#his ass would NEVER cross a picket line i think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

troubatrain · 4 years ago

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want you to want me - m. tkachuk

a/n: i’m awful at intros but this fic is my whole ass child. i started it months ago and i picked it up back and then i just couldn’t stop writing. now we’re at a whopping 10k words and i’m really happy with the way this one came out. i hope you guys like it as much as i loved writing it.

big thanks to @hookingminor @igor-shestyorkin & @tkafuckit for reading this as i wrote it and gassing me up ily all sm

warnings: smut

You were Matthew’s dream girl, and you didn’t have a fucking clue. You were leaning against the cold metal bleachers of your former high school, chatting with whatever teacher probably wanted to hear all about that shiny NWSL contract you signed right out of college with the Chicago Red Stars. It was well deserved, a few national titles in college put you in the position in the first place, and Matthew respected the hell out of you. You wouldn’t know, by the way he never seems like he actually wants to speak to you and the few snide remarks about your sport in general. That started forever ago, when Matthew royally fucked up any chance he had with you later in life because he was a competitive asshole.

It started when you were twelve, and middle school was nothing short of a mess. Matthew was growing into his own, adding a near foot to his height over one summer while his father and coaches doted on the fact that he was getting bigger. Getting bigger meant getting better, and for a few years winning was the most important thing in the world. But, becoming a hormonal preteen came with something else, feelings about the girl who sat three rows behind him in almost all of his classes.

Then third period gym class came around, and Matthew was a competitive monster. The kind of kid who took that way too seriously, and you accidentally became public enemy number one. You were the only person in his class who could even come close to beating him at anything, because you were just as much of an athlete as he was. Soccer had become your craft, and much like Matthew, you declared you’d go pro one day. So, Matthew did what any other insecure twelve year old boy would, he teased you relentlessly. It was awful, but by the time Matthew had gone off to play for the National team you had forgotten about his bullshit.

Apparently, you’d done something in a past life to warrant dealing with Matthew for longer than you ever anticipated. Jamie was your little sister, and Taryn’s best friend. Best friend was probably understatement, the pair were inseparable on and off the field. They trained together, they played on the same teams and that meant way too much time with the rest of the Tkachuk’s. You learned quickly, that the rest of their family was wonderful and Matthew seemed to be too thick headed to fall in line.

You tolerated Matthew, brushing his silly remarks off just like you did when you were younger. The thing was, Matthew didn’t want you to just tolerate him, but he didn’t know how to get you to stop hating him. You make your way over to Matthew who’d been standing next to his brother since the start of your sister’s game.

“Hi Brady,” You greet, tapping Brady on the shoulder who pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That annoyed Matthew the most, the way you seemed to love his siblings and despise him. In your defense, nobody was more supportive of your professional career than Brady, who’d made a promise to catch a game the second he could, “Hi Matthew.”

You were waiting for something from Matthew, an acknowledgement for finally achieving a dream of yours. You’d gotten the congratulations from the rest of his family, a massive celebration because Keith thought you deserved it. Matthew probably didn’t think you did. You could practically hear his smug little voice about how much his recently inked contract was compared to yours, because you’d heard it since you were kids. He used to rip on your athletic abilities every chance he could, something about how it didn’t matter how hard you could kick a ball you couldn’t hold a hockey stick so he was just better.

“You’re here!” You hear the chipper voice of your little sister approach, Jamie’s sweaty postgame arms wrapped around your waist. You’d been in Chicago, signing some paperwork and looking into finding a place to stay when you had to go for camp. You promised you’d make it back in time, and your flight landed less than five hours ago but you made it.

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself, watching his own sister push past him to see you. Taryn loved you, because sometimes she just needed a big sister and her brothers were in another country most

of the time. It was the part that killed him the most, seeing you with his family. You fit right in, a fierce athlete with drive that rivaled his own. Brady side-eyed his own brother, watching him instead of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was frustrated with his own brother for not just telling you the truth, that he teased you because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to handle having a crush on you.

But Brady was going to do it himself if his brother didn’t.

***

Matt, you don’t have a girlfriend right?

Matthew knew damn well he should not have answered his sister’s question, but when he realized her best friend had been sitting right next to her in the kitchen, his curiosity got the best of him. So he did, telling his sister he was single and sparing her details of any of the girls he’d gone on dates with the past year. That was his life is Calgary, a constant revolving door so no one would see what was underneath layers of sarcasm and angst. But every summer, he’d come home and wonder when he’d start to build a life for himself, and if he’d ever find that person to do it with. That was when his brain would start to wander, fantasies of a future that always seemed to involve you. He loved to imagine it, the years that you’d both spend supporting the other’s dream. Matthew would do anything to make sure you achieved yours, and he thought you’d do the same. Then you’d both settle down, the big house with the white picket fence and a shiny ring on your finger Matthew put there himself and years of arguing about what sport your future children would play - he’d even consider letting you have just one.

Unfortunately, none of that could be real until he figured out how to get you to hate him less. Taryn apparently had the same idea, and had been scheming with your sister for months. The two girls were looking at Matthew with devilish grins on their faces, like whatever they came up with would totally work.

“Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Your sister hums, sipping the smoothie they forced Matthew to drive them to go get, “It’s sad actually-”

“We think you should date,” Taryn explains, Matthew’s eyes went wide. His sister didn’t know the whole story, or just how far back this stupid fued went. Taryn always loved you, so Matthew just kept his remarks to himself.

“I know you know Y/N doesn’t like me very much,” Matthew explains, “So tell me how that’s going to work.”

“Apologize to her, if she can forgive me for anything she’ll forgive you,” Jamie sighs, thinking of all the times you’d shown her mercy when she didn’t deserve it.

“You’ve got to be sorry,” Brady interrupts, mouth full of food while he goes to go look for more in the fridge. He turns around, Matthew’s eyes giving him daggers, “What? You were a dick to her for years, you’ve got to fix that first.”

It didn’t take much convincing after that, Taryn had already planned out what Matthew should say to you. Matthew wasn’t going to repeat those words, because he knew exactly what he’d say to you if he ever got the chance. He was trying to fix his past, because the way he acted towards you was the one thing he regrets.

So with the help of your little sister and the Find my Friends app, Matthew was pulling up to a soccer field he’d been to plenty of times. He used to run through the park nearby, catching a glimpse of your practices when you were in high school and Matthew was an afterthought. He hops out of his car, smiling when he could see you running drills alone. You were dribbling the ball, counting to yourself while you were weaving through cones you set up.

“I’ve never been good at those,” Matthew calls out, walking over to you while you stopped and caught your breath, “I kick the cones with my skate every single time.”

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are,” You tease, grabbing your water and guzzling it down, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to apologize?” Matthew admits, knowing his face was probably bright red. He was nervous, the good kind like he got before a big game, “I was just an insecure kid then, and you didn’t deserve what I did just because I was afraid you’d beat in something.”

Matthew left out the part where he felt like he was still that kid all the time. All of those insecurities about himself seemed to be picked up by every reporter in Canada when he was there. You bit your lip, pretending like you were trying to debate whether or not you should forgive Matthew at all. In reality, you would have forgiven him ages ago if he’d just apologized sooner. It was so long ago, and sometimes you thought Matthew’s constant taunting made you better. He was pleading, baby blue eyes staring at you sadly while he waited for your answer. He looked like he didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven, shoulders slumped while he tried to read your body language. It was something you noticed about Matthew forever ago, he could have everything in the world but when he looked at you he seemed almost sad.

“I mean I could forgive you, but only if you beat me,” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at Matthew, “If I win, I don’t have to and if you win all is forgiven.”

“Really? Isn’t that why we were in this situation to begin with?” Matthew points out, crossing his arms at you.

“I thought you weren’t that kid anymore,” You remind of his own words, testing him to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was. Matthew smirks, chuckling to himself, “C’mon Tkachuk let’s see what you got.”

Matthew shook his head, laughing and lining up next to you. You both counted to three, sprinting down the field at full force. Matthew knew his height was the only thing working to his advantage while he tried to keep up with you. You were nearing your finish line, and Matthew didn’t think he was going to win. You were going to forgive him regardless, but Matthew didn’t know that. His arms stretched out, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his chest. Matthew turned his body around, stepping over the line before you did.

“God, you’re such a fucking cheater Matthew,” You hit his chest, Matthew’s hands still firmly placed on your hips.

“I didn’t want to lose,” Matthew admits, all of his smug attitude diminishing immediately, “Just want you to forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you never pull that shit on me again,” You poke his chest, slipping out of his grip and running to your stuff before he could notice how nervous he was making you.

No. Absolutely not. You told yourself while you checked your phone, rolling your eyes at the warning text from Jamie that Matthew was on his way, you couldn’t have anything but indifference to Matthew Tkachuk. It got harder everytime you saw him, the past few years had been nothing short of kind to him, he was growing from a dumb immature boy to a man more and more every summer. You turn around, peeking at Matthew who was sitting down and catching his breath, a winning smile on his face, the same kind he had the very first time he schooled everyone at floor hockey in middle school.

Maybe you could be friends.

***

Matthew liked having you as a friend, mostly because as of right now that was all he was going to get. You definitely didn’t trust him, which was valid considering Matthew had been a dick to you for years, but he was working on it. He had to, that uncontrollable feeling that he cared about you was getting harder to shove back down with every year that passed.

“You’re friends now, you don’t need to stare at her like a creep anymore,” Brady scoffs, watching his brother gawk at you from afar. Matthew couldn’t help it, you just had a glow about you, you always did, but somehow in the summer you were golden. Tonight you looked even better, maybe it’s because you smiled at him when he walked instead of scowling like you usually did.

“He’s in love with you,” Steph giggles, sipping her drink and giving Matthew a side eye, “He’s been staring at you all night.”

“He apologized to me,” You confess, holding in that little secret about Matthew’s visit to the field even from your best friend. You had the same friends, the same group of people who’d been pushing the two of you to work it out for years. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them to know that they no longer had to worry about one of you blowing up because the other was there, you just wanted everyone to let it go too. Matthew deserved a little forgiveness, you could only imagine the pressure he felt on himself back then, and while he didn’t totally deserve your protection - you were going to give it to him, “Don’t-”

“Oh wonder why, I know it’s because he looooves you,” Steph teases, “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah I mean we’re both older and I’d like to think he’s wiser, and besides our parents are way too close,” You knew this was going to be your excuse for a while. It was better for everyone that you forgave him, Jamie and Taryn spent more time together than you’d spend with anyone and you're just as close with the rest of their family. It wasn’t untrue that it was in fact for the best, but that didn’t mean Matthew’s stupid dimples didn’t persuade you before you could think about anyone else, “Can we stop talking about this?”

Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you once that night, especially after the way Steph downed tequila shots and convinced you to join her. You deserved to celebrate, you’d accomplished something Matthew knew was your biggest dream because it was the same as his. He was proud of you, not that he’d gotten a chance to show it.

“If you’re going to go pro Y/N, you’ve got to start keeping up,” Brady chirps, watching you stumble over your own feet to walk over to him and Matthew. Matthew had seen this once before, a level of drunkenness where you turned into bambi but that was so long ago he never thought he’d see it again.

“I’ll go pro in beating your ass Brady,” You snap back, shooting daggers over Brady who was already cracking up, “Hi Matthew.”

“Hi,” Matthew’s voice was small, a weird sound considering he was usually the loudest in the room. Brady scoffs, walking away from the two of you before he snaps at how hopelessly in love his brother was. You turn your head in confusion, your mind far too hazy to realize why Brady was so annoyed in the first place, causing Matthew to chuckle, “Want to play? Might be best if we’re on the same team.”

Matthew’s thumb shot over to the beer pong set up on the other side of the room, a mischievous smirk on face, “I mean if it’s for the best.”

Matthew’s arm wrapped around your shoulders holding you close to his chest while you both played pong was definitely not for the best, and it wasn’t helping that stupid crush you had on him. You could feel Steph’s stare from the corner of the room, and you look at her to mouth a don’t at her. It was nice having Matthew on your team, finally a moment where instead of arguing with each other about who’s elbow was clearly over the table - you got to do the same thing to Brady.

“Brady you’re cheating,” You call out, Matthew’s head thrown back in laughter at your seriousness.

“You heard her Brady, elbows over the table,” Matthew breathes out, his body still rumbling with laughter at his little brother’s expense.

“Oh look at you two, you’re just gonna raise some winners one day aren’t you?” Brady chirps back, both happy to see you getting along and annoyed once he realizes that means he was going to get roasted by both of you now. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, tucking your face into Matthew’s arm in hopes no one saw the way you shrunk at that stupid joke.

“We’re winners right now,” Matthew calls out, his last ball landing in the cup and sealing the game for the two of you. Matthew would raise winners with you, it was something he thought about from time to time, but those thoughts were never going to see the light of day, “Alright drunky I think it’s time to get you home.”

“You can stay, I’ll just catch a ride with someone,” You waive Matthew off, who shook his head no at you before you even started speaking.

“One, my dad would kick my ass if he knew I left you,” Matthew starts with, holding up one finger with another on the way, “Two, we’re friends now and I’d like to make sure you don’t die before you see a pro game.”

Matthew had seen you this drunk before, but what he didn’t know was that getting you home would be more difficult than he thought. You started in the direction of your house, but apparently you were a runner and a speedy one at that. Now you were barely two blocks away from Matthew’s parents place and if he could at least get you there he’d be able to call it a night - which wasn’t fucking easy.

“Alright I’ve had enough,” Matthew huffs, jogging to catch up with you and scooping you into his arms. You were hanging over his shoulder, Matthew making his way down the street with the house in his sightline. You could have cared less, laughing your ass off while Matthew walked up the stairs and finally placed you back down on your feet, “Be quiet, go up to my room and get some clothes and go sleep in the guest room.”

You weren’t quiet, not at all and Matthew was amazed not one of his parents came down to see what all the chaos was about. After Matthew had to walk you up the stairs, running back down for some water and hoping you weren’t a disaster by the time he got back - he found you in his bed. You were curled up right in the middle, an old London Knights shirt on your body, Matthew’s favorite. Matthew grabs his comforter, throwing it over your body. He sighs, leaning against his door frame and smiling to himself at how comfortable you looked, flicking off the light and retreating to the guest room.

Matthew hated the guest room. He hated how hard the mattress was and after a few hours of no sleep and tossing and turning - he gave up. Matthew hoped no one else was up, but not to his surprise his mother was already in the kitchen, and judging by the look on her face, she knew who was upstairs.

“Care to explain?” Chantal smirks, raising her eyebrows at her son. Matthew’s face got red, his landing on the back of his neck to cover the blush.

“She fell asleep before I could even get her to the guest room,” Matthew shrugs, hoping his mom wouldn’t push it any further, “I, uh, apologized the other day.”

“Good,” Chantal hums, a knowing look on her face. She didn’t like to push Matthew, her one kid who seemed to be a little rougher around the edges than the others, but that silly feud never sat right with her, “Here, bring her a coffee, I’m sure she needs it.”

Matthew nods, grabbing the mug his mother was holding out and starting to make his way up the stairs. He heard the tell her you made it from his mother and shook his head. He knew what she was thinking, especially with the way Chantal seemed to talk about you. His mother thought you were nothing short of perfect, and Matthew would be a liar if he didn’t think the same thing.

“Did I fall asleep here?” You’d woken up confused, your question only answered by the jerseys hanging on the walls, you were in Matthew’s room. You rub your eyes, the door creaking open way too loudly for how dead you felt.

“Only after you almost fell down the stairs and ran three blocks in the wrong direction,” Matthew chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you the mug, “You know you’re fast right?”

“Yeah,” You muse, smirking to yourself and taking a sip of coffee, “I’m sorry I did that to you, and stole your bed - I can go.”

Matthew stopped you, telling to finish your coffee and relax and he’d drive you home after. You fell into a comfortable conversation, something Matthew never thought would happen.

And watching you walk up to your steps in his shirt still wasn’t something he thought he’d see, but it was better than he imagined.

***

“Hey it’s Jamie, can’t get to the phone right now…”

You groan, tossing your phone onto your bed and continuing your pace around the room. It was well after midnight, and your sister had been out all night, and past her curfew. Usually you’d cover for her, definitely taking the prize home for the cool older sister who picks her siblings and their friends up from parties. That’s what had you so worried. Sure, Jamie was a teenager and she snuck in a few little white lies with your parents just like you’d done, but Jamie always told you the truth. She’d check in with you more than her parents, letting you know that she’s going to be out late but she’s safe and if she needed anything she knew who to call. You texted sometime around ten, just checking in since it was Saturday and you were sure she had a more riveting social life than yourself. No answer. Then eleven rolled around and you didn’t hear anything, so naturally you double texted and now it’s twelve thirty and you still haven’t heard anything. You cross your arms, looking at your phone as if you could will an answer into existence. You grab it, dialing a number you weren’t even sure would work.

“Hello?” Matthew’s voice appeared on the other side of the line, clear confusion in his voice. You let out a sigh of relief, hoping Matthew would have the answer you wanted to hear so desperately.

“Is my sister at your house?” You ask, biting your lip and throwing on a pair of sweats so you could pick her up and murder her for scaring you like that. You were sure it was innocent, Jamie slept over at Taryn’s all the time, staying up way too late watching movies or when Jamie would hide going to a party from your much stricter parents.

Matthew tells you to give him a minute, and you can hear him walking through the house. By the time you heard a door open and a small fuck under his breath, your stomach dropped, “She was supposed to be home by midnight.”

“Alright, thanks anyways,” You sigh, “Do you know where they might have gone? It’s just, Jamie hasn’t answered me in hours and she usually does even if she’s out past curfew and I’m just-”

“I’ll be at your house in ten,” Matthew says, his keys alright in his hand and his foot halfway out the door. He was more mad than worried, sure his sister was out a party past curfew. Matthew was her biggest brother, and he was far more protective over her than Brady ever could be. He hated when she did this, and Matthew was pissed. You waited on your steps, Matthew car coming into view while you sprung up and practically sprinted into his car.

“You look mad,” You observe, as if it wasn’t completely obvious. You knew why, trying countless times to remind Taryn that her brother loves her and that’s why he’s like that. You thought he could go a little easier on her, but you wouldn’t dare get in the middle of that.

“I am mad,” Matthew grits out, knuckles white on his steering wheel while he drives slowly down the street. You just drove, in hopes you’d find what was obviously a house party and hopes your sisters were inside. You squint, hoping your eyes weren’t fooling you.

“Wait, pull over I think I see my neighbor,” You yell, Matthew’s foot flying on the break and you hop out. You were right, the bright orange tuft of hair you saw was like a miracle, “Hey Henry have you seen my sister?”

“Oh yeah I think she’s still inside,” Henry points to the house behind him, music blasting and a party in full swing, “I think she’s with Taryn.”

Matthew hops out of the car, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the house with him. Matthew’s fingers were laced with yours with every step he took, weaving through the crowd in hopes you’d see them. It took three bedrooms and a laundry room until you finally saw Taryn standing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide, and you pushed past them both to see Jamie with her head in the toilet. She was fine, well she was definitely in deep shit, but it wasn’t the worst thing to stumble upon. You throw her hair up, your attention moving to Matthew yelling at his sister in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you call someone,” Matthew yells, trying so damn hard to not completely snap on his baby sister. Taryn yells that her phone had died and then Jamie got sick and she didn’t know what to do. Of course they didn’t. You were probably more sympathetic, and you knew just how pissed off Matthew could get. You get up, pushing Taryn back into the bathroom and telling her to watch your sister.

“Calm down before you talk to her, please,” You plead, grabbing Matthew’s shoulders, “Besides, I sort of need some help right now.”

There it was. The very moment Matthew realized all along you could’ve been helping him. Your hands were wrapped around his biceps, a finger gently rubbing the skin right under the sleeve of his shirt. Every bit of anger disappeared from his body, a calm feeling replacing it. He knew you were right, and he’d be thankful for it later. Matthew knew he had to do the right thing by you, and he nodded, willing to follow any directions you gave him.

Matthew carried Jamie out of the house, getting both of your sisters in the car and finally heading back to your house. You knew he was still pissed off, a present frown on his face so you just took the chance. Just like he’d done before for you, you grabbed one of his hands from his steering wheel, lacing your fingers together. You caught the smile on his face, your thumb rubbing over his hand while his shoulders seemed to just relax. Once

Matthew finally helped you get Jamie inside, a night of laying on her floor to make sure she was okay ahead of you stood in the doorway with Matthew across from you.

“Thank you, I know we’re working on this friendship thing but you really didn’t have to do that,” You were eternally grateful, wrapping your arms around Matthew’s waist and tucking your head into his chest.

“You’d do the same thing for Taryn,” Matthew hums, knowing full well he definitely owed you for being Taryn’s replacement sibling with him and Brady in Canada for most of the year, “Get some rest okay?”

“Wait,” You stop Matthew, grabbing his hand one more time, “Don’t kill your sister, please she’s just a kid-”

“You’re way too easy on them,” Matthew chuckles, shaking his head at you. He knew Taryn was probably scared, and after he calmed a bit he understood where you were coming from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tell her that if she ever pulls that shit again - he was going to rat her out to their parents.

And when Matthew finally got back in the car, he could see his sister’s grin in the backseat, “Don’t say it.”

She held your hand, are you sure you’re not going to malfunction now?

***

Maybe you were spiraling.

You’d been waiting for this moment your entire life, now you had a few more weeks until camp started and you were afraid. You knew you were good enough, you had to be. But what if you weren’t? You could feel the anxiety settling in, a feeling you hadn’t felt since Matthew told you soccer wasn’t a real sport in fourth grace. It’d been eating at you for weeks, deteriorating any confidence you had left in yourself. So you started pushing yourself even harder. The harder you worked the less like you were to fuck it all up. Your muscles were sore, your body was tired and it was just all becoming too much.

And Matthew noticed.

You were pushing yourself too hard, even the time you were supposed to relax with your families before your seasons started was being spent training. He understood it, the term first round exit lived rent free in his head every single time his skate hit the ice over the summer, but that didn’t make it okay. You looked tired, sluggish while you moved because you were running twice a day and training in between. And he was pissed everyone seemed to be fine with it. You should start working harder then Matthew. If it bothers you so much maybe you could join her. It wasn’t that he was jealous of your work ethic, he was worried. Matthew’s eyes followed you as you ran past his house again. The third time in one day, he’d finally decided he had enough.

Matthew took the walk to your house, charming the pants off your mother for her to tell him you were upstairs because you just got back in. He knocks twice, hearing a come in from the other side.

“What are you doing here?” You question, rolling one of your ankles that just seemed to be getting more swollen every time you started to practice. Matthew noticed it, your hands freezing one you caught his gaze.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Matthew stands his ground, he knew you could have told him to fuck off because no one hates advice they didn’t ask for quite like him, “Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s rich coming from the kid who’s played with more broken bones than anyone I know,” You remind him of a few mistakes Matthew’s made playing through injuries he really shouldn’t, “I’m not fucking frail.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Matthew scoffs, it never once crossed his mind that he thought he was tough enough to play through injuries but you weren’t, “It’s about taking a break so you don’t get hurt.”

“I’m fine,” You huff, getting up and trying your best to hide the pain in your ankle when you stood on it. You fell forward, Matthew catching you in his arms and putting you back down the edge of your bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Matthew asks with soft eyes, he bent down to take your ankle in his hand and inspect it the best he could. It was swelling, probably from the amount of pressure you’d been putting on your body with no breaks.

“What if I never score a goal?” You whisper, teary eyes finally meeting Matthew’s. His brows shot up, alarmed at how one of the best athletes he’s ever seen could feel the same way he felt right before his first NHL game. Matthew sits down next to you, hand on your thigh while you let out a cry, “What if I’m just a bust? Like I get there and nothing works and I suck.”

“You’ll score eventually,” Matthew scoffs, understanding how ridiculous you sounded but just how you felt at the same time, “Everyone does.”

“You scored like four games into your fucking career Matt,” You remind him, Matthew smiling a bit that you knew that to begin with. It would have been impossible not to know, or pretend like you didn’t keep a few tabs on his career. Matthew Tkachuk was a legend in the making, and whether or not you could feel butterflies in your stomach every time he dropped the gloves was a secret you’d take to the grave.

“I got suspended my first season too,” Matthew jokes, a teary eyed laugh escaping your lips, “I’d put down money you score in your first game.”

“Well good thing you have money to lose,” You sigh dramatically, the fear of fucking up still on your mind.

“You’ll find your groove, all legends do,” Matthew promises, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You snuggled into his side, a realization that he was becoming a comforting presence in your life with each passing day, “And if you don’t, you can always hide out in Canada with me.”

“Matty!” The same silly nickname Matthew introduced himself to you on your very first day of kindergarten slipped through your lips without realizing it. Matthew hadn’t been called that in ages, but it was welcome from you. You push his chest, “That’s not making me feel any better.”

“What if I told you the only reason I was so mean to you was because I was intimidated by how talented you were?” Matthew confesses, scratching your head with his fingers, “If I win a cup one day I think I owe you one.”

Matthew didn’t mention that in his wildest fantasies of raising that cup over his head, you were there. He’d owe you one and he hoped it was because you were there for him until he got there. Matthew saw it the same way every time, you’d tell him to go see his parents first but he’d fly right past them to get to you - the person who accidentally pushed him to be his best. He had plenty of daydreams about you winning too, remembering times you used to brag you’d go to the Olympics one day, and he hoped you were right. He wanted to see you succeed, more than anything, and he thought it would work.

“Legally you have to let me drink out of it,” You muse, shutting your eyes and letting yourself just rest against Matthew.

“It has to be Bud Light,” Matthew teases while watching you fake a gag. You grab his outstretched hand, letting him pull you up. His hands rested on the side of your face, eyes flickering to your lips for just a second. He wanted to kiss you, but he knew he had to wait. Wait for you to be ready. Wait for you to settle down. Or even just wait until he thought he had a real shot at forever.

Forever with you.

***

Matthew was kind of pissed off.

The press didn’t bother him, none of that mattered and at the end of the day Matthew was able to sleep at night knowing he was a good teammate and a decent person most of the time. This one got him though, some writer criticizing the A on his jersey, and how someone who plays like he does didn’t deserve a letter.

A letter he earned.

You could tell something was off, the way Matthew had been running alongside you was aggressive to say the least. He insisted he came with you, something about forcing you to take breaks. He was being your friend, even though your sisters seemed to disagree. Taryn’s words were replaying in your head, Matt doesn’t even care if I get hurt. That didn’t mean anything, those two had no idea what love was and Matthew caring about you a little bit didn’t mean he loved you. Besides, the way he was acting right now told a completely different story.

“Are you mad at me?” You finally slow down, sitting on a rock that was next to the hiking trail you were on.

“No?” Matthew stops dead in his tracks, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach that he fucked this up too, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong,” You push, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at Matthew. You could tell he was pressed about something, his neck covered in a red flush the same way it used to.

“Some stupid article about my letter, don’t worry about it,” Matthew grits, repeating his words again. His defense was up, even after you confessed to him that you were scared of not being enough.

“Get the fuck out of here with the tough guy act Matthew,” You challenge him, poking him right in the chest, “If we’re going to be friends you need to cut that shit out.”

“You really want to hear it?” Matthew barks back, fully yelling at you, “I’m tired of people thinking I don’t deserve things because I threw a few bad hits. Do you know how it feels to have everyone think you’re shitty? No you don’t, because you’re so fucking perfect that my own parents like you more than me.”

You stood there, silent while you tried to figure out how to tell him that simply wasn’t true. His entire body was shaking, the anger coursing through his veins like you’d seen many times before that. Matthew looked like he did the first time you hit a homerun in gym class, except this time it was because that same pressure never got released. You couldn’t come close to understanding the way he probably felt. You didn’t have the comparables in your own family, the constant reminders of Brady’s points tally compared to his, let alone the career his father had.

“Matty,” You whisper, grabbing his hand and running your fingers over the scars on his knuckles, “Why is this bothering you so much?”

You were sure this wasn’t the first time someone’s said he was a pest, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Matthew sighed, the better part of his brain screaming at him to stop before he lost you too.

“I’ve felt like this forever,” Matthew whispers, eyes fixated on your hand in his, “From the moment I started getting bigger, there’s just been this pressure to play a certain way and act a certain way. I was a fucking kid, and while all of my friends got to go wherever they wanted all I ever did was practice. Then I finally get to where I wanted and I’m still getting shit on.”

“Except no one thinks you don’t deserve to be where you are,” You whisper, quiet words as if you were going to startle him, “And I know it doesn’t make up for things people say, but the people who love you think you deserve it.”

Matthew nods, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his words mumbled against your forehead, “I needed that.”

“I know,” You nod, smiling wide up at him, “And we need to practice more because you’re too slow, soooo catch me if you can!”

You slipped out of his arms, running away with a giggle and a smile. Matthew stopped for a second, his Neanderthal brain checking out your ass while you jogged away and his more logical one trying to process what just happened.

But what mattered most was that whatever you did worked and that meant something to Matthew.

***

Just admit you think he’s hot.

You wanted to kill your sister for making this weekend harder than it had to be. You were doing a good job at just friends with Matthew until Jamie was curled up in your bed while you packed for a lake trip with your friends. She pushed it for hours, rambling on about Matthew is actually your type and Taryn swears he’d be a good boyfriend if someone just understood him. The problem was, you were starting to see her point. Matthew had a glow up a few years ago, like one summer he’d gotten home and you were infatuated with him. It used to annoy you, because he’d been such an ass to you that you hated how attractive he was. Then things changed, and now looking at him was just frustrating you. You were terrified about the way he made you feel, like everything would be okay with one look of those blue eyes and a smirk. You felt like he had your back, a vast change from how you used to feel and it was just getting hard to hide it anymore.

Especially when Matthew looked like he did right now. He was holding himself up on the dock, shoulders broad and glistening in the moonlight above you. All your friends were inside, moving their party away from the water as the night lingered on. You wanted to run your fingers through his wet curls, the temptation was almost too much.

“I’ll be in Chicago a few times you know,” Matthew hums, enjoying the time alone he was getting with you. Anytime without Brady teasing him about what the Tkachuk’s had been referring to as the hand holding incident. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t want you, because he did, but he just needed to move at his own pace.

“You want to come see me play?” You ask, leaning back on the palms of your hands. You were surprised by the kind of man Matthew had become, it was a completely different person that he used to be. He cared so much about his loved ones, and you were starting to feel like maybe you had a place there.

“Actually thinking you could come see me play,” Matthew teases, sarcasm dripping from his words. You lifted your foot up, kicking some of the water below you to splash him, but he’d caught your ankle before you could. He stopped for a moment, running a thumb over your skin, “This looks better.”

“Don’t make you admit you were right,” You whine, Matthew swiftly pulling you into the water with him. You yelp, the water way too cold for any normal person, “It’s freezing.”

“C’mere then,” Matthew grabs your waist, pulling your body against his. His hands were splayed across your back, heat radiating off of them. One of your hands was on his shoulder, your other on his chest. You could feel his heart beating quickly, his eyes locked on yours, “Middle school Matthew would be so jealous of me right now.”

“Why’s that?” You hum, running your fingers along Matthew to play connect the dots with the beauty marks on his skin.

“Because he had the biggest crush on you,” Matthew confesses, his grip on you a little tighter, as if he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers again, “But he was too thick headed to do anything about it.”

“What about grown up Matthew?” You ask, biting your lip. Matthew was practically holding you both up in the water, pressed so close together you could hear the hitch in his breath at your question, “Is he too thick headed to do something too?”

You wrapped your legs around Matthew’s waist, pressing your lips to his and tugging on the curls at the base of his neck. He pushed you up against the dock, helping you back up and pulling himself up next to you. You grabbed the back of his neck, latching your lips back on his. His hand was on your back, fingers toying with the back of your bathing suit, “Think we can get upstairs without anyone noticing?”

Matthew was cool most of the time. He never faltered under the pressure from his career, most of the time, and he definitely didn’t fold when it came to a pretty girl. You had him in the palm of your hand, every part of his brain malfunctioning in response to your words. You bit your lip, wondering if you’d read this entire situation. Matthew rubs a thumb along your lip, “When are you going to realize I’d do whatever you asked me to?”

The two of you snuck up the stairs, giggles and stolen kisses left in your wake. You open the door, Matthew’s hands still toying your bathing suit top, “Just take it off already Matty.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Matthew breathes, his lips pressed against your neck while the garment falls to the floor, “So fucking beautiful.”

You back hit the mattress, Matthew’s hands running up your body slowly. Slow wasn’t in Matthew’s vocabulary, but he was taking his time just in case he never got this opportunity again. His fingers hooked under your bathing suit bottoms, sliding the wet fabric down your legs. You looked so beautiful, spread out just for Matthew like he’d dreamed about numerous times. His lips moved down to your breasts, teeth grazing against your skin while his tongue swirled against your nipple. You let out a breathy moan, Matthew’s ego boosting from the sound. You plucked at his curls while his mouth moved down to where you were craving him most, a gentle kiss to your clit, “Matty, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for the type to beg,” Matthew hums, pressing feather light kisses around your core. He stopped, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, “You sure about this?”

“Yes, please,” You whine, pussy dripping from Matthew’s hot breath fanning over it. Matthew chuckles darkly, fingers digging into your thighs when he flicked his tongue over your clit. You moan, completely unbothered by the blaring music a floor below you. Matthew didn’t seem to be bothered either, his tongue teasing your entrance while his nose rubbed against your clit, living for the way you were whimpering above him, “Matty-”

“Close baby?” Matthew groans, slipping a finger inside of you and curling it. You back arched, his name falling through your lips was enough to answer his question. Your legs shook, pleasure washing over your body from Matthew and all of it just felt so right. Matthew’s lips were latched to your skin until he finally met your eyes again. He smiles softly, nudging his nose with yours while you caught your breath, “So good for me.”

“Should’ve known you were that good with your mouth with the way you run it,” You tease smiling against his lips.

“Not with you, not anymore,” Matthew promises, soft blue eyes looking into yours, he meant it. He didn’t know how else to make it clearer, he wanted you. You kissed him slowly, hands trailing down his abs and stopping where his shorts hit his waist. Matthew kicks off his swim trunks, cock springing free. You grab the back of his neck, pulling your lips to his and rolling over top of him and straddling his waist. It was criminal how good you looked on top of him, “Gonna ride me babe?”

You nod, lining his dick up your core and lowering yourself on top of him. You let out a whine, Matthew’s smug smile on full display once he realized it was because of how big he was, “We don’t have to if my dick’s too big.”

“Oh shut up,” You roll your hips, watching the way Matthew’s head fell back, smirking because he really thought he had control here. Matthew’s hands gripped your waist, moving your hips faster. His finger flicked over your clit, causing you to lunge forward on top of him. Matthew flipped you over, wrapping a leg around his waist so he could hit your g-spot. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails leaving scratches Matthew was going to wear pride later. You were seeing stars, noises leaving your throat you’d never even heard yourself make, “Fuck, Matty, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Look at me,” Matthew grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours and watching while your eyes roll back with pleasure. Your pussy clenched around him, his own cum spilling into you from the sensation, a loud groan following. Matthew pressed a kiss to your forehead, his cock still buried inside of you, “I wasn’t bullshitting you, I mean every word Y/N.”

“Matthew,” You whisper, running a finger along his back, “The distance…”

You didn’t mention everything, the way that if this was real it meant it would end up ripping you both apart. You were set to live in a different city, Matthew all the way in another country. The way your dreams included a spot on the U.S. National team, and the idea that wanting to be with Matthew would hold you back was terrifying. The way his dreams probably meant staying in Calgary forever, a C on his jersey and a cup over his head. It wasn’t going to be easy, you weren’t ever going to be the doting girlfriend he probably needed. There would be years of travel schedules and games that overlapped, and a part of you thought that maybe Matthew wouldn’t be able to do it. You’d get a year in and he’d find someone who would be there more and finally you’d end it.

“We can make it work, baby I want you, I always have and I probably always will,” Matthew starts, baring his soul to another person for the first time in his goddamn life, “I want to support your dreams and have you be there for mine. I’m all in here, I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Can I have some time?” You plead, holding onto Matthew’s shoulders because you knew he could leave and tell you to never speak to him again. Matthew sighs, understanding the way you were shitting yourself about starting your own professional career, remembering the way rookie Matthew would have died before he considered settling down that first year, “Please don’t leave me-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Matthew promises, rolling over and letting your rest on his chest, “I’ll wait for you.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him. Matthew didn’t sleep a minute that night, running every single scenario that could possibly happen with the two of you. Matthew was sure it would work out, it had to, because if it didn’t he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

So now all he could was wait.

***

You know this is creepy right?

Matthew stares at Sam, punching his teammate in the arm lightly and telling him to shut up. He had a night off in Chicago, and after four straight hours of staring at your contact in his phone, Matthew finally just bought the tickets. He’d been good at keeping his distance, you needed space and he respected you enough to try and give it to you. He wasn’t doing so hot, Matthew consuming more soccer games than hockey games at this point. It started with your first game, because how was he supposed to just pretend like it wasn’t happening? You scored too, and it took everything in his power not to call you to tell you that not only was he right, he was insanely proud of you.

And he’d been hearing it from everyone. Your sister thought it was bullshit, Taryn and Jamie almost had Matthew on a flight to Chicago ready to show up like a terrible Lifetime movie. Brady thought it was hilarious the way Matthew was simping like this for one girl. Now, his teammates were on him, wondering why on Earth their friend who historically ran through women faster than he did mouthguards could be this hung up on someone he had a crush on in middle school.

“What number is she?” Sam asks, sipping the beer he forced Matthew to buy after making him go along with this.

“Nineteen,” Matthew smiles, pointing down at you on the field. You looked so happy, warming up with one of your teammates and a bright smile on your face. It seemed like a good fit, your team and your new city, and it made Matthew’s heart grow four sizes.

“Did she choose your number?” Sam jokes and Matthew mumbles something under his breath, “What?”

“It was her number first,” Matthew admits, not wanting to ever confess to another soul that you crossed his mind when he kept that camp number. Sam howled next to him, leaning over his seat and cracking up at his teammate.

You looked out in the crowd about halfway through the game, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things. That tuft of curls was hard to miss, not to mention you knew just how big Matthew was. He was far too into the game to realize you caught him, up in arms about a call against your team that was valid but he’d argue it wasn’t. You asked for space, and it was getting harder to stick to your guns. Especially when he was making it so clear that he wanted this.

And whether or not you went to his game the next night, was a secret you’d take to the grave.

***

You were so close you could have tasted it.

While the final seconds of your season came to a close, all you could do was hold your head in your hands and hope no one caught the tears. A semi-final loss was devastating, but a semi-final loss where there wasn’t anything you could have done differently was even worse. Every athlete had off nights, a point Keith pushed right before you left to start your season, and he was right. Unfortunately, that was this game. Your biggest fear had come true and there was nothing you could do about it now. The game was over and you weren’t moving on.

And Matthew watched it.

Matthew promised you space, and he swore he’d give you the time you needed to settle down. But, this was something he couldn’t ignore. He could tell you were off, your entire rookie season was almost perfect and watching the way you folded during this game was gut wrenching. Matthew knew better than anyone, losing sucked. So he took the chance, grabbing his phone and shooting you a text he’d been waiting to send.

Doors open in Calgary.

and I’m so fucking proud of you.

It was the very last text you saw before you went to bed that night, tossing and turning for a few hours thinking about that loss. You couldn’t stop, every bone in your body was aching and you didn’t know what to do. So you bought a flight, packed your shit and was walking down the hallway to Matthew’s apartment without a second thought. You’d left him on read, calling Brady in the middle of the night and asking for his address, who gave it to you reluctantly with a reminder that if you needed to see him this badly you should rethink the needing time thing.

Matthew let out a groan when he had a bang at his door at three in the morning. Noah definitely was trying to walk into the wrong apartment again, and Matthew was grouchy when he whipped his door open. Except it wasn’t Noah after he’d had too many. It was you, teary eyed with your shit in a suitcase and a broken heart.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” You admit, whispering something you never thought you’d say to anyone, “I just didn’t do enough-”

Matthew didn’t say a word, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and holding you as tightly as he could. You didn’t need to hear it from him, about how things were out of your control and you did your best. You didn’t want that right now, you wanted him, “Baby…”

“Everything hurts,” You whimper, finally just letting it all out. You were bruised and battered from the season, the physical pain alone was enough to upset you, let alone the loss you just took. Matthew carded his fingers through your hair, letting you soak his bare chest with your tears because he wouldn’t have it any other way. You came back to him. You came back to him when things got too tough because you trusted him to bring you some peace, and he was happy about it.

You passed out sometime after that, your tears finally running dry and the exchaustion taking over your body. Matthew woke up early the next day, grateful for the optional morning skate so he could stay with you for just a little bit longer. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains in his room, a calm snowy morning in Calgary so the city was just a bit quieter.

Matthew settled on breakfast, working away in his kitchen with the only thing he knew how to make. Tell her you made it, his mom’s words from just a few months prior in his head while he cooked. You padded out his bedroom, one of Matthew’s god awful beer shirts hanging from your frame while you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss into his back, “It’s cold here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Matthew hums, internally pumping his fist when he felt your lips form a smile against his skin. You turned your head, pressing your cheek against his against and letting out a laugh, “What’s so funny?”

“You framed my jersey?” You ask, your eye catching a jersey that was way too familiar. It was hung up beside Matthew’s from his first all star game, both number nineteens staring back at you.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my favorite player,” Matthew hums, a blush covering his cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”

“You keep saying that,” Matthew finally turns around, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“I’ll keep saying it long after we both retire,” Matthew speaks, words clear and sure because he’s had plenty of time to practice this one, “I’ll say it when you win a World Cup gold, I’ll say it when we have kids, I’ll say when you play at the Olympics. I’m going to say it over and over again.”

“But…” You trail off, all of those same demons you’d been fighting when it came to your whatever this was with Matthew, “What I’m not around enough for you?”

Matthew knew what you were thinking about, he’d thought about it plenty too. There were countless sleepless nights where all he did was wonder if you’d find someone in Chicago who could support you better than he could. He’d do his best, he swore he would, but in order for you to be happy, your passion came first. There was always going to be times when he couldn’t be there and it killed him.

“You’re more than enough,” Matthew promises, his lips ghosting over yours, “I want you to seize every opportunity in the world, I just want to be there to tell you that I love you and use the goat emoji on Instagram when you do.”

You let out a laugh, Matthew’s smile wide enough to see his dimples you loved so much, “I think I want to stay a little while.”

“I think you should,” Matthew agrees, capturing your lips in his, “Besides I’m playing tonight and I think I need to show off now.”

“You’re a cocky asshole.”

“But now I’m your cocky asshole.”

***

One year Later

You had a good reason to be late.

You swore Matthew couldn’t possibly be mad at you for this one. You’d missed your flight to Calgary, a few days post a second loss in the semi finals that you’d been taking much better this time around. Mainly because Matthew wasn’t there, but his stupid smile and words of encouragement where there on facetime hours later. That wasn’t the reason you were late, the reason you were late was because you’d received the most insane news of your life and it was an important phone or that flight. You’d caught the next one, legs shaking not to just call him and share the news, but you needed to tell him in person.

You’d finally gotten by the doors to the locker room entrance, out of breath from spriting there from your cab. There was Matthew, tapping his phone and staring at the clock on his phone with furrowed eyebrows. He was still in his suit, tie pulled a little looser, a nervous habit you realized he had some time ago, “Matty-”

“Don’t call me that just because you know you’re late,” Matthew huffs, already ready for the pout that would have followed so he’d forget all about the fact that you promised you’d make it on time. He holds his hand out, waiting for the handshake he made up in the car on the way to the first game you went to after he finally locked it down. You laugh, slapping your hand against his and letting him pull you closer for a kiss.

“They want me on the National Team,” You mumble against his lips, the words spilling out of your mouth when you pull away with an excited smile. Matthew stood there stunned, while you shuffled your feet in the little dance you did when you were really happy. He grabs your cheeks, pressing kisses to your lips again and again.

“We’re celebrating after this, holy shit,” Matthew cheers, still stunned by your news, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, now go score a few goals so we have even more to celebrate,” You kiss him one more time, pushing him before the door before he was late.

“Anything I do seems unimportant now!” Matthew calls out, a light laugh to his voice as he watched you walk away to go sit in the stands.

And that’s how Matthew thought it should be.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years ago

Text

CALIFORNIA KING || CHUBBY!BUCKY BARNES

pairing: Chubby!Sheriff!Bucky Barnes x black!reader || word count: 6,429 || warnings: smut, sex, vaginal fingering, hand job, bad language words

authors note: here we are! chubs is finally here! we’re set back in Virginia in the 60s in this one, but we’re not acknowledging the bullshit of the time period. i write to get away from real world issues, and i like the clothes in this decade. you will also notice a few characters from a certain show called Lovecraft Country, because, well, I like them a lot too. please enjoy.

line divider by, you guessed it, @firefly-graphics (they’re all so pretty)

Virginia, 1964

Your heels click along the pavement as you move towards the small diner in the middle of town. The sun is high and hot, the beams beating down on your bare shoulders as you adjust your yellow rimmed sunglasses over your face. Your white purse swings off the tips of your fingers, your bracelet, a present from Bucky, clinking softly against your watch, (another present from Bucky), as you move with confidence.

Your sister Ruby moves quietly behind you, her eyes out in front, scanning the sidewalk and street as the two of you go, “You shouldn’t come out dressed like that.” She huffs in your direction as she catches the eye of two older white women moving in your direction.

You turn your head towards her and then glance at the women walking past you, their eyes dropping down to your slightly exposed midriff, then your high waisted, navy blue shorts. You push your sunglasses down your nose and maintain eye contact with them as the two women move by.

“I’m not worried about these small town hicks.” You answer loudly, turning around to walk backward so you can keep your eyes on them, “I am free to dress how I please, thank you.”

Ruby shakes her head as she laughs sarcastically, “You never did know how to act.”

“It is 1964. They just need to get the fuck over it - we are here. This is just as much our town as it is theirs.” You spit, tossing your short hair slightly, “Plus, not everybody here is like them.”

Ruby closes her eyes and holds up her hands, completely uninterested in what you’re about to say, “You are playing with fire with that sheriff,” she hisses quietly, “And I don’t want to hear about it.”

You shrug defiantly, “Fine, then don’t. Let’s just get our rootbeer floats and not argue for once, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Perfect.”

“Wonderful.” You seethe, flicking your wrist towards her, ending the quick squabble. You grab the door handle and pull open the door to the diner, stepping to the side to allow your sister to pass, “After you.”

Ruby cuts her eyes towards you and smirks unenthusiastically before she crosses through the threshold. You roll your eyes and follow in behind her, removing your sunglasses and shoving them in your purse as you follow her to the front counter. The two of you sit side by side, Ruby smoothing her hands over her green, pleated swing dress, you waving down the young waiter.

“Afternoon ladies, it’s a hot one, huh?” he asks nicely, smiling at the two of you as he slides menus in your direction.

“It is, thank you,” you start, glancing over the menu, “I think I’m going to have a burger and fries, with a rootbeer float.”

“Great choice, and you, Ruby?”

She smiles, handing her menu back to him, “An olive loaf sandwich please. Potato chips, and a rootbeer float as well.”

“I’ll have it right up ladies.”

He disappears into the back and you and Ruby fall into your usual rhythm, practically ignoring each other. The front door chimes as a group of women move inside, their giggles filling the relatively quiet diner. You eye them as they move by, catching the glance of one Dottie Bodecker, your arch nemesis since grade school. Her blonde hair swings back and forth behind her head as she smiles at you, wiggling her manicured fingers as her group moves to the end of the long bar, taking up four seats.

“So Dottie,” you hear one of the brunettes start, “Do you think tonight’s the night? You think Sheriff Barnes is going to ask you to go with him to his re-election fundraiser?”

You flick your eyes towards them, drawing in a deep breath at the sound of his name. Dottie turns her head towards you, her blue eyes linking with yours where she smiles quickly before turning back to her friends, “I think so.” She answers cheerfully, another giggle escaping her lips, “We have been getting so close lately. I really think he’s gonna ask me to start going steady.”

You scoff loudly before laughter falls from your lips. Ruby hits your leg underneath the counter as you pull out a cigarette and place it between your lips, lighting it. You feel their eyes on you as you flick the butt of the cigarette, ridding it of the ash that’s built up and take another slow drag. You keep your eyes forward, not wanting to engage because you know if you engage -

“Here we go ladies,” the waiter says, cutting through your thoughts, “A burger and fries, an olive loaf with potato chips, and two rootbeer floats. Enjoy.”

Heat blooms across your skin as anger starts to brim just below the surface. You and Dottie have had the same common goal for almost six months - Sheriff James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. The anger in you makes you start to wonder why the two of you are warring over him in the first place. He’s ten years older than the both of you, has a nasty divorce behind him, and by the sight of his tummy, he’s enjoyed one too many slices of Ambrosia cake. To you and Dottie though, he might as well be Marlon Brando.

It’s the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles. The way his nose scrunches when he smiles really big. It’s the softness in his voice when he says your name. The shyness that controls him whenever he’s come to bring you a flower. It’s the way he’s a dreamer - how he promises you a little house out in the middle of nowhere, complete with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. A couple of kids. A big old bed where he promises to always keep you pleased.

He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen - the softest and the sweetest too.

“Just relax and eat your food.” Ruby whispers, squeezing your knee, “She’s just trying to get your goat.”

You flick the butt of your cigarette again, “Well, she fucking got it.” You sigh, grabbing a french fry and biting it angrily.

Dottie continues to gab to her friends loudly, Bucky and I this, Bucky and I that - deep down you know it’s bullshit. He spends too much time sniffing around you to give her the type of attention she’s trying to convince her friends of, but it still gets under your skin. You eat slowly, your lips pursed, your eyes staring a hole into the wall in front of you, your hearing absolutely piqued.

“Did I tell you he drove me home from work the other day?” Dottie says, running her hand over her ponytail as her lips curl into another smile behind her red painted lips, “He even stayed for dinner.”

“Well, your meatloaf is to die for, Dottie. He would have been crazy not to stay!”

You cut your eyes over towards them again just as Dottie leans into her friends, glancing around to see if anyone is listening (as if she honestly cares), “Did I also mention that he stayed the night?”

You slam your balled fist onto the counter, rattling the plates and cups and silverware that sit on the bar. All four heads of Dottie’s group snap towards you, Ruby’s eyes going wide as her mouth drops open.

“Is everything okay, hun?” Dottie asks sweetly, venom dripping from every word.

You lift your hand and plaster a fake smile on your face, scrunching your nose as you shrug, “I’m quite alright, Dottie. Just um, dropped my fork is all.”

“Oh,” she laughs a little, placing her gloved hand to her chest, “That must be a heavy fork.”

“Not as heavy as my fist will be against your -”

“We’re fine,” Ruby cuts in, a bright smile on her face as she nods towards Dottie, “Thank you for askin’, Dottie.”

Dottie smiles again as she tips her head towards Ruby, “You are very welcome, Miss Ruby.”

“Fake ass bitch.” You growl under your breath, prompting a hard pinch on your thigh,”Ow!”

“Just,” Ruby starts, widening her eyes at you, “Eat. Your. Food.”

You take another angry bite of your french fry and cut your eyes towards the glass door, staring out onto the street as you flick your cigarette again. Sheriff James Buchanan Barnes has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into.

-----

You sway your hips back and forth as your hair falls into your face. The music is loud, thumping even, as Ruby and her band plays up on the stage. An arm is thrown around your waist, pulling your closer as the two of you dance - chest to back, hips tucked into your behind. You laugh as you throw your arm around his neck and dip down low, a wider smile breaking onto your face as he moves with you.

The two of you push back up where you spin around to face him, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it up on your thighs as you continue to shake your hips. You throw the material of your expensive, new dress, and then swish it around, before you drop it to raise your hands in the air and spin back around.

That’s when you see them.

Those eyes.

Those deep set, deep blue orbs that always seem to find you when in the middle of a crowd. His lips are set in a hard line, his cheeks red, his jaw tight. He sucks his teeth as he leans his elbow on the bar. He blinks, slowly, cutting his eyes towards the bartender just long enough to grab the shot that’s handed to him before they are back on you, watching you grind against the stranger behind you.

Too damn bad for him.

You grab the man’s hand and pull it tighter around your waist, keeping your smaller hand on top of his as you dip slowly down to the floor again - your eyes never leaving the sheriff’s. You break the eye contact with him to glance over your shoulder as a devilish smile curls onto your painted lips as the two of you dance, your lips dangerously close to his. You push your behind into his hips and laugh when the man hoots and hollers before clapping his hands to the beat of the music.

You flick your eyes back to the sheriff’s just as he downs the brown liquid in the small glass in his hands and slams it on the counter, immediately asking for another. You smirk and wink at him before you turn in the man’s hands that are currently around your waist and away from the hard, angry eyes bearing into you.

“Boo!”

You spin to the side when a finger presses into your side and shriek when you come face to face with your little sister, “Leti!” You shout, wrapping your arms around her neck and swaying her back and forth, “I thought y’all said you wouldn’t be back from Chicago until next week! Tic! Come here!”

You release her to throw your arms around Leti’s boyfriend, Atticus Freeman’s neck, having to stand on your tiptoes to hug him tightly as he chuckles in your ear, “We just decided to cut it short, that’s all.” He answers.

“Yeah, right,” you smile, slapping him gently on his shoulder, “You two got into some trouble up there, didn’t you?”

“Never!” Leti exclaims as she smiles mischievously, holding up her hand, “And that’s scouts honor. Listen,” she says, glancing over her shoulder back towards the bar, “I’ve heard from a few people already. They’re saying that the sheriff is asking about you at the bar.”

“Well,” You wave her off, “You can tell them to tell him to mind his goddamn business.”

“Girl, you’ve got that man seething over there!” Tic laughs, “Askin’ how you know this fool,” he says, pointing towards your dancing partner, “What his name is, when he got into town, how long you been here tonight…”

You shrug defiantly, batting your eyes at the pair of people in front of you, “Not my problem.”

“You’ve got your nerve!” Leti laughs, “Who in their right mind antagonizes the goddamn sheriff?”

“The very same one who dates the goddamn sheriff.” Tic says, shaking his head, “Y’all’s mama gave y’all balls of steel.”

Leti rolls her eyes but smiles widely, grabbing your wrists and pulling you deeper into the mass of people. The three of you dance the hours away as Ruby keeps the small club rocking. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, out of cigarettes, and slightly tipsy when Tic wants to get you and Leti home, so you relent without a fight.

You push out into the night air, the breeze instantly cooling your balmy skin. You giggle as Leti mumbles in your ear and take a few steps into the alley before you stop dead in your tracks. Sheriff Bucky leans against the brick building, his head turned towards the street but snapping back to you when he hears your familiar laughter. He pushes away from the wall and places his hands on his hips and utility belt where he taps his nervous, angry fingers.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, pushing it out of his nostrils harshly as he turns his head towards the building again, trying and failing to maintain a calm demeanor, “Tic, I wasn’t um, I wasn’t aware you were back in town. Welcome home, soldier.”

Tic shifts his eyes to you before he nods towards Bucky and takes his extended hand, “Thank you sheriff, that’s uh, that’s mighty kind of you.”

“You’re a brave man, fighting for this country. You let me know if anybody gives you any trouble, you hear? Ms. Lewis, how are you this evening?”

“Mighty fine, sheriff. Thanks for askin’.” Leti answers, offering him a soft smile. She knows what it’s like to be on the ass end of one of your fits.

You stare at him as he nods slowly, clearing his throat again before he shifts his eyes back to you. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head as you blink at him slowly and let out a hard breath. He drops his eyes down your body, then snaps them back up to yours, his lip slightly snarled the entire time.

He points at you quickly, before he drops his hand back to his belt and glances back at the building, “May I speak to you, please?” he asks, clearing his throat again.

“What for?”

He chuckles lightly, widening his eyes as he drops them to your feet, “You know what for.” he snaps, still tapping his fingers against his hips, “Please.”

You glance at Leti and Tic, whose eyes have settled on you after the quick tennis match between you and Bucky. You sigh again, “I’ll meet you guys at home, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Leti whispers, pushing up closer to you, “He looks mad.”

You roll your eyes, “I can handle him. I’ll be fine.”

Leti grabs Tic’s hand and moves past Bucky, “Have a good night, sheriff.”

“You as well, Ms. Lewis.” He glances over his shoulder as Tic and Leti move down the alley, and only turns back to face you once they’ve turned the corner, “You stood me up.” He spits angrily, pointing at you again.

You shrug, indifference written on your face, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean!” he hisses, taking a few steps towards you, “Damn it, I waited forty five minutes for you.”

“You get out of my face.” you scoff, pushing his shoulders roughly.

“So I spend all day worrying about you, only to find you here with some jerk’s hands all over you!”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Spent all day worrying about me, did you? That’s rich.”

“Okay,” he barks, nodding quickly as he chews on the inside of his cheek, “What is it? Huh? What did I do now?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t know! Please! Enlighten me.”

You cross your arms over your chest again, staring down the alley. You feel his eyes staring into the side of your face, waiting for you to speak.

“Answer me, damn it!”

“Why don’t you ask Dottie Bodecker what you did wrong?” you hiss, snapping your head back to face him.

His face contorts in confusion, his shoulders slumping slightly, “Dottie Bodecker? The fuck she have to do with anything?”

“Her meatloaf is to die for, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up dramatically, turning and taking a few steps away from you. He spins back around seconds later, shaking his head, “If you don’t start saying what you mean, girl!”

“You slept with Dottie Bodecker a few nights back and I’m done letting you make a fool a’ me!” you scream as your eyes squint hard.

You brush past him, bumping his shoulder as you start down the alley, walking fast as you huff, the anger bubbling. You hear his heavy feet behind you, his keys jingling as he wraps his fingers around your bicep. You shrug away from him and whirl around, pointing your thin finger in his face, “Don’t you touch me.”

“I did not sleep with Dottie Bodecker!” He hisses, “Where are you getting that load of shit from?”

“From Dottie herself. She told the entire diner this afternoon!”

“Well she’s full of it!” He shouts back, “I didn’t touch that woman!”

“But you drove her home from work?” You ask, antagonizing him, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms over your chest.

He scoffs, placing his hands on his hips again, “Yes. I drove her home. She flagged me down -” You start walking again, completely uninterested in hearing his sorry ass story, “Goddamn it. Listen to me!” He shouts, grabbing your arm again, “I did not touch that woman. I have never touched her. I promise you.”

“And why should I believe you? Huh?” You ask, breathing hard, your eyes wide and bouncing between his, “Tell me!”

“Because I love you!” He shouts loudly - so loudly that it makes you slam your mouth shut, “Goddamn it!”

You watch as he starts to pace, dragging his hand through his short, dark hair angrily before he drops it to his side. Because I love you! The words bounce around your brain as he places his hands back on his hips.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

That’s the first time he’s said it.

He loves you.

“You know what?” he says after a moment, turning back to face you again, “You want to continue to play games with Dottie, you go right ahead, but you leave me out of it. I have been nothing but good to you, nothing but open, nothing but doting… I’m done, you hear me? Done. Keep playin’ your little goddamn games!”

You click your tongue and roll your eyes again as he walks off, tugging at the leather jacket covering his torso. He can barely zip the damn thing. You sigh and tilt your head as he turns around the front of the building as embarrassment starts to flood through you. Your skin heats up again, but this time from the feeling of turning out to be the asshole, which doesn't happen very often (it probably should.)

The sound of your heels clicking against the concrete bounces off the buildings as you move to the end of the alley, peaking around the corner to find his police car still sitting at the curb. You spot his head resting back on the seat and put your hands behind your back as you walk slowly towards the passenger side. You lean over and glance in the window, finding his eyes closed and his hands on the wheel as he breathes in and out, in and out, in and out.

You glance up and down the street before you knock on the window, “Can I get in?”

“No.”

You click your tongue and let your shoulders slump, “Come on, sheriff.”

You watch as he exhales hard and you have to drop your head so that he can’t see the smile that forms on your lips. He reaches over and pops open the door before he straightens up in the seat, keeping his eyes forward as you slide in next to him. You chew on your lip as you blink over at him, your eyes trailing down his bicep and forearm before you start playing with your fingers.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, your voice small and slightly playful.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He answers quick, holding up his hand.

You laugh a little but cover your mouth quickly with your thin fingers as he cuts his eyes towards you. He huffs again and you start to whine, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the roof, “Sheriff, look at me.”

“No.”

“Come on,” You laugh, “I said I was sorry.”

“And that’s just supposed to make this all better? Right? Just because you said you’re sorry?” he asks softly, turning to face you.

You shrug, dropping your eyes to your fingers again, “Yeah?”

He laughs earnestly at your sheer audacity. You smile, biting down into your bottom lip as you send your eyes toward him, your smile softening at the sight of him. The crinkles are back. His nose is scrunched, his eyes turned into slits as he laughs. You glance down between the two of you and see a bouquet of flowers on the floorboard.

His laughter dies down and he shakes his head as he lets out a sigh, “You are such a stubborn ass.”

“But that’s why you like me, right?”

He looks over at you, his eyes moving around your face, “Maybe.” He answers softly.

You grab his hand and place it in your lap, your thumb rubbing gently over his knuckles. You blink at each other, all of the anger and agitation bleeding out of you both like it wasn’t even there to begin with. He squeezes your hand and rubs the tips of your fingers with his thumb before he leans over to kiss you softly.

You moan, your eyes closing instinctively as his pillow soft lips hit yours for the first time that day. Relief and calm washes through you as he massages your lips with his and loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You're soon pressed up against his wide chest and body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and to his back. You hug him tightly to you as the intensity builds quickly, his stomach pushing over his belt and pressing into yours. You hum as his thick fingers skip up your thigh, palming your flesh softly.

His lips fall to your neck, his head nudging yours upward to gain full access to your sensitive skin. He sucks lightly, making you tense and moan as a jolt of sensation shoots straight to your sex. You grip his shoulder softly as that wandering hand moves further up your thigh - right into your dress, where his fingertips brush against your warm, tingly sex.

“Sheriff,” You breathe, spreading your legs and pushing your hips forward as you rub his shoulder.

“Yes ma’am?” He answers, his voice low and heady.

“Take me home and take advantage of me, please.”

His chuckle vibrates through your flesh. He nips at your neck, his teeth dragging along your skin, “As much as I’d love to darlin’, I’m on duty.” You groan in dissatisfaction, making him laugh again, “You shouldn’t have blown me off earlier, I could have taken care of you then.”

He pushes your panties to the side and brushes his fingers over your soft skin, where you shiver instantly. He pulls back so that he can watch your face as he pushes between your folds, stroking your slit gently, teasing you with just the tips of his fingers. You hiss and squeeze your legs together, jutting your hips forward to try and coax him inside.

He doesn’t take the bait.

But he wants to.

He glances over his shoulder behind the car and then out in front, finding the streets bare. He can hear the muffled sounds of Ruby’s band still going strong inside the small club. There’s been no calls over the radio in over an hour. He’s got time. He kisses your mouth quickly and pulls his hand from out of your dress to turn the key, bringing the loud engine to life, filling the silent night air with noise.

You push up onto your knees as he pulls away from the curb and throw your arms around his neck, your tongue sneaking out to lick just under his ear. You smile when you feel him shiver from the contact. You plant kisses on the side of his face and along his jaw before you blow softly into his ear, making him jump in his seat. You grab his earlobe with your teeth and pull softly as you drag your hand down his chest and over his soft stomach where you start to fumble with his belt.

The car speeds up suddenly as he jams his foot on the accelerator when your hand slithers into his pants. You laugh when expletives fall from his lips, the car swerving as he struggles to keep his eyes open and on the road in front of you. Pumping him slowly, you grab your bottom lip between your teeth again and rest your forehead against his temple. You breathe heavily into his ear, humming and moaning as you stroke him quickly, your thumb brushing over his sensitive tip.

Bucky weaves you through the empty town and finally pulls up behind the police station, blending in with the small fleet of exactly two other police cars. He loops his arm around your waist again, pulling you closer - sitting you down on the seat. He grabs your calves and throws them over his thighs and rucks your dress up around your waist. He slips his fingers underneath the band of your panties and pulls roughly, slipping them right down your legs and over your heels to throw them into the backseat.

You squeak when his thick digits push into you, his thumb flattening against your clit. He starts to pump, slow and deep, his blue eyes scanning your face as he drags in air through his open mouth. You roll your hips into his hand as he strokes your walls and teases your clit, you hooking your arm around his neck. You sit up straighter and push your chest into his side, keeping one leg thrown over his thigh, and placing the other on the floorboard - leaving you spread open.

He kisses you quickly, moaning and then hissing as your hand continues to push along his shaft. He brushes his nose against yours, his warm breath washing over your face as you nuzzle right back into him, your mouth falling open as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“God, sheriff,” You rasp, your hand halting as he strokes your insides.

“What was that, darlin’?” He whispers, his words full but languid, “What’s my name, sweetheart?”

You tense, pushing your body up the back of the seat as you squeak again, his fingers pushing deeper and harder. You buck your hips into his hand, throwing your head back, your hair tickling the exposed skin of your back, “Oh, sheriff.” you pant.

“That’s right, you sweet little thing,” He coos, “You fuck my fingers, sweetheart.”

You hum before licking your lips slowly, “I want more than your fingers, sheriff,” you say, your words rushed and hot. You lean forward and kiss him hard, placing your hands on either side of his full face, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks.

You pull away after only a few seconds, dragging in ragged breaths, your chest heaving hard. Reaching behind your back, you pull on the zipper of your dress, the material falling away from your body - leaving you naked.

Bucky inhales sharply.

You lay back on the seat, wrapping your legs around his waist as he twists and leans over you. He reaches out and places his hand in the center of your chest, right between your breasts and just leaves it there for a second as he blinks. You arch your back, rolling your shoulders and head when he sweeps his fingers down your sternum, stopping at your belly button. You grab his hand and bring it to your right breast, cupping your supple flesh as you force your back away from the seat again and suck the tip of his index finger into your mouth.

He pulls his hand away reluctantly - but keeps his eyes on you as he shrugs out of his leather jacket. He blinks slowly, pulling his eyes down your smooth, brown skin as his fingers work out the knot of his tie. He loosens it quickly and pulls off the thin clip before he yanks the tie over his head and discards it to the floor. He flattens his palm on the inside of your thigh and pushes it down to your sex, massaging you again as his free hand pops the buttons of his shirt.

Your mouth drops open as you purr at the sensations rippling through you as he touches you, his fingers soft and slow, “Bucky,” you keen.

He hears the desperation - the ache - the trembling need in your voice. He wants to satisfy it. All of it. All of you. He pushes his pants low on his hips, down to his knees before he adjusts his position between your legs, leaning over you further. You grip his sides as his stomach rests against yours, his cock pushing at your entrance.

His eyes wander again, away from your face and down your virtuous body, knowing he and he alone has been the only man to boast its yield, “You’re beautiful.” The words slip off his tongue like silk. He means it.

“You’re beautiful.” You return quickly, running your hands down his soft, wide chest.

You know he doesn’t believe it when you say it. Out loud, in this vulnerable position. All of him on display. Every little roll and crevasse for you to see - he isn’t Tic. He isn’t six foot something, with cannons for arms and a washboard stomach. He’s just a man, a simple man, in love with a beautiful, bold, mischievous woman.

You dig your fingers into his flesh as he enters you, spreading you. You thrust your chest towards his as you slam your eyes closed, gasping at the fullness - the completeness - you feel. Your body starts to lunge upward, your breasts pushing with the movement. His weight leaves you as he sits back on his knees, his hips still prodding as he draws your leg up onto his chest and shoulder, dropping kisses on your ankle.

There’s fingers around your throat, squeezing gently before they venture up your chin and into your mouth. You accept them willingly as he flattens his free hand to your chest again. You stretch your arm forward, slinking your thin digits up his arm to his bicep as his hips push, push, push into yours. Soft. Deliberate. Slow. Ravishing you in the only way you know - the only way you want.

The pressure builds in your stomach, steady and purposed. He knows it - he knows you. So, he grabs your hips, pulls them closer, your legs falling over his thighs, your feet sliding along the old leather seat as he fucks you. He leans over you again, knowing you like his weight on you. He digs his hips into yours - his cock plunging into your soft, accepting cunt as he watches you. Mouth hanging. Lips red. Breath heavy.

It’s a rhythm. An intricate dance the two of you have perfected over time. Pushing and pulling. Giving and taking. The windows are foggy with the heat your bodies have created - your skin damp; balmy. Little droplets of sweat beading between your breasts. His tongue is quick to rid you of them, the droplets, pushing out from behind his lips to lap at your skin. He’d do anything to please you.

Fingers tweak your thick nipples. Rough palms grip your hips. Deep groans, low hisses fill your ears. Soft words, pretty designations falling from his lips. Affirmations of love.

“I love you,” you pant, your words shuddering with each breath, “Bucky, I-”

“I know it, doll. I know it.”

You choke suddenly as the fire spreads without warning. Your orgasm rushes through you, burning a familiar path through your wilderness. Bucky fucks harder as you come - the sound of his skin slapping against yours growing louder, his grip on your hips harder.

He loves to hear you. Crying, screeching, mewling, howling as his body peels you apart, layer by layer. He loves to watch you - shuddering and trembling, hips jerking, toes curling. It’s all he needs, all he wants. He wraps his fingers loosely around your throat again and lets himself go, strained grunts accompanying your ungodly sounds as he starts to spurt over and over.

You flatten your feet against the seat and push your hips upward - still gasping, still jerking uncontrolled as the synapses continue to fire. The additional warmth he provides as he spills into you electrifies you. No other man will know the depths of you, will fill you with his seed. You’re ruined - and you like it that way.

He collapses on top of you when he can’t hold himself up any longer. Soft skin against soft skin. You instantly corral him in your arms, pushing your dainty fingers into his soft, brown hair as he nuzzles into your neck. Breath still hard and hot. You're sticky and he’s sticky, a satisfied haze drifting into your eyes and brain, lulling you.

He pulls you up with him seconds later, his eyes darting around the empty, quiet parking lot, glancing out the back before he scans through the windshield. He pulls his pants back up over his hips and reaches into the backseat to grab the blanket he keeps stowed away, wrapping it around you. He pulls you close, slinking that long arm around your shoulder and pushing his nose against yours as a lazy smile covers his face.

You hum happily as you rest your hand on his stomach, rubbing his full tummy softly with your finger tips, “Tell me about that big ol’ bed again,” you whisper, nuzzling into his face and nose with yours.

“Mmm,” he hums, smiling softly, “It’s called a California King. They make ‘em for all those stars out there in Hollywood.” You giggle, and his smile broadens, “I’m gonna get you one of those beds, I promise you.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I do. Although,”

“Although, what?”

“I don’t want you drivin’ Dottie anywhere anymore.”

He chuckles. The tips of his fingers brush over your naked shoulder and then dance down your arm, “She just wants what she can’t have. She’s jealous a’ you.”

“I know it.”

“Then don’t pay her no mind, girl. I mean it.” A silence drops over the two of you for a few minutes before he says, “I won’t drive her anywhere without tellin’ you. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’m sorry.”

You smile as you rest your head against his, letting your eyes close as sleep starts to pull you in. You feel him grab your fingers, pulling them away from his body as he starts to fumble around, slipping his arms back into his uniform. Once he’s dressed, you fall back into him. He wraps his arm around your neck. You place your hand back on his soft, round stomach. He rolls down the window, allowing the warm breeze to caress your skin. Nights like this are the best. You don’t know how you could be so stupid. You know he loves you.

You’ve always known.

“I’ma get you that little house over there on Pleasant drive, you know it?” he asks, daydreaming again, “We’ll get married -” You scoff, “What?”

“Married?” You ask skeptically, rolling your head on his shoulder as you keep your eyes closed.

“Yes. Married.”

“How are you going to be the law in this town if you’re steady breaking it?”

He chuckles, “You don’t listen to the news?”

“No,” You say softly, squeezing him tighter as you let out a breath, “Too depressin’.”

“Well,” He starts, dropping kisses to the top of your head, “Richard and Mildred Loving are fighting hard for people like you and me.” You open your eyes and blink slowly, watching as the wind plays the branches of the trees across the street as he continues, “They’ll overturn those bullshit laws - just you watch. I’ll marry you the very next day, right here in the middle of town.”

“You think?”

“I think, what?”

“They’ll overturn ‘em?”

“They have to. The world’s too big for that small minded, backwoods bullshit now.”

“And then you’ll buy me that house over there on Pleasant Drive?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And then get me one of those big old beds, what you call it?”

“A California King.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Sure will.”

“And then?”

He takes a breath before he sweeps his nose along yours again, brushing the tips together, “And then we’ll be together until we grow old and grey. I’ll probably be four hundred pounds by then, but.”

He chuckles as you pinch him, making him squirm from the sharp pain, “Stop it.” You warn.

“Look at me now! I’m well on my way.”

“I like you just how you are.” You say simply.

“I suppose you do.”

“I do.”

You barely have to push in to grab his lips as the two of you are already so close. You moan softly when they meet. That arm around your neck tightens, keeping you close - oh so close. You don’t tell him right away, but you like those daydreams of his. The house on Pleasant Drive, the big old bed, the wedding in the middle of town. You dream about them every night and wake up with them every morning. You don’t ever tell him though, because you’re the practical one. He’s the dreamer - and you like it that way.

You still don’t even tell him on the day he makes them all come true. How much you like those dreams of his.

#chubby!bucky #bucky barnes #chubby!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #chubby!bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #chubby!bucky x black!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #chubby!bucky barnes #avintagekiss24

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poptod · 4 years ago

Text

The Game (Baxter x Reader)

Description: You’re either a weirdo or a psychopath. Or both.

Notes: so this is um. kind of weird. but i guess thats kind of my thing at this point WC: 1.7k

"Didn't think this was how it'd go, did'ja?"

"I would really like it if you took these handcuffs off."

"Why? Cause they're yours?"

You stepped closer to his chair, dragging your gaze over every knot you tied around his body. The rope around his ankles and chest, the metal handcuffs behind the back, the gag unceremoniously hung round his neck ever since he wrestled it off.

"Does that bother you?" You asked as you bent in front of him, a wide, toothy grin spreading across your lips. "Being tied up by your own tools?"

"Shut. The fuck. Up," he hissed out beneath his breath, staring straight forward with a glare that could kill. As usual he completely avoided your own eyes.

"Aww, tiny cop is a little testy today, isn't he?"

Shooting up from your position on the floor, you wandered into a darker corner of the room, where the fluorescent light shining over Baxter couldn't quite reach. There you kept your bookcase stocked full of a variety of your tools. Mostly books, but several of the shelves held cases for knives and bug specimens, two of the most beautiful things you imagined one could have. The white light reflected off the glass case and into the detective's eyes.

"I think you need to calm down," you said as you dug into one of the bookcase drawers, feeling around for a lighter and cigarette. "You smoke, right?"

He remained quiet, that glare still piercing the wall in front of him.

"Doesn't matter. I've seen you smoke. I watch you a lot, you know," you spoke through the cig, clicking on the lighter in your hands before a flame burst.

The steps you took towards him were small, calculated, and gentle with your tapping shoes on the cement floor. This room didn't have the best sound quality, and every little noise was magnified by the stone walls. The minimum amount of furniture had made way for the same echo.

"You're very interesting to watch. You're the only cop that's actually interesting. Did you know that?"

With how low his seat was on the ground his face was right in front of your hips, and you spared him no mercy. Instead you stepped even closer, till he was forced to lean back with uneven breath, ire lacing his stare that had nowhere else to rest but you now.

"I've met a lot of cops in a lot of different countries," you admitted thoughtlessly, taking a long drag from your cigarette. "But you're fun. And so fuckin' pretty."

You knelt once more, this time nearly sat between his legs, and blew smoke into his face. His nose scrunched up as his eyes shut, annoyance clear on his pursed lips.

"What the hell do you want from me?" He said in a low, quiet voice that you had already come to know quite well. The moment you recognized it another smile spread across your face, big and unsettlingly happy.

"A good time, hopefully," you said, raising your hand to his face. At first he flinched, twitching away from you, but your need was relentless. Your palm landed on his cheek, allowing you to stroke the small cut along his cheekbone.

When at last he raised his eye to meet yours, the first thing you noted was fear. Fear permeates every emotion––it raises itself above all else, tells on itself before any other emotion can. There were other things beneath that, of course; anger, contempt, the usual when someone is forcefully tied to a chair in the middle of a nondescript room with no windows.

"Don't worry," you chirped. "I won't hurt you. Much. I just... I have these cravings."

Before turning back to your bookcase, you took another slow drag from your cig, watching the end burn till it nearly touched your lips. The smoke you blew out was half in his face and half not, though by his expression it might as well have been all of it.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out the key to one of your glass cases. It wasn't a terribly secure location for the contents, but that little bit of danger was always thrilling––never knowing if your prey will manage to reach those knives.

Your largest was closer to a sword than a dagger, and though it did its' job of intimidation, the easier tool was the small silver knife engraved with cuneiform. The most painful was the jagged-toothed blade, who tore at skin instead of slicing it. That was for another time.

With the silver knife in hand you turned back around, a knowing smirk on your face as you once more approached the detective.

"Jim Baxter. James. Jimmy-boy. How ya feeling? Good?"

No reaction from him. Perfect.

"You want to know something? Little tid-bit of information. Little fun fact about me," you said with a sigh as you knelt. "I don't like your line of work. Not just because you guys are always tryin' to bust my ass and ruin the fun, but I don't like the government in general. The perfect society is an anarchal society. It's probably too much to ask what your leaning on this is, right? I think I know anyway."

You fiddled with the knife in your hands, toying with the handle and picking at the blade.

"White-picket fence boy," you added.

"The hell does that mean?"

"You know exactly what it means. It's just––I think it's a little funny. All around you're such a law-abiding person, so nice, so plain, and you've got all this flavor on your face."

By the way his eyes widened, you could tell what came to his mind. It was what came to most people's minds when you tried to explain the essence of flavor in human personality; cannibalism.

"I'm not going to eat you," you clarified, chuckling when his breathing returned to normal. "I could, though. I have no qualms against it. Peel off the skin of your face, fillet that shit... probably taste like chips."

"Why are you doing this? What – what even are you doing?" He finally asked, succumbing to the confusion and curiosity that had plagued him ever since he woke up here.

"Intimidation. Kidnapping. Those are still illegal, right?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, anyway, those are just some crimes that I by no means on purpose committed. It was just the only way to get what I really want," you said as the tip of your knife pressed into his clothed knee, running down the fabric and leaving a small scratch mark in his pant leg. He jerked away, but you only pressed harder, keeping him in place with a tight hand around his ankle.

"Don't be shy now," you grinned.

"You think you're hot shit –"

"I am."

"– but I'll find you, and –"

"It seems to me you already have."

"Would you shut the fuck up?!"

"Sorry. Go on."

"I'm gonna put you in jail, where creeps like you belong," he said through gritted teeth, his jaw set as he met your awaiting eyes.

"You think I'm a creep? I'm the most sane out of all my friends. Though, I do suppose we live in two different worlds," you said with a shrug.

His type lived in the light. Sunny-day type people, warm homes to come to at the end of the day, dark green grass and clean highways. Yours is more in the style of broken down street lamps––burning rubber from car wheels and the warmth of a lighter. At least that's the way you liked to put it, romanticized into the sweetest fashion so it's easier to swallow.

Honestly, most of your friends are coke dealers. There's one that sells guns to minors, but he's not a friend of yours. Just someone you know. All of them are good people, you can't deny that, but it's not a gentle environment.

Not that you're any bit unlike them. You do, after all, kidnap people and taunt them for fun.

"Alright. Question for you. Ever had sex?"

Nothing. You giggled, crossing your arms on his knees.

"Ever kissed someone? You don't seem like the person who would like any of that stuff. I'll still be surprised if you haven't, though. The idea that no one tried to jump your bones? Yeesh. I don’t think that's possible," you rambled on, making a few vague hand gestures as his glare never faded.

The surly twist in his face reached a high point, ending with him spitting onto your face with a deep irritation in his expression. It took a second or two before you quite processed what had just happened, but when you did you had no hesitation in your response; licking the flat of your tongue up from his jaw to his temple.

"You like that? Into that kinda thing?" You asked in a booming laugh as he spluttered, desperately trying to worm away from you. "That was on you, buddy. Come on. Admit it."

"I'm not going to –"

"Come on, say it! You deserved that. Right?"

You grabbed his chin in a tight grip, forcing him to look at you.

"You get everything that's coming to you. You deserve everything you'll receive within the next... hmm, let's say, three months? Depends on when I get bored of you," you hummed, glancing to the side as you thought.

"The next three months? What are you gonna do in that time?" He asked almost softly, brow furrowed in the same consternation as his eyes.

"Have a little bit of fun, for once. I hope you prove to be more entertaining than the last girl," you said with a grunt, pushing yourself to your feet. "In the meantime... you can't be missing for too long, baby."

"Wh –"

With the butt of your dagger in hand, you whirled back around, hitting him right in his temple. The hit of the massive gem on his skull knocked him out, muscles untensing as he fell limp in his restraints.

You smiled and breathed a sigh of happy relief, as though you had finished swimming in the brisk water of a lake.

"Ah... he seems nice."

Thirty minutes and he's waking up, waves of pain throbbing from his cranium. He hissed as he tried to sit up, realizing with much comfort that he was back in the linen sheets of his bed, the comforter all tangled and mussed beneath him. By the look of the clock, it was the morning of his first shift of the week.

And the first thing he has to tell his boss is that there's another psycho on the loose.

#detective baxter x reader #detective baxter #the little things #rami malek #rami malek character

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charincharge · 5 years ago

Text

Cruel Summer, Part 3

cruel summer masterlist

AN: I’m really sorry I like posting at 1AM, I guess? Same warnings apply. Drinking, swearing, sexual frustration. Excited to hear what you think about this one...

There are nice neighborhoods in Wendlyn. There are suburbs with sprawling lawns and white picket fences and wraparound porches and two car garages. But Rowan has never seen anything like the Ashryver’s Terrasen summer estate. It took him a full fifteen minutes just to walk up the driveway. He supposed he could have parked on the driveway – he sees most everyone else has, but he’s certain his loud clunker of a truck would have only marred the view.

The house is stunning. It sits on top of a stony cliff that overlooks the North Sea. He cranes his neck up, taking in the mansion. It looks as if it’s four stories tall, and each window has its own personal balcony. The front door is wide open, so he walks through, admiring the high ceilinged foyer. His flip flops clop across the beautiful black and white marble floor, echoing loudly with each step, making him feel more and more self-conscious.

He’s already running extremely late. It took him forever to decide what to wear. Stupid, he knows. But he’s fucking nervous. He’s never been to a party like this. With people like this. He ultimately decided on a t-shirt and board shorts and flip flops – it was a pool party, right? But as he looks around the back patio, at the caterers and full bar, Rowan’s not sure he made the right choice. He looks over his shoulder, desperate for some reassurance from the girl he brought with him for moral support, but can only gape, horrified.

His roommate Manon, has taken off her leather jacket and revealed her outfit underneath – an oversized band t-shirt she’s wearing like a dress, which… barely reaches the tops of her thighs. He knows the t-shirt well, and though it promotes the Beastie Boys innocently on the front, he knows when she turns around, in large yellow block letters it will read: GET OFF MY DICK.

“Fucking A, Man. Put your jacket back on. That is so not appropriate. We’re at my boss’s house.”

Manon flicks a piece of lint off her shirt with her long black polished nails and narrows her eyes at Rowan. “Maybe if we hadn’t just walked four hundred miles down the driveway I wouldn’t be so fucking hot.” She smiles, baring her white teeth from under her dark lipstick. “Anyway, no one’s going to care soon. It’s open bar.”

“I don’t know why I asked you to come to this,” Rowan sighs, running his fingers through his hair. This was a bad idea. Manon isn’t exactly… work friendly, he thinks, as he takes in the ferocious-looking dragon tattoo that wraps itself around her forearm and disappears up her shirtsleeve.

“You couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me alone,” Manon coos, batting her heavily lined eyes at him. “Despite my many protests.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Don’t fucking slander me like that, Whitethorn. You know I’m the best you’ve ever had.” Manon winks. It’s a joke between them. They’ve lived together now for two years. Manon saved him after a particularly terrible run of bad roommates, and they’ve been cohabitating since. He made the mistake of telling her she was the best roommate he’d ever had one night, and she’s been taunting him about it ever since. Manon loves being the best.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the best I’ve ever had.” Rowan blows her a kiss, and she pretends to catch it and throw it back at him. He clutches his heart, wounded from her rejection. Though it’s par for the course with the two of them.

A throat clears loudly, and they both turn. Rowan’s boss stands with the one person he wanted to work himself up to seeing today. Aelin looks just as good as she did the last time Rowan saw her — if not better, all warm sun-kissed skin and long wavy hair in an ethereal white dress. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glint with fire. Rowan’s beginning to think that’s just their natural state.

“Lorcan!” Rowan, stutters, unprepared.

Lorcan’s lips tug into a small smirk as his eyes slide over to Aelin. “Aelin, I wanted to introduce you to—”

“Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin drawls his name and holds out her hand out to shake his.

“I guess your connections came through,” Rowan says with a smile, but it’s not returned, and Rowan feels self-conscious again as he pulls his hand back.

There’s an awkward pause as Rowan wonders what the hell to say next. Aelin doesn’t seem interested in continuing a conversation, and Lorcan isn’t exactly the most amicable guy in the world.

Aelin’s eyes narrow and turn to the girl on Rowan’s right. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“What?” Completely flustered, Rowan’s forgotten that Manon is beside him. Manon looks at him, annoyed. “Oh. Uh, yeah.” He shrugs. “Sorry. This is Manon.”

“I’ve just been standing here the whole time, you asshole,” Manon chides, and Rowan sends her a warning glare, but she smiles widely and ignores him, holding her hand out to shake hands with Aelin.

“Manon Blackbeak. Thank you so much for having me.” Though Manon sounds sincere, Rowan knows Manon is being anything but. She’s going to be mocking him about this party for days.

Aelin returns her handshake, and gasps upon seeing Manon’s nails — intricate black and white designs on long talon like shapes. Manon says they’re coffin shaped. Because that’s apparently a thing. Rowan shudders. Manon’s nails are the one thing about her that truly frighten him.

“Oh, I love your nails,” Aelin says, admiring them thoroughly. “But it’s such a shame you’ve broken two of them.”

Manon’s amber eyes flash with glee as she gives Aelin a practically feral grin. “Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t broken. I keep those two short on purpose, so I don’t hurt pretty things like you.”

“Jesus, Manon,” Rowan barks out, blushing for Aelin. Watching Manon flirt with the girl he’s had his eye on is enough to send him into an early grave. Rowan scans Aelin’s face for any signs of offense. He doesn’t see any, but feels the need to apologize for his roommate, regardless. “I’m so sorry for her. Honestly.”

Aelin looks confused, her eyes darting between Manon and Rowan at a rapid pace. “…I don’t get it,” Aelin admits, and Manon is about to explain when Rowan cuts her off.

“It’s better that way.”

Manon rolls her eyes and twists her long platinum hair over her shoulder. She preens, admiring her manicure and picks off a nonexistent hangnail before looking back at Aelin. “Something you should know about Rowan is that he’s absolutely no fun.”

“So it seems,” Aelin says, her brow furrowed. Aelin’s demeanor changes in an instant again, giving them a terse smile. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Manon. And to officially meet you, Rowan. Enjoy the party.” And with a flounce of her skirt, she’s gone.

As Rowan watches Aelin disappear back into her house —

“What’s the story there?” Manon asks. “You piss in her cereal or something?” Rowan quirks an eyebrow at Manon, and she laughs. “That girl does not like you.”

Rowan crosses his arms defensively. “Why would she not like me? I’m very likable.”

Manon poked a sharp talon into his arm. “That’s debateable. Regardless, I know you did something.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Rowan can feel the anger swirling around his stomach. There was some fundamental reflex to being disliked that always got the better of Rowan. It wasn’t that he had a compulsive need to be liked, but — okay, maybe it was that a little bit. But also, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And why was he so damn upset about being blown off by a person he’d spoken to just a handful of times?

Lorcan snorts as he finally pipes up. “Aelin’s a handful. Steer clear that drama.”

It’s the most candid Rowan has ever heard Lorcan ever be, so he nods, taking in his warning. Though he’s not a hundred percent sure he’s going to adhere to it.

“Let’s get drinks,” Rowan suggests and Manon follows him willingly. Drinks are definitely an idea she can get behind.

Rowan meets up at the bar with the rest of the Cadre — that’s what the group of his coworkers has named their text thread. He’s not exactly close with any of them yet, but it was nice to be added to the group chat. Fenrys and Gavriel are already wet from the pool and the twins, Connell and Vaughan, pass around beers to everyone.

Rowan’s taken his first swig of beer when he realizes he’s lost Manon along the way. He finds her mid-conversation with Elide, one of the other Playland managers. Rowan isn’t super familiar with the petite girl, and he’s shocked to see that his roommate is.

“You found a friend,” Rowan says, handing a beer to Manon.

“Manon was my Resident Advisor my freshman year at University of Terrasen. Can you believe that?” Elide squeals. “She was the absolute coolest. She always let me sleep on her couch when my roommate kicked me out for slutty sleepovers.” Elide leans into Manon’s side, and Rowan expects the cold, white-haired girl to shake her off, but she doesn’t. She shocks the hell out of Rowan and wraps her arm around Elide’s shoulders and squeezes her, looking down at her with a fond smile. A small pang of jealousy blooms in Rowan’s stomach. He didn’t expect Manon to have her own friends at this party. She was here to be his support. Which he obviously, desperately needs. He’s floundering here.

As Rowan tunes in and out of Elide and Manon’s conversation, giving the appropriate mhms and wows, his eyes wander the patio, searching for the blonde who disappeared on him earlier. He can’t shake her dismissal. He wants to talk to her. Know what’s behind those blue and gold eyes of hers. Know why the hell she walked away from him. He spots her by the pool. She’s reemerged from the house with her hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing only a white bathing suit and freshly painted bright red lips. Rowan can’t help but stare as she slowly makes her way into the pool, the water rising until it hits right at her chest. It’d be indecent if the swimsuit weren’t so modes. The girl certainly knows how to command attention.

“Rowan.” Manon snaps her long claws in front of his face.

“Hm?” Rowan brings his attention back to his evilly grinning roommate.

“I asked if you wanted to get into the pool,” Manon says, her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Manon raises up onto her tiptoes and whispers into Rowan’s ear. “Think she’d be down for a threesome? She is fire.”

Rowan’s cheeks heat as he pushes Manon away. “Stop that.”

Manon grins. “But you’re so easy to rile up.”

Rowan finds a free chair for their things and strips off his t-shirt, and Manon does the same. He sighs upon seeing Manon’s black mesh strappy bikini, which looks more like lingerie than swimwear, showing off the artwork inked all over her body. Not that he can talk. He has his own tattoo, which runs up his chest and down his back.

As they make their way towards the pool, Rowan pauses. Aelin is in the pool with another man. He’s pale with floppy brown hair, and Rowan can tell he’s a rich kid just by looking at him. Their hands are all over each other. Aelin smiles and lets him kiss her cheek as she hoists herself onto his back.

“Uh ohhh,” Manon drawls. “Looks like Barbie’s already got herself a Ken.”

Rowan elbows her in the ribs. Perhaps a little harder than intended. Manon scowls at him. “I’m never taking you as a wingman anywhere ever again,” Rowan grits out.

“Ahah! So you admit it. I am here as a wingman because you have a crush on the boss’s daughter.”

Rowan flicks his pine green eyes at Manon. He doesn’t have to confirm anything. Manon has figured him out. So what? He thought Aelin was cute, and yeah, he thought maybe today would be a good opportunity to talk to her again. Get to know her a little better. Maybe start a friendship. Maybe more. Who knows? But it looks like that’s not in the cards. The dismissal was her way of letting him down easy. She’s already involved. Whatever. It’s better this way, Rowan thinks to himself. This way he won’t put his job at risk. Or his heart. It’s fine. He doesn’t know anything about the girl other than how good she looks in a bathing suit. He’ll get over it. He’s sure of it.

Except he doesn’t. The rest of the day is torture. Aelin avoids his gaze, shifting away from him at every opportunity. And it drives him absolutely insane. She splashes around the pool with her cohort, whose name he overhears is Dorian. He swears if he hears her shout out “Dor!” with unbridled affection one more time, he’s going to crack his teeth by how hard he’s grinding them. He tries to distract himself by racing with the Cadre, who’ve taken up the entire deep end, but he tires quickly.

Water-logged and exhausted from the sun, Rowan pulls himself out of the pool. He leaves Manon in Elide’s company and tells her he’s going for a walk. Rowan needs to clear his head. He grabs another beer and heads down the walkway to the beach. There’s something about the salt air and the sand that soothes him. Rowan walks a ways down, admiring the row of mega mansions that overlooks the water, though he can’t help but feel like even more of an outsider than he already is. He does not belong in this neighborhood. By the time Rowan makes his way back to the Ashryvers’ the sun is halfway dipped into the horizon, and dusk is upon them.

He finds a side gate to the house and makes his way through it, surprised that it leads to a beautiful rose garden. Vines crawl and wind themselves around arched trellises creating a magical canopy of flowers. His mom would love this garden. He sits to take a picture for her when the garden lights turn on, lighting the flowers with delicate twinkle lights, giving the garden an ethereal glow.

Rowan’s phone buzzes with a text from Manon. People are leaving. Where u at, bitch?

He laughs to himself and texts her back quickly. Be right there. Just paused to take a pic.

Loser.

Rowan ignores Manon’s reply and snaps another photo of the garden. He wishes he had his real camera and not just his camera phone to capture the light of the garden, but he thinks he manages to take an okay snap of the lit roses with the fading sun over the ocean in the background.

He’s about to head back to the patio when he hears a voice from overhead call out, “Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo?”

He looks up, and sure enough, Aelin is dramatically leaning over her balcony, hand placed over her brow, as if she were searching through the crowds for her paramour.

Rowan is positive she doesn’t see him in the dusky twilight, so he chuckles somewhat loudly and gives her a short wave to get her attention.

Aelin straightens up immediately, her posture suddenly rigid with tension. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone out here.”

“I figured,” Rowan says, running his hands through his hair, a nervous habit of his. He spots a silhouetted shadow emerging from behind Aelin and smiles sadly. “By the way, I think your Romeo is behind you.”

Confused, Aelin turns, and sure enough Dorian appears next to her. He pulls her into his arms, and Rowan’s heart gives a small sad tug as he watches Dorian spin Aelin and lower her into a low dip. His footsteps feels heavy as he walks away and hears her peals of laughter ring out into the slowly encroaching darkness.

~*~*~*~*~

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters – ask me HERE

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#aelin x rowan #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #aelin galythinius #cruel summer au #amusement park au #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #manon blackbeak #rowaelin fanfiction #charincharge writes #tog fanfic

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vickers-n-lickers · 4 years ago

Text

Moonlit pt. 2

((Contains mentions of violence and gore. BradxOC and the rest of the gang))

Horrible moans were muffled against the glass, fingers dragging long dark streaks.

Even with the blinds drawn tight, the dead knew they were in there.

"You need to go, Brad. Please… don't. Don't argue. Just go. Run before they get you…"

"I'm not going to leave you."

"You have to. You can't let them get away with this. They killed our friends. Jenna."

Her life hanging by a thread was a storm cloud hovering over them.

Check tossed in her clutch, Joan looked over herself one more time in the mirror. Cap off her lipstick, she carefully painted on a clean line, then another.

Finally paid for performing at this over the top wedding, she might be able to get the water heater fixed and take a shower in her own apartment. Jack had been up her ass for a week, every time she showed up to grab a shower there was an argument.

She never told Brad. It wasn't his problem and he had enough on his mind with work.

He would have helped…

She frowned at her reflection. Depending on someone was always a bad idea in her book.

Even with that in mind, there were things in her that unfurled every time he swung by for 'just a minute'. Things that bloomed between cups of coffee and the way he swayed with her from behind while she made dinner; hands on her hips, chin on her shoulder, humming away to Steve Miller Band crackling through on the radio.

These little things strung themselves together into an idea.

A life. One that came to her mind as easy as breathing. White picket fences, BBQ grills, his corny jokes and a pack of kids chasing one another around an inground pool. An eternal summer where fireworks and lightning bugs shifted to strings of lights and Christmas mornings where they both were half asleep wrapped up in house coats in front of a massive tree he just had to have for them.

Tiny terrors racing around the house with new toys while basset hound puppy tried to keep up.

Dumping them all off at Forest's garage for a date night, half terrified of coming back to find the kids had burned the place down. Who was she kidding? Half of the time she swung by: Forest had set the place on fire himself.

Weddings always do this to me.

The wedding reception hall still looked grand as ever, even after guests had cut a rug for half of the night. It made her smile, thinking of her own future for a moment. Gift basket in tow, she bumped into someone on her way out of the Depot. "Oops! Sorry… David." Her eyes widened.

The man simply stared at her for a moment, hair as silver as ever. There was a time she teased him about going gray so early in life. There were other times she teased him that he should pick a codename that didn't belong in a steamy romance novel about spies. What sane person called themselves Hunk?

Now she was just trying to get to the door.

"We need to talk."

"Call me tomorrow and we will," She replied quickly.

"I want to see her before I leave. I have a right to see her," the man replied lowly.

That hit a nerve. The golden light of the outdoor lamps bathed half of her face. "Your rights? Hmm, what about my right to some help raising her? How about some health insurance or dental insurance covered? How about a gift for Christmas or a fucking call on her birthday?"

Everyone stopped and stared.

"Everything alright?" Brad asked as he stepped outside. Confusion crossed his face as Joan offered up the gift basket and her clutch.

"Peachy." Her expression was torn between pain and rage.

Vickers took one look at the man, deducing just who would have managed to gain real ire from Joan. "I'll go start the car, babe." He paused when her hand snatched at his elbow, pulling him close enough to leave a lipstick mark on his cheek.

"I'm right behind you," She said, quick and anxious.

He couldn't see the argument that broke out as he stepped off the curb and out into the darkened parking lot, but the look on his three teammates faces told him to look back.

Joan's stance was hostile, even in an evening gown. Her hands were a flurry of gestures as she spoke in a heated fashion. A look fury on her face, her gaudy jewelry glittered in the dim light of the building's entrance. The man in front of her said nothing, toying idly with the toothpick set between his jaws. He suddenly retreated. "There you go! Walk off, it's what you're good at," followed him back inside the building.

"Jerry, Jerry, Jerry…" Chris whispered, pumping a fist. Both Wesker and Jill gave him a sour look.

Brad could only look on, sighing heavily.

Miss Piper was trying to calm the fury as she marched up the sidewalk. A bright smile appeared as she saw Brad. "Hey Baby! Are we headin' out?"

"Do you still love him?"

"BRADLEY VICKERS!"

"She whipped out the whole name. Man…" Chris grumbled from the back seat. "Don't ask stupid questions while she's driving." He undid his tie with quick fingers. "He's just had too many, Joan. Don't listen."

Vickers shook his head, looking out the window. Part of him wished he had rode along with Captain Wesker and Jill.

Even though those two have been acting weird for weeks…

"I don't love David. That was a long time ago. He's an asshole."

"He seems like a deadbeat. I've never seen the guy before tonight," Chris added, sitting back.

"He doesn't even live in the States. We met when I worked for Umbrella. I did security for a lab that manufactured vaccines in a remote region. That's all."

"That's not all. You two literally have a kid."

"Stop it, man."

She signaled left at the stop sign, turning onto Jack Street. "You've been more of a dad to Jenna than he ever was. I know it's a lot to take in, but you try at least."

"He's still her real father."

"Brad, shut up!" Chris's last attempt to intervene was cut short by Joan pulling into a parking space and slamming on the brakes. "Now she's pissed…" He muttered.

Car put into park, she looked over at Vickers as she killed the engine. "Look, I am sympathetic to your jealousy. Everyone feels that, but this isn't going to work if you're going to act like this. My daughter will always come before me and I will always try to meet her needs. It's not about me, it's about her. The sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you'll understand why I'd rather shit in my hands and clap than ever take David back. I love you and I love Jenna. That's it. Everyone else doesn't matter. Whatever you're thinking: put it to rest or go home and sober up."

Brad visibly flinched when she slammed the door shut. Air blown out his nose, the brunette mopped a hand over his face, quiet for a moment. "…Goddammit."

Chris unbuckled his seatbelt in silence, leaning forward to clap Brad on the shoulder. "Write her a bad poem. Give it to her with some dandelions. That should smooth things over." Unlocking the rear door, he stepped out too. "C'mon Vickers, let's get you some coffee."

Joan was behind the bar by the time the two wandered in, despite still being dressed in the same attire she'd worn while entertaining at the wedding. "It's been a long time since I saw you last, Captain. What brings you by?" Her bright eyes followed Jill and Rebecca for a moment and lifted to him as she cracked open two long necks.

A single blond brow lifted. "Boredom and babysitting."

"Oh, well then… Johnny Walker. Right?" The brunette girl's award winning smile flashed briefly. Ice, glass, and liquor after; she slid the glass over to him with a sigh. "On the house, so long as you don't start frisking people."

A long sip taken from the glass, Wesker's lips briefly pursed. "What was happening in front of the Depot?"

"Oh, you saw that? David decided to make the mistake of speaking to me." Tongue rolling along the inside of her cheek, she frowned. "Spencer's dog." Rotating her own glass against the bar, she just shook her head. "I wish I had never joined up and taken the assignment on Rockfort."

"Oh, Joan. We all had fun. Well, you didn't. He liked picking on you quite a bit."

"You were only there for three months. I was there for two years and I regret ever getting tangled up with that man. Jenna doesn't need to know him." Another glass poured, she sipped it down like spring water.

"Vickers is probably a safer bet."

"Mmm… you'd think so, but he had the great idea to piss me off too tonight."

The blond blinked, eyes going wide behind his shades as he listened. Looking for an out immediately, he found it in Jill waving him over. "You can't kill him, Joan. I need him. I'm sure he'll figure out how to make it up to you."

"We shall see…" Her eyes lifted to Miss Chambers. "Beers are on the bar, Rebecca." Turning, she carried her glass to the sink at the other side and disappeared into the back. One heel after the other pulled off, she left them behind on the cooler before she made her way to the back stoop under a blanket of stars.

When she came back in from a needed break, a napkin of all things was rolled up in one of her heels. She snorted when she read the message left on it.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I'm a jerk,

Your hair looks nice.

Rolling her eyes, she pinned it to the board with the work schedule before heading back out.

Rebecca and Jill cheered when Wesker sank the 8 ball into a pocket on the other side of the room. "We win." Rebecca beamed. "I want my jeep waxed too."

"That's not fair; you had the captain make the shot." Ed was almost pouting.

"Oh, you had no issue with him doing it when you two thought he wasn't going to win it for us!"

"Yeah, but he doesn't suck at pool. We thought he might suck at it."

"Well it serves you right for judging him. Shame on both of you." Rebecca grinned.

Leaning against the bar, Joan listened while Chris dazzled a few of the group with another tale from the Airforce. Fingers lacing with Brad's idle ones, her lips twitched up at their edges when he squeezed. Forgiveness came as a kiss against his cheek when he turned to pick up his cup of coffee.

Most of the group had taken off when the clocktower chimed at midnight. The remaining parties had ties loosened, jackets off, heels dropped and hair down at long last. Jukebox set to play the full list, Joan settled on one of the couches next to Brad. "It's 'Never Have I Ever'. Rules are simple. You take a drink if you've done the thing the person says they've never done. Alright, I'll start." Joan sighed. "Never have I ever owned a dog."

Everyone else groaned, taking a drink.

Brad was next. "Never have I ever flown with an airline."

Everyone else took a drink.

Chris was next, peering at his drink for a moment. It was time to start getting creative. "Never have I ever had sex with Brad."

Joan rolled her eyes at the collective snickering, taking a drink.

His date, Morgan, followed. "Never have I ever had sex with a woman."

Every man and Joan took a drink. Brad nearly choked. "What?"

Joan just shrugged. “I dated her for three years too.”

Jill peered at her glass for a moment, elbows on her knees. "Never have I ever been out of the country."

Most of the group had to take a drink.

Wesker sighed a bit, peering towards the bar as he thought. "Never have I ever paid for sex."

Brad and Joan both took a drink. Both gave the other a sidelong look.

Chris about died laughing right then and there. "Joan, you need to open up more to us. We're clearly not getting the best stories during happy hour."

"I think we all want to hear this story." Wesker smirked a bit, arm stretching along the back of the couch both he and Jill occupied.

Glass on the squatting table, she laughed. "Alright, alright. Is it safe to assume that you were saying that you never paid a working girl for their time?"

"I suppose you could, yes."

"I paid a woman in Germany for her time because it was on my bucket list. We ended up going to a movie and eating at a Donor Kebab stand. Her name was Sindy with an 'S'. I loved her to pieces."

"That's not paying for sex, though." Chris replied, sighing deeply. "I thought we were going to hear one of these wild and crazy 'Joan Piper: Lady of the Night' stories."

"I bet she remembers Joan still, unlike any man that crawled on top of her and wheezed his way through two minutes of the best time of his life." Jill uttered.

Albert let out a snort, shaking his head.

Joan's pearl grin was visible even in the dim light. "Alright, my turn. Never have I ever learned how to speak German fluently."

Only Albert took a drink, a couple brows raised.

"Never have I ever given oral."

Everyone just stared.

"That's not something you want to say in this game, Brad." Chris snorted, covering his face with a palm as he began to laugh. Red faced, he wiped away a few tears. "Oh shit, I'd be lost without you in my life Vickers."

"This is rather educational." Wesker uttered, receiving a slap to the arm from the female to his left. "What?"

Breath relaxing, Chris leaned back next to Morgan. "I've never… Huh, gotta think for a bit. Oh, Never have I ever had a 'ménage a trois'."

Jill's eyes were the size of dinner plates as not only did Miss Piper take a drink but… "What, really?"

Albert merely lifted a single blonde brow after taking a sip from his drink. "What? It was a long time ago."

Brad's jaw about fell to the floor.

"Wait, we heard my paying for sex story. You have to tell us about the threesome."

A deep sigh and Wesker pitched his gaze toward the ceiling. "It was during college, the two ladies living across from me in the dormitories—…"

"Okay, I've heard enough." Jill refilled her glass. "Sounds like the opening of a porno."

"We are spending way too much time together when Captain Wesker is talking about having a three way." Brad mumbled.

Chris's face was in both of his hands as he laughed.

Stare shifted to Jill, Wesker shrugged. "I was eighteen. Nobody would have passed that opportunity up."

Across from them, Joan leaned in to speak quietly to Brad.

"They're fuckin'."

Brad just nodded.

"You really think those two are?" Sleeves rolled up, Brad dunked another glass in soapy water.

"Who?" Joan asked, hanging her dress from a knob to one of the cabinets. Dressed down in a sweater and jeans, she felt a million times better.

"You know who. Captain Perfect and his best gal pal?"

She grinned, wiping down the glossy top of the bar. "They are or they're going to. It was pretty obvious when she reacted like that." She looked over to Brad. "Nobody is perfect, though."

Glasses set on the rack, Brad swiped the bar towel from her to dry his hands. "That could have been us."

Arms stretching above her head, the woman sighed. "True. We would have been forced to sneak around, only able to see one another during graveyard shifts. Screwing in your aircraft. So romantic…"

Brad snorted. "I'll talk to her about it. It might save her some headache."

"I thought this was strip poker." Forest said, taking a look at his hand.

"Well, the only one here who would want to see something like that is Richard…" Ed muttered.

Richard let out a chuckle. "None of you are my type, thanks for thinking of me though, asshole." A pearly grin appeared across his face when everyone else at the table chuckled. "Callin' it… Oh what the fuck, Brad."

"That's like the fourth hand, dude!" Joseph groaned, cards dropped on the table. "He's cheatin'."

"I don't cheat," The brunette sounded hurt when he gathered up his chips.

"Yeah, Joe. He doesn't cheat. We'd know if he ever did. Joan would be on CNN screaming she'd toss him in the wood chipper again." Forest replied with a smirk, finishing off his beer. "How long have you two been together?"

Brad cut the deck, shrugging. "Little over two years now?" His brow furrowed at the expressions all around. "What? Why?"

"When are you going to ask her?" Kenneth reached down, picking up his lighter.

"Ask her what?"

Everyone sighed.

"Ask her to marry you, dumbass." Joseph tossed off his bandana, raking a hand through bright red hair. "Have you even looked at a ring?"

"He's got one…" Forest leaned in, squinting… leaning in more when Brad recoiled. "…He's carrying it right now."

"How the fuck do you do that, man?" Vickers couldn't even react before Joseph had snaked a hand into the pocket of his vest, fishing out a box.

"Jackpot, boys. Ahhhhh! Hey!" His hand jerked to avoid a swipe at it. "We get to see it before you give it to her."

"It might be a Ring Pop and that's not going to work, chief," Kenny replied, the ash from his cigar flicked into the tray on the table. His brows lifted when the box was offered over to him. "Mmm… that's pretty nice."

Forest wrinkled his nose when he looked at the ring tucked in white satin lining. He let the box go when it was snatched. "You couldn't afford this. Are you a drug lord now?"

"It was my great grandmother's. Lay off." Brad replied, tucking the box away. He went right back to shuffling the cards.

"It's a nice ring, Brad," Richard added, trying to lower the temperature of the room. "When do you think you'll ask?"

"I'm asking her at the jazz festival."

"That's not until September," Ken commented, confused.

Cracking open another bottle, Joseph snorted. "He's going to need until then to get up the courage."

Dealing out cards, Brad was fuming. "Joseph, when was the last time you went on a date?"

"I can't go on dates, Brad. You know your mom gets jealous." He and his chair suddenly went over when Brad put him in a headlock.

Forest's jaw dropped.

Ed cackled up a storm. "Get 'im Vickers!"

"Can you guys stop so we can play some fuckin' cards?" Richard asked, picking up his drink as the cards, chips, and table went toppling over. "…Nevermind."

The house was older but it had a new roof. The white picket fence needed some work, grass growing tall along it. One of the windows in the back had a crack in it. A new coat of paint needed to be slapped on the south side. It would need some love, but they had plenty to spare.

Sunliner in the driveway, Joan pulled another box out of the backseat. She left it in a room painted in a cozy rose color. It would be Jenna's room soon. She took her time walking to the back door, turning about to gaze around.

A house, a real house.

She was going to get everything she wanted after all. A glass of sun tea in tow, it took some jiggling to get the back door open. "I think that needs fixed too."

Brad looked up from the lawnmower turned on its side. "Same with this, thanks babe." He drained the glass in seconds. It was unusually hot for late spring. "I think I'm just going to call a landscaper. This isn't working."

"Jack said it worked last week. Who knows…" Sitting down next to him, she took a moment to admire the ring on her hand. It always brought a little smile to her lips. So did he. "I'm just happy I get to wake up every morning and kiss you while living on Kiss Street."

Brad's turn for an eyeroll. "Cheese ball." His attempt to get away was met with a firm grip on his shirt and lips stealing a kiss.

"Just think... we'll be married next October."

He smiled fondly. "I can't wait."

Red pooled between them.

"I love you, Brad. I… We had a good life together." She worked the ring off her finger, offering it up. He still had a chance. She wasn't going to let that memory die with her.

He hesitated, then tucked the ring into his vest. "I love you too…" There was no arguing with her at this point. Her hands in his, he kissed her knuckles one last time.

She was already gone.

He wept in the dark for her.

#moonlit #brad vickers #joan piper #brad and joan #forest speyer #joseph frost #jill valentine #albert wesker #chris redfield #kenneth sullivan #ed dewey

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flightofaqrow · 3 years ago

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mothering (on mother’s day)

qrow + Sun Wukong ( @ultravioletvoleur )

fighting clearly hadn’t been what was on the kid’s mind. maybe he just wasn’t thinkin’ at all; he definitely isn’t right now as words tumble from his mouth, barely coherent. qrow still doesn’t need to hear these things about his niece, but he’ll let this one slide.

Sun leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this, “I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Quick update, may wanna say Happy Mother's Day to your niece. ...Kaybye!"

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qrow whips open Harbinger faster than a nevermore diving upon its prey, and fires a warning shot off as Sun makes a break for it, near missing the base of his tail.

he knows the kid well enough by now, and trusts Yang even more, than to truly buy into the implications of his statement. oh, but if playing this cat and mouse game makes the cheeky monkey so happy, qrow will absolutely go a round.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“YIPE!”

That was a much faster reaction than he’d anticipated, barely making it ten feet before the crack of exploding gunpowder rang out. There was a hole smoking in the wall in front of him- dangerously close to banana height, and Sun began sweating. He turned very jerkily, with the closest approximation of a cocksure grin he could manage through his abject terror.

“Oh, uh. D-did you… Need something?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

well, at least qrow got to make a point, should he ever actually need to act on teaching the kid a thing or two. alternatively, about picking fights one may not be able to win. a similar tough past he may have, thieves at least tended to work from codes of honor. not every struggle is the same.

he prods, sarcastic, feigned anger lining the sharp curve of narrowed eyes, sword still deployed at his side, “what in all of remnant makes you think you can just say things to me?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There is a very audible gulp as the Hunstman advances on him. Every other time they’d traded barbs, he’d gotten the sense that Qrow was something of an old glory days kind of person, who had lost their touch a bit. However, that split second action, and the pointed glare burning through his confidence like a hot knife through butter, told him a whole new story.

Qrow Branwen was what his nightmares were made of.

“Well you see I thought we were buddies and I thought you would know it was a joke I swear I haven’t laid a hand on your niece like that I would never well not never possibly in the future but definitely not right now not that I don’t think she’s attractive she’s very attractive oh but that’s not the only reason-”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

tch. forever a curse, even at his best. maybe he laid on the drama a bit too thick. honestly, he thought a bit of zeal is something Sun could appreciate. he’s far too much talk still, isn’t he? all bright light and translucent beaming rays which still questioned their own substance. he might be further ahead than he seemed at first, but still has a ways to go. …kids these days.

“of course I knew it was a joke, golden boy.” qrow folds away his weapon, drops his stance, while raising a brow. he lessens his posturing, but not his attention, hand still remaining on Harbinger’s hilt in the case of some trick.

“but I also took it as a taunt, tellin’ me you’re finally ready for a real man’s brawl. heh, guess i was wrong.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What?!”

He’d almost lost his stones by way of his ass for a sassback?! Their Uncle was even more intimidating now, and he was going to die on that hill. Still, though, knowing that he wasn’t actually angry was a huge relief. The tension left his body and he slumped down with a sigh-

And then he noticed Qrow’s weapon was still out and ready.

“He-hey, uh. N-no need for that. I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I actually wanted to get you riled up so we could then use that energy into doing something for her. I- I know her situation with her mom isn’t great. I dunno the specifics, that’s for her to tell me when she’s ready, but…” He trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Well, I guess… I just want to make today lively for her, instead of having people walking on eggshells around her. Make her excited and happy that today happened, rather than add it to a growing pile of disappointing holidays.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“you moron,” finally, he fully releases, instead staring dumbfounded at the other. he really did think he could just come around and say whatever, and still get his way without consequences. what single-minded, reckless, stupid drivel. yeah, qrow had been an idiot brained teen at one point, but seriously never that bad. he didn’t have that kinda energy. different plans took different tactics, did they not teach anything at Haven or Shade anymore?

“i don’t need to be ‘riled up’ to do something for my family, kid. couldn’t you just ask like a normal person? i promise you, me bein’ jazzed up ain’t the kinda lively she needs.”

eyes now round with sadness; his chest deflates; pointed corners of his mouth turn down. it’s too close to the belligerence he used to have - unprovoked, but drunk. he’s trying so hard to be better than that. for a lotta reasons, but Yang too.

he breathes in, and out, fingers running in and out over his forehead. once satisfied in processing all these thoughts, in having switched gears, he turns to Sun once more, hopefully coming off with the same rational attitude he wants in return, “so, then, turn your brain and your sense of respect on, and just tell me what you had in mind, huh?

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“Well… That’s kinda the thing. I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

He leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this. In truth, he’d wanted to go about this like a normal person, more than anything. Something in him, however, be it a defense mechanism or just a general need for attention he’d never really received drove him to do everything to an excess.

Truth be told, nobody hated Sun’s antics more than he, himself.

“I… I’m going to try to be serious here, for a minute. It’s- It’s not something that comes easy.” He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m… scared. I’m really, truly scared, Qrow, of how she makes me feel. How much it would hurt to lose her, or even see her hurting. I just get so caught up in my own head that I can’t think straight, and… I’ve never…”

Another sigh. “I’ve never had a family before. So I don’t know what to do to help someone who’s mourning theirs. But I see her hurting, and I want to help, and when I came to you, I swear, I wanted to just ask, but. …That would mean… Admitting I love her.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

oh, here we go. this roller coaster again. what about his look or his life or any of his choices made him seem like someone to go to for advice? qrow barely scraped his own life together, and still dropped the pieces too many times. but somewhere along the line, somewhere in just trying to do good - for his team, for Oz, for his family, for Ruby, something must have slipped in to his very psyche, huh.

Ruby somehow always knows the right thing to do. Yang had told her.

I had good role models. Ruby had told him.

he’s cursed. and he wrestles with it every damn day. and while he’d never call it a good thing, maybe some people see themselves in that same fight. maybe he sees himself in theirs and their struggle to understand and express themselves, and that’s why even in the times he wants nothing to do with other people and their decisions, and he’s sure he’ll just mess everything up, he can’t help but listen. he can’t turn them away. doing so would do nothing to mend the wounds of a broken world. and in the end, continuing to try is the only way to stick it to Salem.

he takes a spot next to the young man against the wall, knee bending and sole kicking up as he leans, crosses his arms, turns his head to Sun and fixes his gaze on him.

“yeah. loving people is scary. probably means you’re doin’ it right.”

qrow doesn’t know a damn thing about romance. not like that, anyway. he’s never been brave enough to face that very fear, to let someone that intimately close. almost, sometimes, maybe. somehow his chances always disappear before he’s quite there, only confirming those very fears. a great and terrible feedback loop, that. although, he can’t say such words are entirely unfamiliar; admittedly, the whole conversation is nostalgic. thrice over. he laughs, a bittersweet little huff, “…you sound just like her parents.”

that kinda love he knows, found, eventually. family. and if you ask him, they’re equally as scary to think of losing. “our family has never been the typical picket fence dream either, so don’t think you’re missin’ pieces of some non-existent normal. there’s no big secret about bein’ one, kid. you just gotta be there for each other.”

a palm-down hand raises to sweep across his body in a dismissive motion, “an’ not everything has to be some grand production to top the one before. trust me, i’ve screwed that up enough times to know.” qrow looks towards the ground, slides the toe of his shoe back and forth. “Yang, she… she’s used to people comin’ and goin’ in her life. if they come back at all. so, seriously… just go to her. be with her. she’s a tough egg, and too smart. she’ll tell you what she needs if you can just shut your giant trap enough to let her.”

#* not all are so brave = ultravioletvoleur *#* we got work to do = ic *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *

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hillbillied · 4 years ago

Text

(Warning: NSFW, entirely. 18+ smut content. | Ao3 link.)

After the war's end, Andy and Eddie invite their favourite mortarman over for a visit. Eugene agrees to the visit, and some other things.

The ruin of one Eugene Sledge (by pleasure of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones)

They discuss it at length, the two of them.

Full novel length, chapters upon chapters, with subheadings and notes in the margin. Clauses and subclauses and sub-subclauses are proposed and ratified over the course of many an afternoon. Debates rattle over dinner plates, wild hypotheticals meet very real concerns for thorough consideration. (Which might be deemed a little much for what would probably fold into under five hours of action, including the inevitable water chugging between rounds.)

Their exceptional communication skills and stable relationship certainly allow proceedings to progress without a hitch. They have always discussed their sexual endeavours at length, after all.

Being in the commonly considered ‘sexual deviant’ category of existence means even your most vanilla sex is beyond the comprehendible realms of your white picket fence neighbours. (Not that they have a white picket fence. Theirs is cast iron. And their Boston apartment comfortably on the city lines, not in the suburbs.)

They end up taking no small amount of pride in it. That they can casually discuss exactly what turns them on, slipping further into potential depravity as they open up about themselves. Usually, however, these conversations last all of half an hour before they fall into bed to test their proposed plans. That aside, the process is exactly the same.

Andy says he’d be open to watching Eddie with another man. Or sharing him with another man. Or something to the ‘another man’ effect. Eddie asks him to elaborate.

Ack Ack considers, chews his lip with half-lidded eyes. “Maybe blowing him.” He says.

“Only if ye’ hold m’ hair.” comes the reply on Eddie’s part.

“You want me in control.” Andy deduces.

His aroused smirk makes Hillbilly’s blood boil. What a smart, omniscient cunt. The greatest displeasure? He’s right. That is exactly where his lover wants him.

They chew it over from there. Negotiations last longer than necessary due to constant courtroom breaks, since the prosecution and defence keep getting turned on and needing to take the time to fuck. The most fruitful discussions are never when the topic is spontaneously brought up, but rather at least an hour after, when Eddie’s lit his post-sex cigarette and Andy’s playing with his hair.

Eventually, the green light is given. They’re eating dinner across their humble wooden kitchen table. (Hillbilly’s gravy could drown a dead rat on a plate and it would still taste divine.) They’ve settled on an agreement and want to go ahead with the idea.

“Well,” Eddie says around a mouthful of beef, “Pick your man.”

This choice is harder than it sounds because it has to be someone they know. They’re an item, sweet and simple. A stranger might get some bright ideas about their place in this scenario. Plus, it’s 1952. Some secrets need to remain under wraps.

Another problem is that the shortlist starts with Burgie.

Eddie’s rubbing his forehead in exasperation, reclining in their frayed armchair. “We attended his weddin’, Andy.” He explains, talking to nothing short of a fool, “Ye’ was with me in the arch a’ sabres.”

That absolute fool is currently pacing across the carpet, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Is it not polite to ask regardless?” Andy muses, pausing in his motions.

He receives an aggravated grunt. Low, drawn-out, and unimpressed.

“Not Burgin, then.” The captain finally acknowledges. The name is mentally crossed from the list, though not before he points an accusing finger his lover’s way, “But you wanted it, too.”

After a deep, longing pull from his cigarette, Eddie gives the answer they’ve been looking for.

“Sledge.” He says.

The name floats upwards with the smoke. It catches on their small porch roof; one they share with the apartment next door, divided by more iron fencing. He’s sitting on the steps, Andy leaning against the doorframe behind him.

“What about him?” The blond asks. The conversation had previously been about weeding, what to do with all the insects tearing up the captain’s petunias.

Eddie takes another drag.

“He’s our third man.”

“I know he’s queer,” Andy asks, “Does he know he’s queer?”

‘He’ is Eugene Sledge. The name stuck, dangling over their heads constantly since they’d been stupid enough to mention it. The possibility of their fantasy scenario drifts ever closer.

“By now, yeah.” Eddie says, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He’s playing with his chest hair, curling it around his finger, “But I bet he ain’t got his dick wet much.”

Lying beside him, Ack Ack smothers his laughter in his lover’s neck. The words ring so horribly true. He reaches up regardless and slaps Hillbilly’s peck. Right on the nipple for that extra sting. The hiss the man emits confirms an acceptable amount of pain, retribution for his mean words. (Honest words but mean nonetheless.)

If they didn’t have sweat cooling on their bodies from a good fuck, the smack would turn Eddie on.

“It’ll be good f’ him.” He suggests instead, not wanting to earn another punishment.

“You think?” Andy replies, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah.” Hillbilly says, “If he’s up fer’ it.”

Andy writes the letter.

It’s scribbled with barely pent-up excitement and the slightest tremor in his hand. The penmanship is far from pristine, the careful innuendo and wax poetic only legally veiling the message conspired within. The raw arousal motivating the ink is on full display.

He’s absolutely fucking losing it.

Watching from the doorway, Eddie shakes his head. That’s the moment he knows Andrew has been fantasising about this longer than they’ve been discussing it.

He tries to pretend he’s shocked by the realisation.

“Why Eugene?” Andy asks.

Again, for the fifteenth time. They have, as per, already discussed the reasoning at length. Eddie’s about ready to grab the man by his sweater vest and give him a good hard slap across the cheek.

Instead, he summarises.

“’cause he’s always wanted to fuck you, Andy.” Hillbilly explains, “And I’m about t’ let him.”

If Eugene’s smart, which he is, he won’t pass up this opportunity.

If Eugene accepts the opportunity, which he does, any nervousness he may have will be proven weaker than his excitement over the proposition.

And if his excitement is that strong, which it definitely feels like, then it’ll be all over his face when he arrives in Boston.

Andy collects him from the train station. Hands in the pockets of his pale slacks and short-sleeved shirt tucked in. He’s wearing a braided belt because it complements the look. He’s gay and he’s about to show this young man a wild time, why not make it special from the start?

He waves at the redhead who steps off the 4 o’clock train from Birmingham. It’s sunny and warm, painting that ginger hair with yellow streaks. It’s very attractive when seen without the sweat and dirt of combat or those ugly helmets crushing it flat.

Not that they haven’t seen each other several times before now. This is the first time, however, that Eugene’s wore his shirt without a tie. Today, the white of his collar is unadorned, handsome beige suit jacket left unbuttoned. Casual, familiar. No formality in sight, which is relieving.

He’s got a green carnation pinned to his lapel.

Andy has to keep his smile from splitting his cheeks. It wouldn’t be polite to wear the satisfaction of victory across the entirety of his features.

“I should have known you’d be familiar with Wilde’s work.” Andy says, referring to the flower.

He’s driving Eddie’s blue pickup, which they have come to share the use of. Fancy cars are for rich cocksuckers and married couples who don’t have the imagination to use the truck bed. You can’t fuck beneath the stars in an estate.

“It was always my favourite.” Eugene notes. He chews on the bit of his pipe thoughtfully, “Even when I couldn’t place quite why.”

“It’s a fantastic touch.” Ack Ack compliments.

Pleasantly calm, every glance he sends across the cab radiates pride. The young man – just a man, really, but that might teeter on Andy thinking himself ‘old’ and they would be having none of that – has grown so much since ’44.

Eugene’s strong nose and dark eyes will never bleed with unbreakable confidence, for sure. But that’s a favourable trait, it keeps him far from arrogance and the unattractive features that come with it. Yet Sledge is still surer of himself than he used to be. Or perhaps he’s just learnt to hide his self-consciousness. (Really, they’re the same thing.) The only hint of nervousness is the drumming of his nails against the door, resting his elbow out the open window. A touch of trepidation for what’s coming.

Keeping the wheel steady, Andy reaches out and places a hand on his company’s thigh.

Eugene doesn’t flinch as his captain used to expect. (They both distinctly remember how a tipsy and boisterous young lady had ran a hand over Sledge’s ass at Burgin’s wedding. The redhead had jumped high enough to paint the ceiling ginger. And spilt wine all over the poor girl’s dress.)

Good. Better than good.

“I’m glad you could come, Eugene.” With a laugh, Ack Ack quickly clarifies, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, I mean that wholeheartedly.”

Pink colours Sledge’s cheeks, his smile sweet. He’s convinced it’s the truth, should have known that already. That doesn’t make it any less warming to hear.

“I’ll admit I did consider replying in a more-“ He searches for the word across the dashboard, “-reserved nature, so I could visit without fear of gettin’ cold feet.”

The hand on his thigh is reservedly placed nearer his knee. It pats him comfortingly. Andy opens his mouth to speak and assure the young man that his excited scribbles – and the excited scribbled response – are not legally binding. They can enjoy a repeat of prior visitations if desired.

Eugene beats him to the punch.

“But sittin’ here now-”

Those dark brown eyes flutter downwards. Over the steering wheel, that neat braided belt, the front of Andy’s slacks. Sledge’s tongue flashes across his lips, wetting the dry skin. His pipe hovers uselessly, forgotten as his mind drifts elsewhere.

He catches himself enough to speak. His gaze is torn slowly from the fabric over his company’s cock.

“I think I made the right decision.” He mutters. It’s quiet and a little shy, but not unsure.

The fingers on his thigh squeeze happily.

Eddie opens the door with a grin of true happiness. The sunlight turns his curls that slightest hint of ginger, though it’s nothing on the crop of hair sliding out the passenger side of his truck.

“Eugene Sledge.” He drawls like he can’t believe his eyes, like he isn’t in on the plan. His arms are folded loosely across his chest, “M’ favourite mortarman.”

Jury might be out on that one, prior to this moment. Right now? This is absolutely his favourite mortarman.

“Hillbilly.” Eugene greets with a bashful smile.

There’s a respect lingering there that has already been dropped with Andy. Not that it didn’t take a couple of years’ effort to achieve that, too. They’re steadily working their way to Sledge dropping all pretence from the Marines, the two of them. They are so remarkably close, the title of captain and lieutenant fully thrown to the wind sometime around 1948.

That might prove to be a spanner in the works later. Andy fully planned on bringing those titles back this evening.

For now, though, he focuses on Eugene and Eddie.

“It’s good t’ see you ag’in.” The latter says.

They stand as far apart as the compact space of the porch allows. (Not much, apparently.) They both glance Andy’s way as he shuts the cast iron gate and ascends the steps. He’s carrying Eugene’s suitcase like a gentleman. Now there’s three grown men in a one-and-half-man area of entranceway.

Eddie has to huff out a laugh. He kicks the door open behind him.

“C’mon,” He says, “We’re drawin’ more attention with this tomfoolery than if I’d kissed ye’.”

It’s a pleasure of an afternoon.

Eugene helps Eddie cook dinner. Andy had insisted on it. A strategic placement of their visitor, if he does say so himself, perfectly aligned so the two can share close quarters. Unpressured by expectations and protected by clothing for the time being. Sledge chops vegetables, unphased as Hillbilly stands behind him, chest against his back to guide his hand.

Their captain sips his tea from the kitchen table. His boys work to cook a meal for him to enjoy, at his instruction, without him lifting a finger. That victory smile returns and this time he can hide it behind his mug.

While he’s certain Eugene will be learning a few things tonight about how to draw submission from a man, there’s no outmanoeuvring a master.

They eat, they talk. Some of it about the letter’s content and expectations for the evening. Most of it about how Alabama is and Eugene’s new job. About the petunias in the front garden and the pests that are ruining them.

Eventually, they clean their plates away. (Well, two of them do. Andy gets brought more tea.) They retire to the sitting room. It’s small and cosy. Andy takes the armchair, facing the men on the couch so he can actually finish his drink in relative peace.

Eddie sits and reclines against the arm of the sofa, head propped up by his hand. Eugene moves to sit on the other end. His company has different plans.

Hillbilly grunts. A complete and non-verbal ‘no’. Ass halfway to its destination, Sledge is off balance enough that the arm around his waist completely topples him. He’s brought down in the middle of the couch, all but in Eddie’s lap were it not for their closed legs.

They all laugh at the familiar horseplay. It’s short only a ruffle of red hair. (The lieutenant declines that, it’d be too condescending considering he plans on blowing this boy’s mind soon. And blowing him, period.)

“You gonna surprise me like that every time I sit down?” Eugene asks.

“I’m gon’ surprise ye’ a whole lot.” Eddie replies.

Andy hums approvingly into his mug. They both turn his way. It’s a good distraction; the redhead doesn’t notice Hillbilly adjusting their position. Getting comfy with the other man leaning against his chest, his hand coming to rest on Sledge’s hip. A warm hand on warm skin, separated only by thin shirt fabric. His thumb rubs small circles over the ribs he can reach.

“Let that inform tonight’s exploits,” Ack Ack muses, finished with his tea, “Whatever they may be.”

He sets the mug down on the small table to his left, beside the room’s ashtray. Eugene’s raised eyebrow begs him to explain.

Andy obliges. “Eddie can lift me quite easily.” He says, “He could probably break either of us in two. Don’t worry about playing rough.”

Behind his head, Sledge can feel the warmth of Eddie’s grin at the acute description. A strong arm is slung around his shoulder now, no longer content on his hip. The taller man’s hand is running over his chest absentmindedly, brushing his collarbone. Without any conscious effort on his part, Eugene has leant his full weight backward and against the warmth holding him.

“I have every confidence that if he wants you to stop,” Andy continues with a shrug, “He’ll stop you.”

Sledge glances to his right, head turned just enough to glimpse confirmation. At his back, he can see Hillbilly’s smile. His lips brush red hair as he speaks into the young man’s ear.

“He’s right.” is whispered against his skin, “But he’s still bein’ a bastard about it.”

“How am I being a bastard?” Andy laughs.

“Ye’ just are.” Eddie calls across the room.

They all chuckle. If they can’t have a sense of humour about this, there’s no point even attempting the deed. A little comedy won’t kill the mood and can save most faux pas.

During their bit, Eugene’s hand drifts to Hillbilly’s thigh. Testing at first, fingers ghosting over the thick denim of his jeans. Then pressing down, sliding over the fabric close to his knee. It sits there presently, finally building up the confidence to squeeze exploratively.

Those dark brown eyes glance down at his own machinations. Eddie’s hand on his chest slides across his peck, arm around Sledge’s shoulder gripping him tighter.

Andy sits back in his armchair, stretches his back. He’s convinced he can watch this forever. Or however long it takes to play out, at least.

“I want you to know,” Eugene drawls softly, his focus still on rubbing circles on Hillbilly’s thigh, “I’m not the most experienced at this.”

Politely, neither of the other men mention their knowledge of the fact. (Especially not mentioning how the fact may have played into a prior discussion.)

“Experience isn’t particularly important.” Andy says, “Attitude and a little guidance goes a long way.”

His fingers play idly with the handle of the mug at his side. Every pair of eyes are on him, yet he can’t care less. He looks like he can’t care less, cultivates the persona whilst he speaks with absolute authority.

“For example,” Ack Ack explains, “If Eddie were to keep his hands to himself for a moment…”

There’s no ‘if’ present in his tone. The hypothetical is a veiled command, upheld by the man who uttered it with crossed legs and gaze focused nonchalantly on his empty mug.

Eugene feels the rumble in Hillbilly’s chest behind him. That large hand retreats from where it had ventured over his nipple. While still leaning against the tall man, Sledge is no longer held captive in his grasp. (Not that he wanted his hostage situation to end.) Eddie even sits back, arms now slung over the back and arm of the couch, respectively. The heat of his breath disappears from the redhead’s ear.

All without so much as a raise of Andy’s voice.

“Then,” The blond continues, turning to the pair on his own cue, “You can come sit over here, and I can show you exactly what I mean.”

As Eugene stands, he uses the hand on Hillbilly’s thigh for leverage. It’s the last part of him to abandon the couch, sliding his way over to the armchair with all the grace he can muster. His steps are casual, taking their time. An impressive display, complimented by the hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Like he’s in no rush, can’t care less.

(Behind him, Eddie forces down a knowing smile. There’s no finer flattery than imitation and the young man has always been a fast learner. Copying Captain Haldane, even now, will serve him well.)

Dark eyes meet pale blue for a moment at the armchair crossroads. Andy uncrosses his legs, spreading them wide to he can lean purposefully on his knee. Eugene’s eyes wander back over the front of those beige slacks. The fabric had been just a fraction tense during their car ride. It sits taught in the living room, but it’s not for Sledge to ogle freely.

Andy reaches up and tilts the man’s chin towards his face. Eyes on mine, please.

Eugene’s smile has grown bashful under the gaze of Captain Haldane. He doesn’t reach to touch like he had with Eddie. That stare is intense. It’s too much too soon and Ack Ack can recognise that. Not a problem.

“Unlike our rude associate over there,” Andy teases, bringing some comedy back into the thickness of the air, “I’m going to ask you to sit down.”

“The rudeness was ye’ takin’ that boy off this couch before I was done with him.” Eddie remarks.

He makes no move to leave his position or rectify the offence.

“Can you believe him?” Andy mutters.

The soft-spoken, relaxed-rhetorical disguises the arms he puts around Eugene’s hips. Turning him around without meeting his eyes, acting as he had with the mug. Calm, collected, like it’s nothing of note to him. Manhandling the chuckling redhead to face away, towards Hillbilly. (Out of line with that intense stare, until further notice.)

Pausing his motions, Andy glances up at Eugene. He nods, satisfied.

He then waves his hand across his lap.

“There’s enough space for both of us.” He comments.

Sledge, no doubt picking it up from the bastard tactics continuing across the evening, frowns for a moment. His consideration is definitely not genuine.

“I think there is.” He agrees. Andy beams in response.

Eugene settles down between his legs, the armchair being fairly deep. (It isn’t a lie to say it can fit them both.) Ack Ack adjusts himself with a hum, arms around his company’s waist. Hugging him momentarily to set him just-so.

His forearms withdraw partially but leave his hands to dangle between Eugene’s legs. Noncommittally, tapping the muscles of his inner thighs as if it were the arms of the chair. He’s thinking.

“Mnn, yes.” Andy concludes, “This is much better.”

Orange hues momentarily bring Eddie’s face into sharp relief. His pale eyes are absolutely fixed on the display, flashing in the flame of his lighter. Smoke trails towards the ceiling, unnoticed. His first drag is deep, steeling himself. He scratches his crotch without shame, the denim only failing to tent due to its weight.

The two men in the armchair embrace the staring competition.

“What was I talking about before this?” Andy chuckles against Sledge’s ear.

“Attitude and guidance.” The redhead recalls.

“Right.” It comes out as another laugh.

The captain is enjoying himself and it shows. Far too much for the role he’s playing within their trio, relying on his collected vigour to operate the steering wheel.

“Well, attitude is obviously about a man’s words, his manner, his posture-” Firm hands run up over Eugene’s forearms and onto his shoulders, “Making sure your orders are followed without needing to ever threaten a punishment.”

Those fingers roll the muscles under them, relaxing Sledge’s posture. Who hums instinctively, blush returning as he shamefully enjoys the feeling of his beloved captain massaging him. Doting on him, Ack Ack’s handsome nose gently poking the soft skin behind his ear.

“Not that you should be afraid to mention punishments.” Andy mutters. His eyes trot leisurely over to Eddie before trotting leisurely to Eugene, “Rewards just work better.”

His breathing is perfectly regulated as he moves his lips to Sledge’s cheek. Suspiciously perfect, timed and regimented into slow, deliberate motions of his chest. (Without the heavy cloud of lust on the redhead’s mind, he might have deduced that the captain is reigning himself in purposefully. That his collected aura is but a façade to an equally aroused interior.)

“So,” He whispers, hot and husky against Eugene’s ear, “We could ask Eddie to take all his clothes off and say we’d whoop him if he didn’t, or-”

The sentence is punctuated by a jerk of Andy’s head, turning to face the man on the couch opposite. The motion brings cold air to the skin he’d been breathing on, making Sledge inhale sharply. As if he’d been spanked. He enjoys the sensation.

“Take your clothes off, Jones.” Ack Ack orders.

His tone is grave, terrifyingly level with just enough give to keep it below a threat. A perfect command.

“Can I finish m’ smoke first, Skipper?” Hillbilly asks. He hadn’t waited for an answer, already sitting up from where he’d been reclining and rubbing himself through his jeans. An order is an order, after all.

Andy blinks, raising his eyebrows in consideration. He chews it over but gives no answer. He turns to Eugene instead. The redhead mirrors him, both twisting in their entangled sitting position so they can face each other. Ack Ack waits for his response.

“No.” Sledge says carefully, studying the blond’s features.

Though nowhere close to the dominating tone before, Eddie relents. This isn’t a competitive match. It’s a team game and he definitely wants to continue playing. He crosses the short few paces of the room and leans towards the pair.

The other men watch as he bends before them, head bowing as he stubs his unfinished cigarette into the ashtray beside Andy’s mug. Hillbilly twists the smoke gradually, holding himself in that position, an inch lower than their seated statures.

When he straightens up, he steps back a single pace. Enough that he can move his arms freely without fearing his elbow will whack anyone’s skull as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He tosses it away dismissively.

Andy can feel Eugene’s chest rise with elation as Eddie’s muscles are brought into the light. Just as Eugene can feel Andy’s erection twitch, against the base of his spine, when the man’s boyfriend undresses for them.

Hillbilly is smart enough to have removed his socks earlier and avoid the difficult chore of tugging them off for an audience. He can smirk freely, letting his heavy belt buckle rattle in the quiet room as he tugs it free. He looks like he’s about to drop it when Andy holds out his hand. His fingers make a come-hither gesture.

Sledge’s chest hitches a second time as the folded leather slaps against Ack Ack’s palm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, pulling the belt into Eugene’s lap.

Eddie huffs out the ghost of a laugh. Yet he averts his eyes and scratches the front of his jeans, failing to cover the elation and arousal he takes from Andy’s simple gratitude.

“Praise goes a long way, Eugene.” The captain muses.

His hands are slipped under the man’s arms, using one to draw the belt across the palm of the other. All done in Sledge’s lap, the leather falling free to drag across the front of his slacks. Accidentally, of course.

Eddie pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. Eugene fights to draw his eyes away, finally turning to Andy. Whether brewing with confidence or just overwhelmed with lust, it doesn’t matter; he presses his face to Ack Ack’s cheek.

“It’s hard to order an officer around-” He hisses. His breathing is the opposite of Andy’s, uncomposed and erratic as he speaks, “-as an enlisted man.”

Andy sniggers quietly, nodding his agreement. The hand unclaimed by the belt retreats, fishing around in his pocket for a brief moment. It returns to Eugene’s lap in time with the fall of Hillbilly’s jeans. The tall man steps free and kicks them aside.

The removal of his underwear is paused only by his wide grin, shake of his head, and hands landing on his hips.

“Ye’ are a bastard.” He concludes, watching Andy clip a silver bar pin to the collar of Sledge’s shirt.

Two bars joined together, in fact. The insignia of a captain.

“Congratulations, Captain Sledge.” Ack Ack says, “You outrank our friend here.”

All three of them laugh, giggles that rattle their chests and set the final ghosts of tension adrift. You have to have a sense of humour in these scenarios.

“You’re very prepared.” Eugene notes. He’s smiling as he says it.

It’s an accusation rather than a compliment. The blond has to suffer a moment of all eyes on him and not in a submissive sense; in a pointed, silent judgement sense. He’s been planning this longer and more in depth than he’d admitted, even to Eddie.

Not one to let his authority slip, Andy lets his chuckle fade.

Both his hands move in unison, a precise pincer movement on the room. His right reaches down between Eugene’s legs, grabbing a handful of the man’s slacks. His fingers tug towards him, forcing a yelp from Sledge as his cock is squeezed suddenly. Ack Ack’s left hand, still holding the belt, cracks it hard against the armrest. It lets out a distinct smack that has even Eddie’s back straightening.

“Thought I told you to strip, Eddie.” Andy muses, tilting his head up to fix Hillbilly with a small, pleasant smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being kept waiting.

His hand is moving against Sledge’s slacks as he speaks. Palming his length, feeling it already stiff and yearning under the fabric.

Eddie catches his eye briefly, cheek twitching in that familiar lustful frustration that they both know means they’ve struck oil. His thumbs hook into his underwear and pull them down. He straightens up without another word.

For the first time, Andy has to take a steadying breath. (Hillbilly probably notices, Sledge definitely doesn’t. The former’s lip curls just a touch.) With his hand kneading Eugene’s dick and his own pressed tantalisingly up against the redhead’s ass, the heat is more than even Captain Haldane can ignore. The pleasure of drinking Eddie in is exquisite, every curve of his muscles and colour of his ink, his unsheathed cock bouncing free from his waistband.

He forgets occasionally that the hill country man really can snap the two of them in half. He’s incredibly muscular, built like a brick shithouse. It’s only his height, drawing his limbs out a little lankier, that hides the weight behind his hands.

Andy huffs quietly. Short and soft and barely audible. The exhale allows him to turn back to Sledge, who’s head has tipped back, leaning on his shoulder. The redhead’s eyes remain on Eddie, watching with stricken desire as he grinds rhythmically against Ack Ack’s hand. None of his usual gentlemanly conversation will be escaping him presently.

“Do you want him to suck you off here or in the bedroom?” Andy asks. His lips press hard against the man’s ear, tilting their weight against the armrest.

Around gritted teeth, Sledge manages; “Bedroom.”

“You heard the Captain.” Ack Ack says, nodding Eddie’s way. His grip releases from Eugene’s slacks.

Hillbilly reaches out his hand. Sledge takes it enthusiastically. The taller man leads the way, squeezing his smitten follower’s fingers.

Neither of them catches how Andy exhales, a quiet ‘woah’ blowing out his cheeks as he composes himself. A glance down at his slacks reveals the smallest of droplets seeping into the fabric. He considers himself lucky he’s still hard and hasn’t come prematurely.

He wipes his brow, gets his shit together, and stands up to follow.

#the pacific #warning: sm*tty and LONG #i have 0 commentary for this it's just #it is what it is forgive me dom!Andy

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amwritingmeta · 5 years ago

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15x04: Lucky Them

Wow. Davy Perez has this knack of bringing it, and this time was no exception. Icing on the cake was the delight at having Jensen directing again!

We got a glimpse of Benny (happy not to have more) (however much I love his character, he’s fulfilled his purpose in the narrative in beautiful ways that I don’t really need extrapolated on) (anyway) and we got Becky back, with some real character progression to juxtapose Chuck’s alpha and omega of douchebaginess.

The more of a douche connected to dark and horrible endings Chuck is, the more hopeful I become of the opposite heading our way. *fingers crossed* :)

The best line that Becky delivered was about how she’s carved out a good life for herself and she actually likes herself now. That’s character growth right there. She found what would truly make her happy and she built on it. Bless you, Becky, you’re one of the lucky ones! Sorry you got smoked. :/

But let’s move into the meat of the story (pardon the pun) and talk about Sam and Dean and how they are simply not dealing at the moment. Either of them.

*e p i c*

Sam

Oh Sam. Sam is having nightmares and they’re of the callback kind, because here we get a glimpse of how he’s still not processed his choice to drink that demon blood, how he still carries the self-blame and the guilt and the fear of losing his tightly held control of himself around with him, even to this day. Because, as he will state in that gorgeous (and seriously tear-jerking) end-of-the-ep exchange with Dean: he can’t let it go.

But letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. Letting go means understanding that you can’t change the past, that you can’t live in a blame bubble and that carrying that guilt for choices that you wouldn’t repeat now, if put in the same situation, is toxic for the mind because it hollows out your sense of self.

Moving on means gaining perspective enough to forgive yourself your past mistakes, trust yourself not to repeat them and gain actual control of yourself through understanding where your boundaries need to be drawn and drawing them for yourself.

It sounds easy (it’s not), but if Sam can just see how strong he truly is in himself, how strong he always has been - he held Lucifer and went into the cage with him and was tortured by the Devil himself and he’s still standing - then he can begin to trust himself not to ever let the past repeat itself.

I loved that the images of Sam with black eyes was a nightmare. Does this mean it’s not foreshadowing? I don’t know! Maybe Sam needs to face his demons through a visual manifestation, but I think an internal gradual moving away from this fear of losing control could be just as effective. We shall see!

Sam daring to take the leader position is one of the ways him dealing with this fear can be, and has already been, explored, because he’s been happy for Dean to take the lead for so long because of his fear of losing control of himself, of hurting people, of hurting the ones he loves and, of course, hurting Dean, that he’s been okay with second chair, but Sam is the born leader and that second chair has never really fit him all that well.

He just has to accept that happiness, while in the life, is always going to be shadowed by the fact that people will die, that they can’t save everyone, that monsters will continue to roam the Earth, but that they’re doing what they can to make the world just a little bit better each day, and that’s all that we can ever hope to do. Like Cas once said to Dean: “You can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try.”

Dean

Dean eats his emotions. This is what is known as an unhealthy coping mechanism, meaning that instead of actually acknowledging and dealing with whatever emotion he’s feeling that’s causing him distress, he pushes that emotion down and because of him suppressing it, the emotion finds an unhealthy behavioural outlet.

This is also a form of self-punishment.

Guilt, shame and regret are all powerful emotions that cause a person to have an unconscious need to self-punish. And what emotions are Dean feeling at this very moment, ever since he pushed so hard at the love of his life that the love of his life finally decided to put his foot down and leave?

Yeah. I’d venture there’s a fair amount of all of those emotions battling it out inside Dean. What I love most about it, though, is that yes, he’s eating the entire episode, but he only takes a sip out of that flask. Meaning? That this is unhealthy coping, but at least it is just that: coping.

He’s not being self-destructive in a putting himself in harms way, let the chips fall where they may sort of self-destructive. He’s not taking care of himself, obviously, because he doesn’t feel he deserves it, because of the aforementioned guilt, shame and regret, but he’s also not taking unnecessary risks. His sense of hopelessness, of his chance for happiness being gone, is subtle and is only highlighted in that end-of-the-ep exchange with Sam.

Oh, it’s enough to send shivers down your spine. And jerk them tears, too. *iCry*

Through that exchange we also get a Dean who is determined to keep going, to find a reason to keep going, which, to me, means there’s still slight hope that Cas will find his way back to him again. That this isn’t the end at all. Dean just doesn’t know exactly what he can do to ensure it isn’t.

I would think it would be absolutely beautiful if what Dean needs to do is drop the fast food and eat some fruit, you know? If he actually starts to do little things of self-care that show he’s actually beginning to open up to forgiving himself his past mistakes and loving himself as he is. The moment Dean can believe he deserves Cas’ love is when he’ll be able to actually see Cas and see that he might mean as much to Cas as Cas does to him. And once that door begins to open…

Yah. Fireworks.

Anyway, that’s just what I’d love to see happen.

Cas’ self-worth has clearly sky-rocketed, demonstrated to us when he decided to leave that Bunker and Dean’s emotional abuse behind, effectively telling Dean that he deserves better treatment than that. Like hell yes.

This action was so necessary, not only for Cas’ sense of self-worth, but to bring Dean into a position where he honestly has no choice but open himself up to some much needed self-reflection.

Dean needs to reflect on his own behaviour, and he should feel guilt and shame and regret, but without getting defensive about it, without pushing it down and pretending he’s fine with it. He has to actually face the consequences of his actions and step up and take responsibility for how his usual behaviour of taking his emotions (his anger) out on those closest to him is harmful, and he needs to become self-aware enough to not engage in it anymore.

Time to grow up, Dean Winchester, you beautiful man!

Let’s take a look at the end-of-the-ep exchange, shall we?

End-of-the-Ep Exchange

So we get the brothers, in the Impala, having one of those heart-to-hearts that Baby seems made for half the time. In this place of safety there’s room for honesty, always. And they usually find their way to it around her.

*still worried something will happen to Baby by the end of the season as a visual manifestation of them letting go of needing her to have this type of communication as well as moving on from the past and into the future but omg I hope nothing does and still I kinda hope something does gah*

Anyway.

I’m skipping into the meaty part of this exchange (okay stop with that pun already it’s already old) Fine.

Dean talks about how he felt like cashing out in the crypt after Chuck went all Apocalypse World 55.1 on their asses, but Sam brought him out of that line of thinking by reminding him that what they do matter. And Dean is all about picking Sam up, has been trying to for the whole episode, wanting to do the same for Sam that Sam did for him, of course, and remind him that what they do matter, because they save lives.

And a little more than that.

They keep the blinds down for the rest of the world, right? They allow for people to live their white-picket-fence lives and never worry about what goes bump in the night, which is what Sam has been so fed up with for the entire episode: the hopelessness of their situation; because there will always be more monsters, no matter what they do, and people will die, no matter how many they save.

To the exchange, then –>

Dean: ‘Cause it is, you know, It’s a crap job. We do the ugly thing so that people can live happy. Sam: Yeah. Lucky them. Dean: Yeah, lucky them.

So Sam’s reaction here can be read whichever way you like it, really, but looking at the subtext of the exchange - which, for Dean, is un-subtly all to do with Cas - Sam’s reaction tied to Dean agreeing that the people who get to live happy are lucky can very well be seen as Sam reacting to Dean letting his guard down and admitting that, yes, happy sounds good, happy sounds nice, and he wouldn’t mind a bit of happy for himself.

What’s more mind-blowing about this admittance, to me, has to do with the Cas-subtext of the exchange, though, because that’s for us, the viewers, who understand that when Dean talks about moving on, that’s a signal for us - who witnessed that very private moment between Dean and Cas in the previous episode - to get where Dean’s head is at.

So when Dean very subtly agrees with Sam about how living a long and happy life (and I’m paraphrasing Mildred because relevant) would be good, we can detect that there’s a deeper reason for why it’s not only monsters and death keeping Dean from living it.

And, what’s more, the fact that he puts into words that he wants to live a long and happy life is a huge, huge marker, at least to this meta writer, of how far he’s come in his progression, because he wants it and he’s not about to lie to himself that he doesn’t, but, by that same token, he still does not believe he deserves it and he can’t see himself ever having happiness, which is part of why he’s been self-punishing himself the entire episode, because it’s this incapability of accepting happiness when it’s right there that made him push Cas away and it’s a vicious, vicious cycle of lack of self-love and self-worth.

(jaysusssss very beautifully done)

And look at Dean’s FAAAACE ^^^

And Sam is still reacting to all this because what? – did Dean just admit that he doesn’t want the Blaze of Glory ending for himself? (and yeah with Cas having left I’m pretty sure Sam is hyper aware of the possibility that Dean is actually, in his own way, admitting that a future without Cas looks pretty bleak to him)

Back to the exchange where Dean says all these amazing, amazing things –>

Dean: But it doesn’t change a thing. You know what I mean? We still do the job, but we don’t do it for us. We do it for Jack, for mom, for Rowena. We owe it to anyone who’s ever given a damn about us to put one foot in front of the other. No matter what.

And let me pause for a moment there and just have us all look at what exactly he is saying here, because, oh boy, is it telling of how he just has not reached a healthy place in any shape or form. Now, in a way, this is healthier than digging himself a hole and lying in it, yeah? Absolutely.

It’s that “fake it” mentality of S7 all over again and I’d rather he be here, with a glimmer of hope (I always thought you’d come back type of hope with that trench coat in the trunk of every car they drove that season), and finding a reason to keep going, than be in that dark place he was in during his grief!arc at the start of S13, when he couldn’t believe in a damn thing and he didn’t care, at all, what happened to him, BUT there is still that echo here, which is why it’s such an unhealthy frame of mind for him to cling to.

They don’t have a purpose in life for themselves, they find it through others.

No.

It brings us right back to what he said to Sam at the end of 13x20: I don’t really care what happens to me, I never have.

And what he told Death in 14x05: I don’t matter.

This attitude is the reason why he can’t move out of this perpetual state of not believing he deserves more. That he deserves everything.

And this is what’s keeping him from daring to want more for himself, daring to feel how much more he does want for himself, because every time he’s dared to want more, it’s come crashing down around him. His fear of happiness runs extremely deep.

It’s time to face it and let go of it and embrace the fact of how his life and how he chooses to live it benefiting others is a great gift, but him giving that gift also means he has every right to balance the giving out with a bit of receiving.

*please and thank you*

Of course, all of this is underlined in what he says next –>

Dean: And hey, man, like you said, now that Chuck’s gone, we’re finally on our own. We are finally free to move on, you know?

And the way this is phrased, so brilliantly, of course makes it impossible not to see it as a subtle reveal of what Dean is thinking about Cas leaving: without Chuck pulling Cas’ strings, Cas was finally free to make the choice to leave.

But this is also tied to what Dean needs to stop getting hung up on, because he’s purposefully blocking out what Cas said, which is that for all his string-pulling, Chuck still had to pivot with their choices. He didn’t control those. He manipulated them, sure, but he didn’t force them into making them. And each choice they’ve made has added to their understanding of themselves and of the world and their place in it. They are real.

Cas didn’t choose to leave because now he’s free of Chuck’s influence - he chose to leave because Dean was breaking his heart, because Dean refused to hear him, because Dean was shutting him out and pushing him away, because Dean’s inability to stop using the blame game as an excuse not to connect or open up wasn’t gonna fly anymore.

And this is what Dean needs to face, so Dean talking about finally being “on our own” and free is the last vestige of his performance remaining, the final lie he has to tell himself until he can face his fears and take responsibility for his actions, because the alternative is to live without Cas, aka without happiness.

I mean, the absolute defeat on Dean’s face in the screen grab above reminds me of his face watching Cas’ body burn at the end of 13x01. And then that expression switches into this –>

–> grim determination.

The top one is all: I’ve lost him, I’ve lost him.

The bottom one is all: It’s for the best anyway, what did you think was gonna happen, he’s better off without you, let him go live his life.

(headcanon but yeah like fuuuuck feelings)

And, of course, Sam is there to voice exactly how Dean is really feeling.

Sam: I don’t know if I can move on. You know, I can’t forget any of them. Dean, I still think about Jessica. I can’t just let that go. Dean: No, no, man, that’s not what I’m talking about.

(because Dean is talking about the healthy way to let go, which is to not let the past rule your present, to be aware and appreciate and remember, but not cling onto old ideals and ideas, or past mistakes that you can’t change, no matter how much you wish you could)

Sam: I know, I know, I know, I’m sorry, I know, but what I’m talking about is that I don’t feel free. What we’ve done, what we’ve lost, right now that is what I’m feeling and sometimes it’s… Sometimes it’s like I can’t even breathe.

And all I could think when Sam said that was Dean talking about feeling as though he was drowning while being possessed by Michael. The suffocating feeling of the weight of all those old ideals and ideas and having no other choice but to succumb, because he wasn’t strong enough to fight them at the time.

Sam is dealing with his own set of old ideals and ideas now, because while we see Dean actively suppress his thoughts and feelings and finding unhealthy, though at least stabile, outlets through coping mechanisms like overeating and drinking and working this episode, Sam is not about to suppress anything.

He feels his irritation, his impatience, his hopelessness and it comes out in how he interacts with others, with his surroundings, with Dean, with the case. Sam doesn’t have outlets. He bottles everything up. He thinks he’s fine and he’s handling it, but he’s not. And he hasn’t been fine for a very long time. That hopelessness always niggling. That question of what is the point if there’s no end to the suffering?

I honestly believe he needs to accept that not everyone can be saved. I’m hopeful that he will, but I’ll admit I’m a little worried about what’s in store for our Sam. I hope he’ll have to get dragged through the darkest place before he can come out victorious on the other side, the same way Cas and Dean have been over the past four seasons.

Sam: …Maybe tomorrow. You know, maybe I’ll feel better in the morning. Dean: And what if you don’t? Sam: I don’t know.

It’s interesting looking at how this conversation is structured: Dean reminding Sam that Sam saved him from himself and succeeded, and Dean, this episode, trying to save Sam from himself without success.

The thing is, I can see Sam needing to save himself, needing to get to a place where he’s ready to fully let go of Dean, because he realises that Dean doesn’t need him the way he used to, and them holding onto each other and their old ideals and ideas of how to relate themselves to each other is no good, for either of them, and, once this shift in Sam happens, for him to, without hesitation, step into a leader position and accept that this is his place and where he belongs and there is great purpose to be found there, and through that purpose, there’s great happiness to be had too. Aw Sam! *hopes and wishes*

I really loved this episode so much. I’m still not over this scene, haven’t quite digested how Jensen delivered that slight speech and all the very subtle truths baked into this exchange that were so extremely revealing of what’s really going on inside of him, as well as Sam stating what’s going on inside of him, following that harrowing dream sequence that opened the ep.

Gorgeous stuff. Gorgeous, gorgeous stuff.

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scullyfemme · 5 years ago

Text

Timing -- Ch. 3

“You’re not Mulder.”

Dreamland time baby!!!

Tagging @today-in-fic | Read it on Ao3

<- Previous Chapter | Start from the Beginning | Next Chapter ->

---

“Is this supposed to be a date?” Scully cocked a brow at the dusty Nevada road they were driving down. “You know Kersh will have our asses if he finds out about this.”

“Depends on if you want this to be a date,” he ignored the second half of what she’d said. They passed a mile marker. “Two more miles to go.”

“I’m all a-tingle,” She deadpanned.

She asked about his supposed “source,” who he claimed worked at Area 51, and she found herself thinking about his constant search for proof. For truth. Before they had embarked on this new phase of their relationship, it had started to drain her. But everything had a slightly new feeling to it now that they were together. Like when you finally clean off an old pair of earrings or shine an old pair of shoes and realize how much potential they’d had. To be honest, she was a bit excited to be out on the road with Mulder again like this, though she refused to let him know that. They hadn’t worked anything resembling an X-File in a while.

Still, her mind wandered to thoughts about the people who lived near here. Raising families and buying homes while they drove on, endlessly.

Will that ever be us?

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She realized she’d spoken out loud. “I mean, uh- There are people who live around here. People who live normal lives. Nine-to-five jobs and a cookie-cutter house with a white picket fence and-” she stopped herself from mentioning kids, not wanting to re-open that wound for a casual conversation.

He glanced over at her. “Are you saying you want a nine-to-five job and a cookie-cutter-”

“No, no,” She cut him off, shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine a life in suburbia. “I just mean, like...settling down,” she sighed. “Something resembling a normal life.”

“Well, this is a normal life,” He argued. Seeing her look, he continued. “Normal for us, at least.”

“That’s true,” She said. They didn’t really have lives that lent to normalcy.

“But if you want something normal, then we can try something normal,” He said, reaching over and taking her hand in his, resting them on the center console. “What is it you want? The white picket fence? I can get one for my apartment, but I don’t know where I’ll put it.”

She smiled, her mind slightly more at ease. He’d made a joke, but she knew his sentiment was real. It had always been clear that that sort of life didn’t quite fit him, but he’d be willing to try it. For her.

The sound of tires squealing and the blinding headlights streaming through the car disrupted their moment, and they pulled their hands apart.

“Mulder.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to meet that crackpot after all.”

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go,” She tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted them, who had an odd look on his face.

Mulder was uncharacteristically quiet as they drove away, and Scully repeatedly glanced over at him. She didn’t say anything, assuming that he was just stewing about not being able to meet his contact.

When they pulled up to the gas station, she decided to try to pull him out of his funk. “Are you okay, Mulder?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you haven’t said anything since we left those men on the highway. Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. Gas cap’s on your side.”

She frowned. He always got the gas. He’d even once made a joke about chivalry while she argued that pumping gas was hardly chivalrous. “Okay...if you don’t wanna talk about it.” She got out and started pumping the gas.

Still in the car, Mulder turned the radio on, fiddling with the dial. Her phone rang, slightly muffled by the noise and the confines of the car.

“Mulder?” She called through the window. He didn’t hear her. “Mulder.” She repeated.

No response. Was he ignoring her? Maybe he just couldn’t hear her. She closed her eyes with a sigh of frustration, then left the pump to open the door and get her phone. The music blasted out of the car at deafening levels, but she got in anyway.

“Hello?” She asked, but couldn’t hear over the radio. Her lips pursed, she reached over and turned it down. “Hello?” No response. Whoever was on the other end had hung up. “Ugh.” She hung up and got back out of the car.

“Oh, Dana?” Mulder leaned over. “Want to pick me up a pack of Morleys please?”

Dana? “Since when do you smoke?” She eyed him with doubt. Was this some sort of joke?

He heaved a sigh. “Well, you’re not gonna be a Nazi about it, are you?”

The question genuinely stunned her and she didn’t know how to respond. Slamming the door shut, she went inside, lost in her thoughts.

Mulder didn’t smoke. He’d never smoked. In fact, they’d had multiple conversations where they’d talked about how neither one could even stand the smell of cigarettes after all their dealings with the Cancer Man. So why did he request a pack? He hadn’t seemed any more stressed than usual or anything, so she didn’t understand what could be driving him to smoke.

She recalled their conversation in the car. Was that it? Had her questions about normalcy set him off? He’d seemed receptive enough to it at the time. Maybe it was actually bothering him and he was lashing out in some weird way, trying to push her away before she could ask about it again.

She pursed her lips, feeling a flash of anger. She put back the bag of sunflower seeds she’d grabbed on instinct and stalked out without getting the cigarettes. If he wanted to be a child and not talk about what was wrong, so be it. But she wasn’t going to encourage him. When she got back in the car, Mulder looked over at her expectantly.

“They were out,” She said shortly as she buckled in.

“Of Morleys?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes forward. She was very clearly mad at him and he knew her well enough to pick up on that, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

They drove for a while before she turned to him. “Mulder, if I said something that upset you-”

“God, this again?” He looked at her as if disgusted. “I told you I’m fine, Dana. Jeez, you’re just like my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

A panicked look crossed his face. “A wife,” He corrected. “You’re like a wife.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she had no words. So that was what this was about. One discussion about settling down and he was pushing her away. She hadn’t even said anything about getting married. So much for no regrets.

Scully had half a mind to yell at him, to argue with him. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t want him to know just how hurt she was, so she sat back in her seat and sulked, staring silently out of her window for the rest of the drive.

---

“‘I’d give you his name if I had it?’” Scully repeated Mulder’s words back to him in an incredulous tone. Their meeting hadn’t gone at all like she’d expected it to. “Whatever happened to protecting our contacts? Protecting our work?”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “He asked. Hang on a second.”

She watched in disbelief as he went over to chat up Kersh’s assistant. Right in front of her. Scully stood up to her full height in indignation, her lips pressed in a thin line. She’d hoped that whatever streak of pettiness Mulder had displayed last night would be gone by now so that they could have a proper discussion about it, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

He noticed her anger this time as he got back to her. “What?”

“What is going on with you?” She couldn’t help but ask, despite not wanting to discuss this at work.

Mulder scoffed. “Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Mulder, you are acting bizarre!” She hissed.

He turned and looked back at Kersh’s assistant through the office windows, then looked back at her with a gloating smile. “Jealous?” He asked, then slapped her ass before walking off.

Scully’s jaw dropped in shock. Her face burned a bright red with the amount of embarrassment and anger she felt. Her hands curled into fists; she was absolutely fuming now, and she’d had it with him. Once they were off work, she was going to confront him. She might even need her gun.

She angrily chewed her lip as she sat at her desk, occasionally looking up to glare at Mulder as he played some golfing game on his computer. It was strange that he was playing a game at work, much less a golf game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about that right now.

Her phone rang. “Scully,” She answered.

“Oh thank goodness. Scully, it’s me.”

She frowned. The phrase was a familiar one; she’d heard it from Mulder countless times. But Mulder was right there. And this voice didn’t sound familiar.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s me, Mulder.”

“Mulder?” From his desk, Mulder waved dismissively, clearly thinking she was talking to him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner," the voice continued. "Look, something really weird happened last night when that UFO passed over us.”

“UFO?” Her frown deepened. That was certainly a very Mulder thing to say, but there hadn’t been a UFO last night. And again, Mulder was right there.

“You don’t remember?” He asked. “You don’t remember. Okay, the man that you’re with, that’s not me. His name is Morris Fletcher. He’s an Area 51 employee.”

“Morris Fletcher,” She repeated as she wrote the name down. A thought crossed her mind. Was this Mulder’s contact? But why would he call her? And why would he claim to be Mulder? She considered getting Mulder’s attention so he could listen in on the call and let her know, but she decided against it. If he could be petty, so could she.

“That’s right.” The man said. “Everyone else seems to think that I’m him, but I’m not. I’m me. I’m Mulder.”

“Look,” She sighed. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but-”

“It’s not a game, Scully, I can prove it. I-” He stopped and was silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know if this is a secure line. I don’t want to say anything too risky. Are you telling me that Mor- that Mulder hasn’t been acting weird?”

She opened her mouth to defend him on instinct but realized she didn’t have any defense. He had been acting weird. “Well, he-” She stammered, then turned in her chair to prevent Mulder from hearing her. “He, uh, he asked for cigarettes. And...flirted with some woman,” She added under her breath, unable to believe she was confiding in this random man.

“Flirted?” The man sounded disgusted. “See, Scully? I would never do that, you know that. First of all, I wouldn’t want to, especially not now. And second of all, I know you’d probably murder me for that.”

She hesitated. He was right, and it seemed like he was alluding to her and Mulder’s relationship with his comments. But it was just too crazy to believe. “I don’t know…”

The man sighed. “Scully, I love you, but things would be a lot easier if you just believed me sometimes. Look, just get out here as soon as you can, and I’ll prove it to you. I promise.”

I love you? “W- How will I get in touch with you?”

“You won’t. I’ll get in touch with you.” He hung up.

Scully hung up too, staring at the name she’d written down. Morris Fletcher. She’d look him up and have that call traced.

Mulder turned back to her. “Who was that?”

She shot him a glare. “None of your business.”

“Jeez, lady.” Mulder reclined back in his chair. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Scully shot up from her seat, fully intending to lash out at him, but stopped when a few of their desk neighbors looked up at her in surprise. She remembered where she was. Smoothing down her skirt, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, needing to cool off.

---

At the sight of Kersh’s assistant leaving Mulder’s apartment (giving Scully a catty look, to boot), she’d decided it was time to commit murder. She could excuse some of his behavior as weird immature lashing out because he was uncomfortable, but this was taking it way too far. She rapped at his door.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His voice sounded from inside.

She fumed at his audacity. “It’s me.”

The door opened and Mulder stood just inside, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and his shirt half off. He looked completely unfazed by her anger. “Oh, hey, Dana.”

Dana again. Since when was he calling her Dana? That was low-priority compared to everything else, though. She burst into his apartment and whirled around to face him as he shut the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was forceful, and she was grateful it wasn’t wavering.

He looked confused by her tone. “Oh, you know, just a little lunch break. What’s up?”

“A lunch break?” She whispered, so mad she couldn’t even speak. “A lunch break?” She repeated, louder. “You have the gall to tout some woman around right in front of me and then play it off as a lunch break?”

He raised his arms in surrender. “Jeez, Dana, I didn’t know I owed you anything.”

“Owe me anything,” She mouthed the words in anger, then took a deep breath, trying to calm down so she didn’t actually murder him. “Mulder, if you- If you wanna break up, this is far from-”

“Break up?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oho! That’s what this is about?”

“Excuse me?” She asked. What else would this be about?

He ignored her, though, his hand going to his chin in amazement. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been wasting my time with that bitch when you and I were an item this whole time?”

Scully stepped backwards, looking and feeling like she’d just been slapped. She’d never heard Mulder call anyone a bitch before. And why was he acting so surprised that they were together? Was this some sort of ploy? Some sick game? A way to act like they’d never been together?

It’s not Mulder, a small voice in the back of her mind said. She instinctively brushed it off, but then thought back to that phone call. That man — Morris Fletcher — had almost made a convincing argument. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t encountered Mulder imposters before. She recalled the shape-shifting man who’d showed up at her motel room to try and kill her years ago. And Eddie van Blundht.

“Well, Dana,” Mulder started speaking again. “I’m real sorry.” (he didn’t sound sorry at all) “I think I just, uh, haven’t been myself. Whaddaya say we start over?” He moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me,” She stepped back from his grip, her anger flaring up again. She wasn’t going to turn to some crazy theory to excuse Mulder’s actions. And a half-assed apology like that certainly wasn’t going to fix anything. “We’re done.” She spat, then turned and stormed out of his apartment.

“Done?” He called after her. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t answer.

---

Scully blinked in surprise as Morris Fletcher’s wife slapped him and called him a son of a bitch. Not a good day for relationships, huh?

Still a bit stunned, she tried to get her bearings. “I’m sorry, um, Morris Fletcher?”

Fletcher — who looked strangely excited to see her — closed the door and guided her away from it. “Scully, it’s me,” He spoke quietly. “It’s Mulder.”

“Uh,” She shrugged off his hand and stepped back. Why was this man so close to her? “You’re the man from the other night? From Area 51?”

He opened his mouth to answer but was distracted by his wife shouting “Liar!” from the house.

“You phoned me,” Scully continued. “What is this all about?”

Fletcher looked frustrated. “I'm Mulder. I'm really Mulder. I switched bodies, places, identities with this man, Morris Fletcher. The man that you think is Mulder, but he's not.” He added, then seemed to notice his reflection in the window of the car. “Of course you don't believe me. Why was I expecting anything different?” He said, mostly to himself.

She just looked up at him, wondering if this man was crazy. If she was honest, part of her wished he was right, if not to have some reasoning for Mulder’s recent behavior.

After a beat, he turned to her. “Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is…” He thought for a moment. “Hell! I don't know your badge number. Your mother's name is Margaret, your brother's name is Bill. He's in the Navy and he hates me.”

He does hate Mulder, She thought to herself. But anyone could know that. Her brother would probably buy a billboard if he could.

He continued. “Lately, for lunch, you've been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt — plain yogurt — into which you stir bee pollen because you're on a bee pollen kick, even though I tell you you're a scientist and you should know better.”

She blinked at that. How did he know that? She didn’t even register his wife shouting something else.

“Look…” She floundered for something to say, some reasoning. It was just too crazy to believe. “Any of that information could have been gathered by anyone.” They often ate lunch in the bullpen, now. Tons of people saw her do that.

“Even the bee pollen thing?” He asked, incredulous. “That is so you, that is so Scully. Well, it’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He was nearly ranting now. “That’s somewhat comforting.”

Scully opened her mouth to retaliate. Whatever was going on, it was uncomfortable hearing some strange man act like he knew her.

He took her by the shoulder and guided her even further from the house before she could speak, though. “Look, what about this?” His voice was nearly a whisper, as if he was afraid someone would hear. “We’re together. Only you and I know about that.”

She stiffened. Shrugged off his hand again. “Mr. Fletcher, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but lots of people tend to assume that my partner and I are romantically involved. I can assure you that’s not-”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the crap, Scully!” His voice rose in frustration. He gestured as if searching for something to say. “I can- I can get more specific!”

“I don’t-”

“I told you I loved you in the hospital after you saved me from that ghost ship,” He charged ahead without letting her stop him.

That got her attention. At least enough for her to listen.

“You didn’t wanna believe me,” He continued, slightly calmer now. “You thought it was the drugs. You drove me home after I was discharged and we had an argument about it, and then we-” He stopped and glanced behind himself, as if worried someone would hear. When he spoke again, it was nearly a whisper. “We slept together. For the first time.”

Her heart pounded with panic. How could he know all of this? “Mr. Fletcher-”

“Afterwards, we ate Chinese food and talked about how we shouldn’t tell anyone. You spent the night and woke up so sore from my couch that you said you’d never do that again, but you have.”

She was about to argue, but paused. He was missing something. “Something happened between those things.”

He smiled. “The Gunmen dropped by. You hid in my room like a teenage girl whose boyfriend’s mom just came home.”

She knew her face was flushed now. It was all too accurate. She shook her head. “Mulder and I have both been bugged before. Spied on. How do I know that’s not how you learned all of this?” It made her deeply uncomfortable to think of someone spying on her and Mulder during such intimate moments, but it was more likely than body swapping.

Fletcher sighed in exasperation. “You really do make me work for everything, don’t you, Scully?” He ran a hand through his hair — the same way Mulder did, she realized — then looked back down at her. “Okay. Ask me anything.”

She licked her lips in thought, trying to think of a good question. “What was our first date?”

He smirked. “Depends who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you.”

“The cemetery,” He said with a small smile. “You laughed.”

Her throat tightened. Part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that all of the craziness between her and Mulder today was because it wasn’t Mulder. But the investigative part of her brain pointed out that they’d had that conversation in a public place. Someone could have overheard. She searched for a memory, something she could ask him about where she knew they were totally and completely alone.

Try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully, I’ll kick your ass, Mulder’s voice sounded in her head.

She looked up at Fletcher. “What did I sing to you?” No further explanation.

He frowned for a second, as if confused by the question. Then recognition crossed his face and he smiled. “Joy to the World.”

Her lips parted in shock and she leaned forward, searching his face as if half-expecting it to open like some sort of skin suit, revealing someone else. “Mulder?” She whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

“Yeah,” He smiled, breathless with relief and nodding emphatically. “It’s me, Scully.”

Her gaze wandered, her mouth agape. “I don’t- How?”

“Something flew over us the other night,” He explained. “A UFO or something. No one else seems to remember it but me. And Morris, I’m assuming. I don’t know how it did it, but all of a sudden I was watching you get in the car with Morris, only you thought he was me.”

She didn’t seem to be fully paying attention to him, though, still reeling at this discovery. After a moment, she looked away in thought. “I was so mad at him,” She murmured quietly, as if to herself.

“Morris?” He asked. “What did he do?”

“He-” She ducked her chin in embarrassment. “I caught him...fooling around with Kersh’s assistant,” She muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

“He what?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, which quickly turned to anger.

“I don’t- I don’t know if they actually slept together-”

“Oh my God,” He buried his face in his hands.

“But I saw her leaving his — your — apartment,” She said, looking thoroughly embarrassed by the whole thing. “She wasn’t fully dressed.”

Fletcher — Mulder, she reminded herself — lifted his head up to look at her. “Scully, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t do that, you know that.” He looked genuinely contrite, knowing how she must have felt witnessing that.

She nodded thoughtfully, feeling relieved despite the fact that she still wasn’t fully sure she believed him. That was more like Mulder. After a moment, she spoke. “So...what do we do now? I mean, how do we fix…” She gestured to all of him. “This?”

“Unfortunately, I’m still looking into that,” He said. “I’m gonna go back to ‘work’ and try to get ahold of something — a piece of evidence.” He leaned a bit closer. “Can you meet me tonight? I’ll need you to take it to the Gunmen and have it analyzed.”

She hesitated, not exactly excited for yet another four-hour flight back to Washington (and probably another flight back here). She thought for a moment. “Is that going to help us change you back?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted. “But it’s at least a starting point. Can you meet me, Scully?”

“Hold on, Mulder,” She lifted a hand as if to stop him. It would take both parties to switch bodies back. “We have to think about this. Even if we find a way to fix this, there’s no guarantee that we can do it without Fletcher’s cooperation. He might even know how to do it. But he definitely doesn’t seem interested in giving up your life anytime soon.”

“What are you saying?”

She chewed her lip. “I’m saying that...as much as it’ll probably kill me, I’m gonna have to gain his trust. Go along with his charade. I might be able to get some information from him in case we don’t find anything with this ‘evidence.’”

He smirked, and she thought she could see a ghost of Mulder’s smirk on that ugly face. “You’re not gonna kiss him, are you?”

Her face scrunched up with disgust, which was all the answer he needed. “Where do you need me to meet you?” She asked.

“I’ll get in touch with you.”

---

Mulder — Fletcher — had followed her. That was the only explanation. How else would he have known that she went back to Nevada? Or that she’d talked to “Fletcher?”

She’d been backed into a corner. Kersh had threatened her job, and there was no knowing how much she could help Mulder if she got fired. Plus, she needed to gain Fletcher’s trust.

Mulder approached her in the gas station, a paper bag in his hands. “Scully, I got it. I got the proof.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything to him, instead only looking up at him with guilt. He registered it a split second too late as multiple vehicles pulled up, nearly blinding him with their lights.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before turning away, unable to watch as the soldiers barged in and took the bag from him before cuffing him.

“Scully?” His voice was more urgent now.

She looked back at him, her expression saying what she couldn’t out loud. I had to, Mulder. I’m so sorry.

She thought she saw understanding register in his face, but they were both distracted as Fletcher walked in, flanked by two other men. “Damn it, Morris,” One of them said to Mulder.

Mulder ignored him, though, completely losing it at the sight of Fletcher in his own body. “You! You son of a bitch!” He fought against the soldiers who were holding him. “You orchestrated this whole thing!” He continued struggling — fruitlessly — as the soldiers dragged him out of the store. “You bastard! Tell them the truth! He’s not me, Scully! Would I do this?”

At the sound of her name, she had to turn away again, pressing her lips together to fight the tears in her eyes. Did he think she didn’t believe him? That she’d willingly helped Fletcher do this?

I didn’t have a choice. She kept repeating that in her head as if it could shake away the feeling that she’d just betrayed her best friend. Her partner. The person who trusted her more than anyone else in the world.

She would fix this. She had to.

After a few moments, she felt Fletcher’s hand on her shoulder and had to resist the urge to shrug it off.

“You hate me now, right?” He asked. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Dana, I’m sorry I narced on you to Kersh, but I was afraid you’d lose your job. I mean, when you stomped out of my apartment and I found out you were going to Nevada, I was worried you were going to do something crazy.”

She bit back a million retorts that built up in her mind, instead setting her jaw and turning to face him with a carefully even expression. “You did the right thing, Mulder.”

He blinked in surprise. “I did?”

She gave a tight smile. “I’ve been telling you for years you should play more by the book, haven’t I?”

He smiled with relief, unable to read her body language the way the real Mulder could. “Hey, it’s the new me.”

---

Two weeks suspension without pay. And on top of that, she couldn’t believe she’d agreed to dinner with Fletcher. Or that he’d asked. Was it really that easy to win him over after she’d nearly ripped his head off? A simple “you were right” and he thought everything was okay? She’d been even more stunned when he suggested a home-cooked meal. As far as she was aware, Mulder wasn’t exactly a master chef. In fact, she wasn’t sure what he could cook. Everything he did further squashed any doubts she had that Mulder — the real Mulder — had been telling the truth.

Still, she had to get Fletcher to cooperate. And she had a plan. She double-checked that she had her cuffs and gun before knocking on the door.

The sight of Mulder wearing an apron that said “something smells good” would normally be enough to make her bust out laughing, but unfortunately there was little to be found funny about this situation.

“Perfect timing,” Fletcher said. “Welcome.”

It wasn’t until he moved aside that she noticed how clean the apartment was. “Wow.” Her eyebrows shot up, genuinely impressed. A small part of her noted what a shame it was that it took some weird body-switching scenario for Mulder’s apartment to be cleaned. She was so stunned that she barely even noticed Fletcher taking her coat.

“You like, huh?” He asked a little too close to her ear. “Yeah, I thought it was time I stopped living like a frat boy.” He shrugged. “Come see the rest of the place.” Taking her hand, he led her through the living room and into the bedroom.

If the sight of Mulder’s clean apartment stunned her, then the sight of his bedroom — completely spotless and now including a bed — nearly overwhelmed her. Her jaw dropped at the sight. She was surprised to find a part of her actually missed the boxes and dusty Playboys. It may have been annoying, but at least it had been Mulder.

“Come. Sit.” Fletcher excitedly patted the bed.

“Um, no,” She started to back out, worried he was trying to trap her into something. There was a difference between going along with his act and going so far as to sleep with him.

“Seriously, just check it out.” He reached out and pulled her by the wrist and sat her down on the bed. It moved under her way more than a normal mattress should.

Oh, God. A waterbed? she thought, trying to hide her disgust. He sat down beside her and the movement of the bed knocked her off balance, falling back onto it. Her jaw dropped again as she saw her own reflection staring down at her, and her face flushed at the thought of being able to see herself during... certain activities.

Fletcher propped himself up on his elbow. “D’ya hate it?” He asked, grinning devilishly.

She hesitated, trying to calm herself. “No, I don’t hate it,” she said, and unfortunately it wasn’t a complete lie. As awful as a waterbed was and as horrifying as an above-bed mirror was, at least Mulder had a bed now. Once this was all over, she might be able to actually stay the night here without stiff muscles. Perhaps just mild nausea from the waterbed.

His grin widened. “Well, alright then. Don’t go away.” The bed shifted nauseatingly as he got up and left the room. When he came back with champagne and accompanying flutes, Scully couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting upwards. Big plans.

He handed her a flute and she stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, deciding it was time for one last test. She was already certain that this man wasn’t Mulder, but as a scientist she needed all the evidence she could gather.

“Mulder,” She kept her voice light. “Remember that time we were lost in the woods down in Florida? And you got injured?”

He frowned, looking a bit panicked. “Uhh, vaguely. Why?”

“I just-” She shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t seem to remember the name of the song that I sang to you. Do you remember? The tune’s been stuck in my head all day,” She added, then started humming the chords to “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown” to throw him off.

“Oh, that’s the, um-” Fletcher snapped his fingers a couple times, trying to remember. “The Jim Croce song. Leroy Brown.”

“Thaaat’s right,” She said as if she’d just remembered. “And that was what I sang to you?”

“Of course,” He turned his attention back to the champagne bottle. “I vividly remember that part.” He winked.

“Mhm,” She nodded, her jaw tight. She licked her lips and then turned to him. “Do you know what would really be fun?”

“What?”

She pulled out her handcuffs and dangled them in front of him with a cocked eyebrow. Fletcher looked like he’d nearly come on the spot. “Oh, yeah. Me first?”

“You first,” She smirked.

Excited, he couldn’t seem to take the cuffs from her fast enough. While he cuffed himself to the bed, she stood up and pulled out her gun. “Now what?” He asked, turning back, but flinched in surprise when he saw her gun aimed at him.

“You’re not Mulder.”

The panicked look on his face was nearly comical. “What?” The champagne cork popped at that moment, and Scully could already imagine laughing about that with the real Mulder in the future. “Baby-”

“‘Baby’ me and you’ll be peeing through a catheter,” She said, lowering the aim of her gun. “Your name is Morris Fletcher. It was Mulder who was arrested in the desert. Now, how do we get things back to normal?”

---

Fletcher had turned out to be completely useless and somehow knew nothing, but luckily Mulder’s source called while Scully was interrogating him. And after two more flights to Nevada and back — along with a nearly unsuccessful bar adventure — they arrived at the Lone Gunmens’ lair, flight recorder in tow.

Scully pressed on the buzzer. “Open up,” She called out. After a few moments, she started hearing the clicks and clanks that meant someone was unlocking the various locks.

Frohike opened the door. “Mulder.” He let them in, and Scully tried to brush off the fact that she hadn’t been greeted. It wasn’t even really Mulder, after all. “If I had known you were coming, I would have made more salsa.”

“We need your help right now,” Scully said, offering up the flight recorder to Langly.

“Who crashed?” He looked it over with interest.

“Who, what, why,” She said. “I need to know everything that’s on that data recorder.”

The three rattled off technical terms that she didn’t care to remember, then Byers turned to Fletcher. “Where did you get this?” He asked him.

What am I, chopped liver? “Groom Lake,” Scully answered. “Outside Area 51.”

“Dreamland.” Frohike raised his eyebrows. They had a brief discussion about some spy plane before Fletcher — browsing through an issue of the Lone Gunman — started giggling to himself.

“What’s with him?” Frohike asked.

“Ignore him,” she said.

“Mulder-”

“He’s not Mulder,” She corrected with exasperation.

All three Gunmen turned to her with questioning looks.

“This aircraft.” She pointed at the flight recorder. “When it crashed it somehow resulted in a…a body swap. Between Mulder and…” She gestured to Fletcher. “This asshole.”

The three looked confused, both by the situation and by the fact that Scully was the one saying these sorts of things. They laughed nervously, but stopped when they saw she wasn’t laughing along with them.

“Asshole?” Fletcher sounded offended, putting down the paper and approaching her. “Listen here, lady, you probably wouldn’t have even realized I wasn’t Mulder if you two weren’t banging.”

Scully stiffened, feeling three pairs of eyes slowly turn to look at her.

“Banging?” Langly asked.

She clenched her jaw, thinking quickly. “No, he’s just trying to rile me up because I embarrassed him when I caught him with Kersh’s secretary.”

“Kersh’s secretary?”

“Ah,” Fletcher nodded in understanding. “Keeping it a secret, huh?”

“There’s no secret to keep,” She bit back, her eyes threatening murder. Fletcher seemed more amused than fazed, though, which only angered her more.

The Gunmen exchanged looks, unsure who to believe. Scully inwardly groaned. Great. Now the three most suspicious men in the world had reason to wonder if she and Mulder were together. That'll be fun to deal with.

“Who the hell are you?” Frohike asked him.

Fletcher explained who he was, then managed to rile the three of them up by claiming to be the one who came up with most of their stories. Scully let it continue at first, simply grateful that they were distracted from the topic of her relationship with Mulder. But then Frohike brandished his spatula.

“The name’s Frohike, you punk ass. What the hell did you do with Mulder?”

“Shut up, all of you,” Scully stepped in, then pointed to the flight recorder. “If you guys want Mulder back, then get me these results.”

---

“You don’t look too happy. Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to put two kids through school.”

Scully looked up at Mulder, hugging herself. She still couldn’t quite believe it was him. “I just got off the phone with Frohike.”

She explained how the whole thing had been reliant on completely random variables — ones that they had next to no chance of replicating. And even if they could, there was no guarantee that it would work.

Looking completely downtrodden now, Mulder glanced over to the car where Fletcher sat. “What about him?”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “‘Agent Mulder’ has become Kersh’s new golden boy. The son of a bitch confesses to Kersh more than I do to my priest. I’m just tagging along for the ride.”

He turned back to her. “What do you mean, ‘just tagging along?’”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m out of the Bureau. I’ve been censured and relieved of my position.”

“No.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “You can explain it to them like you explained it to me,” he said urgently “You have the data. You can make them understand. You can get your job back.”

She looked back up at him affectionately, appreciating his sympathy. But she felt no desire to continue at the Bureau without him. Or worse — with a fake him.

“I’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly,” she said, and meant it. By far one of the worst parts of this situation was that she wasn’t able to give him a proper goodbye. They’d known each other for years, but their relationship was still so new. Ever since it started, she’d been afraid of how it might end, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. Forced apart by some weird, random X-File. Not even a conspiracy, just completely random variables within a nearly impossible feat of science. She supposed it was some sort of poetic justice, maybe they even deserved it. Like so many other times before, a chance for happiness was being stolen away from her and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mulder smiled wistfully at her and nodded, looking like he wanted to kiss her anyway. They stared into each other's eyes the way they always did, and she wondered if he was thinking about the same things she was, but the moment was interrupted by Fletcher honking the horn.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He called out, his head hanging out of the window.

“If I shoot him, is that murder or suicide?”

“Neither, if I do it first.” She squeezed his arm, then turned towards the car.

“Hey, Scully.”

She turned back, and he held out a closed hand in offering. She held out her own, and he dropped some sunflower seeds into it before taking one back to put in his mouth. Yep, she thought, looking up at him. That’s Mulder.

She got in the car and watched him get in his. What kind of lives would they have now? She didn’t know what she would do when she got back home. She couldn’t even teach at the academy anymore. Maybe she would turn back to medicine, finally returning to what would have made her parents proud years ago.

She only knew two things for certain: she wouldn’t stop searching for a way to fix this, to bring Mulder back. And she wouldn’t stop investigating X-Files. What was his life’s work had become hers as well, and she could only hope that continuing to investigate them would help heal what was being broken at having to leave him like this. Maybe she would even find a solution to this problem buried in a random case.

And what about Mulder? She indulged in wondering what he would do with his life as she drove. He had a wife now. And kids. And a more regular job than theirs had been. That normalcy that she’d asked about, he was now forced to experience without her. No doubt he’d try to repair Fletcher’s marriage despite the fact that he wasn’t him and didn’t love his wife. That was just the kind of person Mulder was. He’d learn to like the kids, probably even grow attached to them. Despite his insistence on being a misfit and an outcast, he had a knack for dealing with others. When he tried.

He’d go to work, probably using it as a way to get the inside scoop on some X-Files. She knew he’d never stop investigating them, either. Maybe someday, by complete coincidence, they’d meet up again on the same case. They’d catch up, and it would be nice, except it wouldn’t be. Because it would still be Mulder, but it wouldn’t be him, not fully.

She wiped away a stray tear as Fletcher started talking, telling some story about the motel manager.

---

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go.” Scully tugged on his sleeve, shooting a glare at the man who had confronted him. She saw him light a cigarette as they drove away.

For some reason, the four-hour red-eye back to Washington felt like it was nearly the tenth one she’d made. She brushed it off, assuming it was just because they were always flying. Mulder — in the seat next to her — looked like he was trying and failing to sleep.

“Sorry your confidential source didn’t pan out,” she murmured, not wanting to wake anyone who was actually sleeping.

He turned to her with a smile, then took her hand. “Well, I guess you were right, Scully. Just another crackpot who watches too much Star Trek.”

They managed to get back in time to change clothes at her apartment and go to work, where the two yawned all day and barely got any actual work done. Luckily, their unauthorized trip to Nevada seemed to go unnoticed by Kersh. At one point, Scully opened her desk drawer and noticed what looked like two coins fused together. Where had that come from? She considered getting Mulder’s attention to show it to him, but decided she was too tired to hear a conspiracy ramble today.

After work, they walked to her car (not having had time to drive him by his place to pick up his car before work). She yawned. “It’s Friday,” -which was strange. Wasn’t it just Monday? Maybe she was more tired than she thought- “are you staying at my place tonight? Or would you rather sleep alone?”

He yawned back. “I don’t know, Scully. After being treated to the comforts of your bed, it’s been getting harder and harder to fall asleep on my couch.”

“You should get your own bed, then,” she quipped, putting her car into gear.

“Then what would be my excuse for spending the night at your place?”

She snorted. “I can think of a few.”

They dropped by his place so he could grab some things, and she begrudgingly followed him up to his apartment, sleepily leaning against the wall next to his door as he unlocked it. His jaw dropped when he opened the door, then he checked his apartment number as if unable to believe he was at the right unit.

“Mulder?” She straightened up. “What’s wrong?”

Wordless, he gestured into his apartment, and she turned to look. Her own jaw dropped at the sight of the spotlessly clean apartment with a few new tasteful decorations. They both stepped into it, mouths agape, and looked around.

“Mulder, did you...hire someone?” Her voice pitched up higher than usual due to her state of shock.

“No, I-” He stammered, then looked at her. “You aren’t joking with me, are you? Was this you?”

She shook her head, her eyebrows raised in innocence. “It looks nice,” she said, then turned to him with a cocked brow and a smirk. “But where will you put the white picket fence?”

He smiled and put an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, I was thinking right about here, in the middle of everything.”

She grinned at him, but he looked away, distracted. He’d noticed that his bedroom door was open and went over to it, peering inside.

“Scully.”

“What?” She rushed over to look, following him into the room, but stopped short at the sight of a new bed. Standing proudly in the middle of his now-clean room. “Holy crap, Mulder. How- How did this get here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it was a gift. Maybe someone overheard you badgering me to get one,” he joked, but she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Mulder,” She muttered, leaning towards the bed and looking up. He followed her gaze and saw his own reflection looking back. Slowly, they both turned to look at each other with equal amounts of incredulity.

“Well,” He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “I guess...gift horse and all that.”

“Mulder, you’re not at all suspicious about how this happened?”

“Right now, all I care about is getting some sleep. And now I’ve got a bed.” He sat down on it and was startled by how much it moved.

“A waterbed?” Scully’s eyebrows looked like they would just about shoot off her forehead.

He groaned and flopped back fully. “Just when I thought my back would get a break.”

#kai.fic #xf fanfic #msr fanfic #timing fic

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thorman-barnes · 5 years ago

Text

Unexpected || Part 4

pairing: stucky x reader

requests: yes?

prompts: none

summary: Y/N and Steve briefly talk about it

warnings: none?

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Steve sat across from Y/N at the desk of the old, run down motel. Their vehicle had broken down from all the bullets it had taken and they had to ditch it on the side of the road and walk a couple of miles until they ran into this sketchy motel with their gear and luggage on hand.

Y/N’s feet ached by the time they got to the motel and she refused to get up from the bed until the pizza they had ordered had arrived and they set it on the desk because the table looked just about close to collapsing.

The pizza wasn’t that good but it was the closest thing they have had to food in the past two days and neither complained. They lost connection with the gang a few days ago and they have been on their own ever since. Natasha was on the other line giving them directions while she healed from a broken leg but when they in the middle of the fight, their connection gave out and they have been running loose.

“You think she got our message?” You asked quietly as you sipped on your water that Steve bought for you at the liquor store across the street.

“Yeah, if not, our pictures would be all over the news asking for information on our whereabouts,” he commented and bit into a slice of pizza. He just hoped Bucky wasn’t worrying his ass off about his safety. He hasn’t called in the past few days when he had promised he would check in every twenty four hours and has failed to do so.

“How long do you think until they know our exact location?”

Steve shrugged and looked up to see you staring at the pizza - trying to decide which slice you want to eat next. “A few days maybe? We’re a few hours away from where we last had contact with them. It shouldn’t take long but they have to be quiet about it so no else finds us before they do.”

You nodded slowly and pulled at a slice until it was free from the other slices and took a big bite, your stomach growling even after already eating three slices of pizza. “Can I ask you something, Steven?”

He chuckled at his name but nodded anyway thinking you were going to ask about the mission or something related to your current situation.

After a few seconds, he choked on his soda when you asked him what he and Bucky thought about your offer. It was a few minutes before he even responded. Truth is, he and Bucky thought a lot about your offer. They made a pros and cons list, they daydreamed about it, they avoided you for a week because they couldn’t look you in the eye as they thought about your offer. The thought of getting you pregnant so her and Bucky can have a child was both exciting and scary at the same time.

You thought that his silence meant the didn’t want to talk about it and went back to focusing your energy on the pizza before you so then you can move onto the chips you had made Steve buy you as well.

Sighing, he caught your attention. “We’ve been talking about it.”

You looked up and slowly chewed on your food as he talked while not making eye contact. You figured he was going to by shy about it but if this was something they wanted, you had to talk about it no matter how embarrassing and awkward it would be.

“If we do this. . . what’s in it for you?” He asked and his eyes flickered up to you and landed back on the window beside you both and tried to act as normal as he possibly could.

One thing he learned quickly was that talking about this was a lot easier with Bucky than it was with you. Because at least with Bucky, he could speak his mind without judgement and with you, he wasn’t sure where he stood.

“Nothing,” you shrugged like it was no big deal - like you hadn’t talked to Wanda about this just the other day before you went on your mission. She made some valid points about why you shouldn’t do this but you ignored her. “I just want you both to be happy is all.”

“You know this will ruin us if you change your mind last minute, right? We won’t be friends if you decide you want the baby - we can’t go through that again especially Bucky,” Steve stated in a firm voice as walls began to build up to protect his own heart and his husband’s. The pain they had from when the woman decided she couldn’t give the baby up was starting to find its way back to him and the last thing he needed was to have a break down in front of you but when you spoke up again, he was thankful for it.

“I know that,” you nodded once and studied his features. He was trying hard not to make eye contact and although his features were firm if he looked you in the eye, he might just break. “But I wouldn’t have offered if I had some doubts. Steve, listen, you and Bucky deserve happiness and a chance at a family. And I want to give you that.”

“He wants to move away, you know that?” he turned to look at you and sucked in a deep breath as his voice wavered. He wasn’t sure if he can have this discussion because he still wasn’t okay from what happened last time and he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “If we have a baby, he wants to retire and buy a house somewhere on the outskirts of New York or California or anywhere really. He wants to live a quiet life and be a stay at home dad and I’d do the occasional missions. . . He talked about family road trips, family movie nights, all that kind of stuf-”

“He’d be a great dad,” you commented as Steve was getting lost in the possibility of having everything he and Bucky ever wanted. But hearing Steve talk about a future with Bucky, a weird feeling erupted within you and you weren’t sure what it was. “But what do you want, Steve?”

He sighed and chewed on his lower lip as his heart pounded in his chest and it was all he was feeling at the moment. He was anxious and he wasn’t sure for what. He was just talking to you and you were one of his best friends and it shouldn’t be awkward at all. But it was. Because you guys were talking about the possibility of either him or Bucky sleeping with you so they can have a baby and start a family.

“I just want to be happy. For Bucky to be happy. I want to have start a family and have a life” he gestured to the room - to the mission you were in the middle of- “out of all this crazy. Too many bad things happening around us and I just want one good thing, you know?” When you nodded, he offered you a shy smile.

It was quiet for a moment before a thought hit you. They wanted to move away. That meant you’d hardly ever see them. Maybe it’d be for the best. They were married and as Wanda has often pointed out - having a crush on two married men was messy. And add having a baby for them into the mix? It’d be all sorts of complicated.

“Seems like you know what you want,” you commented and cleaned your fingers on a piece of napkin.

He shrugged, “We talk about it a lot.”

You raised a brow and leaned back, arms crossed over your chest. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

The corners of his lips twitched and were inching towards a smile as he got lost in his own thoughts of wonders and joy. “Like - Like we’d get a place with a big yard. You know, like huge. Maybe with a white picket fence too. Probably have a dog. . .”

He had a vision in his dream as he spoke to you that he had forgotten he has never told Bucky this because of the fear of getting his hopes to high. He can see himself and Bucky having a baby girl. He wanted to spoil their daughter rotten. Buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted, all the stuffed animals that could possibly fit in her small bed, hold her when she was sick, learn to do different hairstyles each morning before their day officially began. . .

“You want a daughter?” You smiled and it only grew wider when you noticed his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

“I just always saw myself having a daughter,” he admitted and it was the first time you saw him smile in a while. It held hope and it held longing as well. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so close to having his dreams come true.

“So then let me do this for you,” you reached across the table and rested your hand on top of his, giving his hand a soft squeeze. Setting your feelings aside, you wanted them to be happy whether you were part of that happiness or not. “Think about it, Steve, in just nine months you can have the life you and Bucky have been dreaming of.”

Cautiously, he looked between your connected hands then into your eyes. He was trying to read for something but he wasn’t sure what. He knew this was too good to be true but his emotions were overwhelming and he couldn’t think straight when he was so close to getting everything he wants. Suddenly, he felt like Bucky - full of hope and joy and it was uncontained.

Tag List:

@iamalphanow @my-marvelside-bl0g @m-a-t-91 @hoewkeye @im-just-another-monster @scarsout @mcuwillbethedeathofme @wonderlandfandomkingdom @ssaaraw

Bucky Barnes Tag List:

@hour-to-hourglass

Stucky x Reader Tag List:

@ravennightingaleandavatempus@mydogisthebest@hellaqueerangelofthelord@hockeyshmockey@multireality@letterstomyself21@themusicalweirdo@multifandomwriter121 @firstangeldragonranch @aactuaaltraash @marshyrebelcloud

Series Tag List:

@zorsefoal @this-is-mycrisis @owlyannah @joyofbebbanburg @delicatecapnerd @bi-bi-bi-bisexualz @evansiess @steebrogurz @henderwhore4life

#stucky x reader

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queensdivas · 5 years ago

Text

New Beginnings

Did I make myself cry? Yes. Did I do this to make all of you cry? Yes. I really hope you guys enjoyed this short because we’re getting to that time of year that family is important. Not just blood. But everyone who you love! If you’d like to be tagged in everything I write or want specific tags let me know! And I will see you all in the next post!

Masterlist

taglist:

@mexifangorl @i-live-for-queen @leah-halliwell92 @its-funny-til-its-not @brianmydear @bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @natalijalucreziah @crayonwriting @owensgrxdy @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @deacyspatronusisacheesetoastie @darlingyourebeingabore @kokomercury @littledolly39 @seven-seeds-of-rhye @hodgepodge-of-rog @teathymewithben

No matter how hard John and I tried for kids..we only have been lucky twice and each pregnancy was brutal, almost life threatening to the point even doctors told me if I had a third child I would pass away. But the one thing that John and I have always wanted was to have a big family, the picket fence, and a modest house.

Well. One of those things isn’t possible since he became apart of Queen and the last modest house we had was bombarded by fans. So we had to move again and get a nice home with a good wall of trees blocking the people from prying eyes. Not my type of environment that I would’ve enjoyed but still a fence I guess in all things considered.

He had just gotten back from the Hot Space tour and was working on the finances in the dining room. He always took care of Queens finances and for some reason wanted to take care of ours as well. No matter how many times I’ve pestered he wouldn’t budge. Placing the tea set down in front of him as I wrapped myself around his upper body then kissing his forehead.

“What? Do I have something on me?” Looking down at myself to make sure there wasn’t a stain or even a bug on my pajamas.

“No. You just look stunning.” Even after six years after marriage, that cheeky devil still makes me blush. Handing him his cup of tea as he took a sip to focus back on the paperwork. But he wasn’t really reading it or anything..just staring at the bills and everything else.

“How’s the financing going? Freddie and Roger sending us to the poor house yet?” Giggling which made John smile a little bit. There was something on his mind that I can’t quite put a finger on. Is he mad at me?

“Not quite yet. But luckily we decided to take a few months off which is perfect because..because I have this idea I wanna run by you.” An idea? If he thinks I’m packing up the kids rooms and mine again it’s going to be a harsh no. He put down the paper and pen as I sat down to scoot my chair closer to him.

“If we’re moving again..”

“No no. Nothing like that. This place is absolutely perfect. I..I want to talk to you about an idea that I’ve been bouncing around in my head. Remember our old friends Jared and his wife Rosie.” Jared and Rosie..AH! Yes! One of the couples we used to hang out with when we went to the discos.

“Yes. What about them? Are they okay?”

“Of course they are. So I talked to Jared about adoption. How they felt, what to be looking for and everything.” This..this is all so sudden oh my god. Adoption? Never really considered it since I was raised that a women should always be able to pop out babies left and right. But every time I’d go through a pregnancy. It would just be an absolute nightmare on my body. Yes we have two wonderful children in our lives and I take care of them like an absolute pro when Johns working in the studio or out on tour for months at a time.

“John. Are you wanting to adopt?” Asking him as he scooted my chair closer to him. He grabbed my hands with a very tight grip.

“We both want a big family...who says the children have to be blood anyhow. The boys are family and were not even closely related. All though I do have some theory that Roger and Freddie were once past lovers but that’s a different conversation.” We laughed as we kept staring at each other.

“I’ll agree to this on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You have to be around a little more. I’m not asking you to quit the band or even not show up to rehearsals on a daily basis. But a little more help on the home front would really be appreciated. I knew exactly what I was getting into when we decided to have kids, but I’m really not enjoying Robert asking me when is father going to be home for more than a month.” I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh..we both knew exactly what we were getting into with this life. But when both of your kids ask you where there father is every day at night time. It gets very depressing. He wasn’t angry about what I said but he was taken a bit back.

“John I’m sorry..that isn’t fair..”

“No you’re right.” He pulled me up on his lap as he cupped my face for a very passionate kiss. My arms wrapping around his neck as we continued to suck each other’s faces.

We stopped for a moment since we heard the sound of dragging feet coming from the hallway. Michael came out of the hallway in his onesie that Freddie bought him from Japan and his favorite purple blanket.

“Michael. What are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime little man.” John told him as I climbed off his lap for Michael to continue walking towards us.

“I had a bad dream.” He rubbed his eyes since he had little tear stains across his cheek. John jumping into action as he scooped Michael up in his arms as he sat back down with me at the dinner table. Michael wrapped himself around him as John began rubbing his back slowly.

“Now. What would chase away all the bad dreams tonight Michael?” He kept himself around John till he popped his head up with that smile John gave him. It was the kind of smile that would make women fall head over heels about them, and could get away with murder.

“Ice cream.” He smiled as John shook his head at him.

“No no. It’s far too late for ice cream Michael and you know that.” John laughed at Michael who was now upset that he wasn’t getting ice cream now.

“What’s will all the noise?” Robert was next coming out wearing his Mickey Mouse shirt and striped pj bottoms.

“Just talking. Come on and join us.” Robert walked over to me as I helped him up on my lap. John began rubbing his hands up and down Michael's back to hopefully cause him to fall right back to sleep.

“Dad. Are you going on tour again?” Robert asked as John looked at him with his adorable smile.

“Nope. Dads going to be taking a little bit of a break. And we’ve got some exciting news for you guys. You are possibly going to be having a new brother or sister coming soon.” Robert looked at me for a second to then get off my lap.

“I don’t want a new brother or sister! I like it just the four of us!” He crossed his arms at us as I crossed mine back at him.

“That’s not fair. Don’t you want to have more kids to play with when you’re with dad on tour? Surely playing Michael or even Jimmy gets rather dull after a while, doesn't it?”

“I have Uncle Freddie! He enjoys playing scrabble with me!” He stormed out of the dining room then slamming his door shut. I was about to get up but John shook his head at me.

“Tomorrow will take these two with us to the orphanage and let them get comfortable with the kids. Told the boys I would be very busy these next couple of weeks so no studio work and party for this man.” Michael snored a little as we saw he was passed out in Johns chest. He placed a soft kiss on his forehead as he got up from the chair to then tuck him back into the bedroom.

Following closely behind them as John was being such a kick ass dad. Stuffing Michael underneath the covers then grabbing his polar bear stuffie from the ground to put it right next to him. God how the hell did I get so lucky to meet this man? Oh yeah because roller skating and accidentally running into him while racing my sister.

We pulled up to the large mansion to see a bunch of children running around the front yard and on the large porch. Robert wasn’t saying a word to us but at least Michael was super excited about seeing all the children. I climbed out of the car then unhooking Michael from the car seat as Robert climbed out of his side of the car.

One of the nuns came walking out of the house towards us as I held Michael up in my arms as Robert was holding John's hand. The nun looked very excited to see us coming.

“Mr. and Mrs. Deacon I’m so glad you made it today! My name is Sister Elise. And who are these two precious little kids?” She kneeled down to Roberts height who was still mad at the idea.

“This is Michael..and the sour ball is Robert. He’s not talking sister.” John told her as she nodded.

“Guess the idea of gaining another brother or sister makes you angry doesn’t it?” I get the feeling she’s done something like this before.

“Nope.” He told her as he finally uncrossed his arms. Jesus he holds a grudge longer than me.

“Why don’t you join the children for lunch? We’re serving a big pot of homemade chicken and noodles. Would you like that Robert?” She asked as Robert shook his head.

“Robert. It looks like they’re playing red rover in the yard. Wanna go play with them before lunch?” He let go of John's hand and was already rounding the fence to go play with the other children.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to do that with every other sibling. Now let’s give you a tour and let you see all the children.” We walked through the fence to start our small tour.

“Do you know what age you’re wanting to adopt by chance?” We walked up to the large wrap around porch as we watched a few of the children playing red rover. Robert was already running into the line of kids. One of the boys came up to him to help him up from the ground and they began talking up a storm.

“Definitely older than a toddler. With him on the road so much it’s just easier to have a child whose already capable of..well you know.” We were escorted inside to see even more running around.

“Completely understandable. Now why don’t I let you two roam free around the bottom floor so you can see and get to know the children for a few moments. Have to make sure lunch is ready. If you’ll excuse me.” She walked away as we put Michael down to hold his hand. He watched the children running around the building and was getting excited.

We snuck our heads into one of the empty rooms to see a group of kids playing some sort of board game. Michael walked into the room and stood above the children playing a game. One of the children looked up at him as they moved over so he could play with them.

John wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we watched Michael playing the game with them. A herd of children came running in from outside while Robert and a fellow kid were talking to each other.

“You never have watched Mr. Rogers?” Robert asked them as the kid shook his head.

“It’s the greatest show in the world! Mr. Rogers is one of the coolest people in the world!” Robert continued on as he walked into one of the classrooms with him.

“And he didn’t want a new sibling.” John commented, kissing my forehead as we looked back to see Michael no longer sitting in the circle. We walked in to see him watching a boy painting on a small canvas. He kept walking until he was standing right next to him.

“Hi. I’m Michael.” He told him as the kid turned in his seat then smiling at Michael.

“Hi Michael. I’m Hershel.” Michael held out his hand to Hershel as he light shook it then went back to painting. I was the first to walk towards Michael then bending down to hold Michael by his shoulders.

“Do you like his paintings?” Asking Michael as he shook his head. Hershel turned himself around towards me with an adorable smile.

“I’m Izzy. I must say your paintings are wonderful. Have you painted all of your life?”

“Yeah. My mom taught me how to paint when I was little.” His painting was all green as he was tracing a large circle on the canvas.

“What’s this one about?”

“The other day I was children playing with all the rubber bouncy balls out front and I watched all the colored balls mixing together. Thought it was really cool.” He went back to his painting as John joined us to look at his painting.

“Do you like other kinds of art?” John asked as we kept watching him paint.

“I sketch sometimes but I would really love to do ceramics one day. Sister says that eventually she’ll get me a machine so I can make all kinds of pots, vases, and all other kinds of everything.”

“LUNCH TIME!” A kid screamed into the room as it was cleared out swiftly leaving the three of us alone.

We walked into the dining room to see Robert and the kid he played Red Rover with were still getting along famously. Sister Elise walked towards us with a bright smile on her face.

“What do you think? I know you’ve only been here for a few moments.”

“How old is Hershel?” John asked as Sister Elise looked around to see him eating his lunch.

“Hershel is nine years old. Anyone else.” John looked for Robert and the Sister followed.

“That is Bradley. Would you two like to sit down with Bradley and get to know him? We’ve got plenty for lunch.”

“Absolutely.” We told him as the sister nodded to walk over where Robert and Bradley were sitting. She whispered to them as Bradleys face lit up like a Christmas tree. He grabbed his bowl and was already zooming towards us.

“Bradley Denver! It’s quite a pleasure to meet you!” He held out his hand to me as I grabbed it for one wild handshake. He then stood in front of John whose eyes were widened at this bouncing bundle of joy!

“John Deacon and this is Izzy Deacon. It’s quite a pleasure to meet you as well.” Sister Elise moved past us as we began walking to the large living room where we sat with Hershel.

“Mom! Dad! Bradley has this really cool collection of almost all the Star Trek action figures! He said that I could come over sometime to play with them!” Robert was bouncing along with Bradley as they sat down on the floor next to each other. The two of them didn’t even notice us as they went off to their own world.

My hand moved down to Johns as we sat back to watch Robert and Bradley become the best of friends. Robert has definitely inherited his father's shyness and my hard head. He hasn’t got any real close friends since we moved around a little too much...and his shyness.

“So Bradley. What else do you like besides Star Trek?” Before he answered. He swallowed his food and whipped his mouth.

“I love science! At school I won all the science fairs and even was told that I have quite the future in it!”

“What kind of science?” John was already intrigued by him.

“Mostly Earth and the weather. It’s really cool and last year I did an experiment on the level of atmospheres! We sent a lego on a balloon to see how far he could go up before he popped!” Bradley kept going on and on about his experiments he’s done in school as Robert and John were completely intrigued.

Speaking of which where’s Michael? I looked around to see Michael wasn’t in the room. Whispering in Johns ear that I was going to look for him. I imagine he found a cool toy to play with or an empty room. Leaving the living room to see him and Hershel out in the hallway as he was watching him doodle.

“Now you use this pencil for much more finer lines. See how I draw that triangle there? Come on, give me your hand.” Hershel reached over to little Michael and began drawing shapes on the paper. Not going to cry..not going to cry. God damn it.

“Hey..hey what’s wrong?” John asked as he gripped my shoulders as I placed my hand on one of his.

“I’ve just..I’ve never seen our boys so happy..” Giggling and crying as John wrapped himself behind me. Hearing a few sniffles from him as Sister Elise came over to us with a box of tissues.

“I’m assuming you do this often.” John laughed as I whipped my eyes.

“Why don’t we go upstairs to see their files and everything else you’ll need to know.” Nodding as I dried my eyes with a few tissues.

Sitting down in her office as she began going through the files. Hershel is eleven so he’s at a perfect again..and Bradley must be a little younger than Robert from looking at him from a distance.

“Hershel came to us a few months ago from Darlington. He keeps to himself most of the time since he’s brand new to the system. His mother was single and ended up leaving him alone in their tiny apartment to run off to Ireland. Now Bradley has been here since he was a little tot. But he’s full of energy and as you can already tell is a very good people person.” She handed me the file of Hershel and John the file for Bradley.

“Would you give us a moment please?” John asked as she nodded to leave her office.

“What are you thinking Izzy?” John asked as I began replaying the feeling of how him and Robert were completely entranced by Bradley talking about his interest in science, and how Michael and I watched Hershel paint his gorgeous paintings.

“They’re both extraordinary John. The way Bradley brought Robert out of his shell in a matter of seconds. Hershel just seemed so nice and wonderful..I know we’ve only spoke to them for a brief minute..But..John..they’re..I already see the future with them. Robert and Bradley during the day playing outside in the small woods around our house.”

“Michael following behind them. Hershel out in the garden sketching or in his room working on his paintings. Izzy. I would love nothing more than to fill that house of ours with nothing but children and a lovely cat. I want this to. Robert has never looked so enticed with such a person and I imagine the scrabble games are going to be even more dramatic than with him and Freddie. For Michael we can have his room was also a good place for him to do his paintings. The one to the left that faces the yard with all the natural sunlight.” Climbing onto him to hug him as the whole scene was playing in my head.

“Wait are we doing this?” We stopped hugging each other to smile at each other. Realizing we were going to adopt two lovely children.

“Sister! Sister!” He called as she stuck her head in to see our childish behavior.

“Now we’ll get the paperwork started and set a date for them to be dropped off at home.” Squeezing each other as tightly as we could.

*Three Weeks Later*

At this point I couldn't tell who was more excited about the new arrivals of our family. Me, John, or Freddie. When we eventually told everyone the news of our family growing in ranks. Freddie was already on top of house warming gifts for each one of them. He bought top line art supplies for Hershel and all different types of paints. The entire color scheme if he could. Now for Bradley. It was all Star Wars and Star Trek of everything.

Sadly we couldn’t have Freddie be here the first night since we wanted them to adjust to their new homes. But as soon as tomorrow rolls around I know he plans on coming over immediately to meet with them.

Robert and Michael were coloring at the coffee table in the living room as I was finishing up the mashed potatoes for dinner tonight. Their first home cooked meal shall be a lamb roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, and I even made a delicious chocolate pudding.

“John can you pass me the pepper?” Asking as he stood next to me and began pouring a little pepper into the potatoes. Looking down to see him wearing the Minnie Mouse apron we got on our first trip to Disney.

“Baby. You’re looking pretty damn cute in my apron.” Pinching his butt as he checked the roast for me. It was juicy and smelled exactly what I was wanting it to be. Absolutely perfect.

“Thank you baby. Thought it looked good on you that night we celebrated my birthday, but now it looks absolutely perfect on me.” Shaking my head at him as I closed the lid for the roast to keep it cooking. The carrots were done being cooked as I grabbed my tasting spoon making sure that they were good enough. Delicious.

“Mommy! Mommy they’re here!” Robert yelled from the living room as I turned down all the pots then placing the lids on top of them. Whipping my hands on my aprons as Robert went flying out of the front door. Michael was trying to follow behind but fell right down onto the floor. John picked up him as we stopped in the doorway to see Sister Elise and one of her fellow sisters were coming up to the house.

We stood outside in the cold but we didn’t even notice it as the four of us were too excited and happy for our new children. The car parked as Bradley was already out of the car to get a look at the house.

“This house is awesome! I’ve never seen such a house in my life!” His smile was gleaming with joy. He had his backpack on as one of the sisters walked to the trunk for the rest of their bags.

“You’ve got woods! Are we allowed to play in them!?” Bradley was bouncing even more than before.

“Yup. The whole woods is for you two to have fun and do whatever you want.”

“AWESOME!”

“C’mon Bradley! I’ll show you to your room.” Robert almost dragged him inside the house but stopped to give John a huge hug.

“So when can I call you dad sir?” John laughed as he bent down to his level.

“Whenever you’re ready son.”

“Well Dad. Glad to be along for the ride and I promise to be the best son I can be for ya!” He gave John one more hug till he ran past them then towards me and almost jumping up into my arms.

“Mom! I promise to be the greatest rascal I can be! But always in control mom!” Bradley is absolute adorable oh my god! He moved past me to walk inside with Robert.

Hershel was still standing by the car with his little back full of stuff as the sister stood next to him. He looked absolutely nervous and looked like he was going to jump back into the car and want to go back to the orphanage.

John walked down the stairs towards him to hold his hand out to him. Following behind him to look over his shoulder as Hershel reached his hand out to grab his. Oh my god I’m gonna start crying again. God this felt like holding Robert again for the first time. Hershel then wrapped himself with John for a very tight hug and I swear John was literally about to cry.

“Are you ever going to leave me..?” He muffled in Johns shirt as it tipped him over the edge. God damn it the water works.

“I will let you two be. Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Deacon.” Sister Elise waved goodbye to us as Hershel kept a tight grip around John. My hand sat on top of his head for a brief moment to whisper to John that I was going in to check on the boys and dinner.

Walking back inside to see Michael was still sitting on the floor coloring and two pounding children were upstairs in their rooms. It was starting to feel truly at home now. The timer dinged as the roast was ready to be served. I walked over to the bottom of the stairs

“Boys! Dinner is ready!” Yelling as the thunder of feet came rounding the corner then towards the stairs. Walking into the living room to scoop up Michael as John and Hershel came inside.

“Hope you two enjoy lamb because I made a delicious lamb stew for the first night.” Putting Michael down on the chair as the boys ran into the kitchen.

“Is that lamb? Mom I love lamb!” Bradley grabbed an empty plate as he began pouring food on his plate then followed by Robert.

“Hershel. Please feel free to take as much as you want for dinner. I also made us a chocolate pudding for dessert.” Hershel’s face brightened as he moved past me to start pouring food on his plate. I grabbed Michaels little plate to scoop him some food as John wrapped himself around me.

“I love you Izzy. I know I don’t say it enough...but God do I love you so much. Our little family is now whole.” Turning back to see his tear stained cheeks which was going to make me cry again.

“I love you to John our little family is now complete.” We kissed passionately as we just embraced each other.

“EEEWWW!” Robert and Bradley yelled from the dining room which made us laugh more at each other.

Yup..our family is now whole..

#John Deacon #john richard deacon #john deacon one shot #john deacon x reader #john deacon children #this shit sad af #Queen fan fic #Queen Fic #Roger Taylor #Brian May #Deaky being a dad #Dad John #Freddie Mercury #Gonna cry and did cry a little #john richard deacon born August 19 1951

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ofhamlcts · 5 years ago

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hi all!!! I’m Emily and I am absolutely thrilled to be here writing with you! I seriously cannot wait to begin plotting and writing and all of the angst we’re going to kill each other with! but for now, i’ll quit my rambling and start introducing the mess that is my child.

without further ado: larissa griffith aka hamlet

PINTEREST / APPLICATION

I do not - and will never - expect you to read my long ass, rambly application because we are all adults with lives!!! below, i’ve summarised the most important information into short(er) bullet points for your consumption! these should give you a good insight into who lar is as a character and serve as a launch pad for plotting!!!

(TW: Alcoholism and abuse)

larissa has strong roots in Britain's working class, going all the way back to the industrial revolution. traditionally miners, her entire family has a chip on their shoulder about Thatcher and that stand off with the miners, forcing them to turn abandon their traditions and livelihoods. instead, her mother was/is a careworker and her father was a factory worker.

she grew up poor - dirt poor - but her mother forbade her from knowing it. instead, she enlisted lysander to conceal the truth; a kindness on both their parts. she encouraged the pair to “make their own magic” - bus-trips to neighbouring towns to substitute for far-flung holidays, treasure hunts in charity shops instead of newly wrapped birthday treats, bargain hunting in supermarkets instead of gourmet dishes.

Lysander was at the centre of her childhood. Two years her senior, they were a two-pieced puzzle, complementary in their opposites. The boy with the bleeding heart, he was kindness personified; the first to befriend an outcast, accepting of people’s shortcomings, optimistic in his belief that the trajectory of life was up. Lysander was both best friend and brother, co-conspirator and protector.

Shit hit the fan after the 2008 financial crash. Her mother’s pay was frozen and her father was laid off. Faced with failure as a provider, husband and father - his identity eroded - he transformed into something else. He drank. A lot. At first, the drinking isn’t so bad. Between one and five glasses, he’s a joy. He sings Christmas songs in July and dances like he’ll never have the chance to again. After that comes the bits Larissa never saw. Arguments between her parents - over money, unemployment and benefits - soon grow physical. At the end of the night, her father always begs for forgiveness and promises to never drink again. Her mother always forgives him. And he always breaks his word. Lysander ensured she never knew what was going on in their house.

He protected her in other ways too. when Larissa was eleven, her father came home drunk and demanded she go with him on a father-daughter road trip. lysander intervened, first attempting to reason with him. when that fails, he orders you out. child that she was, larissa wriggled free from her father’s trip and fled to lysander’s room, where she knew she’d always be safe. hours later, Lysander pulled back the covers, his face shaded in dried blood and hastily applied bandages. come on, he urged, it’s time to go on an adventure.

Adventure turned out to be two children and one shaken mother moving into their grandparents house thirty minutes outside of Edinburgh. Determined to ensure that abuse didn’t blight their future, she insisted on both siblings sitting and passing entrance exams and scholarship interviews for the leading private school. Both she and Lysander passed. But from the very beginning, it was clear that they were different from everyone else. The other students had double-barrelled surnames and parents who were titans of industry and the creme-de-la-creme of society. Possessed by their own self-worth, they were the very embodiment of entitlement. Larissa despised them instantly, taking their existence as proof of a fundamental ill in the universe. It wasn’t fair that they had so much when she had so little, or that their families continued to be whole.

Lysander saw things differently. Fire and water, sun and moon - she had always known there were fundamental differences between the two of them, but hadn’t thought they would ever drive them apart. Whilst Larissa spurned her new school, preferring to bury her head in her work and befriend the librarians, Lysander threw himself head first into his new life, choosing to see the opportunity and kindness in his new peers. Bit by bit, the gulf between them widened - until they led separate lives. It broke her heart. Larissa didn’t know what to do with her sorrow except unleash it upon Lysander, leading to their one and only argument. She accused him of looking down upon his family and of being ashamed of them. She even used the words class traitor

Fences were only mended between the two of them on account of Larissa finding out what had really happened between her mother and her father - and realising the truth of her own past. Once she understood what Lysander had done to protect her, Larissa bit her lip and swallowed her pride; knocking on his door to apologise. From that moment forward, she swore she would do whatever she could to repay him.

More than anything else, Larissa felt guilty that she hadn’t known about her father’s true nature. Remorseful that she hadn’t helped. Whilst her family told her not to chastise herself, pointing out she had only been a child - Larissa insisted on bearing a cross and atoning for her sins. From then on, she swore to repay the kindness shown to her by her mother and Lysander and dedicate her life to protecting society’s most vulnerable, single handedly correcting the injustices she witnessed, whether they be gender, racial or class.

Larissa entered Ashcroft with her fists curled, ready to go to war and burn the establishment to the ground if that was what it took to succeed. Mind already made up, she decided that Ashcroft was like every other university - dominated by white men, more obsessed with statistics than welfare and infected with rampant sexism.

Sure enough, she got to work immediately. Unable to bite her lip, Larissa called out every slight, intentional or otherwise. Headstrong and stubborn, once she has the bit between her teeth she’s restless in her pursuit. In her two-and-a-bit years at Ashcroft, she’s prosecuted several successful campaigns. From picking apart the English literature reading list for being too colonial, calling out Lecturers on their sexist bullshit and launching a petition to force Ashcroft to divest from fossil fuel investments, no cause escapes her attention. By far, her most ambitious campaign was in her first year, once she discovered that Ashcroft’s cleaners - as agency workers - were being denied fair wages, holiday leave and sick pay. Outraged, she spearheaded a campaign to bring them ‘in-house’; the first person to arrive and the last person to leave the picket lines.

Larissa initially rejected Oberon Ashcroft’s invitation into the Imperium society. Invited after she stormed into his office and delivered a list of cleaners demands, she refused to join until he acceded to the cleaner’s demands. He did so immediately - trapping her in her own promises.

Larissa’s dislike for Octavia was no big secret. Her brother’s taste in partners has always been poor - so whilst she wasn’t surprised he went for another blonde heiress, Larissa was disappointed; knowing that it could only end in heartbreak for her brother. Girls like Octavia did not end up with boys from families like hers.

There’s no such thing as justice. That’s Larissa’s new motto; practically every other sentence out of her mouth since Lysander was arrested. Whilst her brother put - and continues to place - his father in the judicial system, she saw the writing on the wall from the beginning - suspecting that he was one small pawn in someone else’s game. There is no doubt in her mind that Lysander is innocent - nor has there ever been any.

Larissa offered to lie on the stand for Lysander; offering him the alibi that would have seen him slip the noose around his neck. He forbid her, telling her to think of her career, her freedom, her life. He didn’t know that there wasn’t a life worth living without him in it.

Besides, her life has changed beyond all recognition. Some of those changes are of her own making. Stricken by grief, she’s abandoned almost everyone and everyone who meant anything. Theresa was the first to fall by the wayside, abandoned without a moment’s thought. It’s too selfish to try to be happy whilst her brother rots. Academics go next - her grades slip letter by letter, until Headmaster Ashcroft writes sternly worded letters warning of a scholarship loss. She’s even lost interest in her causes; all injustices paling in comparison to the one committed against Lysander. In short, she’s turned against the world, half-gladly.

Coming back to Ashcroft was a bad idea, but she’ll never admit it. Her newly minted title of “sister of the murderer” is not an easy one to bear. Someone starts a rumour that she’ll be expelled from the Imperium Society. More people hope it’s true. Never apt at biting her tongue, she punches them - and half a dozen more - in the face.

Larissa has tried to convince Lysander to fight back - to launch an appeal, do an interview with the media to tell his story - to do something, anything! Every time, his answer is the same. Sadly, he shakes his head.

Octavia comes in the space between dreams and nightmares. Her beauty has been snatched from her, drained with her life force. She finds this version of Octavia an easier one to stomach. Without facade, Larissa can stare directly into her soul. How is it that dead, Octavia feels more human to her? Younger too - before her eyes, Larissa sees Octavia as she must have once been - a little girl with all the fire of life inside of her. Any hate borne towards her in life softens into pity. Catching her glancing at a photo of her and Lysander, Larissa asks the one question that will shake the universe. Did he kill you? With only half a second to consider the weight of that question - and whether she wants to hear the answer, Octavia shakes her head. No.

Larissa makes Octavia a promise. She swears not to rest until she finds the person who did. Not for her, but for Lysander.

#spectreintro #about #jesus christ this got long #so long that i couldnt justify putting like the fun hcs in #but just know that shes a stubborn bitch and oh my god that chip on her shoulder is MASSIVE #she hates injustice and rich ppl in particular and especially those who think her brother is guilty #very very very flawed #but also deeply humorous #with that very dry sarcastic very british sense of humour

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

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Local Teen fed up with Friends' Shit, Local Friends Having a Spat, Local Friends Fight a Ghost Instead of Each Other, Local Team of Youths Perform Exorcism

When Danny got to school, his friends were bickering, walking down the halls to their lockers stuck in a cyclical argument. “This school needs change and I’m going to make sure it happens!”

“Nobody wants this but you and your vegans!”

“It’s healthier for you, better for wildlife and livestock and does less damage to the environment!”

“People literally need meat products in order to live, what about them?”

“There are supplements that can stand in for meat without slaughtering innocent animals that have no choice in whether they get murdered to feed us!”

“Just like you’re giving us no choice in our alternatives?”

Danny couldn’t stand it anymore and got between them both. “Estrellas arriba, shut up! Go to class! No one wants to hear this screeching in the halls!” Tucker and Sam both stared at him wide-eyed and red-faced but Danny was already pushing Tucker away since Sam was usually immovable. “I can’t believe you guys. You’re both so clever - how can someone so clever be so stupid? How do you spend a week arguing over a temporary change that’ll never take hold?” Sure, Danny’s angry ranting in Spanish may have been getting him stares but that’s what his hoodie was for and he was too annoyed to care. Once they were in class, Danny went quiet and pulled out his sketch pad to lose himself in drawing whatever first came to mind. Hydra, the largest constellation in the sky, soon decorated the page until class actually started.

As the day progressed Danny shot out an argument on both sides and pulled his friends away from each other when they started yelling, determined not to deal with their bullshit more than needed. By the end of the day he’d had to come up with several new star-based swears because regular cussing didn’t cut it anymore. “Gods, I can hardly get to lunch without a Denobola shouting contest! You two deal with this without me!” Heading outside to eat his packed lunch in peace, Danny took solace in his last period being one without his friends. Who knew my least favorite class would be my only peaceful one? Those two better be done with this soon.

A cow float, a stage, a ‘meat on a stick’ stand, kids in steak and hot dog costumes, a guy with a grill that couldn’t possibly be legal to just put on school property, and a sign that read “United we eat meat.” These were the first things Danny saw when he got to school. Then he looked over at the other side of the schoolyard. A replica of the Mystery Machine, the biggest fake sunflower he’d ever seen in his life, and yet another stage were set up with people that Danny could only identify as hippies surrounding that stage with picket signs with “It’s easy being green,” and “Tofu for you” written on them.

“Literally, how?” Danny groaned as his friends both approached him, looking furiously determined and holding megaphones. He could feel the cold burn of his eyes flashing brilliant green once they were both in front of him. “Seriously, how did you even get this done! I know there aren’t that many vegans here at the school who could’ve helped with this Sam, so how’d you get it done?”

Sam rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed. “I paid some people to help us set up the stage on time, so what?”

“…How much money do your parents make that you ca-”

“So you’re a capitalist?” Danny was not going to punch his friend for interrupting him, that’d be counter-productive right now. Even if Tucker’s screeching in his ear nearly made that ear bleed. “You have the money and privilege to chose not to eat meat and you go and condemn the poor people who have to work their asses off to make ends meet and who literally need meat to live?”

“Enough!” Danny put a hand over both of their mouths. “Sam: you’re right, eating meat is bad for animals cause they die. You’re also disregarding the struggles of the poor and forcing your choices on the rest of the school like your parents do to you and like they do to everyone else through money and political power. And you.” Danny whirled around and pointed his finger in Tucker’s face. “This is going to ridiculous extremes. How did you even do this? Don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know. This is only a week-long change, you know that. Parents would’ve complained to the school about their kids being forced into someone else’s diets and the school would never do this again. More importantly!”

Shiver, mist. The sky darkened, the wind whipped up, and Danny swore he could hear cackling from everywhere. He looked over at the truck that Tucker had brought in and grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to punch you later for bringing a stars damned meat truck when we’re fighting a ghost who’s obsessed with meat.”

“That was my b,” Tucker admitted meekly. As the meat ripped out of the truck and flew through the air, Tucker and Sam slipped their wrist rays on and Danny ran to and slid under Tucker’s stage. The sound of something huge hitting the ground shook it, and Danny reached inside of himself. That humming ball of cold and void and out of reach stars, he plunged into it, and light washed over his body. The world changed, colors turning vivid and bright, strange colors he had no names for other than non-visible light raced into his eyes. The shadows were no longer black but silvery grey, the vast emptiness between molten starmetal and the blazing suns. Sounds and smells and sensations hit him that were all too alien to process. He reeled, nearly dropping the form. But he had something to do, he had a job to do.

Danny phased into the ground and popped up in front of the meat monster. It towered over him, so large Danny could barely see anything else. A check of his wrist showed that his ray was now pretty much melded into his hazmat. “Weird, question later, ass kick now.”

Tucker was shouting at the rest of the students, his wristray aimed at Agatha but attention on the crowd. “MOVE, GET OUT OF HERE!” Sam grabbed onto Tucker to try and pull him out of the way of an oncoming meat fist but one of the vegans sprinting away knocked her into him and they both went flying onto the grass. A snarl on his lips, Danny charged forward. He lashed out with his foot to the… head, he supposed, of the meat, and it staggered backward away from the student body. She swung at him with a hand that moved faster than he’d anticipated, and Danny went flying. The world faded into unreality and he passed through what he vaguely knew were trees and the ground before stopping and righting himself. He flew under the ground, legs merging into a tail - also to freak out over later - and he zoomed. He emerged right under her and missed his uppercut as she stumbled backward from the rays that Sam and Tucker fired. Another fist grabbed him and Danny was slammed into the ground.

After a failed kick to the hand, Danny concentrated on his wrist ray and lined up the trigger that was sitting comfortably under his glove. Pull and - Agatha screamed from within her monster host, and Danny flew free. His ray was clearly bigger than the others, but he also felt drained. “Reserve for bigger fights.”

Danny weaved around her next few blows, kicking and punching the construct of processed meat backward away from the fleeing students and his friends. Flying in circles to orbit the monster, Danny picked up speed and slammed his foot into the head of the meat pile and it toppled to the ground.

Danny took a moment to breathe, glad to find he could if he didn’t think too hard about it. A fist came into view and Danny went soaring up and up and up. He saw a plane fast approaching and moved into that safe spot between the world and everything else. He passed through the plane like it was a thin cloud of smoke before managing to stop. Then he dove, turning solid again when Agatha was in sight from within her meat construction. “Not a lot of mass but anything with this kind of velocity should do the job.”

BOOM

In the center of the crater, at least as deep as Danny was tall and twice as wide, a splatter of green pulled itself back together into a black and white-suited Danny Phantom, blue skin bruised a sickly purple-black where his cheek had impacted the ground. Picking himself up, the teen rolled his shoulder until it ached a bit less and saw Agatha there, staring at him. “Oh dearie, are you ok?”

“Surprisingly.” Danny rolled his neck. When he focused in on Agatha - he really could just see everything couldn’t he? - her face was warped and stretched larger than the rest of her.

“Tough! You being ok isn’t part of my balanced breakfast of death!”

Smaller chunks of meat came together into constructs about three-quarters of Danny’s size, five of them in total, and they grinned at him. This was when Sam and Tucker caught up with everything, apparently. Danny spun, heel tearing through the creatures like a knife, and landed to see Agatha being pushed back by Sam and Tuck’s wrist rays. “Fuck yeah!”

Danny’s celebration was cut short by his grasp on that deathly cold void slipping in the excitement, light washing over him with the warmth of being alive again. “This is inconvenient.” The meat monsters grabbed onto Danny’s limbs, reminding him that they were mere extensions of Agatha’s will. “This is even less convenient, how about no?”

As Danny was dragged through the air, something smacked him in the face. Catching it before it could fall out of reach, Danny felt a minor bloom of relief. “The Thermos! Maybe I can get it to work!” Seeing his family below, Danny hoped to all the stars in the sky that he was just going for a ride.

The ride stopped. Danny was dropped. A scream flew from his lungs, and Danny reached deeper, desperately grasping, to pull himself into the chill of the grave.�� The abyss met his call at the same time that his family looked up at the blur fast approaching. “Thanks for the thermos!” He shouted as he dove into the ground. Not waiting to see how that was handled he resurfaced to find Sam and Tucker bound in mounds of meat. “Work. Please work.” Danny aimed the thermos, poured his own cold heat shadows into the thing, and hit the button. A flash of blue light, a scream of defiance, and he capped the thermos. Gravity and heat washed over him again and Danny let out a sigh of relief, running over to pull Sam and Tucker out of the meat piles. “You guys ok?”

“I have meat and blood everywhere and I was nearly crushed to death.” Sam shuddered, even as Danny phased everything off of her. “I am the very definition of not ok.”

“My nightmares are scarred for life after that. That was freaky. What do we do with her?” Tucker’s voice sounded more robotic than Danny liked, he’d have to do something to help him back to normal.

Before Danny could answer that he heard footsteps and turned the thermos invisible. As he thought, his parents thundered toward him with the Ghost Finder in hand. “Just missed em, guys.” Danny pointed behind him and was relieved when his mom and dad jogged off after a nonexistent ectosignature. “Well, that was a shitty start to the day. We should go inside before someone makes something out of the crater here.” Danny, Tucker, and Sam all headed off to the nearest entrance to the school, thoughts going south. “What if the security cameras caught all that?”

“Oh, no, that you don’t have to worry about,” Tucker said. “I’m all over that in like, a couple of hours tops.”

“Good.” Danny waited until they’d gotten to their lockers, and stuffed the thermos into his bag before punching Tucker in the arm. “That is for bringing a stars damned meat truck when there was a food-obsessed ghost flying around!”

“Alright, yeah, that was stupid of me.” Tucker nodded. “I shouldn’t have done that. But uh, we all agreed not to do stuff that affects literally everyone without consulting each other?” Tucker and Danny both looked to Sam, who glared at them heatlessly.

The goth sighed and leaned heavily on Danny. “Alright, fine, ask people what they want first. Lesson learned. Can we talk about what we’re gonna do with Agatha though?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s a mindless monster or anything,” Danny started slowly as they walked toward their homeroom. “I think we can reason with her. Show her that change can be a good thing when it’s done right.”

“Alright, we can do that once we’re sure she’s not gonna try and kill us though, right? Tucker tried to go for a neutral, slightly teasing tone but Danny could hear - could feel a shakiness to him. “We are meat if you didn’t notice Danny, and I don’t know if her control over food extends to a cannibal’s diet. I don’t wanna find out.”

“I’m horrified and grossed out,” Sam groaned. “I’m all for not getting cannibalized. That’s the wrong kind of macabre for me.”

Danny shook his head, made some crack about how bad either of them might taste, and promised to let Agatha cool down before releasing her. “Now, Sam, about how you’re using your money to muscle people around.” Danny groaned as loudly as he could and Tucker waved him off anyway. “No no, she’s an activist and all that shit, she knows how capitalism effects the working class and the attitude that people can just get by without animal products..” Danny pushed both of hs friends forward while this conversation happened. It was going to be a long day.

That cooldown time happened to be the amount of time it took for the veggie week thing to run its course and be done with. The school was cleaned, though all the vegan students who’d showed up for the rally were questioned about any kind of explosives they may have tried to sabotage the meat truck with and the news settled in on a gas line story. Saturday arrived, and the trio all met up in the park. Away from all the dog walkers, readers and normal people having fun outside, Danny Tucker and Sam stood in a small clearing of trees, a few chipmunks shifting around above their heads and in the bushes.

“Tuck, you got the reports?”

“Roger. Sam, got your wrist ray ready?”

“Of course. Danny, remind me to tell your parents they’re awesome for making most of their stuff solar powered.”

“They hadn’t figured out how to tap the afterlife for energy yet, it’s the most efficient thing we got.” Danny shrugged. He pulled out the thermos, which hummed beneath his fingers with the contained energy of Agatha inside. Sam and Tucker couldn't feel it, so he chalked that up to another ghost thing. “Alright, Agatha, if you’re ready to talk to us, I’m gonna let you out now.” The thermos offered no response. Danny opened it anyway.

The bark on the trees darkened, the leaves turning grey and the branches and bushes rustling as birds and squirrels left in a hurry. The air turned colder and sharper, and the sunlight dimmed as green spilled out of the thermos and stained the air. Agatha took shape quickly, though her glow was dimmer than it had been before. Her eyes raked across all three of them and narrowed. “Well, children? You kept rambling on and on about talking whenever I tried to get out. What’s so important that you didn’t put me back in the Ethereal Plane?”

Tucking the name of the other side in the back of his mind, Danny offered his best-placating smile. It disarmed most teachers back when he wasn’t having as many problems, he was hoping it’d work here too. “Agatha, hi. I’m Danny, this is Tucker and Sam. I feel like we got off on the worst foot before, what with you trying to kill us and all.” Tucker elbowed him in the ribs and Danny shoved him back. The buzzing in the air grew louder, his skin tingled, and some small part of his brain kept screaming to shoot, to run, to do anything that could get this thing that did not belong away from him. “So, I understand why you were angry.”

“You, Sam, changed the menu to just one food group!” Agatha’s voice was rising to those terrible echoes in the mind, and the tiny voice got louder. Still it was ignored.

“I understand now that it was probably a bad idea. No one’s been going to the line in the cafeteria all week except fellow vegans,” Sam grumbled. “Still though, some change needed to happen. The cafeteria wasn’t giving us any healthy foods!” Sam was a good actress when it came to her voice. She sounded unafraid, ready to argue for hours. Danny could feel something off though.

“And healthy diets aren’t exactly easy to come by if you don’t put a lot of effort into it nowadays.” Tucker held out a sheaf of papers. “This, Miss Reece, is a report on the various health crises around the country because of the food they’re feeding us.” The papers were taken and Tucker let out as subtle a breath as possible. “I don’t agree with changing the menu to just one food group, no one in their right mind would. But I think we should still change things up. Is there any way you can help us do that?”

There was a long beat of quiet, where all that Danny could hear was the sizzle of patties on a grill, the crunch of lettuce being pulled apart, the chopping of a knife on a cutting board the came with Agatha’s presence. It was in the background of everything unless he focused. It was still there though, and it was so distracting with everything else happening. Agatha read, frown deepening as she did before she handed the reports on obesity and diabetes increasing in children of their ages and lower back to Tucker. “Alright,” she started, then stopped. A superfluous breath. She looked to Danny. “Well, I suppose that I was a tad extreme about everything. How about this?” She held out her hand, and above her glove, the green light that seemed to shine in all directions from her coalesced into the form of a burger. “I’m not sure they’ll accept me in the school kitchens again but I’m certainly able to make a meal for everyone.”

“That’s amazing!” Tucker crowed. “I’ve already sent a few texts and set up some online polls to find out what most people actually want out of their lunch, maybe you can help us with finding ingredients around Amity? Do you have a food sense?”

“Even if they don’t let you into the school’s kitchen you could still probably find a soup kitchen that’d definitely let you in,” Sam offered. “If you can create food from basically nothing, then I see no reason for them to turn you away.”

“Plus, since ectoplasm draws energy from heat and electricity, you can probably just relax in the sun and be able to pull out a full course meal.” Danny took in his friends’ curious looks and scratched the back of his neck. “My parents are the world’s best ghost scientists. I just asked them.”

“I’ll certainly look into that soup kitchen idea dearies,” Agatha said with a bright smile on her face. “For now though, I should be getting back to the Astral Plane. Sunlight is a nice substitute but after all that fighting I need a quick break.”

“I can get you back there without my parents noticing,” Danny offered.

“I only need to be invisible for that, dear,” Agatha assured them and faded out of sight. The chill and fading of the clearing dissipated, and Tucker and Sam relaxed visibly.

“Well,” Danny said as he pulled his notebook out of his bag. “That’s one ghost down.” He hoped it wouldn’t be too many till he convinced his parents.

Ao3

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