#hey quick question does it get lonely up there to where you fled? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queeniewriteshockey · 4 years

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Stay The Night || Part 4 || Nolan Patrick + Reader

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR MAKING EVERYONE WAIT FOREVER. Please please please forgive me. I know I am literally the WORST! I hope you like this installment. There is ONE more part to this story and it’s almost finished. I love you all Requested: Y/N Word Count: 2,312 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 (final)

The days following your leave from the not so beautiful city of Philly are filled with many questions and few answers. The drive to Winnipeg did nothing to alleviate your mind or put you at ease. It was 29 hours of memories constantly playing as if your mind was a flipbook. You'd blink, and the memory would change; a song on the radio would trigger a different thought, or a landmark would remind you of something.

It wasn't the first time you'd driven this route. You'd done it once before when you'd moved from Winnipeg to Philly. Nolan hadn't been with you, but you'd spent most of the drive-in contact with him. You'd spent hours on the phone with him as you drove the lonely roads at hours of the night and day when no one was on the road. He kept you awake and entertained, or he checked in with you at pit stops. He was the one that convinced you to stop for the night and not try to drive straight through. It was a 24-hour drive; he wanted you alive.

You snort at the memory and shake your head. What had you expected when you did this? Did you really think he was just going to drop everything and realize he loved you? Romantic fantasies were for the young, and you felt like you'd aged three decades in the few months you'd lived in Philly.

Just as before, driving straight through was not an option. The light of day was starting to crest the horizon, and you'd still only had a small amount of sleep if you could even call it that. A half an hour tops in the car park of Nolan's place was not sleeping. That was an error in judgment and nothing else.

Winter nights were long and cold, but the sunrise was beautiful; the varying shades of mauve and tangerine mixing as the rays of light catch little dust motes in the air is a sight you still marvel at, no matter how old you feel.

The tiredness you felt before you'd fled from Nolan with the small amount of dignity you had seeps back into your bones as you drive. It weighs you down and makes your body sag from it all. Your shoulders feel like the world is sitting directly on them. You are not Atlas; your arms were not crafted to hold so much weight.

A voice in the back of your head tells you to stop. It begs you to pull over and rest. The voice sounds more like Nolan than it does you, and you do what it says. Even in your fit of despair, you can not deny Nolan anything. You hate the hold he has on you, but it's your own fault, not his.

The rest stop is nearly empty when you pull into one of the stalls and drop your seat back so that you can take a nap. You cover-up in the comforter you pulled off your bed during the quick pack and move you'd done about four hours earlier and use your pillow to catch a little shut-eye. The moment you let your eyes shut, the world fades away. The weight of your comforter and the warmth it brings draws you under.

Waking up is a chore, and it takes you a moment to understand what's brought you back to consciousness. Your phone vibrates on the seat beside you. Nolan's name taunts you from the screen.

It's his name that forces you to wake up. It's his voice on the left message that pushes you out of the rest stop and back down the road. His message was so casual, so innocent. A simple "Call me, please?" He had no idea how broken you were, but that was by design. You didn't want him to know. It wasn't his fault, after all. You only had you to blame for the million pieces your heart had shattered into.

You turned the radio up loud and hit the highway and did your level best not to look back. You didn't want to think about what you were leaving behind because the truth was, there was nothing in Philadelphia for you. Were you overreacting? Probably. But the dream had felt so real and then seeing him with her, you just snapped. You couldn't take it anymore. You hated Philly, and you hated yourself for thinking you could have what you wanted when you weren't willing to speak up.

It was fine. You were going to be okay. You'd go back to Winnipeg, get a job in the field you went to school for, and find a better life. That was the plan that pushed you through the long drive. You stopped somewhere in Wisconsin for the night, slept and showered, and continued on. You didn't stop for anything but food and the bathroom. Before you knew it, you were pulling into the driveway of your parent's home.

It was late in the day, late enough that everyone was already home from work. Your mom was bursting through the door before you even had a chance to get out of the car. The worry on her face was evident even from a distance of half a kilometer. You probably should have called her and told her you were coming home, but you were too busy avoiding Nolan, thoughts about him, and his phone calls. It didn't even occur to you to give her a heads up. As it was, you have a voicemail, and three missed calls from Nolan. A surprisingly large amount from someone who often forgot what a cellphone even was.

Your mom pulls you into a hug as you get out of the car, something on your face must have told her all she needed to know. The embrace was firm and warm, and everything you needed. You return the hug just as fiercely and let yourself finally hurt the way you’d been trying not to. The tears that threatened to spill as you fled Nolan’s place two days ago eventually fall and all you can do is hold onto your mom. You’re thankful she doesn’t let go or ask questions. Words were not something you had the ability to hold onto. Your thoughts were like grains of sand slipping through parted fingers, and words were worse.

She holds onto you until you pull away and wipe your face. Her hands cup the sides of your face and smooth your hair down. The corners of her eyes droop with worry, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. It’s a mom thing. Or so she’s always said. “You cry, I cry. It’s that invisible umbilical cord. It’s just the way it is.” You don’t like making your mom cry.

“Philly sucked,” you tell her simply as you sniffle.

She nods and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you inside, and you can tell me all about it.”

You let yourself be swept up in her embrace again, and the two of you walk up the drive together. Your father is standing at the door, waiting. He says nothing just loops an arm around you and presses a kiss to your temple as you pass him and head into the living room.

You tell your mom some of the reasons why you hated Philly, leaving a Nolan sized hole in your explanation. If she noticed, she doesn’t ask. She’s always been good like that. Eventually, you’ll tell her. It might be a few days. It might be a few years. She knows, though, that eventually, she’ll find out.

“Is it cool if I crash here while I look for a job?” You ask. You don’t want to assume anymore, even though you know the answer will always be yes. It’s not your home anymore.

She waves off your request with a scoff and tells you to go wash up.

Your bedroom is exactly the way you left it, and it does nothing for your mental strength. There are pictures of Nolan all over the place. There’s even a Wheatkings jersey hanging on your closet door. For a moment, you wonder how much that jersey can get you. It’s game-worn, after all, but you can’t do that. You just stick it in the closet and forget about it.

It’s weird being back in Winnipeg, but familiar, and you kind of need that stability at the moment. Life goes on, and the world keeps turning, so breaking down and forgetting to keep going isn’t an option. You give yourself only a few days to collect yourself before looking for a new job and once again starting over. You did it in Philly, where you knew only one person. You can do it in Winnipeg, where you know many people.

Finding that job wasn’t hard. Neither was getting an apartment. You had enough saved up from your job in Philly for a down payment. Before you knew it, your life was pieced back together, and Philly was four months in the past. It was almost as if you’d never gone to Philly. The only thing missing was Nolan. He was harder to shake off as it turned out. It took two, maybe three months, for the calls and texts to stop coming in. You answered none of them. Deleted his voicemails without listening (most of the time) and changed the settings in your texts with him so he couldn’t tell if they’d been read or not. Of course, they had been.

Other social media was harder to ignore. You’d see him in your Instagram story notifications long after the calls and texts died. He was still there, even if you wished he wasn’t. He’d always been thick in the head, but it was never in the wrong way. He’s dumb, but he was the right kind of dumb. The type of dumb that made you laugh. The kind of dumb that made it easy to fall in love with him. He was stoic and flat and the sweetest guy in the world. Losing him as a friend hurt, but you couldn’t be around him and be as in love with him as you were. You just. You couldn’t.

“Hey did you hear about Nolan,” Leslie says as she slides into the booth and sets your beer down in front of you.

You look up from your phone, startled by her question. It was as if she’d known you were thinking about him. You weren't looking at a picture, but his Instagram handle mocked you from where it sat in the list of people who had viewed your story.

“Uh,” you say eloquently, “no. I haven’t talked to Nolan since I left Philly.” It was the truth, though the why was left vague. He was busy with the team, or you were busy with work.

“Well,” she says, turning to face you. Her smile is as wide as the Chesire cats, and it makes you raise an eyebrow. Something tells you she’s been itching to gossip for a while. “Apparently,” she starts, and you grab for your beer and try to settle in for a good story. “He isn’t staying in Philly this summer. Apparently he and Jaqueline broke up.”

“Who?” You ask because you have no idea who Jaqueline is. You stopped paying attention to his love life when you left Philly.

“You know, Jaquie, that girl he was seeing for a while down there?”

Was that her name? You probably should have taken a more active role in learning about her, but the idea hurt more than you wanted to admit. “Oh, right. That’s too bad,” you say in an attempt to sound supportive of your friend. You’re not supposed to be happy when a relationship ends, after all.

“Yeah, sucks. But, that means… guess who’s back for the summer?” She’s practically humming with excitement as she says it.

You don’t need to ask ‘who.’ There was no point, given the topic of the conversation. Nolan would be back in The Peg, which meant you’d need to find ways to make yourself scarce. Having the same group of friends was the downside of cutting him out of your life.

“Oh, cool,” you say because you needed something to say to cover the fact that you were freaking out inside and planning your escape routes. You know that you’ll be dragged to a few parties when he gets back.

“Oh, cool? That’s your reaction? Your best friend is coming to visit, and you say oh, cool? What happened in Philly, girl?”

“Nothing,” you say honestly. Nothing did happen. Nolan did nothing wrong. You broke your own heart. “It’ll be nice to have him back.”

“Hey,” a voice cuts in, breaking off your thoughts and ceasing your heart. You look up so quickly your vision brightens slightly with the combination of the alcohol mixing with your nervous system. Nolan is standing across the way a bit, looking just as good as he did the day you left Philly. The confusion on his face is just as prominent as it was that night, but there’s something else in those pretty blue eyes.

Hurt.

Concern.

Worry.

His eyes were always the most expressive part about him. People liked to give him a hard time; they liked to tease him about being emotionless, but you knew the truth. They just didn’t know what to look for.

“NOLAN!” Leslie practically screeches before she launches herself out of her seat and throws herself into his arms. “We missed you so much,” she says into the embrace.

Nolan wraps his arms around her and returns the hug, but his eyes are on you, freezing you to the seat. “I missed you, too,” he says though you’re not sure if he’s talking to Leslie or to you.

#nolan patrick #Nolan patrick imagine #NHL Imagine #hockey imagines #philadelphia flyers imagine

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wangxiangiftexchange · 4 years

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Winter Solstice Gift for sweetlittlevampire

Happy exchange to @sweetlittlevampire! You have no idea how much pressure I felt when I realized I was tasked with putting together your gift - your art is always so beautiful and detailed! I hope this checks the boxes for you: I aimed at driving home 'non-sexual intimacy' and 'found family', with lots of heavy fluff tones. Enjoy!

A quick note: because I have next to no familiarity with Chinese culture, either modern or ancient, I have set this story in modern North America. This means the wedding planning and cultural references adhere to North American styles.

Read on AO3

*****

The Award for Best Man

It’s an unusual time of day to be this exhausted, even by Lan Wangji’s supposedly early sleep schedule. The sun hasn’t finished climbing the sky yet and Lan Wangji can’t think of a single thing he’d rather be doing with a rare day off than this:

He and Wei Ying are together, lumped in the vertex of their L-shaped couch which sits directly in the morning sun. They have the apartment to themselves today, until this evening, when A-Yuan and Wen-popo will return their rabbits from babysitting. Wei Ying was still convinced that Bichen and Suibian would have been absolutely fine with them gone all yesterday to tour wedding venues; Lan Wangji had insisted they not be lonely.

Now he wonders if he subconsciously had the foresight to rid himself of anything that could have distracted him from an exhausted Wei Ying. He becomes so sweet and pliable when he’s tired, needy only for Lan Wangji’s affection and attention. It’s one of the only times Wei Ying lies still.

Usually.

Out of nowhere, Wei Ying springs out of his lap to sit upright on the couch. He must not be as tired as Lan Wangji thought.

“I just realized –” he says, turning back to Lan Wangji with a striking look of alarm on his face. “I can’t ask you to be my best man. Lan Zhan! You’ve ruined my wedding plans!”

Lan Wangji blinks, a little surprised. ‘Ruined’ seems a touch dramatic – if anything, he thinks recasting his role as ‘bridegroom’ is an upgrade over ‘best man’.

But because he’s tired too, his only response is: “Me?”

“Yes, you! Silly. What did you think I was gonna do? Get married at an altar where you weren’t there beside me and, wow, oh my god, that seems too revealing now that I say it out loud.”

Lan Wangji’s heart glows and he tucks a loose hair from Wei Ying’s face. The gesture makes them both smile. “I pictured you, too.”

“Aawww!! You did??” Wei Ying’s cheeks are flushing and his eyes are tearing up, but Lan Wangji is 85% sure it’s for dramatic effect. “Wait, like, always or...?”

Lan Wangji boops his nose, a private joke between them for every time he deems Wei Ying to be ‘nosy’. He knows it used to be a gesture exclusive to Jiang Yanli, his future sister, and every time Wei Ying lets him get away with it, bubbles simmer in his chest.

“Since Gusu,” he admits.

“Gusu Elementary?! Lan Zhan, you flirt! We were twelve! I waited until at least Qishan High to fall madly in love with you.” Assured, as he always is after successfully fishing for flattery, Wei Ying starts settling back into his sprawl inside Lan Wangji’s arms. “Ugh, remember Wen Chao, the principal’s kid? He’s a dad now. Facebook told me earlier.”

He isn’t pleased to have the memory of such a vile personality sour their cuddle time. He shifts, gathers Wei Ying closer, and switches the topic. “What about Jiang Wanyin?”

Wei Ying startles up again, though not all the way out of his arms, eyes wide with anxiety. “What about Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan. Do you know something I don’t? When did Jiang Cheng get a kid – where did Jiang Cheng get a kid?! I KNOW Wen Qing has an IUD!”

Ah. He sees the problem now. “For your best man,” he explains, coaxing his fiancé back down. It marvels him how much one can struggle to relax.

“Oh, thank god,” Wei Ying says, slumping back into the pillow that is his betrothed before smacking a sweatered pec. “You worried me! We’ve both seen how A-Cheng is with Jin Ling, I shudder to think how he’ll be with his own.” He really does shudder, from his head down the base of his spine. Then he fidgets, rolling up his hands in the folds of Lan Wangji’s minty blue sweater. “But yeah, I suppose he’ll do for a best man. I’ll never hear the end of it if I ask Wen Ning over him.”

He sends a grin up at Lan Wangji, happily sharing the mental image of Jiang Cheng blowing a fuse. It’s a thought that never fails to tickle him.

“What about you?” Wei Ying asks. “I assume you’ll ask your brother but isn’t he still in the arctic?”

He was. Three weeks ago, a Waterborne Abyss had somehow broken loose from the ocean floor and wound up on the surface of the Pacific Ocean. When Xichen had first gone to cleanse it, it escaped the pre-set array and fled. Xichen had been tasked to pursue and had chased the demon around the north pole for nearly eight days now with scarcely a word of update.

Lan Wangji doesn’t like worrying about his brother. Luckily, it’s an even rarer occurrence than a truly exhausted Wei Ying.

Still...

“Mm...”

Wei Ying cuddles closer. “Ahhh, don’t worry too much, Lan Zhan, he’ll be back before you know it. He certainly won’t let some puny abyssal keep him from his didi’s wedding! I can’t wait to see him cry actual tears, I’m going to bribe Mianmian to take so many pictures.”

Lan Wangji flushes a little. He loves his brother and he knows Xichen loves him, but they never make a show of it in public. He suspects Wei Ying is correct in thinking their wedding will be an exception. Xichen has requested time to make a toast, after all.

“Hey, not to jinx it or anything, but who would you have as a best man if Lan Xichen couldn’t be? Not for a sad reason! Like, uhhh, say his wedding was on the same day, at the same time as ours. Yeah, that works.”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow. “Who is he marrying?”

Wei Ying’s smile goes crooked to match his brow, bemused as he is every time Lan Wangji indulges in these kinds of playful hypotheticals. “Does it matter?”

“Indubitably.”

Wei Ying laughs so hard he snorts. He is so exquisitely beautiful. “Well, if my future husband insists, I’ll paint you the whole picture. Um. Let’s say he marries... Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Wangji hums, a little put-off by the idea. It’s nothing against Jin Guangyao as a person, but he’s always been singularly difficult for Lan Wangji to read. All his favourite people – Xichen, Mingjue, Jiang Yanli, and of course Wei Ying – don’t make their thoughts or feelings hidden the way Jin Guangyao does. It leaves Lan Wangji with a very unstable opinion of the man – more than once he has badly misread a situation and felt insecure about the cues he must have missed.

Not to mention the history the man has with Wei Ying. They never talk about it, and Lan Wangji has never pried, but he knows the two were close friends as children before something fell apart between them. Wei Ying still sends a birthday wish to Jin Guangyao every year, in part because he always receives a card on his own. The card always includes a sheet of red stickers – anything red: anatomic hearts, parrots, chilli peppers, firetrucks, Santa hats, and ladybugs. Lan Wangji has never asked why he sends them or what Wei Ying does with them. It’s enough of an intrusion to watch that wistful smile play out.

“Mingjue,” he answers, refocusing on their game. “To spare the heartache.”

Wei Ying nods appreciatively at his wisdom. “Yes, yes, I agree. He’d cry, get sappy drunk, and trash the cake just to be a torturous mess at a Xiyao wedding, wouldn’t he? Best have him at ours, where he’ll cry, get sappy drunk, and sing all the worst love songs at karaoke with Nie Huaisang.”

“‘Come What May’,” Lan Wangji suggests, to Wei Ying’s delight.

“Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’!”

“‘Your Song’.”

Wei Ying’s smile turns sweet. He nuzzles into Lan Wangji’s chest and mutters quietly, “I already have one of those.”

They fall into peaceful near-quiet for a minute, Wei Ying softly humming out the score Lan Wangji composed for him years ago when it was the only way he knew to publicly dedicate his heart. During the last measure, Wei Ying’s stomach growls and he loses himself giggling. Lan Wangji smiles, rubs his stomach for him and lightly shushes it, which makes Wei Ying laugh harder.

“Alright, alright,” he says, whipping out his phone from between the seat cushions. “Time for lunch! Sushi okay with you?”

Lan Wangji nods, sneaks in a quick peck to his forehead, and says, “Whatever you want.”

“Sweet-talker,” he chides, but a flash of teeth betrays his happiness. “What rolls do you want?”

He can’t help himself. “Volcano roll, seared salmon roll, and spicy tuna bowl, extra wasabi and spicy mayo.”

Wei Ying gives him the sweetest side-eye and Lan Wangji swears the next words past his lips will be ‘I love you’: “Then I’m ordering yam rolls, cucumber rolls, low sodium miso soup, and tamago nigiri with no wasabi whatsoever.”

He knew it.

He pulls his fiancé up into a kiss, chasing down that ‘I love you’ with his tongue, certain it must taste as good as it had sounded, maybe even better than it feels, right now, against his lips and zinging down his body like welding sparks.

Wei Ying looks absolutely dazed when he releases him. “Happy with that?” Wei Ying asks, referring to the rolls.

“Besotted,” Lan Wangji confesses, absolutely lost in this man.

“Damn right,” Wei Ying whispers, voice breathy with reciprocation. It’s another fifteen minutes of playing kiss tag before their stomachs overrule them and get their lunch order placed.

With nothing to do but wait the thirty-five minutes it will take for their delivery to be made, Wei Ying brings them back to their earlier game, before the kissing.

“So what if Lan Xichen was marrying Nie Mingjue? Who would be your best man, then?”

It’s a slightly harder question than the last. Since he can remember, Nie Mingjue has been a brother by proxy, which means Lan Wangji must consider best men that aren’t brothers. Surprisingly, a person comes to mind rather quickly.

“Jin Zixuan.”

Wei Ying may have fallen to the floor if Lan Wangji’s arms weren’t such a secure tether to the couch. “WHAT?! WHY? Don’t tell me you’ve become friends with that Peacock behind my back! Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, how could you betray me like this!?”

Lan Wangji frowns. “We were already friends.”

Wei Ying scoffs, “You were not.”

“We had coffee last week.”

“YOU HAD COFFEE?!” Distressed, Wei Ying drops his head into Lan Wangji’s sweater, whining about the slew of injustice. “Unacceptable... already friends... didn’t even rub off on the peacock at all, stupid... without telling me , Lan Zhan... such betrayal, much scandal, wow...”

Despite the energetic upset, Lan Wangji feels a yawn against his chest. Wei Ying’s exhaustion is finally catching up to him. “There, there,” he comforts, patting his head.

“Mmmm...” mutters the mess of hair. “Feels good, keep doing that. It eases my betrayed and deceived heart.”

Wei Ying’s requests are never difficult to fulfill – this one, especially so. Lan Wangji lets his posture relax further, content to sit in the sleepy energy of Sunday. Wei Ying keeps purring against him, breaths slowing and lengthening. They’ll both sleep through the food delivery at this rate.

Lan Wangji adds a light scratch to his pets and says, “Take a nap, Wei Ying. I’ll wait for lunch.”

Wei Ying hums in disagreement. “You’ll get bored, Lan Zhan. Here...” He rouses himself enough to stretch for the coffee table and grabs Lan Wangji’s reading glasses and latest novel. “Read. I can prop it up for you, like an actual supportive fiancé.”

Lan Wangji chuckles under his breath as he unfolds his glasses. “You are undoubtedly the best fiancé.”

Wei Ying bats blindly at the hand that pets him. “Shush, you! I’m sleeping now.”

Later, when their stomachs are stuffed full of too much rice, Lan Wangji thinks he’ll request they return to the couch. This is a day full of rarities and he’s determined to savour every minute of this sleeply, perfect man that it will gift him.

#sweetlittlevampire #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

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alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is. but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece. so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio. You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!” And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day. One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running. And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances. Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold. But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another. Self-preservation over morals and all that, right?

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?” His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time. The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now. Tonight had been a close fucking call.

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway. Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so. He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash. They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell. He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn. Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then. It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him. Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found. And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one. Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground. Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices. And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank. He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff. We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look. Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now. They don’t even have to leave the room. Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view. Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car. It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop. He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them. Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on.

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention. Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view. He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot. A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man. Race follows behind warily.

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck. His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint. Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions. Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story. Well, actually it’s not. You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert. You two look like you need some help. Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up. The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary. On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?” When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured. Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did? Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time. Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good. You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck. I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves. Feel free to crash. If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.” With that, he’s gone. Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’? Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost. It’s the cop, it’s gotta be. Who else would be knocking before dawn? And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run. Go on without me.”

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if. Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer. Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint? I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up. Anyway, how can I help you?” There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep. Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything. I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night. Yes sir, I- oh? Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop. Not without a warrant. Mm, sorry officer. Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning. Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch. I don’t see no warrant. Okay, officer. Yes. just around back. Go ahead. Alright, officer, okay. Nice chat. Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him. They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail? What if they still end up in jail? He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest. Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay. I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him. A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that. He’s not sure why he said that. It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out. But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders. It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless. Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy? What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch. The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry. Also, bank robbers, huh? Haven’t had your kind in a while. You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy. Anyway, drinks? I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes@we-dont-sell-papes@suddenly-im-respecsable

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#newsies #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #crack kinda #idk #sprace #sorta #ralbert #kinda #which is weird #idk!!

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mercurialsmile · 6 years

Note

Originalshipping Prompt So i head cannon that red has really bad anxiety and he hates large crowds, so like what if one day while they're in alola a bunch of people recognize them and swarm them and they give red a panic attack and blue who is a very protective good boy is about to throw hands with them now , after he helps red through his panic attack

Wow I haven’t written anything OriginalShipping in so long let’s see how I do?

“Wait, is that who I think it is?”

“Who?”

“That guy! Look. Is that Red?”

“Red? Like the pokemon trainer Red?”

“Do you know of any other famous guys named Red?”

Green grit his teeth together, his grip on Red’s hand tightening as the conversation behind the two of them floated to greet his ears. His eyes darted up to Red’s face, looking for any emotion in his usually even expression.

If Red was listening in on the conversation taking place behind them, he didn’t express it. His eyes firmly remained upward, focused intently on the towering palm trees that gave them little shade and the wingulls currently nesting in them.

Green shook his head. He stepped closer to Red, their shoulders brushing.

At the simple touch, Red blinked and turned to give him a questioning look.

Keeping his voice low and tight, Green said, “we should pop into a Pokemon Center or something. Uh, I just remembered I wanted to buy some beans. For my pokemon. Pokemon beans.”

Red smiled at that. With his free hand, he dug into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of said beans. He presented them to Green.

“When did you even buy all of these? And why are you just telling me now?”

Red laughed at Green’s expression and dumped the handful of beans into his hands. Caught within Red’s playful, glimmering stare and frozen by his electric smile, for a hot second, Green forgot about the two stragglers following them.

That is, until, an unfamiliar finger prodded Red on the arm, pulling his gaze away from Green’s.

A spark of anger shot through Green and he swung a glare to the pair of girls now staring at Red shiny-eyed.

“Hello! Um, you’re Red, right? The famous pokemon trainer?” The shiny-eyed girl bounced on her toes, leaning closer to Red. “I heard you won not one, but two leagues! Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true!” the other girl cut in before Green could edge in a single word. The other girl rolled her eyes at her friend. “And you call yourself a fan!”

“Oh, shut up!” the shiny-eyed girl giggled. She swung her eyes back toward Red. “Can I have your autograph, please? I am such a huge fan!”

Red blinked at the two girls. He drew back from them, his head tilted to the side. With too much hesitation shaking his hand, he accepted a proffered pen from the other girl.

Green couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Hey. You know he’s on vacation, right? So why don’t you two leave us alone and scram.” Green flicked his fingers at the two girls. He pulled his lips back from his teeth. “We came here to get away from people like you two.”

“Rude!” the other girl bit out angrily. “We’re not bothering anyone, and if he really wanted us to leave he’d tell us himself.”

Green growled.

“Besides,” the shiny-eyed girl cut in, “it’s just a quick autograph. It’s not like its a huge deal.”

“Except you’re bothering us. So scram before I make–”

A tug at his shirt halted his words. Green glanced over at Red, who now stared at him with piercing eyes.

But behind the intense look was something else; a dullness and resignation. Red’s hand still trembled. He shook his head.

Green didn’t get his meaning until a different voice arose.

“Wait, that’s Red?”

“I didn’t even recognize him, wow!”

“Looks like he’s giving autographs too!”

Before, where there had only been two overly-loud girls, two more women and a man joined.

“I didn’t know you were battling here too! Can you sign my hat?”

“Hey, Red! How many trials have you passed yet? Are you gonna challenge the league?”

“Of course he’s going to challenge the league! He’s the best pokemon trainer in the world!”

“Well, I don’t think he’s the best best. Have you seen Cynthia and her garchomp?”

As two swelled to five, and five to ten, and ten to fifteen, Green found himself dislodged from Red’s side.

“Hey!” Green snarled. Red’s nervous expression and trembling lip disappeared from view as another man stepped in his line of sight. “Get out of the way, fatass! We’re here on vacation, so leave us alone!”

“Stop pushing!” A different voice said to him. The intense eyes of a teenager tried to bore holes into Green’s skull. “If you want an autograph, you’re gonna have to wait, ‘cause I was here first.”

Green had to gather all his remaining dregs of sanity to avoid punching the child. “Like hell you were. Now get out of my wa–”

Before Green could finish yelling, a surprised yelp from one of the men caught Green by the ear. He whipped around. He nearly missed Red bursting from the ground that had gathered around him, all blabbering on and on about meeting him and wanting an autograph.

“Hey! Red! Where are you going?” someone from the crowd asked.

Green shook his head, a hard pit of dread settling at the bottom of his stomach.

“Red!” Green yelled. Shoving past people, Green couldn’t hear what was shouted at his back as he pursued Red.

Green nearly lost him several times as Red turned down alleyways and dodged large groups of tourists. Following the palm trees with the nesting wingulls, Green finally burst onto a lone street.

Besides the wet chatter of the ocean and the calls of pokemon around him, Green heard not a single human voice.

He shattered the silence with a shout of his own. “Red? Where are you?”

Green paused, keeping his eyes narrowed as he scanned up the street. From the corner of his eye, Red watched as the top of a palm tree shake.

Green sighed. Shaking his head, he approached the palm tree with the shaking leaves. Two wingulls circled ahead, cawing.

“Red, how did you even get up there?” Green called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. With a huff, he called out his pidgeot. Mounting the pokemon, Green took to the skies.

He found Red huddled at the top of the palm tree. A wild wingull sat in his lap. With his entire hand shaking, Red held out a palm full of beans toward it. The wild pokemon pecked at his exposed flesh in hunger for the treats, leaving little red marks in its wake.

Green sighed. “Red,” he repeated.

At the sound of his voice so close, the wingull took to the skies and fled. Red didn’t raise his head to greet him, however. He kept his hat low over his eyes and his chin tucked into his chest.

Green scooted forward on pidgeot. “C’mon, it’s gonna be okay. They’re all gone. It’s just me and you, alright? How about we go back to the hotel, how does that sound?”

The beans soared through the air as Red flung them. His hands clamped over his ears. He shook his head harder, trembling.

His rising, panicked breaths cut through the fat silence that hung in the air. Green bit his tongue to still his worry, his own panic now rising into his chest.

Fumbling for his pokeballs, Green hesitated. All his usual pokemon were too big, too hungry for battle, for this particular moment. Discarding his usual team, Green instead turned toward his more recently caught pokemon.

With a determined look burning in his eyes, Green called out a Litten he had been gifted when he had first arrived. The sleepy pokemon meowed at him, its apathetic eyes not showing even a single trace of curiosity.

Green hesitated. He didn’t usually speak to his pokemon directly besides giving them an order during battle or to feed them. Likewise, usually when Red got… bad, his pikachu was usually out to comfort him.

But right now, pikachu was in its ball. And Green knew exactly what sort of comfort Red needed in moments such as these, and that sort of comfort wasn’t anything he could give.

With a little nudge, Green placed the confused litten in Red’s lap. The sleepy pokemon, once touching a lap, collapsed into a curled heap.

Red jumped at the touch, his breathing still heavy, his shoulders still trembling. But Green still saw a smile grace his face at the sight of his litten. With a single finger, Red gently traced the edge of litten’s ear.

Litten’s ears twitched at the touch. As Red started to scratch its small head, the little pokemon began to purr.

Green sighed in relief as he watched Red devote all his attention and energy into petting the little pokemon.

“I’m going to be right under here, Red,” Green said, still uncertain if he should speak or not. “I won’t let anyone bother you, promise. Okay?”

Red’s eyes finally rose to meet Green’s. Though rimmed with red, not a single tear clung to his eyelashes. A small, thankful smile graced his lips and he gifted Green a single, thankful nod.

Relieved, Green nodded back before lowering his pidgeot back to the ground and recalling it.

Green remained under the palm arms crossed, eyes narrowed, the palm leaves shook again. His tensed, muscled shoulders didn’t fall lax until a single, now still, strong hand clasped his shoulder.

From there, the two drifted back to the hotel, with Green filling the silence with his usual chatter as always.

#OriginalShipping #NamelessShipping #RedxGreen #pokemon #Red #Green #my writing #longpost #Anonymous #lbanswers

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ughthatimagineblog · 7 years

Text

came from nothing

jon snow x reader

requested: Hey! Idk if you do Jon Snow x reader but if you do could you do something where the reader is Jon's queen, they're an awesome power couple (the reader is a warrior as well), and they're just the beat of friends (and lovers of course).

word count: 1111

warnings: mentions of possible sexual abuse/rape, death, killing

a/n: so this was my last of my old requests! i can start on new ones!! yay! i also decided to add more detail and make it semi-angsty but still a good ending

The clashing of swords was the only sound that raged on outside of the small tavern walls. A fire crackled inside as you sat alongside the other young warrior men. A female. Among many men. Men that were there due to crimes. Most were Free People and most supporters of Stark and the Stark household but some were borrowed from the Night's Watch. Some would say that was a recipe for sexual abuse and disaster. But not for you.

No, to mess with you, everyone knew, would be suicide. You were a strong warrior on level with those like Jon Snow. You proved yourself to be that strong on your first day, telling the upper ranks you wanted to fight front lines. Of course they laughed in your face. They caught you off guard, tripping you up and you hit the ground flat on your back, knocking a bit of wind out of you. It did not take long for you to react for when they tried to strike you again, you rolled and swung your legs, dodging the staff and knocking down one of the men. You were quick to get up, picking up the fallen one’s weapon and disarming the first guy. You were breathing heavily and when you looked up, the men's faces were appalled. Smug turned to shock. Neutrality turned to interest. Specifically with a dark haired boy, face hidden amongst the crowd. You had changed his mind. He thought you were hopeless. Now he saw promise. . . And so much more.

The men among you joked and laughed as well as yourself. Jon put a careful arm around you. “Are you ready for tomorrow, love?” He whispered into your ear and you blushed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You whispered back. “Aye!” One of the men, Asmund you believed his name was. “You two love birds, there are people here.” He joked and Jon pulled away, laughing with a slight hint of pink across his cheeks. “Yeah, Jon, you got a room. Use it.” Another said, swinging his mug towards the both of you. You sat back with a grin. “Believe me he does.” You spoke loud enough for them to hear and what you said caused an uproar of laughter and some even patted Jon on the back. The laughter and song of that night would not last long. Tomorrow you would take on Lord Ramsay Bolton and of course, in your heart you knew you would, win.

And that you did. You charged next to Jon Snow on your own horse. As you approached the enemy, your heart pounded and you and Jon both spared a glance at one another before colliding with the many men that wanted to slit your throat. But you fought and you slaughtered them one by one and when you both retook Winterfell, you executed him by being the one to lead his own hounds to his cell where they continued to eat his flesh. You simply watched with a smile knowing well that you just helped your best friend and lover reclaim him and his sisters land. Sansa became Lady of the North and Jon is declared King of the North.

You watched as they stormed the castle, lanterns were lit and they celebrated through the night. It was only when the hint of sunlight shone through one of the windows did you take your hint to leave. Of course you had no place to stay. Not in the castle and not necessarily in Winterfell. Your father was a runaway of the Night's Watch and your mother was a merchant in the south. Your father was caught and killed when you were ten and your mother, well your mother was taken and killed by thieves when you were fifteen. In that time you did learn to fight, mainly from your father, who had left to return to your mother, and he taught you how to handle a sword properly. You used those skills to avenge your mother and from there you became a bounty hunter with no past. In short, you were born from nothing and as you saw it, you would die as nothing. Of course, you had Jon but that was when you knew him as the bastard from the organization in which your father fled. Now, he was King of the North. You had no place with a king and vice versa. You made a long and lonely trek to the stables and armory, stepping over a few bloody bodies, but not that it bothered you. You reached the horse you rode in on and just as you were about to mount you heard footsteps approach. You slowly turned, surprised to see Jon. You clutched your hand over your heart in shock. “What are you doing?” He asked, a hurt look crossing his beautiful face. You fidgeted with your gloves on your fingers. “They’re missing you. You’re their king now, after all.” You dismissed his question. He only moved closer. “They can wait. Y/N, what are you doing?” He asked more urgently. You looked at him, hurt by his face. “I’m leaving, Jon.” “Why?” He asked, putting a hand on yours. “Because you and I both know it won’t last long. Us. You and I. We lasted while training and during battles and sparring but that was when we were both nobody, together. I never expected you to really love me. I knew you were destined for great things and yet I still fell for you. And now, you are king. You don’t need someone like me. You need a real leader. A queen, Jon, not a warrior.” You ranted to him your confession after pulling your hand away.

You looked to the wind, the cold air nipping at your face. “You can’t be serious.” Jon said and you looked at him, puzzled. “You are my Queen, Y/N.” He told you and your heart pumped. “I have loved you all of this time and you were never nobody to me. You were everything, you are everything. And for me to turn the woman I love away just because of a title would be the largest sin I would ever commit.” He whispered to you. “Jon. . .” You tried to protest but he kissed you on your cheek. “They are waiting for me to introduce my Queen.” Jon whispered and you smiled and nodded, a tear falling from your face. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips and you tried to memorize how warm they felt. “In all my life, I never had a true home. But I have found one in you, Jon Snow.”

i hope yall enjoyed!

#jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones imagines #GoT imagines #got

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rauliskafan · 8 years

Text

A Hard Lesson in Matrimony: Chapter 3

Authors’ Note: Happy Thursday, lovely readers!!! The wedding plans are clicking along. Time to sit down for a family dinner. Will things go well for the happy couple? Read on to find out! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy!!!

“I thought she lived in a commune or something.”

Natalia turned her attention from the fading city skyline flickering outside the window of the passing train and shrugged her shoulders as she absentmindedly played with the cuff of her husband’s blue blazer.

“In India,” Natalia said. “Before that she did stand-up in LA. Before that she worked at a casino resort in the Bahamas.”

“Hence the need for some spiritual enlightenment,” Rafael grumbled.

“Now she’s turned another page. She runs an antique shop or something. Just a hop, skip and a jump from our door.”

“I’d hardly call an hour and a half on the train right around the corner, hermosa.”

“We could have driven in with Mike and Maggie.”

“I just wanted a little calm before the storm.”

Something seemed off with the happy couple. For all Maggie’s insistence that she had the dress, the venue, the band covered, it was beginning to feel as if someone had bitten off more than they could chew.

“The truth?” Natalia asked.

“I’m all ears.”

“I’m not exactly looking forward to this either,” she said.

“What’s there to get excited about?”

Ingrid Dodds, once again going by her married name, was in the mix, and it was determined that they all should meet for dinner. Maggie was none too eager to have a mother-in-law who turned Dodds’ face a whiter shade of pale. But here they were. Extending the olive branch. Liv and the Chief were driving in on their own after a conference, said they would meet them at the restaurant…

…and Rafael sighed as he brushed a lock of hair from Natalia’s face.

“At least we’ll have safety in numbers,” she said, trying to sound bright as the sun continued to set.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “And she is his mother.”

“But…”

Natalia sat up straighter and peered into his eyes.

“Time for us to make a pact.”

“Okay,” he responded.

“First sign of trouble, we steer the conversation in another direction.”

“Agreed. Liv and I can talk about that mother who took a plea for neglecting her son.”

“Promise me you won’t do that,” Natalia begged.

“I couldn’t resist.”

“No one ever said family was all roses and sunshine.”

“Except when it’s with you,” he smiled as he caressed her chin and happily accepted a kiss as the train started to slow against the tracks.

“End of the line,” he said as he helped her up.

“The restaurant’s only about a block away,” Natalia said as they stepped to the platform. “Violetta asked me if we were going to have spaghetti.”

“Are we?” Rafael asked as the early summer night cloaked them in a gentle haze and they passed by storefronts suggesting a somewhat simpler way of life, almost making him wish that they called this place home.

“Maybe with my eggplant,” she said. “If no one’s looking, we can do the Lady and the Tramp thing.”

At that he started to laugh but swallowed the sound back as he turned her towards him.

“You know if I kiss you by candlelight I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“There you go! Paint me as the wanton, lusty sister. Maggie will seem the much better option by comparison.”

“Even I wouldn’t go that far.”

He was nearly tempted to abandon the dinner and take her to a quiet spot when Liv’s voice rang out from the parking lot just beside a lake rippling under the first rays of moonlight.

“We’ve been spotted,” he pouted.

“I’ll make it up to you. With a midnight snack.”

“Then let’s go for the world record of the quickest meet and greet in history,” he purred.

“But you must behave, Atticus.”

“Yes, hermosa.”

The Chief complained about the traffic and reported that Dodds and Maggie were already inside. As he chatted with Natalia, Rafael caught Liv’s ear.

“Do you have the feeling that this is going to be a trial by fire?” Rafael asked Liv, taking note of her fatigued face.

“Better not be,” she said. “My nerves are frayed.”

Once inside the quaint bistro, Rafael saw Dodds fiddling with his napkin, sipping whiskey as Maggie drank water. And swiftly asked for some white wine to chase it down.

“Maggie,” Natalia whispered. “Pace yourself.”

“Just trying to take the edge off,” she muttered.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” the Chief assured her. “Just be yourself. Same goes for you, son.”

Dodds almost answered when an unfamiliar voice cut through the light chit chat consuming the table.

“Michael?”

The edge in question was suddenly on full display. Rafael looked up to see a slim blonde sans smile wearing a simple gray dress. Dodds approached her slowly, taking her hand and kissing her cheek.

“Hey, Mom,” he said. “It’s really great to see you.”

“How I would I know that?” she challenged with a hollow laugh. “Getting everything second hand from your father these days.”

The Chief sighed heavily as he joined his son and barely shook his ex’s hand.

“You’re looking well, Ingrid,” he commented. “It’s been… how long has it been?”

“Long enough for me to be out of the loop,” she said. “But I’m used to that.”

Her statement hung in the air as she sauntered towards the table, her gaze shifting between the three ladies already seated.

“I take it you’re not the bride-to-be,” she said, her words directed at Liv.

“No. I’m Mike’s boss,” Liv said, narrowing her eyes.

“Is that all?” Ingrid asked as the Chief cleared his throat.

“Ingrid, this is Olivia. I might have mentioned her.”

“You might have,” Ingrid echoed. “Makes sense. You always were in love with your work.”

Liv scoffed with a roll of her eyes, and Natalia cut in.

“Hello, Ingrid,” she said in her sweetest voice. “I’m Natalia. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Ingrid said with a handshake so cold that Rafael felt the chill from his seat.

“So, that must make you the fiancée,” Ingrid said to Maggie who forced a smile.

“Hello,” Maggie muttered. Ingrid slowly scanned her face before looking back to Dodds.

“She’s pretty, Michael,” Ingrid continued. “Looks like someone Matthew would fancy.”

Dodds hung his head as the Chief hissed for Ingrid to cool it. But Rafael received no such orders.

“Too bad she’s already spoken for,” he said, the words feeling as antiquated as whatever Ingrid sold in her third or fourth attempt at reinventing her life. But Maggie’s label of big brother cast a wider net.

“And who are you?” Ingrid asked, licking her lips and inching a little closer. Rafael’s bravado stalled until Natalia grabbed his arm.

“He’s spoken for, too,” Natalia said and Rafael shot her a quick smile, liking the feel of her claim on him and even taking a small measure of satisfaction from Ingrid’s frown.

But the thrill faded as the woman of the hour looked back to Maggie.

“If I’d known you had an entourage I would have brought a few friends along,” Ingrid said.

“I… they’re my family,” Maggie answered as Ingrid assumed the seat by her side. “Natty’s my sister.”

“So someone else who knew about the plans.”

Dodds looked like he was about to get sick where he stood.

“Well let’s get on with it,” Ingrid said. “Aren’t we all here to get to know one another better?”

The sergeant sat across from her as the table filled up again, the only sound decipherable over the other diners that of the Chief’s butter knife scratching against a piece of semolina bread.

“Exactly,” Natalia finally said as she held Rafael’s hand under the table. “So… I hear you have a shop in town.”

“You hear all kinds of things,” Ingrid replied.

So much for the woman regaling them with a memoir not yet in print. Maggie finished her drink and gratefully accepted a refill from a server who looked more than ready to leave the table when Liv muttered that they needed a few more minutes to look at the menu.

“But maybe you could bring us some bruschetta while we decide,” the Chief suggested, the server already three paces away before turning back with a nervous nod. Ingrid asked for a vodka with cranberry juice.

“Take care of the kidneys while abusing your liver,” Rafael chuckled.

“Aren’t you clever!” Ingrid exclaimed. “You remind me of my boy Matthew. He takes after me. Glad someone got my wit.”

“Mom…”

“What?” she said. “You preferred to take after your father.” Now she looked to Maggie again. “I hope you’re ready for a lot of lonely nights. It is no fun being married to a cop.”

The Chief dropped his knife and started to speak when Natalia laid a light hand on his arm.

“A sacrifice to be sure,” she said. “But let’s not talk shop. I’m sure you’d much rather hear all about Maggie’s plans for the wedding.”

She nodded to Maggie who appeared to almost get her bearings back when Ingrid tossed back her drink in one throw and leaned across the table.

“Bill says it’s going to be in Vermont. Do you two have more family there, dear?”

“No,” Maggie said. “Just me and Natty.”

“And all of us,” Liv cut in, earning her a curious glare from the other woman.

“Aren’t you familiar,” Ingrid commented. “How does that work?”

“Excuse me?” Liv challenged.

“Unless there was another wedding that no one told me about, I don’t think you have a say here.”

“Now wait just a---”

“Ingrid, please,” the Chief insisted. “Natalia’s right.”

“Is she?” Ingrid asked. Rafael had to wonder if the woman had been a lawyer in one of her previous incarnations.

“Natty’s always right,” Maggie said as Ingrid’s scowl softened.

“Now that’s sibling devotion,” Ingrid said. “If nothing else maybe you’ll rub off on Michael.”

The bruschetta arrived and once again the server fled as Ingrid cracked her knuckles and sidled up to Maggie.

“Okay, dear. I’ll bite. Let’s hear all about the wedding.”

Swallowing hard, Maggie brushed her fingers across her phone, speaking fast about the menu, her dress…

“Did she pick one?” Rafael whispered into Natalia’s ear.

“I think---”

“You obviously have expensive tastes!” Ingrid remarked as Maggie revealed her decision. “Michael, do you really think you can keep up with this girl?”

All eyes were on Dodds as his he shrank in his seat, his fingers curling around his glass.

“We’re happy, Mom,” he said. “We’d... I’d like you to be a part of this.”

Ingrid stared at him hard and looked back to Maggie’s choice of gown once more before glancing around the table and bursting into laughter.

“Now I understand,” she sneered.

“What do think you understand?” Liv asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked in a knowing tone as her gaze settled on Rafael. “The snappy dresser aside, no one here has the funds for this fairy tale. So now Michael wants his mother.”

“It’s not like that,” Natalia said.

“You think we need your kind of charity?” Maggie interjected, the wine obviously going to her head as she slammed her palm on the table and looked to Dodds for backup.

“Can’t you just play nice, Mom? For once?” His voice was weak as Ingrid took his hand, her lips smiling as her eyes stayed flat.

“If even once you returned the favor, I might be singing a different tune.”

Suddenly Dodds was on his feet, kicking his chair back as he glared at his mother.

“That’s right, Mom? I’m boring and uninspired and completely unworthy, right?”

“Now you’re putting words in my---”

“Your words!” he barked back. “What should I have done differently? Would a thousand dollar a week habit have made you give a damn about me?”

“Mike, cool down,” the Chief soothed as Dodds pushed away from his father.

“She’ll never change,” Dodds muttered.

“I could the say the same for you, Michael. And why would I even pay for a marriage that will never last?”

His face turned to slate as Maggie tried to grab his arm. But the sergeant shrugged her off and gritted his teeth.

“This was a bad idea,” he said.

“You… you mean coming to New Jersey?” Maggie desperately asked.

“I mean all of it.”

Every eye in the room focused on their table. Dodds seemed miserable on display. All he had to do was take Maggie into his arms. Give her a kiss, tell his mother that she was unwelcome tonight and moving forward. But instead he folded in on himself and looked at his father.

“Just see that she gets home.”

With that he left, Maggie hurrying after him, the Chief not far behind as Ingrid exploded into a wave of dramatic tears.

“You see how mean he is?” she sobbed. “It’s like I can never say the right thing.”

Rafael saw Liv ready to lay into the woman when Natalia beat her to the punch.

“How about you keep quiet? Silence is a beautiful thing. Can you handle that?”

The sound of Liv’s amused laughter mingled with the approving chortles of the other patrons, and Ingrid made a show of struggling to her feet.

And she tried to take Rafael’s arm.

“Are you going to let her speak to me like that?” Ingrid said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“I don’t let her say anything. Natalia is always right.”

“I see. Let me just say that it’s a pleasure not having to get to know any of you better.”

Relieved to see her go, Rafael tipped the befuddled server far too much for a few drinks and a bit of bread. But at least the kid smiled as they left the bistro, and they were on course for the desired world record as the Chief met them in the doorway.

“Mike’s took off,” he said.

“And Maggie?” Natalia asked.

“She started after him but then went the other way.”

“I can understand that,” Liv said.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Natalia, ignoring Liv. “I should talk to Ingrid.”

“What?” Liv demanded. “After what she did in there?”

“Liv, she was my wife. She’s upset.”

“And she brought it on herself. She pushed every button.”

“She can’t help herself.”

Rafael was ready to disagree when Liv flung the keys to their car in the Chief’s face.

“I am too tired for this.” Liv started for the train tracks as Rafael rushed after her, feeling like he was in a relay race and not knowing who to tag next.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home.”

“Come on, Olivia,” the Chief implored. “Like you don’t have exes.”

“Not like her I don’t.”

They continued quarreling as Natalia pulled her husband aside.

“This is a disaster,” she said.

“What now?” Rafael asked.

“I’d try to call her but…”

She held up the phone Maggie had abandoned at the table and shook her head.

“How could that woman have raised Mike?”

“That’s just it, hermosa. She didn’t.”

“And he still caved in. Why?”

An unwanted memory flooded his mind that had nothing to do with his own mother as he grabbed Natalia’s hand.

“I’m going to say something now that I never thought I would in a million years.”

“What?” Natalia asked.

“I think we should split up.” Natalia’s brown eyes grew wide and he was ready to clarify when Natalia kissed him quickly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Maybe I won’t say any more,” Rafael said, catching his breath.

“What? Do you think I can’t read your mind? I’ll look for Maggie and you find Mike.”

“God I love it when we’re in sync,” he said, kissing her hand.

“We meet back here in half an hour.”

“Hopefully with the lovebirds in tow,” Natalia said.

“Synchronizing my watch.”

“We’re not super spies, Atticus.”

“No. Just members of the wedding party,” he said.

“Which feels like a tall order in and of itself.”

Leaving Liv and the Chief to their argument, hoping for a truce, they went their separate ways. Rafael ducked into a coffee shop and longed for a cup before stopping at a pizzeria, a small part of him wishing that the fireworks had stayed at bay until after the main course. Maybe he just needed a drink. Maybe…

“Dodds?”

He found him on the third try, sitting under the neon light of a pub filled with the sounds of chalked cues smacking against felt, and he sat by his side, narrowing his gaze at the three empty shot glasses just out of Dodds’ reach.

And the beer chaser.

“Counselor!” he said in a slurred voice as he raised the mug in a halfhearted toast. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Don’t you think that you should slow down?” Rafael suggested as Dodds took another swig. “Or am I driving you home?”

“Home,” Dodds mused as he ran his fingers over the handle of the mug. “To what? Bet Maggie’s already looking to hock the ring.”

“You did not just say that,” Rafael warned, Dodds’ words causing the hair to stand up on the back on his neck. If he hadn’t seen Ingrid in the flesh, at her worse, he might have asked him outside to answer the insult, his mind turning to Maggie and hoping that Natalia had already found her, was talking her out of doing something rash.

But there it was; Ingrid had turned them both inside out.

“Sorry,” Dodds said. “I didn’t mean that. She just... my mother has this... way about her. But you... you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Rafael insisted as he asked the bartender for a cup of coffee, Dodds all but ignoring it as he nursed the beer and ran one hand over his head.

“It’s easy for you,” Dodds said. “I’ve met your mother. She’s normal.”

“She has her moments,” Rafael said.

“But she… shit.”

He asked for another beer but Rafael called the bartender off, took a handful of pretzels in place of the dinner that wasn’t and waited.

“Mike?”

“Lucia doesn’t make you feel like you everything you touch is bound to fail.”

“And that’s why you walked away from Maggie?”

“I thought I was stronger,” he said. “The moment she said yes. But---”

“But scars don’t disappear like that.” Rafael snapped his fingers and Dodds stared at him with a quizzical expression.

“What do you mean?”

“I… you never met my father.”

“Couldn’t be all bad,” Dodds said. “I see you with Violetta.”

“Let’s just say that I work every day to fight against his… example.”

Would he have to delve deeper? Talk about the blows and the bruises that never hurt as much as the words? The declarations that he was dumb and dirty and worst of all…

…a disappointment?

“Why are you telling me this?” Dodds finally asked. Rafael was grateful for the subtle change of subject and looked to his wedding band.

“Because we’re two lucky bastards to marry these sisters. And we have to have each other’s backs.”

Tilting this head, Dodds slapped the bar and jostled the coffee cup, the contents from the mug staining the surface until Rafael caught it and winced at the small singe hitting the side of his hand as Dodds clasped his shoulder.

“I know that one!” Dodds said. “That’s from the Downton dining table.”

“Quite right,” Rafael said, feeling British for a split second as he recalled the scene pre one of many weddings that could have ended in catastrophe before morphing into a moment of complete triumph. “Maggie makes you watch, too?”

“Maggie… no. I make her watch.”

“You?” Rafael queried in disbelief.

“Yes,” he admitted. “What? You think I’m some slob who can’t appreciate the finer things?”

He asked for a refill and made Dodds drink a full cup of coffee before answering.

“No. You’re marrying Maggie.”

“Still?” Dodds asked as he toppled off the stool. Rafael caught him and paid another tab as he led him into the night.

“If I know my wife the problem is already solved.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Dodds said. He seemed to sober up with each step, but when they returned to the parking lot, Natalia was nowhere to be found.

#raul esparza #rafael barba #mike dodds #andy karl #natalia barba #maggie ivers #olivia benson #chief william dodds #a hard lesson series #a hard lesson in matrimony #law and order svu #svu fanfiction

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