to Auston’s bedroom.

The lights were off in the bedroom but the bathroom light cast a glow into the room. You could see Auston curled up on the bed, his body huddled in on itself. Gently you crawled in behind him, your fingers trailing up and down his arm as you waited for him to respond.

After a moment he turned to face you and you could see the tears trailing down his cheeks. Brushing your thumb to wipe them away you then ran your fingers through his hair moving it out of his face.

“I need to get a cheek swab of DNA from you so that we can confirm if he’s yours or not.” You whispered, hesitant to actually say the words. Auston just nodded and opened his mouth and after tearing the plastic wrapper of the swab you got the sample and then laid the sealed tube onto the bed beside you.

“I called your agent and put him on standby, your mom and dad are on their way here to help, and I called Patrick to see if they had any baby supplies they could loan.” It was clear that he was hearing you but that everything was still just floating above him and while you understood, you were also slightly annoyed.

“Auston. I know this is hard. But I need you to get up out of this bed and try and face this because hiding from it won’t do you any good.” For a moment his face showed dismay but eventually he nodded and you slipped off the bed to return the sample and reclaim the baby so that your friend could get back to work.

She left promising that she would rush the samples and email you the report as soon as it came through and you thanked her once again for her help before taking Owen and moving to sit on the couch, baby cradled in your arms.

Five minutes passed before Auston came staggering down the hall and when he sat on the couch next to you, his hand rested on your knee, his way of seeking some level of comfort through touch.

“I think you should hold him.” You declared after a moment of silence.

“I’ve never held a baby before. Not that tiny anyway.” He mumbled and you found yourself smiling.

“It’s not hard Aus. Just make sure to support his head.” Motioning for Auston to cradle his arms like yours you nodded and turned, half kneeling on the couch in order to transfer the infant into his large arms. “See, there you go.” You assured him, watching carefully as Auston took in the sight of the baby for the first time.

“He’s so small…” He whispered and it was clear that he was afraid he’d hurt him.

“You’re doing fine and yeah he’s small, three days old according to the paperwork. His name is Owen. Owen Alexander Matthews.”

“Do you really think he’s mine?” Auston asked and though you knew he wanted to hear that you didn’t, you couldn’t lie to him.

“I’m almost positive he is. He has your nose. And his eyes are deeply set like yours too.” As you spoke you tapped your finger against the baby’s nose before bopping Auston’s as well. “But I mean, I don’t recognize the mother’s name, not that I know who you’ve slept with.” You kind of regretted the words the moment you said them and were grateful for the baby’s cries that quickly filled the air.

Auston jumped a bit in response to the sound and you pressed your hand to his arm. Leaning forward to sniff at the baby’s bottom you nodded to yourself before standing to grab a few things from the backpack.

“Y/N.” Auston called, his voice strained.

“Relax. He just needs a diaper change. Hold on while I get the diaper and wipes.” With the items in hand you took the baby from his arms and moved to settle yourself on the floor of the living room.

“Do me a favor and get me a towel.” You directed and once he brought one back you laid it down on the floor before laying Owen on top of it. Slipping his little pants down his legs, you unbuttoned his onesie and tucked it up behind him before making sure that the wipes and diaper were ready to go. Once the diaper was unhooked you used it to clean as much as you could from the babies bottom, laying a wipe over him to protect yourself from pee. Once the old diaper was off to the side and Owen was wiped clean you quickly fastened the new diaper up and redressed the infant.

“See...piece of cake.” You assured Auston. “Now you might want to go get a plastic shopping bag so that I can put the old diaper in there and it can be taken out so it doesn’t stink up the apartment.”

With the dirty diaper bagged, you settled Owen back into Auston’s arms on the couch knowing that in order to accept all of this, Auston needed a chance to bond with the baby.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just going to toss this into the garbage chute.” Auston was clearly uncomfortable but that was a good thing. “Relax, I’ll be gone less than a minute, you can handle it dad.” Bumping against Auston’s knee to assure him that he would be fine, you left the apartment, taking an extra twenty seconds or so to try and compose yourself. Auston needed you, that was obvious, and you wanted to help, but there was that faint part of you that had always wondered if maybe it could be you someday. That was obviously not the case and right now he really needed a friend, at least until his parents arrived and his team found out and he had more support than he could ever need. So until then, any hurt you were feeling just needed pushed to the back of your mind.

Fighting back those emotions until you were alone in your own apartment, you took a deep breath and let yourself back into Auston’s apartment where he was sitting and just staring down at Owen who had fallen back asleep in his arms.

“See. I told you you could do it.” You declared as you reached for the tv remote. Now that things were mildly settled, you needed some form of distraction and you had come over to watch a movie. “So..what are we going to watch?” You asked.

“You pick.” Auston murmured not taking his eyes off of the baby and you nodded flipping on Moana before curling up beside the two Matthews boys. You stayed there until there was a knock at the door with the amazon delivery. As you carried all of the supplies inside, Auston gaped at you and you simply shrugged.

“He didn’t come with much, probably not enough to get through a single day so I ordered some things…” You explained, as you came back to the couch. There weren’t any interruptions for the rest of the movie but before you could start another Patrick Marleau and his wife were at the door with a pack and play and a few other supplies.

Their visit was followed by setting up the pack and play and starting a load of laundry so that Owen would have clean things to put on when he inevitably messed up his current clothing with either spit up or an exploding diaper. After that, dinner had been ordered and as the clock struck nine, Auston’s parents finally arrived. You were more than a little relieved because your emotions were drained and now you could finally go home.

As you gathered up your things Auston spotted you and his hand gently reached for your arm.

“Where are you going?” He whispered.

“Your parents are here now, you don’t need me.” You replied shrugging.

“Yes I do.” He responded, his hand falling from your arm to your hip. “Please just stay tonight. I...I don’t know how you’d managed to know how to take care of the baby and I’m sure my mom would do just fine but please, please just stay tonight.”

The earnest expression on his face made you sigh and after a moment you nodded, no energy to attempt to fight him. It was late, it had been a crazy long day, and everyone was tired so after getting his parents set up in the guest room, you planned on taking the couch, grabbing more pillows and blankets from the closet. Again Auston spotted you and his hand stopped yours from pulling anything off the shelf of the linen closet.

“Come to bed.” He breathed and his fingers laced with yours as he tugged you to his room where Owen was asleep in the pack and play. Auston continued to hold your hand as he pulled open drawers and handed you a spare t-shirt and sweats and then motioned for you to change in his bathroom.

When you returned to the bedroom, he was laying on his back, a hand over his eyes. Silently, you padded around the bed and slipped under the sheets next to him. The moment he felt your weight he turned to face you and his hand pulled your body closer to his own.

“I’m so scared. How am I supposed to be a dad?” He whispered.

“I promise you it’s all going to be okay. You have your family and your hockey family who will do everything they can to help. Just take it one day at a time.”

“What about you?” He asked, his voice almost inaudible.

Pressed up against Auston, you could feel his breathing steady out, little puffs of air near your ear. Every once and awhile he’d shudder until you rubbed circles into his side. “You have me. I promise it will all be okay.” You finally declared before letting sleep take you as well, knowing it was only a matter of time before you’d be awoken by Owen’s cries.

[ursoself-satisfying]

Whole Lotta Love

P A T  M U R R A Y (Undrafted) x F!Reader, SMUT 

Warnings: smut, lots of it, language, like all the sex guys all of it guys,,, SPOILER: UNSAFE SEX THEY DISCARD THE CONDOM WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT BOYS N GIRLS

A/N: this is my zenic,, its 10k words n I am v tired,,,, I hope you all enjoy sorry its late lol

an accompanying playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/criceloni/playlist/5sP9FcSsFcPjFodxN1E5RY?si=dNK4SdE2RoSRcqhN99dntg 

The engine of your car sputtered weakly as you turned the key for the third time. You pursed your lips and grunted as you screwed your whole arm around, twisting the key in the ignition again. The hot sun beat against the grimy, untinted windows of the old van and your skin boiled under the magnification of the glass. Drops of sweat limply slipped down the side of your face, sizzling when they hit the leather between the seats. The day was nice, but the interior of the vehicle was sweltering and stunk of burgers and sex. You groaned loudly and threw your head back tiredly. With your eyes closed, you tiredly and hopelessly went to turn the car on one last time, dreading the spitting sound that you expected to greet you. You were indeed greeted by the same annoying noise, burned into your eardrums by now, but it faded after a moment, the harsh metallic sounds blending into a solid purr as the engine started, radio turning on to the classic rock station. Shooting up out of your seat in shock, both at the sound and the unexpected success, your hands slammed against your steering wheel and your mouth hung open. “Oh my God,” you muttered, “Oh my God! Thank you, God!” You shouted at the roof of the car and you let out a dry sob. The wet lines down your face could have been sweat or tears, or both at this point. Loud thrums echoed through the cabin of the vehicle as you drummed your hands against the soft roof excitedly, shaking your head in a grateful spasm of relief. “YES! Oh my God, yes, thank you.” The soft whispers left your lips in the form of a laugh and you gripped the steering wheel tightly, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. The next thing you did was roll down the windows and sigh as the clear, blue sky blessed you with fresh air, letting The Who play you out. The gas pedal was pushed down and you made your way from the curb where you’d been sitting for the last half an hour. The VW bus bounced, “My Generation” fading as you turned a corner and made your way to the game.

Your sputtering horseless carriage shuttered to a stop and felt like it would cave in and collapse once in park. With a shake, you turned off on a ‘don’t text and drive’ PSA, the engine and rolled up the dirty windows. Manually locking the door behind you, you exited the rusted green car and headed towards the greener field. You rolled your eyes as you passed a large bus undoubtedly belonging to the opposing team. You doubted it was necessary and would have guessed it was more of a petty power move if anything. A small group of people, not yet a crowd, was gathered by the fences of the baseball field watching the game. It had already begun and you’d missed the first few innings. You searched the crowd for a familiar figure until you spotted a red shirt and jogged over to it. “Brian!”

The man turned to see you waving your hand happily above your head. He turned once he recognized you and laughed heartily with open arms. “[Y/N]!”

Once you reached him, he wrapped his strong arms around you and lightly picked you up. You did your best to return the embrace but he held you too tightly. His cotton button up smelled strongly of a flower-scented detergent and a gas station, comforting and familial. Your laughs mixed and you remained leaned against him when he put you down. “Mr. Murray,” you started playfully, “How are you on this fine day?” The older man patted your back and chuckled.

“Well, I could be doing a hell of a lot better.” Brian looked out at the game, Barone at-bat, and took a deep sigh. You scanned his face with concern, catching the glaze of sadness in his eyes. You softly placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what happened exactly, but having an idea.

You turned your head back and look around you for Brian’s almost other half, but seeing the older Mazzello nowhere. You felt safe enough to ask, “He didn’t get it, did he? John-” He shook his head quickly, not turning towards you. You wanted to ask how Pat was taking it but you could figure it out based on your past experiences. You weren’t sure Brian would know at this point anyway. For a moment, you just watched the game. Barone wouldn’t slide and Ty was clearly upset. All you could hear were the curse words carried to you by the light wind picking up. You squeezed Brian’s arm gently and gave him a sympathetic smile, before gulping and beginning to say something. “So then where’s-”

Joe walked up beside Brian and handing him a bottle of water from his trip to concessions. The shorter man glanced over and stopped when he caught sight of you. “Oh, [Y/N]-”

“Hey, Joe,” you replied softly. The man beside stepped back to allow you to give a quick embrace to the new arrival. You stepped back and smiled, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” you spoke quickly, “He deserved it. John’s-” A stifled laugh interrupted your sentence, but you continued, “Not that I would know, but he’s the best, I hear. He should have gotten it. That’s- That’s so stupid-”

“He’s got some offers, but there’s not much we can do now that it’s over.” Leaning against the fence, the dark-haired man took a swig from the bottle he held and smiled faintly back at you though he kept his attention on the game before him. “Now we just play.”

Though you’d missed the first five innings at least, Brian filled you in on how the game had gone on with as many bumps and hitches as you could possibly imagine. The D-Backs were down (though you honestly wouldn’t have expected otherwise) and hoped for a comeback. Ty interrupts Barone’s play to demand he dirty his uniform, a call is unfairly continued and Ty (again) interrupts and demands his complaint be noted, which had been happening just as you’d arrived.

You were there just in time to see Pat’s second at-bat. “C’mon, baby, you got this! Hit it out of the fuckin’ park!” You were screaming and hollering encouragements at your boyfriend. His father chuckled and gave you a side-eyed glance, a glint of understanding gleaming on his face, seeing again why you and his son got on so well. “He’s not gonna get a hit,” you said quietly to the man beside you, not taking your eyes off the boy at bat.

Brian nodded, smiling. “Never does.” Both of watched as the third pitch was thrown and Pat unsurprising did not get a home run. He let out a long and frustrated scream and hit the bat against his helmet instead before heading to the dugout. The bat Pat had used broke against the fence pole as he hit it repeatedly and cursed the ‘loaded fucking bases’.

Pat then ran to his position in the outfield as he was told but it was clear he hadn’t cooled down yet by his continued yells. If you knew Pat Murray, you knew what he sounded like when he said ‘fuck’. By now, his curses were carved into your ears and you could hear them in your dreams. He yelled and yelled as the game continued, with some concern shown by his teammates and some confusion by the competition. Vinnie had attempted to diffuse the situation by engaging in a friendly game of catch between bats but Murray firmly stuck the ball in the scoreboard. He very nearly took Zapata’s head off.  

“Is he like this at home?” The elder Murray let a smile tweak his lips upwards for a moment, then looked away from the comment. You leaned over the fence n suppressed a laugh at what John had said.

As the game went on, you could tell things would only get worse until it all imploded, and you were right. Brian shared a tired, knowing look with you as you could both hear him yelling from the dugout. “YOU THROW LIKE A BITCH AND YOU BAT AT .250!”

Brian rocked back and look between you and his friend, shaking his head. “Patrick, relax!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAD!”

He nodded and leaned back against the fence. “That’s my boy.” Laughing, you bounced against his side. John shrugged his shoulders and gave an exaggerated frown of acceptance. The game lasted a while before another notable event occurred. This time, was an unsportsmanlike fight erupting after an unfair play and a sudden injury. It all happened so quickly it was hard to comprehend.

Garvey was slammed into the ground by an opposing player and when they hit the dirt a cloud of red dust rose around them. An audible thud echoed as the crowd went silent. Your mouth hung open and the world stood still for what felt like forever as the small catcher laid there unmoving. Then Ty erupted. He grabbed the assaulter from behind and held him down, Vinnie running to leap into a punch. That was the instigator. The rest of the team, with the exception of Fotch, raced to the scene. The riot on the field got worse and once John ran out, Joe bounced off his arms on the fence and rushed just as you had to stop his son. You could hear your boyfriend shouting and mentally cursed, knowing how this would turn out.

“Pat, fuck-” You went to lift yourself over the fence and attempt to run after your lover in an effort to keep him from hurting anyone, but his father pulled you back. He gave you a stern look and shook his head.

“I don’t need you getting in any more trouble right now.” Without anymore protest, you huffed and took your place again. Brian yelled after the boys and jogged out onto the field himself, though he was sure to look back and give you a strict but caring sign to stay back.

You had been right in your earlier assumptions, as Pat charged with a battle cry and pounced on the bobbing mass of bodies, all angrily entangled with one another. More and more athletes seemed to be absorbed into the huddle the longer it went on until it's magnitude reached the crowds of onlookers, who soon after went to join. As the fathers ripped their sons from the mess, Brian stopped a member of the other team from adding a bat to the fight, but by the time the teams had been surgically separated, enough damage had been done. Garvey was in bad, bad shape and the rest of the team was covered in scrapes and bruises, uniforms in shambles and carrying expressions that could kill.

Brian remained out on the field for a few minutes, post scuffle, and Joe went to his son at Garvey’s side. With no one left to stop you from making your way to the scene, you stepped for the first time onto the sacred ground and jogged over to the pit with a wave, “Patrick!” The man turned at his name being called and you stopped in your place when he looked at you. For a moment, you thought you saw a small smile grace his shaking lips as his eyes shone with recognition and he made his way to you. Closing the distance between the two of you, he took you into his sweaty arms and held you perfectly against him. You fit like a puzzle piece together as your own arms were slung around him. He held your head tightly to the crook of his neck and you could smell on him all the events of the day. As you inhaled the scents of dirt and a bit of blood caked onto sweat-soaked skin and leftover aftershave, maybe the hints of a citrus shampoo, you pulled handfuls of his team shirt into your balled fists. Together you swayed for a moment in the middle of the field and he muttered, “Fuck, God- Fuck, I’m so glad you’re here- So fuckin-” He stopped his profane murmurs as he bit back something directly in between happiness and anger. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”

You responded with pressed whispers against the skin of his neck ignoring the previous events and focusing on the moment you were in. “Hey,” you breathed, “I wouldn’t have missed the D-Backs’ last game for the world.”

He smiled, though you couldn’t see. His muffled response was kissed into your hair. You couldn’t quite understand what he’d said but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘God, I fucking love you,’ which you completely reciprocated.

One hand of yours strayed from his back to his head and held the hair protruding from beneath hat. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again, softer this time, emphasizing how much your being there for him meant. “But I can’t fucking wait to get you alone.” He finished his statement quietly, in a voice that sent shivers down your spine, hot and dark, every vertebra quaking. His own hands mapped the back of your neck, threading his calloused, bloody fingers through your locks, holding you with a fear of losing you.

“I’m just glad you’re o-”

The quiet conversation was interrupted. “Get a room, Murray!” A voice yelled from the group of red behind him. It was most likely Barone or Polacco, the only two in a good enough mood after the previous events to pay enough attention to you to make any kind of crude comment like usual.

Pat pulled away, lips spread thin and eyes low. His hands moved to grip your upper arms tightly and he slowly turned his head back to look at the clever commentators. “Shut the FUCK UP ABOUT MY GODDAMN GIRLFRIEND!” Your eyes widen and a sheepish grin spread widely between your cheeks. When he turned back to you, you lifted your hand to hold his face. His eyes were tied to yours, but your gaze soon drifted down to the lightly bleeding scratches on his neck. You frowned and your fingertips dropped to trace over the red lines. The man holding you still, softer now, hissed at the raw contact and his pleading eyes twitched.

His hand rose to wipe at your left cheek, stained from his wound and your place in the crook of his neck. He didn’t move it though after placing it there. “You- There was some blood- Fuck, that’s so gross, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-” His head shook lightly as he stared at you, lip twitching with slight distress.

You responded with a soft laugh, breathed through your nostrils. “It’s ok- It’s ok! I’m sorry you got hurt,” you said as you wiped some of the blood from around the new wound. Pat looked pained, but your presence overcame any discomfort he had. “What a game, huh?”

You chuckled and he hummed near your ear, a pleased puff of air pushed through his nostrils. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here- It’s a better game now. I know it’s not gonna actually get better, but-” Pat moved back and looked at you with gleaming eyes. You could never resist those eyes. He seemed so hopeful since he’d learned of your arrival and you weren’t going to even think about how vain it might have been. “But you’re here, you know.”

You moved your hands swiftly to the sides of his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Though it took him a moment, he quickly pulled you against him and his plush lips pushed against yours. His arms around your waist were the only things keeping you upright as the two of you collided so passionately you arched against him. He pulled slightly back to turn his head and slip through your parted lips. He tasted of vanilla ice cream and blue raspberry Gatorade. Tongues pushing needily against each other, for just a moment, the field around you was lost and all you had was the sensation of Pat Murray buzzing through your lips.

“Ey, Murray-!” A sing-songy voice interrupted again and immediately Pat painfully yanked your face from his. With a clenched jaw and white knuckles still on your figure, he wiped the shared saliva from his mouth and looked like he was refraining from erupted in a trembling angry fit. One hand swept down the side of your face with a dazed expression of admiration and he made eye contact with you, sending you his concern through soft, hazel eyes. You felt the sudden sadness of his body leaving yours, the physical contact high of your love crashed down and you were left hot and alone. The player ran back to the benches spewing foul curses at his ogling teammates as they threw around playful jabs at his PDA. He turned to wave you off and that made you smile. You stepped backward, slowly at first, then turned to jog back to your spot at the fence.

The crowds grew but the sound shrunk. Spectators came from around the neighborhood as word of the fight had spread. It was silent now, in the aftermath. It felt like a sort of mourning period, perhaps for the final chances of the D-Backs at winning today’s game. Reverence was the word to describe what was emanating from the home team. The dugout looked morbid and the only eyes that weren't cast down were furrowed in anger, confusion, and concern. Sirens cut through the still, religious air as an ambulance and a police car drove onto the game dirt.

Two EMTs came barrelling from their vehicle with a gurney and lifted Garvey into the back of the ambulance. The teams cheered him on before the vehicle doors closed and the ambulance left the field. The last image of Garvey was that of him in a neck cast with a thumbs up and the biggest smile.

Two cops then got out of their car that had parked itself on the dirt and went over to the D-Back dugout. Vinnie and Ty sat against the fence as the policemen approached them after speaking with the umpires. “Tyler Delmonica and Vincent Maltzan?”

You watched with the fathers as you had before and smacked Brian’s arm with fever as you saw the lawmen approach the team. “What the fuck- What’s- What the fuck are they doing?” With a slightly irritated side-eyed glance, Brian observed the same scene you did with concern. The elder Mazzello on the other side of him grunted and spoke, “Nothing good.”

The two from the fence had gone over to the cops and were now in handcuffs. The entirety of the red team had come swarming from the shaded dugout to defend their friends. Curses were thrown back and forth and the policeman threatened to arrest Dells as well. “Dude, what the fuck-” you muttered.

“Finish the game!” Ty urged as he and Vinnie were dragged away. The other policeman countered Ty’s plea, announcing for an end to the gathering, at which time both teams emerged from their holes and agreed upon something for the first time. ‘We’re almost done!’ they said, ‘We’re winning!’ The crowd, which had grown exponentially since the scuffle, jeered and booed at the officer. He then complied to the masses as Maz promised they would go on with no further complications. The Bulldogs player that had put poor Garv in the hospital was expulsed and that was the end of it.

The game went on, not without some drama, of course, but it went on. It was an incredible sight. Dells was on fire, throwing out after out after out. Zapata gets a hit, Fotch walks with a dead arm (breaking Dell’s front car window in the process), then it was Pat at-bat, again.

He hit the first one and your breathing stopped, then it was announced a foul. You held tightly to his father’s arm, praying for the impossible as you did every game. The second ball went in slow motion as it headed towards him. The world stood still for you. The sudden smack of wood against hot leather shook you from your trance. Patrick ran with a fury you’d never seen before, sliding into first base in a red dust cloud of victory.

You could barely recognize your own voice in the scream you let loose as you watched your significant other accomplish such a rare feat. “YES, PATTY, YES! FUCKING GET IT!” You were jumping up and down, shaking the fence, hitting Brian when your hands weren’t waving excitedly in the air. Brian laughed at your reaction and held you with an arm when you settled down.

Patrick screamed and jumped just as you were. “I GOT A HIT!” The crowd was still roaring, the D-Backs yelling for him.

“Way to go, Pat!” Brian hugged you and wiped tears from eyes you hadn’t noticed falling before. The older man shook you affectionately against his side.

“I GUESSED! I FUCKING GUESSED!” The ginger was kept his yelling as the blue team called for time. “I’M NOT OUT!” He clapped and laughed, calling after his team as they prepped during the other team's timeout. Maybe it was just you but the air smelled sweet now, beside your considered family in an epic and cherished moment. It may have been bittersweet but it was worth savoring every second of.

“GO PALACCO! KILL HIM! MURDER HIM!” Pat was still screaming as his teammate took to the batting mound. It went Palacco, then David, then Maz. Having two strikeouts lead to your star didn’t seem like a good sign, but Maz was a miracle man. A home run, last bat, and they- They won. The D-Backs won. Maz hit home and the entire game, everything leading up to it erupted in the field and the crowds. The culmination of an entire season, all the stress of the game, the fight, the disappointment of the draft, the love of the team and the camaraderie and support they all show through all this exploded.

Red shirts were glued in a huddle at center field. “For Garvey!” You heard someone yell. Vinnie and Ty came running back on, leaping and whooping. The crowd roared and the cheers rolled over the hills beyond the field. You shook with pride, sure you must have been glowing like the sun looking out upon the victory. Brian looked on the verge of tears, but you couldn’t quite tell through wet eyes of your own. Sound seemed to escape the reality you existed in and all that mattered was the team. Time slowed and your focus went to tunnel vision on a very specific first-time hitter.

Patrick ran over to you the second you set foot on the beaten dirt of the outfield, ambushing you with the tightest embrace you may have ever been in. It took a second but you thrust your arms around him as well as he lifted you from your waist. Holding onto him around his neck, he spun you in tight circles as you both laughed heartily, buried in one another’s soft scents. As he put you down, you started to speak but he cut you off immediately by pushing his face into yours. You did not mind one bit as you resumed your position from earlier, curving against him, your front flat against his chest, hands tugging at his sweaty hair as his limbs slipped down your back. Tracing the dimples at the bottom of your spine, pulling at the hem of your shirt and letting his thumb kiss your skin. His other hand gripped your ass, wanting you impossibly closer. Your open-mouthed kiss was outlined by a smile as you groaned every time he found a new place on your body to caress. Pat was lost in your taste, like lemon cookies and cherry slushies and little league baseball games.

“C’mon, man! Your fucking dad’s here!” Zapata groaned and Palacco smacked his arm with a laugh as the team, those distracted by the couple, made faces and sounds to tease. Barone made a thrusting motion and mouthed ‘Get it!’ as his own girlfriend stood neglected behind him.

The pair of you separated to see the what antics the boys had come up with this time around. Though you thought Pat’s good mood after the win couldn’t be bent, this came awfully close. His grimace was incomparable yet that was just another reason you loved him. Somehow it was still adorable. “He’s right, you know,” you patted your lover’s dusty chest and smiled, “I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Murray the whole game and he probably saw all that.” Pat glanced back at you before looking behind you and quickly, guiltily, pulling his hands from your ass.

‘Perfect timing,’ you thought, as you could guess exactly who it was. Brian was kind enough not to mention anything as he approached his son. The father gave you a pat on the back before embracing his son. The moment was tender as you looked on at the scene of the father/son bonding, albeit a bit awkwardly. Brian held Pat by the shoulders for a moment and they both had shining streaks down their cheeks. You didn’t hear anything that had been said but you smiled softly, overcome with love for the both of them. The graying man approached you next, rubbing your shoulder and giving you a quick hug. “You kids have fun,” he said as he walked back to Joe, “and be safe!” He winked.

“God, your dad-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Love him, though,” you joined the number 15 player as you followed the others to the snack shack, walking arm in arm, holding as much contact as you could while still being able to walk.

Maz ended up beside you when you all sat at the picnic tables with rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream in a casual post celebration gathering. This gave you the opportunity to congratulate him and at the same time express your sympathies after the draft. “I mean, it’s alright,” he’d said to you, “‘cus this is really what it’s all about right here, you know? I mean these guys-” He laughed gently as David and Palacco ‘lovingly’ assaulted Ty with several scoops of ice cream to the face, “Dad was right. They’re what it’s about. Winning is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t be here without them and- and it’s all just-” Without getting emotional, he could barely say anymore. “It’s not about me. It’s about family.” John sat back against the table and chuckled.

You patted his knee as you stood. “They wouldn’t be here without you either, Maz. Regardless of where you go from here, everything you’ve done has mattered to someone, to all of them, at least.” Your boyfriend approached you and you said one last thing to the star batter before moving out, “I mean, if you could hear the way Pat talked about you, you’d think you were his girlfriend.” He laughed at this and you grinned knowing he would appreciate it. “Be proud, no doubts, you’re loved, and all that shit.”

“Thanks, [YN],” John nodded happily at you and looked down for a moment at his melting cone dripping on the grass below him. Pat stood next to you now and whispered some suggestive suggestions in your ear. Shooting the younger Mazzello a sorry look he sent you off and waved you and your lover goodbye with a sly grin. “Go on, go have fun. I’ve had enough of the longing looks, get it out of your system.”

Pat laughed lightly and slipped an arm around your waist, furrowing a confused set of eyes at his friend’s comment, then at you. It made him wonder what type of conversation the two of you’d had. He led you towards the parking lot, flipping off the team he left behind as they wolf whistled, making a lot of correct assumptions of what the two of you intended to do in your early departure. You’d left your van parked around the side of the field in the nice shade of a small grove of trees. The keys clicked in the quieter, cooler, fresher air around you. Patrick leaned against the side of the vehicle, one arm up to support himself and the other placed on his hip, ankles crossed. He watched you a bit too intently as you unlocked the cabin of your old car.

“I can feel you looking at me,” you smiled, opening the passenger’s side door to manually reach around and slide open the spacious back of the bus, turning on the car battery in the process. Leaving the keys in the ignition, turning down The Damned, but leaving it loud enough to cover what sounds may come. He watched you do this every time. It came as no wonder to him why your cherished car was in such bad shape as you left the battery running to supply a soundtrack to your lovemaking. Eyes distractedly stalled on your midsection as he looked you up and down, Pat faltered as the car shuddered when the door opened and he was thrown off his balance. He caught himself, though, and shot you a slanted grin.

“You’re just-” He bit his lip, “-so fucking hot, and you’re all mine.” Settling into the cushy, creaking back part of the carriage, you grinned expectantly.

“Am I?” You cocked your head, “Maybe you should remind me again who exactly I belong to.” Dragging every word out, you purposefully teased the impatient man, unbuttoning the top of your shorts slowly.  

Like a switch, something clicked in him. His entire demeanor shifted from his almost toddler-like temper to something much more mature. Sitting spread eagle on the plush blankets you kept in the back for such occasions, you waited. He stared at you darkly, a towering shadow that filled the van’s open portal to the rest of the world. He filled in the empty space, deciding what he wanted to do first, how he would defile you in so many ways and what he would start with.

The interior smelled liked fast food, rubbing alcohol, and sweaty sex. Seeing as the main things you did in this car were eat bad food, try to clean up the stains left behind from said bad food, and, of course, fuck, the medley of scents came as no surprise. Around you were an array of cushions, blankets, and pillows all extremely soft to the touch. Not an inch of the original upholstery could be seen under the collection of plush covers. This made for the ideal landing as Pat pounced on you like a starved jungle cat as you look so very appetizing against the grey of the fur throw you laid on.

With him on top of you, you grabbed his cap and threw it to the side, kicking the door closed with your foot. Already against your lips, Pat straddled you, one hand on your waist and the other your cheek. The tops of your thighs pressed against the backs of his laying sideways in the cramped space. Holding his face to yours, his stiff, sweat dried hair curling between your fingers, you moaned. He smelled hotly of dust and fire, like a childhood summer day. The intimacy of the flood of memories he reminded you of only increased the sensation for you, heightening your attraction to him in a familiar, safe emotion.

His lips moved against yours, both of you sharing the same rhythm like singing along to an old song you never really could forget the words to. Open mouths clashed, teeth hit teeth, tongues knotted with tongues. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek as his wet kisses traveled down your face hitting your chin, your neck, your collarbone. Simultaneously, his hand pushed up your top, the other lifting you to help you pull it off. You let your arms drift above your head as he peeled the first layer off your body. It was only fair you would start unbuttoning his jersey and pulling at it, signaling him to take it off.

Before you could rip his undershirt off, he attached his lips to your neck, sucking hard to leave behind a noticeable deep purple love mark high enough it couldn’t be covered. You could feel his teeth graze your skin in a proud smile as your hot and heavy breaths turned to desperate, squirming moans. You gasped, gripping the fabric over his chest. He was glowing knowing only he could leave you in such a state.

Dragging a hot trail of saliva down your body, Pat stopped at your chest. He pulled away and stared down at your breasts with a shake of his head. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered. With one knee on either side of you, he sat up and pulled his red top off. Then he swept back down, suctioned back to your skin. He started behind your ear and peppered bites around your jaw, hands pulling your body to arch, allowing him the opportunity to remove your bra. You threw your head back and shimmied off the upper undergarment.

Your hands skimmed Pat’s bare chest, traveling upwards to his shoulders and past. Palms pressed against the sides of his face, you wiped your thumbs at the smeared eye black on his cheeks. His gaze was tied to your exposed chest and his breathing was heavy and hungry. Lips hanging parted, he slowly looked up at you through hooded lashes.

You smiled at the man hovering above you. Neither of you moved as you established eye contact while Jimi Hendrix played in the background. The van was hot between your bodies and the setting sun shining through the front window. Sweat beaded your forehead and your boyfriend went to push your hair back from your face, damp from the growing heat. “You’re-”

“You’re beautiful,” you finished. He laughed and it was like a Baroque painting before you. In a golden haze, his hair looked soft and he was glowing in muted tones. The tapestry pinned to the ceiling gave a dusty rose background to compliment the halo you saw around him. You pushed his hair back and pulled yourself up to kiss him. He took this chance to explore your body, mapping every inch of your warm, welcoming skin.

His fingertips were calloused and grey, dirt caked in the ridges of his prints, proof of the aftermath of the game. Rough pads walked down the center of your torso, stopping at your breasts. He took one mound in his hand, pinching your nipple between his thumb and his palm, rolling it slowly. You bit your lip and tucked your fingers under the waistband of his baseball pants and briefs, pulling them back and snapping them against his hips. Your eyes hung on the happy trail leading up his stomach. You traced it with the tip of your nail and his dark gaze settled on your face.

From his perspective, you were hidden in the shadows below him, hot and vulnerable. Buds of your breasts perky and hard, the dips of your stomach like a flowing river to your hips where your shorts sat a little too low, you were buried under filters of lust. The retiring sunlight hit the dust particles between you, floating through the air in slow motion like a love scene in an early 2000s, warm-toned, rom-com, the kind you spent Friday nights watching under three different blankets on the couch. You were dreamy, always, but especially now, a hazy, golden goddess.

“I want you, Pat,” you interrupted his daze, stroking his face and pushing his loose hair behind his ear. “Now.”

He blinked at you and grinned. “Oh, let’s go.” You smiled wickedly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, you wrapped your arms around his back and slipped your hands on his ass. He engulfed you then gripped your shorts and panties, ripping them down all at once. A guttural groan left your throat and you wiggled out of your clothes. Pat had moved to one side of you, maintaining skin on skin contact whenever he could, and kicking off his shoes. Your body arched towards him as he retracted his touch. You shook your pants off your leg and laid baring it all for your lover in the cramped space of the vintage vehicle.

Pat was awestruck as you sat up, spread out for him, back to the driver’s seat. He paused with his pants stopped just high enough not to be truly explicit. You looked on with anticipation, one finger slinking its way between your legs. “Keep going,” you nodded at him. He complied with a lopsided grin and hot, hooded eyes. You rubbed two fingers against your clit and bit your bottom lip as he yanked his pants down, cup painfully sliding over his hard erection. He sat back and pulled off his bottoms, socks included, cock slapping against his stomach as he did so.

You snorted at him, unceremoniously slouched in the back of your small van. The sight was both pleasing and amusing, and far from being unfamiliar. Every time you’ve watched him undress in these four fabric covered walls, it felt the same. It had become something of a post-game ritual, defiling the backspace of your car while the oldies stationed tuned out the lewd sounds you made together.

‘She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side’, your lover crawled towards you as you spread your lower lips to welcome him, ‘I said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side.’ Patrick took in the sight of your glistening sex and licked his lips. He sat back on a plush green throw blanket and pulled you onto his lap with a soft chuckle. He hummed contently at your lips against his ear, tightening his arms around your damp skin. You were straddling him, one arm slung over his shoulder and the other reaching for his member. The pre-cum leaking from his tip spread against your stomach as you pressed onto him, limber fingers wrapped precariously around his length. You pumped him slowly, hanging off his lobe by your teeth. This pulled a whimper from deep inside him, nuzzling against you. Thumb sliding over his head, you dragged the slickness down his shaft and sucked on his neck as he had yours. You were dripping for him and he could feel it. His knuckles went white, gripping your thighs with bruising strength. He nipped at your shoulder, leaving behind wet, fading love bites.

You were jostled as your boyfriend lifted you by your waist so he could easily access your tits, supporting you against the back of the driver’s seat. Pace quickening as your hand slid up and down his cock, his mouth latched onto your nipple, teeth brushing against it as he sucked hard. His thick fingers inside you scissored with fervor and you could feel every bend of his knuckles between your walls. Your free hand held his face against your chest and you moaned. Slowly, the cabin filled with the sweet scents of both yours and his arousal and sweat. You pulled yourself towards him and pulled gently on his hair as he replaced his lips with rolling fingers and paid his attention to your other bud.

“Fuck, Pat,” your breath hitched and you could feel him smile against your breast, “Pat, I want you-”

“I fucking need you, [Y/N],” his breathing was heavy as he detached from your chest, moving to look you in the eyes, “Soon.” It was a pleading look he gave you, far different from his on-field persona. With one last soft squeeze of his erection, you let go. He moaned at the release and you were up on your knees. He looked up at you from between your breasts as you flattened against him.

One of his hands slid between your thighs and your composure faltered, his cold fingers pressing past your nerve center and straight to your hole. He watched your face carefully, one hand on the small of your back, the other letting digit after digit push into your sex easily, slick secretion assisting in his effort to stretch you before his anticipated penetration. Blinking quickly, you twitch your hips at the knuckles deep in your pussy. Patrick grabbed your ass and began going in and out and in and out of your entrance with a quiet slap. To the rhythm of the Bowie song blowing out your damaged speakers, you hump his fingers and ride your rising pleasure ut before you can peak, you’re filled with emptiness.

“You fucking ready for me, babe?” Want was dripping from every syllable of his words as you looked down just in time to see him pull his slick fingers from his mouth, appreciating your taste every chance he could.

“Let’s drag this out, baby, today we got something to celebrate.” You caressed the side of his face and smiled softly. He couldn’t resist your whims and he knew exactly how to make this special.

He laid on his back and pulled you up by your ass, sliding your wetness along his torso. He lifted your waist and you compliantly moved your knees to either side of his head. “Then let me finish you off before we start on the good stuff, hm?” His smile was sexy as he adored you from between your legs, willing to put your sexuality before his need. His arms wrapped around your pillowy thighs, on hand holding your slit open and the other stroking your clit. A shiver ran through you as he lifted his head to break your first contact.

This was his chosen place of worship, kissing your core surrounded by the satin skin of your voluptuous legs. His religion was you on your knees and him on his back, the ecstatic expression you wore his deity. The fluid stained woven rugs and fur throws that shaped the interior of your chosen mode of transportation was the altar he so admired in the temple of you. Your skin was scripture and your acts together sacred, the hard rock you left on the hymns of your love. His metaphor was worn but as the last of the daylight threaded through the fallen waves of your hair, he couldn’t think of any words more true to describe this image of you.

He dove into you, starved of your taste. You were pulled down to his face, feeling his tongue probe the space between your lower lips, sucking at the labia and fully drinking up your nectar. You ground against his tongue, utilizing what he could to maximize your pleasure, the texture of his muscle overwhelming your senses. His nose pressed against your clit as his hands moved to go from grabbing your ass, supporting your waist, then giving his hands’ attention to your breasts. Your nipples were well loved as your pussy continued to be stimulated to the point of pushing you over.

Your whole body curved forwards, gripping his hair and supporting yourself with a fistful of the blanket. Uneven breaths drifted from your open mouth, heaving chest painted with small drops of sweat. Pat’s palm was flat against your back. Your hair flipped out of your line of sight as you threw your head back, lips forming a solid ‘o’. A wave of ecstasy rushed over you in your first orgasm of the evening, a musical moan, broken by sharp breaths. The lover beneath you lapped up every release of your spasming pussy until your curses died down to soft shudders. To avoid overstimulating you, Pat moved from your sensitive mound to drop hot kisses on your inner thighs.

The pulsing of your core subdued as you spent the next minute catching your breath. The van was filled with salty, hot air and Patrick held your midsection tightly as he sucked dark hickies on every inch of your shy skin he could reach. His face was coated in your juices, which was smeared across your legs, both sets of hands, and down your boyfriend’s chest. Letting his tongue glide over a fresh bruise just left in the crux of your crotch, his melted autumn eyes stared up at you with intense lust. He threw his head back when he was satisfied with his work and snorted, “You taste like a Goddamn fucking angel.”

His smile was goofy and gross, the juvenile delinquency of your act written all over his face. It made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking around with the angry boy your parents didn’t like. God, you loved him. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the situation. There you were, sitting on your boyfriend's face in the back of your musty van by the neighborhood baseball field and you weren’t even done yet.

You grinned down at him, “Shut up and fuck me, Murray.” The man smiled and sat up, catching you as you fell off him. You grabbed his face and pressed his lips to yours for a moment, tasting your own sticky, semi-sweet love on his lips before he pulled away to reach around you. Popping open the center console compartment with a click, he grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. “Care to-”

You took the contraceptive from him without letting him finish. He could understand the eagerness in your eyes and moved back expectantly. Holding up the plastic package, you frowned. “I thought we were celebrating?” You tilted your head innocently. Recognition flashed across his face and he raised his eyebrows. For the first time, the mood was broken, a Honda commercial really solidifying it for you.

“Are you- Are you serious? Are you sure?” The sweaty athlete’s eyes were wide at your implication.

You smiled slyly and nodded at him. “I’m on birth control and,” you shrugged, “I trust you not to have any weird, contagious rashes.” He laughed at you, happily, and you joined him.

“I can promise you I have no transmittable diseases, inspect me if you want.” His arms moved out to present himself to you.

You dragged a nail across the length of one of his arms and he cocked a half smile in your direction as he eyes your movements. “I’ve seen plenty.” You grinned and put your hands back on his cheeks, pushing against him in a kiss. Pat was quick to move, but you stopped him, hand flat against his chest. “You need a little prep, first, don’t you?” Slowly, he figured it out and sat back to give you more space to do your deed. Folding over yourself, thighs spread and arousal tickled by the thick woven rug beneath you, your face reached the waiting cock.

All the man could focus on was your long, batting lashes and your ass sticking out behind you. His tip was cold and wet from being untouched, but your spit dripped down it as you kissed the slit briefly. Patrick’s breath was shaky as you licked from the base up to the tip, making eye contact as you did so. His body weight was put on his locked arms behind him, leaning away from you, but he feared one more sex filled look from you would break him and he would collapse.

He nearly did when you first took him into your hot mouth. A groan vibrated through him and you felt it in your connection. Slowly at first, sparingly, you bobbed up and down on his length, soft lips sliding over every ridge and every vein. “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-” You picked up speed with his encouraging curses. Head thrown back, your lover focused on not cumming right then and there, doing his best to save himself for what came next, but Goddamn it, [Y/N], he thought. He’d let you know him far too well if you could break him into so many pieces so quickly. Tongue scraping at the side of the sensitive skin, balls being treated with care in your hands, and the pace leaving him a sputtering mess- You name filled the compartment like a rolling sea fog, all your senses overcome with his apparent need for you. His scent, his sounds, his taste- hot and salty. Seeing his chest rising with labored breaths, you decided he was getting too close and hilted him in your throat as best you could for a moment, teeth grazing his base and your nose buried in his happy trail, before pulling off at a painstaking pace, detaching from him with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva falling from between you.

It took a quiet moment for him to get his bearings at the disappointing cutoff. The drops of sweat sliding down the sides of his face were tinted with red from the adobe colored dirt he’d spent so much time on. Sitting back up and leaning towards him, you went to wipe the moisture away and he held your hand to his face, kissing your palm with closed eyes. He saved his high and gave you a quick, and ironically chaste, kiss before pushing aside discarded clothing articles and repositioning the two of you so he was above you once again. He took you by your middle and moved you to the side, growing increasingly impatient, seemingly recovered from his edge. Holding firmly to your ribs as he laid you down before him, he then pulled away to admire you again.

Under a young night sky, you were the only star he saw. Glowing in a post-orgasmic haze against the shadows cast by street lamps, you were a constellation of an impossible creature. Contrasting the true space you both existed in, his view of you was divine. Every beautiful thing in the heavens and the earth, he saw in you.

“Pat?” You furrowed your eyes in concern at his momentary stillness.

He blinked the clouds from his eyes. “God, sorry, fuck-” Shaking his head, he smiled slightly, “I got so fucking lucky. I may not be able to get a hit but, uh-” He chuckled before completing his favorite line, “You sure are a catch.” He winked and you gently kicked him in the shoulder. Catching your ankle, he held your leg up and held it over his shoulder as he moved to position himself at your open hips. “C’mon, it’s my best line.”

You impatiently rolled your eyes. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You motioned to your waiting sex, ready and slick for him. “I’m waiting-”

“-And I’m ready!” Patrick held up his free hand defensively before grabbing your hip with bruising strength. His dripping, neglected tip sat waiting at your entrance. His tone turned serious, “Are you?”

His genuine asking was comforting and you nodded quickly. His position over you turned you on even more, if possible, loving that he could see you melt in his hand and drip between his fingers. With one hand holding your leg up and the other stroking his excited cock, preparing to enter you. The sparkling space between your welcoming thighs glistened in the little bit of moonlight making its way into the vehicle. He slid his thumb through the wetness and you groaned in need. He chuckled at your response and you squirmed against the soft fabrics you’d been set on.

It was the moment of final satisfaction that you’d been building to all afternoon in the back of your sex-soaked bus. Your eyes were trained on his focused downward gaze and you could feel him press into you. It was a pleasant stretch you looked forward to but it was different this time, void of the protection you’d so cautiously used. You felt unequivocally full, natural, and satisfying like you were made to fit together like this. Scary, but exciting, this new sensation left you unable to control your breathing. Sharp inhalations were a sign to him he was doing something good. Pushing into you was easy with how much arousal dripped your sex, all the fluids of the night mixing together for a pleasurable experience. In and out, he took his time deepening the contact, holding tight to your hips, a nice pain shooting through you when he squeezed the old yellowed bruises he’d left behind from past rendezvous. Your eyes focused on him when they were closed in ecstasy, hands swiping furiously at your clit or alternating between your breast. Pat was in awe at the bolts of hot pleasure that traveled up his body at the raw feeling of you around him, tight, wet, and warm. He thought sex couldn’t get any better, especially not with you, but he was wrong. He felt every dip and fold of your tunnels against the ridges of his own skin.

You were sleeved around him as he picked up speed. Grunts fell from his pouting lips every time his hips slapped against yours. The sound could be heard over the still playing radio in the front seat. It seemed the amount of teasing the two of you subjected each other to left little resilience to the sudden relief of penetration as your boyfriend’s rate jumped from calculated, appreciative thrusts to messy, needy, heavy ones in a matter of minutes. “You feel-” He groaned as he hilted in you again, balls deep to the pleasure of both of you, “So fucking amazing-” The words barely came out. You tried to formulate a response but the heat filling your abdomen stopped you. What came out instead was a gurgled moan of agreement. Smiling at the sights and the sounds you produced, Pat was absolutely enamored by you in this new sensation. Tits bouncing as you shook with his slamming thrusts, your eyes rolling back with guttural groans from deep inside you.

Drawing from that pit of white-hot pleasure, you neared your peak and a higher pitched plead cam as a warning to your partner, “Can’t- Fuck, Pat- Almost there-” He got the message and the two of you shook together, his whispers of ‘me too, me too’ barely heard through the whimpers. No longer could sounds be differentiated from one source or the other as your bodies melted together in a moment of bliss. For the first time, the vehicle noticeably shook in your passionate lovemaking. His hands slipped down your legs, attention drifted from your clit to your navel to your hair as he doubled over to float parallel above you. Sweat from his tiring body rained on you and you pulled him closer. His face was buried between your ear and shoulder, biting away curses as he humped through his high.

“Fuck, that’s it-” The sliding stopped as his back arched first, pressing so hard into your crux, you were sure your entire lower half would be purple by the next morning. His member pulsed inside you and you could feel it swell with anticipation before your own pussy milked him for all he was worth. Streams and streams of hot, white pleasure flowed into you and you swallowed a scream. The sound that managed to escape was otherworldly and Pat loved it. You’d never felt this before, his love directly inside you, hot sloshing, liquid driving you past your point of return. You thought maybe it hadn’t been the physical sensation but the idea of how intimate the action was that had really given you your final orgasm. Either way, you had simultaneously arched against him and he held you up by your back as you squeezed with every muscle. Nails dragging down his spine, no doubt leaving red territorial marks down his sides as you rode out the ocean of intensity that washed over you. It made you curl your toes and tense your appendages around your lover like a boa constrictor and their prey.

Love came gushing from your connection and pooled beneath the small of your back, sinking into the layers of covers that cushioned the two of you from the hard vehicle floor. You didn’t think about the mess you’d made or the unfortunate task of cleaning it up and instead focused on the weight on top of you. Still, inside you, Patrick’s cock twitched as he’d nearly collapsed over you. The rhythm of your breathing synced with his and your pussy pulsed sorely, your entire body sensitive and raw. A shiver ran through your bones as you felt the hot mouth of the body blanketing your’s suction onto your neck one last time, licking over its handy work with a weak laugh. Your fingers laced through his damp hair and you turned your cheek to kiss his.

Your eyes were watering, maybe from the tense situation or the exhaustion that suddenly overwhelmed you now that the wire strings of arousal no longer hold you up. Pat felt the same way as he slowly pulled out of you and you winced. On his side next to you, you felt him pull you closer, nestling into your equally wet and disgusting hair. The entire car smelled awful and hot, the windows were grey and fogged up, blankets beneath you covered in God knows what. Closing your legs and turning towards the warmth beside you, you nestled into him, the feeling of your post-coital calmness was immortalized in the music you’d left on. ‘Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise.’

Maybe the lyrics weren’t a perfect fit, but somehow the melody found it’s way beneath your hot skin and soothed you. You remained this way for, you weren’t sure how long. Time seemed lost to the two of you then. Engulfed in his arms, you felt safe. The scene was grimy and explicit, your nakedness blending together, the leftover ejaculate dripping from your slit without care, the stained and discarded undergarments left unnoticed and hanging off the steering wheel. It wasn’t clean or safe, but for the two of you, it was nice. What that said about your situation, you didn’t care. This was your heaven.

“Good morning, Orange County! And what a lovely morning it is! We’d like to start the day with a little Springsteen, huh?” A hard drum intro led into a twangy guitar and the sonorous voice of Bruce Springsteen, ‘In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines.’

“Is it weird,” you’d said, “knowing all the boys are well aware of what we do? Including your dad?” You laughed a bit, leaning against him, still bare, under a furry quilt. The carriage of the vehicle creaked at your movements, audible now that it wasn’t masked by the heavy breathing of your fucking. The bohemian tapestry behind you shrouded the rising sun from your sensitive eyes, half open in a dream-like state.

Patrick planted a quick kiss in your hair, “I like they know you’re mine.” He took a deep breath, “And my dad can fuck off.”

After a pause, you looked at him and erupted in laughter. “He’s pretty cool, you know, for having to deal with a kid like you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

‘Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims and strap your hands 'cross my engines.’

Brian glanced at the phone as he prepared his breakfast. He was sure his son was fine, he’d gone nights without calling before, but by morning he usually had a message waiting for him. He tried not to think about what may have distracted him in order to keep down his first meal of the day. The radio played in the background.

‘Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors and the boys try to look so hard. The amusement park rises bold and stark, kids are huddled on the beach in a mist. I wanna die with you Wendy on the street tonight in an everlasting kiss.’

The groundskeeper stared on worriedly at the shaking VW bus that had been parked behind the trees since before he’d gotten there in the small hours of the morning. “Fucking teenagers, disgusting,” he shook his head and turned away, earphones back in as he started up the lawnmower.

‘Oh honey, tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.’