#i swear i had a mutuals tag lying around here somewhere

[identityarchitect]

totally just misread ur url as eliias-boopchard

i should change my url to that

[piastrinorris]

busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

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Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, drug content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: I literally had last chapter's cliffhanger planned before most of the fic pahahaha, thank you all for reacting exactly as I'd hoped. You're the best community of writers a gal (gn) could ask for. <333

The next five seconds seem to last nine whole days as you and Ralph stand in front of one another. 

You don’t seem to be running out the door, which Ralph is at least thankful for, but you’re not exactly looking certain about what’s about to happen. Surely, if it was your friends that told Ralph about this New Year’s tradition, you’d know full well about it, too. You won’t even look him in the eye, for crying out loud. Had you forgotten about this tradition, or something? Were you just approaching him to ask him something, not realising the time? You had been in the kitchen, after all, perhaps you’d lost track of time entirely.

Still, it’s the perfect moment for him. When else is he ever going to get a chance this good, to kiss you with no other consequence? Perhaps if this goes well, he can tell you all about the interaction he had with Pete- No, Ralph, we don’t talk about that weekend anymore. At least, not while that particular boundary is still very newly set. He’s still got to prove himself worthy of your forgiveness before he can toe that line again.

You manage to lock eyes with him as they flicker ever so slightly, as though he’s arguing with himself in his head. You wonder whether he feels obligated to kiss you, whether he even wants to. Had you predicted correctly, that he’d be far too flustered to kiss you under societal pressure, hence why he’d thrown that plastic mistletoe as if it burned him? And again, that circles back to whether it’s a matter of a lack of relationship between the two of you, or just a lack of attraction to you on his part.

Not to mention the fact that all of your friends are here. Sure, most of them will have their New Year’s kiss, too, but not all of them. Will you kissing Ralph be papped by one of them? Will it be the talking point of a whole other group chat? Will they assume more of what’s going on between the two of you? You once again contemplate the consequences of admitting to your friends that you’ve been lying about Ralph’s situation, about how well they’d take it versus how much they’d still trust you if they found out you’d had them hoodwinked for this long.

But there’s just about enough alcohol in you to convince you to say fuck it all, it’s New Year. Once Ralph’s eyes focus on you, you give him a silent, very subtle look, checking in on him. He swallows, and then nods gently.

Trying desperately to keep your smile of affirmation as small and soft, rather than the ear-to-ear grin that so badly wants to stretch along your face, you lean towards him. You expect Ralph to stay standing upright, so you’re surprised when, as your eyes close, you feel him sooner than you’d thought.

Just as the firework display broadcast on the TV starts to go off, your lips connect with Ralph’s for the very first time. The lips that press against yours envelope them - so plush and so soft, tasting ever so slightly of whiskey and lemonade - and his facial hair tickles all around your mouth as he keeps leaning. It’s just a peck, it’s not a real, deliberate kiss, but somewhere between the euphoria of finally getting this contact, the alcohol you’d already consumed so far tonight encouraging the butterflies in your stomach, the fireworks going off in your own imagination drowning out the ones on the television, and Ralph not quite knowing when to stop moving, you feel yourself become light-headed.

Your hand flies up to Ralph’s cheek to steady yourself, and he takes the hint by stopping himself, pulling himself back upright again. His ears resemble sun-dried tomatoes, and his blush has even reached his cheeks, just dusting along the top of his beard. He seems a little dazed himself. You try and gauge how he is by smiling at him, “Happy New Year, Ralphie.”

“Yes, rather!” he beams, still not apparently fully present. He nods to you as some movement catches in the corner of his eye, which he flickers over to notice, “Ah! Connor!” and head on over to his best friend. You start to go back to the kitchen, but take a detour into the bathroom to lock yourself in and just sit on the edge of Connor's bath for a bit.

You've kissed Ralph. You've kissed Ralph. And the universe didn't implode on itself, and he didn't seem to hate you for it. Your friends weren't all crowded around you, watching you like spectators at a zoo. It was… Just a kiss. A kiss that felt so good,  even if he did almost fall on top of you. You bring your face up to your cheeks, feeling as though you could turn Connor's heating off entirely and keep the house warm from your blush alone.

You splash some water from the sink onto your face and dab it dry a few times, in an attempt to cool your face off before making your way back into the main room.

Ralph feels as though he's walking on clouds as he recognises Connor. He can't even begin to process everything just yet. Connor, who had chosen to nurse his bottle of beer as his way to ring in the New Year, looks at Ralph and grins, "Happy New Year, mate. Did you end up near anyone?"

“I certainly did!" He beams, his head bobbing back and forth, before he stops and frowns. "But you didn't get to kiss anyone, now you'll have bad luck all year, will you not?"

Connor shrugs at him, scrunching his face up, "Eh, there's always 2024." Ralph looks puzzled as to why someone so insistent on a luck-based tradition would be so carefree about having bad karma for a whole year. Connor, seeing this, gets him back on track. "At least you got your midnight kiss in! How was it?"

Ralph’s eyes light up as he gestures wildly. "Oh, Connor, it's been quite the rush! I'd never had a New Year's kiss before now, why, I'd - the only time anyone's ever kissed me was my sister's friends, but I think those were dared to because they would run away in an instant and wipe their mouths to be rid of me, but my, what a rush kissing is when it’s not a practical joke! Why doesn't everyone do it all of the time?!" Ralph rambles until Connor puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"Easy, fella. Take a few deep breaths." Connor coaches him through a couple until he somewhat returns to a normal breathing pace. "Firstly, fuck them other girls for doing that to you. But I'm glad you enjoyed this one. Think it had anything to do with who you were kissing?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Ralph looks away momentarily, eyes unfocused and yet still staring intently at nothing at all as he escapes into his own thoughts. You kissed him. You kissed him! And he got to kiss you back and you didn't shove him away. You didn't run off to a chorus of "ew"s and "yuck"s. You were even smiling as you'd wished Ralph a happy new year.

Oh, drat. You'd said that of him and he hadn't even returned the gesture. What a terribly rude impression to leave, especially after having kissed you. What are people even supposed to do after they kiss? Was Ralph supposed to have stayed and kissed some more? The others certainly did, though they were very established with who they were kissing. Has he already locked shut the one open door that could have led him to a more fruitful relationship with you?

You’re ushered back into the room at the same time that Ralph is shaken out of his trance to make sure you both can take part in the singing of Auld Lang Syne. You end up between Scott’s partner and Ralph, linking hands with them both and singing away. Ralph doesn’t seem to really know the words, but he’s certainly having the time of his life bouncing his arms up and down and nodding along to everyone else’s singing. Scott, Anna and Grace take great delight in copying Ralph’s addition of swinging his hips from side to side as well.

When it stops, Ralph squeezes your hand. You turn to him, and he holds your hands up between the two of you. “Alright?” You ask with a laugh, unsure of what is happening.

“Happy New Year to you, too. Apologies for not remembering to say it back sooner,” he nods sincerely before dropping your hand and leaving you to simply watch him, in your confused state, go over and greet Scott for the new year, too.

From there, you all start to wind down with a few rounds of Jackbox, which has quickly become Ralph’s favourite game to play with everyone. Even when he doesn’t entirely understand the assignment at hand, he gives it his best shot, and unless there’s an outstanding answer amongst the group, Ralph’s always tend to get singled out and voted on unanimously, just for trying.

Grace and her boyfriend are the first to excuse themselves for the night, naturally. You glance over at Ralph, wondering what the vibe will be between the two of you once it’s just you two. No party atmosphere, no other people to distract yourselves with. Just you and him in the flat. He certainly didn’t seem too offended over the two of you kissing - him rushing over to Connor seemed more fuelled by the excitement of the night than out of a need to get as far away from you as possible, though he didn’t exactly stick around for more. Perhaps the whiskey you could taste on his breath had affected him already by that point - you wonder how much more affectionate-drunk Ralph you’re going to have to handle tonight.

The whiskey on his breath. You look over at him chatting away to Scott and his partner, stroking his jaw as he listens to them. His hand right where yours was just an hour ago, when his lips were pressing against yours, soft and sweet and eager. You’d overheard snippets of Ralph talking happily about his first New Year kiss, which explains his excitement over it. The rush of still experiencing new things must be exhilarating for him. It almost makes you feel bad for enjoying the kiss for other reasons.

Anna’s gentle touch of your arm startles you out of your trance completely. “Oh, god! I was miles away,” you giggle as you hug your friend goodbye.

“Staring, eh?” Anna smirks, and you panic, flustering as you try and think of an excuse.

“Just… Tired, is all. Wasn’t aware I was staring. Getting too old for all this staying up late nonsense, I think,” you chuckle under your breath, glancing over at her. “I think I was trying to see if Ralph was looking tired, too, and I crashed for a second.”

Anna nods slowly, a little too knowingly and disbelievingly, but the events of the night have you too mixed-up to notice that. “I’m sure he’s ready to go when you are.” Before you can say anything else, Anna’s shouting, “Ralph!” and extending her arms out for a hug.

Matching her energy, Ralph practically bounds over to her, wrapping her into an embrace so strong they both end up stepping side-to-side just to stay upright. “Happy New Year to you, Anna.”

“And to you, my little protégé,” she grins back at him, ruffling his hair before pulling away from him. “Are you staying for much longer, or are you getting sleepy?”

“Well, now that you’ve said that,” Ralph begins, the rest of his sentence lost in the yawn that follows. “Oh, goodness, excuse me for yawning like that in the presence of you both! How uncouth of me.”

“’S fine,” you say through your own yawn. “Anna’s being evil by making you want to,” you tease.

“Anna’s not evil!” Ralph defends with a frown, crossing his arms as his eyes dart back and forth between you and her.

Anna giggles, “Ralphie, are you just trying to get more head pats now?” The look he gives her says it all, as does the delight on his face when Anna reaches up to pet him again. “Who needs a puppy when you’ve got a Ralph, eh? Night, you two!”

You both chorus a goodnight before deciding between you to go around saying your goodbyes to the others, too.

You’re not certain exactly how you and Ralph came to be linking arms on your walk home - you didn’t offer yours out to him, he didn’t to you, and you would have felt it if Ralph had done it intentionally without asking you - though he’d never do that. But here you are, walking the streets of Croydon, the air still being littered with the occasional firework and thick with the sounds of celebration.

“So,” you break the silence between the two of you. “You’ve seen the year 2023 now. Mad.”

Ralph muses, “It’s not exactly the flying cars and automatic humans that I had imagined a hundred years ago!”

You laugh loudly, “I’m sorry to disappoint young Ralph there!”

Ralph shakes his head with a small smile, deliberately not looking at you as he says, “Oh nonsense, this life is far from disappointing.” He fears that if he looks you in the eye and tells you that directly, he won’t be able to stop himself from telling you how meeting you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and that he never wants to be without you again, and that -

Just at the right time to cut off that train of thought, he looks up and watches a particularly large firework go off, his face illuminating red and green with it as his eyes fill with wonder. Yet another moment in which you find yourself feeling that if your inhibitions were just the slightest bit more compromised, you could kiss him again. Again. Instead, you try and commit that face to memory as best as you can as he carries on walking, arm still wrapped around yours.

When you’re back up at the flat again, you notice Ralph’s collar is upturned at the end and start to fix it for him. As you do, all of the highs of the night seem to come crashing back down on you, along with the crushing weight of reality. This will be the last year you get to spend with Ralph. Almost certainly. This time next year, you’ll be coming back to an empty flat, all by yourself, just like all the others have been - except not like the others, because next year you’ll know the loss of Ralph’s presence. Next year won’t be filled with old-timey slang to censor swear words. Next year won’t have the constant need to explain every slight pop culture reference. Next year won’t have mornings filled with sweet greetings, chocolate button eyes and swing dances around the flat to start your day.

Your hand lingers as your heart sinks, and you look up at him slowly. His big, warm eyes look down at you with an emotion you can’t quite read. You wonder whether you could get away with one more kiss. Just a goodnight one. 

Ralph contemplates the same, except it would be his kiss. Not just one he almost fell into, but he could take your face into his hands and he could pull you close to him and he could keep kissing you until you knew just how much he cares about you. But he couldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair to you, assuming that you’d just let him have his way with you. He’s not sure enough about that, yet, despite the tiny bit of whiskey-addled brain telling him to go for it, anyway. If he’d have had a drink or two more, perhaps he would throw more caution to the wind, but he couldn’t risk alcohol clouding his memory. Tonight is something Ralph wants to remember for the rest of his life. His first real, reciprocated kiss.

He leans back ever so slightly to remind himself of the social boundaries of the platonic friendship the two of you share, and you clear your throat, letting his collar slip between your finger and thumb. “Don’t even know why I thought to fix that now, bit late, innit?” you laugh, and Ralph chuckles, too. You look into his eyes, and ask him, “We’re gonna make this one the best one yet, aren’t we?”

“Most certainly,” he grins back, and you pull him close for a hug. Maybe you can’t kiss him again. Maybe you can’t tell him how much you care about him, and how heartbroken you’ll be to live your life without him. But perhaps if you hold him tightly enough, he’ll know. 

You bury your face into his shoulder, and he rests his head on yours as you both sway gently from side to side. Your arms wrap tight around Ralph, willing every ounce of your affection for him into the embrace. He does the same back, and for a fleeting moment you wonder if it’s for the same reasons.

Until you remember how quick Ralph was to reciprocate Anna’s excitement just from the tone of her voice. Of course. Ralph always gives as good as he gets. That doesn’t mean he feels the same way every time, he went from hyperactive puppy mode to sleepy in a second back at Connor’s. You’ll never know the truth from subtle exchanges like this, but you can keep your happy little delusion alive for one day more.

Thinking that thought makes you yawn again, and Ralph chuckles in your ear. “You should take the bed, tonight.”

“I’m getting deja vu here,” you giggle, and Ralph makes a noise of confusion. “This is almost exactly how your first night out with us ended, remember?”

“I’d rather not, I made quite a fool of myself,” he admits bashfully. “But I did make a lot of friends that night.”

“You always do,” you tell him with a smile, still holding onto him. “Wherever you go, you can make anyone like you. Don’t ever forget that, will you?”

Ralph understands what you’re talking about, now. You’re still assuming he’s going back to his own time soon. “I don’t think there should be any reason for me to any time soon,” he says softly into your hair. He allows himself the luxury of placing his face into it gently. Not to kiss your head, but his lips happen to make contact with it as he rests his face against you to keep hugging you.

“Well, we’ll just make the most out of you while we still can, eh? Like I said, best year yet.”

“Absolutely,” Ralph whispers into your hair. “Suppose I should get my things ready to sleep on the sofa tonight.”

“Or…” You curse yourself as soon as you say it, knowing you've doomed yourself. What, are you going to suggest that you suddenly start sharing the bed now? Besides, with all of this talk of him going back to his own time, it’d only be another thing to add to the pain of him not being around. No longer having him wish you a good morning every day is one thing, to get used to waking up to him every morning just for him to disappear from your bed forevermore would be heartbreaking. “Or… If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Just go to bed, Ralphie, I’ll be fine.”

He pulls away from the hug and frowns at you, but you raise your eyebrows at him and he sighs in defeat. “Very well. Goodnight to you. Pleasant dreams. And a Happy New Year.”

“Same to you. See you in the morning,” you smile softly, rubbing your eyes before heading into the bathroom to get ready for the night.

Ralph wakes up unusually later than you the next day. You even manage to shower without waking him. Once you’re dressed - in another set of pyjamas and the bathrobe that Grace had bought you for Christmas, you consider knocking at the bathroom door but, as if knowingly, he swings the door open himself.

“Ahh, he awakens!” You exclaim, before groaning, “Oh, god, I sound just like my dad!” You start to laugh, but Ralph looks white as a sheet. “You alright? You look as though you’ve seen a gho-”

“Please do not talk of ghosts or anything of that matter to me!” Ralph cries out, marching into the bathroom hurriedly.

You frown, calling after him, “Ralph? What’s wrong?”

After a few moments he reappears, still looking shaken. “Well, I… I couldn’t get to sleep last night, and so I thought, perhaps I will ask the people that talk to me on the Twitter would recommend some light reading to help me doze off. Next thing I know, somebody’s sent me one of those… Long sentences you click on, and it’s got the word pasta in it, so I thought, well, perhaps it’s a tale of an Italian chef of sorts, how interesting, but…” He looks off into the distance, horrified, and you realise what’s happened. 

Quickly video calling your one friend who knows the website you fear Ralph has been on better than anyone, Connor’s yeah? doesn’t get acknowledged as you focus on asking your flatmate, “Okay, but Ralph, did the link just say pasta or did it say creepypasta?”

“Ah, fuck,” Connor says over the phone. “Okay, I’m with you now, I’ll be down after work. What did he read?”

Ralph mutters, “There were… Many… I did ask them to stop sending me the creepy pasta stories, but that seemed to egg them on tenfold.”

“How many times have we told you, never tell Twitter not to do something,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Ralph sighs apologetically, and Connor hangs up, promising he’ll be as quick as he can. You look at him sympathetically, “Well, you know what this calls for?” He shakes his head, and you beam. “Perks of getting a shit ton of skincare stuff for Christmas means… Self-care day! Go put on your comfiest clothes, you can use my old bathrobe too, if you like, we can do it together!”

Ralph takes a deep breath out and nods, heading back into the bedroom. While he does, you take your phone out and tweet:

You collect a variety of face masks and other skincare products together, finding as many large tubs as you can and filling a couple with warm, soapy water. Ralph meets you, wearing the white tee/grey sweatpants combo from his first night with you beneath your old bathrobe, and sits on the couch with you. “So, what is all of this?”

“Well, we’ve got different kinds of face masks, would you rather have the kind you smear on your face, or a sheet one?” You ask, holding different packets up.

“Um, well… These look a lot less messy… Would they still be alright with my facial hair?” he asks, taking a sheet mask packet from you.

“Do I look like I’ve got experience with beards?” You ask with raised eyebrows, making the pair of you laugh. A quick Google search tells you that with the amount that Ralph has, it shouldn’t be too bad. He still runs to the bathroom and trims it as short as he can get it while still keeping it, which you silently appreciate.

As you take yours out and apply it, you hear an, “Am I doing this right? It rather feels as if I’m not.” Based on how muffled his voice is, it sounds the same way. Once yours is on properly, you look over and burst into laughter as you see Ralph with his sheet mask starting halfway down his forehead, his eyes barely visible through the holes and the rest of the sheet hanging off of his face entirely.

As you fix it for him, you try and explain through your laughter why you find it so funny, “I’m sorry, it just looks like you’re some kind of serial killer who’s wearing his victim’s face!”

You feel Ralph’s eyebrows knit together beneath your touch. “A rather specific example. Not exactly a humorous one, either.”

“Oh, cheer up, Dwight Schrute, you’re all fixed up, now,” you giggle as you finish placing the mask on him. “Now, we just bring over those tubs and -” you let out an exhaled gasp of relief as you put your feet in one of them to soak. “Sensational. Go on, Ralph, you too!”

Ralph dips his feet in, and a delighted ooh! bubbles out of him. “That feels wonderful! But… But I wash my feet every day and it doesn’t feel like this!”

“Yeah, soaking just your feet hits different. Especially with your new job, you’re on your feet all the while, it’s nice to just give them their own little break.”

Ralph giggles as he wiggles his toes amongst the bubbles, and you find something nice and wholesome that definitely won't scare him to watch on the TV while you both relax. 

You later show him what a pumice stone is and how he should use it, though you lead by your own example rather than demonstrating on Ralph himself, which proves a good idea as you quickly learn through him that Ralph has very ticklish feet. After a highly entertaining twenty minutes, he finally manages to properly exfoliate and moisturise his feet, and so you move onto his hands.

“I don’t want them painted,” he states plainly with a slight frown.

“Good job I wasn’t offering to, then,” you smirk, “but a manicure is more than just painted nails. Look.” Despite you showing him how to refresh his cuticles, and properly clean out under his nails to trim and buff and shape them, he looks far too puzzled over it, and so you take his hand in your own. Last night still very fresh in your mind, you focus entirely on the task, terrified of how you might react to the tenderness of holding Ralph's hand.

After a few more products, you grin at him, “Now go have a look at yourself,” as you gesture towards the bathroom door. 

Ralph hops up, disappearing into the other room, but you can tell the moment he’s seen himself in the mirror by his immediate, “Good heavens! I’m simply glowing! Look at me! This is remarkable!” You laugh as he runs back out, mouth wide open in a grin of pure joy as he holds his cheeks. “Why, I look incredible! I feel incredible! This is spectacular!”

“You should tell all of your Twitter friends that you’re feeling better,” you smile, and Ralph’s face falls.

“I’m not so sure I can trust them,” he states, shaking his head.

“Nah, give it a go, I’m sure there’s some far nicer replies to that one tweet by now. Just don’t click anything with the word Reddit in it.”

Ralph goes back to admire himself in the bathroom some more as your front door knocks. You head on over and let Connor in, debriefing him on what had actually happened with Ralph and the tweet he’d posted.

“Yeah, I should be able to filter his feed in case he ever ends up on Reddit again,” Connor nods.

Your conversation is interrupted as you hear a scream of anguish from the bathroom. As you and Connor both rush over to the other side of the flat, Ralph comes marching out of the bathroom to meet you, brandishing his phone in outrage. “My tube is broken as well, now!”

Connor pulls a face, “Dare I ask what tube you’re referring to?” but you wave him off, knowing exactly what Ralph means.

“We’ve been over this, Ralph, the app is called YouTube for everybody.” Ignoring Connor’s snorts of laughter, you prompt Ralph to explain himself.

“Well, I tapped on the first reply that you can click on that I saw on the Twitter, and it was a video of a song, which I thought a little strange, how is that supposed to help? And so I scrolled down to the next one, and lo and behold, the same man! Every one that I click! Who is this mystery redhead and why can’t I see any other videos and why are you two laughing so hard?!” Ralph asks exasperatedly as you and Connor fall against each other, holding each other up as you crease up laughing.

“Oh, mate, you are a legend,” Connor grins at him. “You lot wanna do dinner together, since I’m here?”

“Uh, yeah, but we’ve not really got much in the way of drinks anymore, we’ll have to pop over the road.” You slip some shoes on and look over at Ralph, gesturing at the door with your head. “Coming?”

Ralph looks puzzled at you. “Without getting dressed?!”

“It’s the shops, mate, it’s hardly New York Fashion Week. Why, is there someone you fancy working there?” It comes out before you can stop yourself. It’s the way you’d usually tease Connor, but it hurts more to say the same of Ralph. Connor’s head also snaps to look at him intently.

Ralph simply shakes his head. “Well, no, but who’s to say you need to impress others before keeping your own dignity intact?! Whatever will people say of the people walking around in dressing gowns?”

“There’ll be at least three other people there in the same clothes, I promise,” you nod, kicking Ralph’s shoes his way. “C’mon, I’m not giving you the choice now, you can come with us and I can prove it’s not a big deal.”

Ralph shuffles uncomfortably the whole way there, trudging along behind you and Connor as you find some drinks, but also a dessert you could all share, as well as something for dinner tomorrow… As you’re getting carried away, Connor notices something and grins wickedly. “Dare me to do something truly evil?”

“Do it,” you grin back, and Connor takes his phone out, types at the speed of sound, and pockets his phone again. 

“Wonder how long that’ll take,” he muses as you carry on.

A few short moments later, Connor hears something familiar over the speaker playing through the shop and points upwards at it, grinning as a radio presenter says, “And now, someone who wishes to remain anonymous has requested a special song for a special friend. You know who you are.”

You and Connor look at Ralph expectantly, who seems totally disinterested in everything except others’ potential perception of him, despite nobody actually looking at him. He has no idea what’s happening around him - until a now-very-familiar song starts playing throughout the store. That’s the kicker that activates the sleeper agent within Ralph, that brings him back to life.

Looking horrified at the two of you, he wails, “I didn’t even tap anything this time and I can still hear it!” He wrestles his phone out of the pocket of the bathrobe he’s wearing, throws it down into your hands and yells, “Burn it!” as he runs out of the store.

You and Connor hold yourselves against whatever’s closest to you to keep yourselves upright as you laugh harder than you have in a long time. “Oh, we really are menaces,” you eventually sigh.

“Nah, it’ll do him good, get him working all that post-creepypasta tension out,” Connor shakes his head.

You give Connor your key and tell him to go after Ralph, that you’ll pay for your shopping and meet them back at the flat to explain everything to him. While queuing, you catch the others in the group chat up on the day’s events and invite them over, as well. Despite Scott’s joke of “ugh, don’t I get a day off from you people?”, everyone agrees to meet at yours.

You get back to the flat to see that Ralph has been quick to forgive Connor, as your oldest friend is now teaching your flatmate how to play a new song on his ukulele. You tell them to go practice in the bedroom so that they can surprise everyone with their performance, which Ralph agrees to, suddenly excited at the thought of putting on a show for his friends.

After the six of you have all reconvened, eaten together and laughed about everything that’s happened today, Ralph claps his hands together, “Would you all like to see something that Connor and I have been practising today?”

“I was wondering why you two were in the bathroom together,” Anna waggles her eyebrows.

“Hardy har,” Connor smiles back sarcastically. “Ralph couldn’t handle me as a lover even if we were compatible,” he jokes, making Ralph’s ears blush. “C’mon then, mate, let’s show them!”

You clap and sing along with the two boys as Ralph strums the tune of The Beatles’ I Wanna Hold Your Hand. You burst into a full round of applause at the end of the song. “Ralph! You did so well!”

“Well, it was a rather easy song to pick up on,” he admits bashfully.

“And at least it’s not bloody Taylor Swift,” Connor comments, turning his nose up, causing a scoff and crossed arms from Anna.

“Oh, because The Beatles are less basic?!” All of you start laughing at that, even Ralph.

“You know, there’s something different about the way you all argue and tease each other,” he states. “And I felt it when you played that practical joke on me earlier. Once it was explained to me, I actually found it funny, too. Not like the ones that are usually played on me.”

“Well, yeah, because like I said last night, fuck those girls from before,” Connor pulls a face. “And, y’know, it’s why we as a group work so well. We tease each other to show we care, it’s what we do.”

Anna sidles up to Ralph to coo, “Yeah, we bully you ’cause we love you.”

Ralph’s eyes wobble with tears as he whispers, “Love?” She and Grace nod, shuffling over to wrap their arms around him. “Nobody’s ever really - I mean, especially not as friends, I - I rather don’t know what to say.”

Grace and Anna each kiss one of Ralph’s cheeks, causing his ears to darken, as they cuddle up to him. Connor also reaches over to squish his cheeks together. “Course we love you, mate.”

“Definitely,” you simper. You consider saying something along the same lines as everyone else, but anything you could say catches in your throat. The thought of telling Ralph that you love him is far more daunting than the others, though you certainly don’t think any lesser of him as you do them. As you watch Scott animatedly tell Ralph what his presence has meant to the group, you start to fearfully ponder how platonic the love you feel for Ralph really is.

Once your friends have left for the night, you stretch out and yawn. “Suppose we should hit the hay, too, we’ve both got work in the morning,” you tell Ralph, but he’s staring at the dark void that is the open doorway to your bedroom. “Ralph?” You ask, holding his arm.

“I, um, is it any lighter in here than it is in there at night?” Ralph asks. “Oh, it’d be pointless, of course it wouldn’t, and I can’t sleep in the light.”

“Are you that scared, still?” You ask quietly.

“I know I shouldn’t be, that it’s silly to, but I just can’t shake the things that I’d read,” he shakes his head.

You sigh in defeat. It’s almost as if the universe wants this to happen. “What if… You weren’t alone tonight?” Ralph’s head snaps around to look at you, perplexed. “Well, yeah, I mean, we’ve shared before, right? And that way, if anything scares you, I’ll be right there. Sound good?” Ralph nods, and you smile at him, squeezing your grip before going to the bedroom and turning the light on for him. Once he feels comfortable doing so, he follows you in. “Any side you prefer?” You ask him, gesturing to the bed, and he points towards the side furthest from the door. “Oh, that works out perfectly then, I used to sleep on this side anyway!”

The pair of you get into bed, Ralph still trying to keep a respectable distance away from you. You reach around under the covers - an extremely dangerous game - and find his hand to squeeze it. “I’m here for you, remember?” You ask softly, and suddenly, in a complete 180, Ralph rolls over to hug your arm, his head naturally nestling on your shoulder, just under your jaw.

“And you’ll stay?” He asks. “Even while I’m asleep?”

You laugh softly, “Course I will, silly sod, why would I willingly go back to the sofa?”

“Always?” He asks, his voice thick with sleepiness.

One more day of delusion, you’d told yourself. Of course, that was last night, but it had technically been past midnight which means today still counts, right? You rest your head on his, since your arm is now being held captive, and close your eyes as you breathily tell him, “Yeah, Ralph. Always.”

Contented, he mutters, “Goodnight to you. Pleasant dreams.”

Your plan was to let him cuddle up to you long enough until he fell asleep properly, when you could gently shove him back away from you so that you weren’t embracing each other all night. But the soft snuffles of him falling into a deep sleep, his chest rising and falling as it rests against your side, his curls tickling your cheek. One more day of delusion, you repeat to yourself as you very gently press your lips onto the top of his head, safely knowing he’s too far gone to notice you doing it.

You don’t get to see the sleepy smile that adorns his face as, while he dreams of being in your arms entirely, something about the way his version of you kissing his head feels especially real.

next chapter

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Chapter XIV: Away To Nowhere Plains

nav | master list | playlist | pin board | chapter XIII

summary: a welcome home party in hawkins, a break from the whirlwind of rock n roll fame.

tags/warning: flirting, consumption of alcohol, weed, swearing, normal chill stuff nothing insane, LOTS of use of Y/n sorry guys nicknames are for couples!!!!! slow burn, mutual pining, tension as per usual

a/n: I MISSED YOU GUYS. i’m so sorry this took so long to update, i was following paramore around the east coast for a few weeks like a crazy person. should be posting waaaay more regularly now. please enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. please reblog and comment to support the author!

—

December 1986

You rub the sleep from your eyes as you wake, Eddie’s pretty face slowly coming into focus. “Hey, sleepyhead. How’re you feeling?” His voice is soft, soothing to your ears.

“Better this time around. I think you chased the nightmare off, I dreamt of you instead.” You weren’t planning on telling him, you blame your fatigue for the confession.

“Yeah? Was it hot?” He jokes, and you bite your bottom lip because yeah, it definitely was. “It was, wasn’t it?!” Eddie hops out of bed and starts pacing the floor. “Let me guess, we were somewhere cool, like the woods. We were camping! Yeah, and you forgot your tent, so we had to share, and bing bang boom we’re waking up the wildlife.” He looks back to you, eager for your confession.

You cackle at his guess. “Not even close, man. You were a fucking rockstar. Got up on stage at The Garden, and everyone was there for you. Kicked some fucking ass, might I add.” You leave the part where you jumped on stage out, not wanting to give Eddie any ideas for future Corroded Coffin shows.

“Can I tell you something?” He plops back down next to you, shaking the bed. “Remember the party? When you told me the band could be something, and I told you that was never really the plan?” You nod, and he sighs, “Well. I was lying. It’s been the only thing I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid. What you said meant a lot to me, and I wanted to believe you, but we’d just met, and I wasn’t sure if you were being serious or if you wanted to get in my pants.” He grins, and you know he’s joking.

“It was both, obviously!” You backhand him, and he fakes being hurt. “But mostly the former, I really meant it. I do mean it! You’re talented, you’ve got a great group of friends.”. You open your arms, and he scoops you into his, wrapping his legs around your waist like a koala. He mumbles something into your neck, sounding embarrassed. “What was that?”

He removes his head from your shoulder. With his legs still curled around you, he grasps you by the shoulders, as if to steady your already unmoving frame. He looks deeply into your eyes, and though he looks exhausted, he is absolutely stunning. You fight everything in you to jump him there, forget about a night out with friends, and just ravage the boy in your arms all night instead.

“I love you.”

You swear your heart stops. In fact, you are definitely dead. You died, flew into some deluded version of Catholic Heaven where you get everything you want, no consequence. Eddie tries to read your expression, and you hope to god he can because you sure don’t know what the fuck to feel. “You don’t have to say it back, in fact, don’t. Not yet. But I mean it.”

“I-“ Eddie cuts you off with a kiss, and you let him. You close the tiny gap between his chest and yours, and kiss him to convey all the feelings your words aren’t capable of.

“Now, put on something sexy, we’re going out tonight.” Eddie rolls off of you, snatching his towel from his chair on the way out of the room.

Holy shit.

-

Your POV

“Is anyone here to pick us up?” You ask, linking your arm with Steve’s as you exit into the terminal. The airport is bustling with families on their way to Disneyworld and Martha’s Vineyard for their summer vacations, meanwhile you’re about to spend a week in one of the most traumatizing towns of your young adulthood.

“Yeah, Nance and Jonathan are- and speak of the devil!”

Nancy and Jonathan approach from the other side of your gate, and you take off running. Nance catches you in her embrace, squeezing you tightly as you fall into her arms. “Hi, baby!” You squeal, keeping your old friend close.

“Hi, honey! It’s so nice to see you!” When she lets you go, you move to hug Jonathan as Robin and Steve say their hellos. Eddie and the guys are further back, sending waves to them. Nancy doesn’t accept that, though, and throws herself into Eddie. “Hey, Ed.” She mumbles into his shoulder.

-

Eddie’s POV

“Hey, Nance. Long time.”

“Too long!” She separates herself from him and backhands his chest. “Visit more!”

Eddie scoffs. “Hey, you’re in Boston now, don’t give me that shit!”

“Sure, but I come home every summer. I know you’re big and famous, but this is still your home!”

“How is the big guy?” He’s talking about Dustin, eyes betraying a glimpse of who Eddie used to be.

“He’s good. He misses you. We didn’t tell him, or any of them actually, that you were coming.” Nancy’s shy, suddenly.

“Because we weren’t sure if you actually were.” Jonathan explains, and Eddie nods, pressing his lips together. It makes sense, he’s made plenty of empty promises to visit already, only finally pulling himself together because of you.

“But you did! You came! Both of you came, which is even crazier. But it’s great! We’re having a party tonight, Steve’s hosting, we can all drive over together.” Nancy blurts, her mind moving faster than her mouth can.

“A party?” You ask, voice raising an octave higher than it usually sits. You sound nervous.

“Well, what us casual folk consider a party. You guys will probably see it as a pathetic attempt at one.”

“Oh, please!” Steve interjects, “My parties are never pathetic. I was the king!”

Eddie groans dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, man. We know, you peaked in high school.”

“I did not.” Steve crosses his arms, and your laugh draws Eddie’s attention back to you.

“I for one would love a Hawkins style party.” You add finally, a real smile spread across your face. “It’ll be nice to see everyone.”

Nancy nods, taking your carry on from your grasp. “Great! Let’s get you settled.”

“Did you book us a hotel? Eddie asks, surprised. That’s above any level of friendship he’s had with these two specifically.

They both laugh. “A hotel? You’re staying with us!” Oh, fuck.

—

Your POV

“So, my parents happen to be away for the week you’re all here,” Nancy starts, unlocking the door to her childhood home, a building that housed many a party, many a D&D game. “so we have it to ourselves! The couches up here and downstairs, the guest room, and obviously Robin and Y/n will be sleeping with me, to catch me up on the Hollywood Gossip.” Nancy winks at you, and you smile. You’ve missed her, missed Hawkins, despite everything.

“When are the kids getting here?” You ask. You mean Max, specifically. You owe her some money. Eddie and the guys make their way downstairs before Nancy answers,

“They’re at Dustin’s, they’ll be over later today. Something about needing to catch up on the news?”

You bring your palm to your face. “Shit. I was gonna tell you over drinks, lots and lots of drinks, but uh, there’s a rumor flying around that Eddie and I are, y’know,” You trail off, fidgeting like an embarrassed child.

Nancy brings her manicured hand to her open mouth, quick to hide her pity. (It doesn’t work.) “Oh, god. Are you? Sorry, that was rude. How are you handling it?”

You laugh, unfazed by her curiosity. “I don’t really know what we are right now,”

“So you’re something?” She smirks.

You roll your eyes. “We’ll always be something.”

She shrugs, a truce. “What are you gonna tell them? Tell Dustin? You know how he gets.”

You shake your head. “That’s Eddie’s problem.”

Nancy chirps a laugh, placing your suitcase at the end of her bed, and Robin’s backpack beside it. “Fair enough. But didn’t Max bet you the break up wouldn’t last?”

You snort, “Yeah, I owe the kid fifty bucks.”

“If I’d known we were putting money on it, I’d be freaking rich!” Robin teases, and you try to smother your grin. She’s right, she’d been betting on you and Eddie reconciling for the past two years.

“Sorry, Bob. Ya snooze, ya lose!”

“Speaking of snoozing, I need a nap before this party. Pretty sure I broke my neck on the plane.”

-

Nancy rouses you and Robin from your slumbers gently, shaking your shoulders while whispering that “It’s time to get up, rockstars!” The time on her old alarm clock blinks 4:15PM, both you and Robin had slept the day away. You take your time getting up, stretching your limbs slowly as your eyes adjust to the sunlight, streaming through the blinds. Your stomach growls loudly, and Nancy chuckles. “Pizza’s on the way! We’ll eat before we go to Steve’s. For now, though, go get dressed. Remember your bathing suits!” She’s in Mom mode, taking care of you and Robin while running around like a crazy person.

You dig through your suitcase, coming up empty handed. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Yes you do!” She takes your suitcase from you, pulling out the skimpy bikini from beneath your piles of clothing. It’s black with cherries on it, and teeny tiny. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It’s a cute bikini, but it’s super inappropriate to be wearing around the kids.

Robin seems to read your mind, though. “They’re all adults now, y/n. You don’t need to walk around in a mumu. Plus,” she wiggles her eyebrows teasingly, “we both know who’ll love this number.”

You groan, snatching the fabric from her grip. “Fine! But you have to wear your yellow one. I’m not gonna be the only one walking around almost-naked.”

She giggles, agreeing. “Doesn’t bother me!” She finds her suit in her backpack and leaves the room to let you change.

-

Eddie’s POV

“So, why are we staying here if we’re having the party at your place?” Eddie asks before biting into his pizza.

“Because Nancy insisted on staying here, but she can’t host a party to save her life. Plus, I have a pool.”

“Your parents have a pool. You live in a tiny apartment in Seattle with two other people.”

Steve shoves Eddie’s shoulder. “Man, shut up. At least I have friends to live with.” Eddie’s face falls, and Steve notices immediately. “I’m sorry. That was too far.”

He shrugs. “It’s alright, you’re not exactly wrong.” He’s glad he’s not home right now, it gets lonely there. The thought of seeing all of his friends again, though, is still overwhelming him. He has no idea what he’ll say to Dustin, or worse, what Dustin will say to him.

Before Eddie can panic further, though, you and Robin enter the kitchen. You’re in shorts and a tight black t-shirt, the strings of your bikini visible underneath. Your short hair is clipped to keep it out of your face, the vibrant color having faded since the beginning of the tour. You send a small smile his way, melting Eddie’s insecurities, even temporarily. He can’t seem to peel his eyes from you as you walk over to the counter, helping yourself to a slice of pizza. He has to fight the urge to walk over to you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his head on your shoulder. It practically pains him, when you’re out of his reach.

“Eds?” You snap him out of his trance, waving a hand in front of him.

“What?” He shakes his head, as if to rid the image from his brain. “Sorry.”

You grin shyly, and Eddie could melt at the sight. “I asked if you’re ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m all set.”

Your smile widens, and you hold your hand out for him. He takes it, expecting you to drag him out to the car, but you pull him hooking, hooking your arm around his. “Okay, then. Shall we?”

He can feel the eyes of the room on the pair of you, his cheeks warming. You don’t seem to notice, only looking up at him, your eyes shiny and warm.

-

Mere hours later, Steve’s parents’ house is full and loud, music bumping through the surround sound speakers. Eddie’s in the kitchen nursing a beer when Dustin enters. He’s grown taller and more muscular since the last time Eddie’s seen him, and the beginnings of a beard pepper his face, making him look more like a man than the last time he’d seem the boy. Susie’s on his arm, smiling kindly when she meets Eddie’s eyes. “You wanna drink, Dusty?” She asks sweetly, and Dustin nods. She exits the kitchen, leaving the boys alone.

“What’s up, Dusty?” Eddie tries to joke, extending his hand for Dustin to shake. He swats it away, instead pulling Eddie into a much needed hug.

“Hey, Eddie.” His greeting is muffled by Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie returns the hug without shame, wrapping his arms around Dustin’s shoulders. The two stay like that, long lost brothers seeing each other for the first time in years.

“Missed you, man.” Eddie finally says when Dustin breaks the hug, holding Eddie at arm’s length. “You're lookin’ great.”

“I’ve been hittin’ the gym a little, check this out,” Dustin flexes a bicep, the beginnings of muscle protruding from his arm. Eddie chuckles, nodding an approval.

When the small talk dies, neither speaks at first, unsure of where to take the conversation besides the elephant in the room. “How’s tour treating you?” Dustin finally asks, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Susie returns with two sodas, handing one to Dustin and sipping the other.

Eddie shrugs, taking another sip of his beer. “It’s been alright, pretty standard stuff.”

Dustin chuckles, and the sound is deeper than Eddie’s used to. “Standard, huh? Touring with the ex love of your life?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right to the point, huh?”

“Obviously, man! I haven’t seen you in years, and the one time you come back, it’s with all this new information I’m not aware of! You know I hate being out of the loop!”

“I know, and I owe you a lot of information. Trust me, I wanna tell you everything,” Before Eddie can continue, you’re stumbling into the kitchen, giggling drunkenly with Robin as you wobble to the coolers in the corner.

“Hi, boys! Oh my god, it can’t be. Is that Dustin freaking Henderson?!” You gasp dramatically, pulling a big smile from Dustin as he approaches you. You swing your arms around his neck, having to get on tiptoes now to reach him. He wraps his arms around you, and you sway as you hug him tightly.

“Hey, Y/n.” He greets warmly, then releases you to hug Robin with the same welcoming arms. “Hi, Bob.”

“Hey, buddy.” Robin hums, rubbing Dustin’s back as she hugs him closely.

“Sorry to interrupt, I know you guys have a lot of catching up to do. But we’re about to play chicken, and I need a partner.” You look from Dustin to where Eddie is, leaning against the counter, opening his fourth beer of the night.

“What, me?”

You roll your eyes. “Obviously, silly. C’mon! It’ll be fun.” You’re wasted, eyes glazed over and posture loose. It’s impossible to say no to you.

“I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay!” You sing, hooking your arm through Robins again. The two of you exit the kitchen, into the back yard. Eddie can’t look away as you peel your shirt over your head, revealing a tiny black bikini top.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Munson.” Dustin taunts as Eddie pulls his stare from your silhouette.

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously? You can’t tell me that is how friends look at each other,” He mimicks Eddie, staring open mouthed at the wall, eyes wide and unblinking. “It’s pathetic!”

“This is why I haven’t come back here, Henderson.” Eddie teases, backhanding the kid’s stomach. “Can’t deal with your know-it-all bullshit.”

Dustin snorts a laugh. “Hey, man, I'm just callin’ it like I see it.”

-

Your POV

You dip your toes into the cool water while you wait, letting the feeling contrast with the alcohol induced warmth of your body. You feel a presence sit next to you, another pair of feet meeting yours under the water.

“Hey, kiddo.” You greet her, leaning your head on her shoulder.

“What’s up, big shot?” Max leans her head on yours, her way of hugging you without committing to it. She looks the same, despite being a little taller, and maybe her hair’s gotten a little longer.

“Oh, y’know. Same old.”

She snorts. “Word on the street is you owe me some money.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get that to you this week. Nice to see you, too.”

“Hey! It is nice to see you! I haven’t in a while, I’m sorry.” Max wraps her arms around your shoulders. “I missed you, y’know.”

“I missed you too, Maxie. How are things?”

“They’re alright. I don’t live here anymore, that’s a big plus.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods. “Moved out after college, got a place in the city with Lucas. I’ll show you some time this week maybe?”

You nod. “For sure.”

“But enough about my endeavors, how are you? Y’know, with all this shit going on?”

You shake your head. “I dunno, dude. Weird, I guess. Everything’s weird.”

“I take it you and Eddie aren’t officially back together, then?”

“Not exactly. But not, not together. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all. Good to see you two haven’t changed too much.”

You giggle, nudging her shoulder with yours. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, c’mon! You two used to dance around the idea of dating before you started. You think we didn’t notice? I was fifteen, not stupid! It took you so much time to admit you liked each other, then even more time to figure out you needed to break up. Now here we are again, watching Eddie and Y/n tiptoe around their feelings for each other.”

You sigh, the alcohol not letting you fully grasp what she’s saying. “I hate when you’re right.”

She grins smugly. “I know, and I’m sorry. It happens a lot.”

Before you can respond, Eddie throws the screen door open. “Who’s ready to play some chicken?” He’s very drunk, but not in the sad and angry way you’re used to seeing him lately.

Max gives you another grin, and you roll your eyes before getting to your feet. “You’re in for it now, team Scoops.” You point across the pool, where Robin and Steve stand in their bathing suits discussing strategy. Eddie shoves his pants to the ground, revealing a too small pair of swim trunks you're sure have belonged to him since freshman year. He tugs his shirt over his head, discarding it with his pants in the grass. You do your best not to stare at the tattoos scattered on his torso, littering his arms. You refuse to look further than his chest, not risking even a glance at his waist, his hips. Instead of gawking like you want to, you pay close attention to undoing the button of your cutoff shorts, shimmying out of them and tossing them onto the chair beside you.You’re completely exposed, standing only in the tiniest bikini you own because it was the only one you could find before leaving.

As much as you don’t want to draw his attention, the feeling of Eddie’s eyes on your body surges your confidence. Without looking back, you get into the pool, taking each step slowly to adjust to the temperature. It’s fairly warm, and you say a quick thank you prayer. You definitely cannot be walking around with pointy nips right now. Eddie wades in behind you, splashing you in his wake, steps clumsy. Once he’s settled, he turns to face you, squatting so the water reaches his chest.

“You ready, sweetheart?” You try not to seem fazed by his slip. He stopped calling you that after you broke up, and the only times he has since then, he’s apologized for it. Now, though, with his guard down and his judgment obscured, he smirks at you like he knows what he’s just done. You pretend you don’t get it.

“Sure thing, Munson.” No pretty boy, not even this drunk. He’s not yours, not now.

If he notices, he doesn’t let it show, keeping the same expression as he motions you forward. You’ve done this hundreds of times, over the course of the few summers you had in Hawkins. You and Eddie used to drive over on Fridays and stay the weekend with Rob, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan, babysitting the kids and enjoying your time as immature adults while you still could. It feels the same, even after all those years have passed, you’re still in the same small town, with the same group of friends, playing the same stupid games. You climb onto his shoulders, and try not to react when his hands grasp tightly on each thigh, locked on either side of his head.

“Alright, listen up!” Dustin has gathered the rest of your friends beside the pool, while scattered guests you barely remember from your semester in high school crowd around to spectate. “This is Drown The Chicken. The first person to fall off of their partner loses. There will be three rounds, each one five minutes. A shot of liquor will be taken by the loser after each round. If both opponents fail to knock the other off of their partner, a tiebreaker will take place. Today, the tie breaker will be…” He pauses for dramatic effect, and Mike takes the opportunity to slap his legs in a drumroll. “A shotgun race!” The whole backyard cheers, and you groan. The worst thing about these kids being in college, is that they’re too young to realize drinking is not the only thing adults do. It is one of the most fun, though.

“Both members of each team will shotgun a malt beverage of their choosing. First one to finish wins the tiebreaker for their team, and therefore the round! At the end, the losers will have to drink a shot of the winners’ choosing!” The four of you nod in understanding. Regardless, you know you’ll have to drink at some point. “On your mark, get set, GO!” Will clicks his timer, and the party guests start cheering, egging you on. You hear shouts of, “I’ve got ten on Munson and L/n!” and “Kick his ass!” and Robin reaches for you suddenly, catching you off guard. The music is cranked through the speakers, giving the match a soundtrack of Pixies’ Here Comes Your Man. Steve wades toward you, Robin clutching a handful of his precious hair to keep her balance. You take advantage of his winces of “Ouch, Rob, not the hair!” and shove, sending Robin almost entirely backwards. Steve catches her at the last second, wobbling as he tries to keep her out of the water.

“Lucky shot!” Robin shouts, stretching her arms out toward you. You lean back, and Eddie catches you, gripping your thighs tightly on his shoulders. He moves with you, saving your equilibrium, and you stretch towards Robin. The two of you tangle your arms, while the boys below you swat at each other, hurling meaningless insults and taunts. Finally, you gain the advantage, shoving Robin’s shoulder with enough force to send her backwards, slipping quickly from Steve’s grasp. She splashes into the water, submerged up to her neck. “Shit.”

“That’s one for team Hellfire!” Dustin claps his hands loudly as he hands your opponents each a shot, and you giggle as Robin struggles to climb back onto Steve’s back, their skin now slippery with pool water.

“Nice moves.” Eddie cranes his neck, and you meet his eyes. His face is soft with intoxication, his guard lowered. Yours is higher than ever, though, and you look away before he can reel you in any further.

“Round two!” You repeat the motions, this time while Smells Like Teen Spirit blares from the radio, and your former classmates yelling and cheering for their preferred team. Robin catches you by surprise, kicking one of your knees enough to throw you off balance, then shoving you to the side. You topple off of Eddie’s shoulders, into the cool water. You stay there for a second, keeping your eyes closed to avoid looking at Eddie’s surely disappointed expression.

But when you dare to peek through one eye, the other still tightly shut, he’s smiling at you. Not his usual toothy grin, the one he gives to his friends. His smile is soft, lips pressed together as if to stop them from quivering with a rogue giggle.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself. You have to remember he’s drunk.

“What now, Munson?!” Steve sends a splash at Eddie, and he scoffs in mock disgust.

“Boys, please, you’ll have plenty of time to play mermaids after Eddie and I kick your ass.” Eddie giggles as you climb his back, repositioning yourself on top of him. It’s more difficult, now that both of you are soaked from the neck down. Dustin hands you both a shot, Eddie’s whiskey and yours vodka, and you both down them easily.

“Final round, people! This round wins it all! See Max to confirm your bets. Are the teams ready?” The four of you give variations of a confirmation, and Dustin shouts, once again, “On your mark… get set… GO!” You square your body to hold better balance, as Eddie and Steve approach each other slowly. Eddie’s hands grip your thighs tightly, and you hope he can’t feel the heat growing between your legs. Not now.

You continue to dodge and dance around each other, narrowly missing one another as you swing your limbs, stretching and reaching for Robin as Eddie tries to sneak around Steve’s guard. After five long minutes, Dustin startles you with the newly found volume in his voice. “TIME’S UP! WE HAVE A TIE!” You can hear the conflicting emotions of the crowd, probably correlating to their own predictions. “Y’all know what that means!” The four of you sulk as you leave the water, defeated by the dreaded tie breaker.

Lucas passes you each a can and a miscellaneous tool to puncture it with. You’ve barely grown to like beer, even after months of being surrounded by it, but it’s the only thing available that you’re physically able to shotgun. You’ve chosen a Red Stripe, in honor of your teammate.

“The rules of the tiebreaker are as follows: You will puncture your can when I say go, and you will chug for thirty seconds before opening the top. The first person to finish their beverage wins the tiebreaker for their team. Got it?” Eddie groans a confirmation, while you and Robin nod and Steve taps each side of his face lightly to psych himself out. Dustin counts you off again, and you each stab your cans, quickly rushing the liquid into your mouth. Will counts from 30 out loud as he watches the timer, and the crowd is eerily quiet, focused on the race in front of them.

“30! Crack ‘em open!” You do as you’re told, quickly snapping the tab of the can to relieve the pressure. You can tell you’re slowing down, grossed out by the bread flavored piss water sliding down your throat. Luckily, though, Eddie is devouring his own, his head tilted to make sure he’s getting all of it. The feeling between your legs has returned, and you quickly shoot your gaze to Robin, who’s also struggling to finish her beer. In reality, this is a race between Steve and Eddie, winner takes all. All in this case is bragging rights, and probably a horrible hangover.

Eddie is the first to finish, lifting the can above his head in celebration. Thank god, too, because you definitely shouldn’t consume another shot.

“We have a winner!” Dustin runs between you and Eddie, hoisting each of your wrists to the air as the backyard guests cheer and boo and yell. You chance another look in Eddie’s direction, admiring his whoops of victory as he high fives his bandmates.

_

Eddie’s POV

It’s 3AM as the party starts to die, and people he’d never spoken to in high school approach him to say their goodbyes. Eddie is pulled into hugs, handshakes, and conversations with his former bullies, and girls that never looked at him twice. Though his eighteen year old self would be relishing in this sudden change, he’s tired. He knows it’s not real, that none of these people even care about his art. They care that he’s famous, and that they know someone famous. But the only person in this room that knows him is behind him, falling asleep on the basement sofa.

“Hey, Y/n?” Eddie is finally able to approach you, after breaking away from another pointless conversation. “You wanna get going?”

Your eyes slide to his face, glassy and warm with inebriation. “Aw, you’re leaving?” You pout, staring up at him, and he could melt. You’d been talking about going home not five minutes ago, but it’s clear your brain has stalled.

“Only if you wanna. We can stay as long as you want.”

“I can come with you?”

He can't help but laugh, you’re so cute like this, so soft. “Of course you can.”

“I thought you were sick of me.” Your face slips slightly, lips twitching into a frown.

“What?” Eddie shifts so his whole body faces you. “I could never be sick of you.”

You shrug, clearly not understanding the gravity of his words. “I dunno, we’ve been in close quarters since tour started, I don’t mind giving you space if you need it.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to feel his own drunken insecurity surface. “Are you sick of me?” It’s barely a whisper, but you hear him.

Your eyes widen quickly, shocked at his words. “No! Eddie, of course not.”

“Okay, good.” He flashes you what he knows is an unconvincing smile. “You wanna go home?”

You shake your head. “Can we go for a walk?”

-

Predictably, you end up back at Hawkins High, the parking lot pitch black in the buzz of a summer night. Even looking at it, Eddie feels the chill of his memories washing over him. This is where he was stuck for six years, where Steve had shoved him into a locker their freshman year, where Jason Carver had made his final senior year miserable. It is the building that harbors Eddie’s darkest thoughts, where the seed of his shame had sprouted from. Where he had to deal with Chrissy’s death, and being framed for it.

But it was also where he met you. Where he’d introduced you to some of his closest friends, where he sat with you at lunch every day, dancing around each other until after midterms. As much as Eddie still hates to admit it, and as horrendously tacky as it sounds, high school is where he’d fallen in love.

Eddie lets his eyes wander in the darkness, knowing you won’t catch him in your hazy state. Your arms hang limply by your sides as you stare up at the school building, seeming to admire it. He wonders how being here must make you feel, as someone that left as soon as they could. It hadn’t been easy for you either, restarting your entire social life in your senior year.

“Do you ever miss it?” Your words catch him off guard, your voice almost inaudible even in the quiet.

“Hell no,” He scoffs, and feels you shift beside him. “I spent way too much extra time here to even think of missing it.”

“Okay, maybe not the actual, physical place. But, don't you miss how easy it was?”

“You’re joking, right? We fought an underground of Hell Monsters, Y/n, that wasn’t what I’d call easy.”

You groan, and he chuckles at your drunken frustration. “Christ, okay, I mean how small our world was, before all that hell monster shit. We didn’t have to worry about people outside of Hawkins, outside of the little bubble of our friends.”

“And you miss that?” He’s genuinely curious. You had always been looking to move, spread out beyond the small town your parents dragged you to. He never expected you to miss it.

You shrug. “Sometimes, yeah. Despite everything that happened, I was happy here. I had a home.”

Eddie’s vision blurs with the implication of your words. Of course, you’d had a physical home, but you'd also had him. And Steve, Robin, Nance, the kids. You’d never had a solid friend group in Boston.

“I miss parts of it,” He finally confesses, turning his head to fully look at you again. “Some more than others.”

You look for him, finding his eyes easily in the dark, and he adjusts quickly to see you better.

“You think things will ever be that easy again?” There’s a hint of optimism in your voice, and it begs him to join it, just for a second.

“I really, really hope so.”

-

Your POV

Somehow, you and Eddie find your way back to Steve’s, tiptoeing clumsily through the front door to a mass of passed out Hawkins alum. Steve is sprawled on the couch, while Dustin and Mike are on the floor beside him. In the basement, Will and El are cleaning the empty bottles and red solo cups from the absolutely destroyed basement, bobbing and weaving around members of Corroded Coffin and DDA, and they inform you Lucas and Max have gone back to Nancy’s already. Upstairs, the rest of your friends are in respective bedrooms, sleeping to prepare for their unavoidable hangovers.

“There’s one room left.” Eddie leads the way to Steve’s parents’ bedroom, the only one left untouched by party guests.

You peel the heavy comforter back, shimmying off your shorts, so tired and so absolutely plastered at this point, you don’t realize he’s watching as you untie your bikini top, letting it fall to the floor.

“Whoa! Um,” Eddie spins himself to face the window, losing his balance as he does. Even though he can’t see you, he still smacks his hands over his eyes. “I, uh, I’m gonna go find a spot on the floor.” He begins to sidestep towards the door, still refusing to look at you without a top on.

“Eddie,” You know the alcohol is making you flirty, and you’ll probably regret this tomorrow, but fuck it. You’re on vacation. You tug on Eddie’s shoulder, turning him to face you. He keeps his eyes glued to your face, barely blinking, definitely not letting them wander. “Stay here.”

He clears his throat, wincing. “Y/n,” Your pout cuts him off. “What’s that face for?”

“It’s weird, hearing my name out of your mouth. It was always sweetheart. Or baby, or pretty, or love. Now I’m just Y/n.” Your words slur together, exhaustion taking hold. You let your fingers dance up his bare arm, his shirt still somewhere in Steve’s yard. Still not daring to move his eyes from your face, he has an answer almost immediately.

“You’re not just Y/n, you’re Y/n! The Y/n, actually, a songwriting, vocalizing, rockstar badass. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“Well then, the Y/n wants the Eddie Munson in bed with them.” It’s a bold choice of words, but you don’t care. You need him right now, even through the thick fog of the liquor.

“I want to, you have no idea how badly i want to, Y/n, I promise you that,”

“Then why won’t you?”

“Because I shouldn’t. I can’t.” He’s blunt. There is no arguing, he’s made up his mind.

And still, you prod him with inquiries. “Is it because we’re drunk? Because I trust you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Ed.”

He sighs, his hand finally moving to caress your burning cheek. “It’s because we’re drunk, but not because I'm scared of hurting you. I can’t let our first time together in two years be something you’ll regret tomorrow, but I also can’t chance either of us forgetting it.” He says it quietly, like he’s had the volume on himself turned down. You’ve heard him anyway, but it takes you a second to digest what he’s said.

“Okay,” You accept his answer, and before he can turn to leave you add, “Can you just sleep next to me?”

Eddie hesitates for a second, searching your expression. He must find an answer, because he nods. “Okay, sweetheart. But I gotta have you put a shirt on. For my own sake.”

You giggle, the satisfaction of hearing your nickname making you malleable to his words, nodding in agreement. Eddie exits the bedroom, and returns a bit later with a piece of fabric in his hand. His shirt. Of course it’s his shirt, what was he gonna do, give you Steve’s to sleep in?

You’re surrounded by his smell, his warmth, instantaneously. You crawl into the king sized bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You hear Eddie’s pants drop to the floor, before he climbs into bed, hoisting the covers to slide underneath them. You scoot back, and he knows now to wrap his arm around your waist, without the weird hesitation and awkward shuffling before you give up for the sake of comfort. Eddie rests his face behind your neck, the warm exhale of breath tickling your skin.

“Goodnight, baby.” He mumbles into the fabric of your-slash-his shirt, and your body vibrates with glee.

“Goodnight, baby.”

-

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @gaysludge @poisonedluv @eddiesguitarskills @kellsck | send a message to be added🫶

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (4)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

tags&warnings: spoilers for S3 eps1+2 mainly, some for later episodes also; mention of drug use; brief description of a panic attack; sleazy David Rodríguez is sleazy; somewhat liberal use of the f-word and also other swearing; reference to past canon character deaths; this blog is CIA station chief Bill Stechner-phobic to the max; most non-graphic, vaguest possible reference to sex (to when Javi goes home with that lady in episode 1); oblivious mutual pining; idiots with zero emotional self-awareness; domesticity

word count: 15.435 (I’m sorry, here are some snacks 🍌🥨🧁🥤)

summary: Diana goes into the lions’ den. Javier is not having a good time. No one gets enough sleep.

tag list & author’s notes have been moved to the bottom. let me just say sorry this took me so long and I hope you’re all well and healthy and happy holidays and may the new year be better for all of us 

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals  • Chapter 3 -  Swallow Pride and Anger

Chapter 4 - Prime Numbers

Franklin Jurado, Diana thinks, is a bit of an ass. It's not even that he happily, willingly, goes around laundering narcos' blood money, or that he gets rich off that himself. In this moment, it's mostly the way he dismissively rolls his eyes and can barely keep the contempt out of his voice when arguing with her about Maltese vs Caymanian tax loopholes. Like she's an idiot for actually reading the laws, spotty as they are. 

On top of everything, it's keeping her in her office well past the time she was meaning to start getting changed and dolled up for the grand party that night, and she feels a pressure headache of annoyance building behind her temples to boot. 

She's this close to bludgeoning the man with her stapler when an insistent knock sounds at the door, followed by a blonde head poking in. The blonde lady starts speaking in rapid English, too abrupt for Diana's brain to keep up with what is being said, but she instinctively recognized the tone of a husband being reamed out with righteous indignation and if nothing else, it gives her a certain kind of vindication. 

"Hi, I'm Christina Jurado. Just Christina is fine. Pleasure to meet you!" The other woman now stepped fully into her office, holding out her hand and smiling just a tad too brightly. 

"Diana...Galindo." Why she'd chosen to be known here under her married name is anyone's guess. Perhaps it was mostly a matter of having grown used to it. Perhaps it allowed her to pretend that this wasn't quite her, just an act to be put on for a greater purpose. That helping drug cartel bosses hide their blood money from the tax man and signing off on their henchmen's paychecks was something that Diana Teresa Artemisia Rivas Rincón would not be caught dead doing, no matter the circumstances. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Franklin, we'll be late!" the other woman throws over her shoulder. Rather pointedly, too. 

"We're not done discussing-" 

"I don't care, Franklin!" There's a moment of very animated eye contact, the kind of wordless back-and-forth that she'd dreamt of developing with Juan Mateo but that they never quite managed. Just another little detail that ultimately spelled the end of their marriage. "Actually, why don't your ride with us?" 

"I, um-" Diana instinctively reached to adjust the wire she'd been wearing for most of the day (to get used to the feeling and not inadvertently betray herself later), only catching herself in the last moment and fidgeting with the collar on her blouse instead. "I- Felipe was supposed to drive me. I need to get ready still, too." 

"Eh, he can tag along. What are you wearing? Do you have your dress here?" She did. There was no arguing with Christina, but no malice in her overbearing imperiousness either. Nonetheless, Diana tried to argue, if only for politeness' sake. How she wouldn't want to impose. That it wasn't a problem, since Miguel Rodríguez had very kindly arranged for her transportation in the form of the afore-mentioned Felipe. Mrs Jurado waved it all off. And perhaps the obvious annoyance in Franklin Jurado's eyes gave her a little push. Say what one might about the Rodríguez brothers, but at least neither of them had ever questioned her professional expertise. 

Before she knows what hit her, the three of them are sailing out of the building and towards the cars parked out front. Well, Christina is sailing, while Franklin and Diana are trotting along behind her and shooting each other sour looks. It's the kind of wrathful indignation that she hadn't felt since second grade, when Bruno Moreno had pulled her pigtails and stolen her pencil. Christina seemed unperturbed, ordering the drivers around in her accented but surprisingly decent Spanish. Felipe caught Diana's eye, wringing his hands and questions in his eye. 

"It seems I will be riding with Mr and Mrs Jurado. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to follow us to their hotel and then take my work clothes back to the office after I've changed? I'd hate to have to lug around my stuff or leave it lying around somewhere. You'd be a great help this way, and as far as I'm concerned, you can go straight home after that." 

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded, seeming relieved by the clear instructions. Diana smiled and handed off her garment bag to the Jurados' driver. 

The drive itself could have been more awkward, what with being caged in the back of this limousine with two strangers, one of whom all but openly despised her and spent his time pouting after his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that if a single word of work talk left his lips she'd shove him out the door and into oncoming traffic. Luckily she also had made it her personal mission to pack half an evening's worth of small talk into the barely twenty-minute-ride. 

The Jurados' suite was grand, the lounge alone bigger than the house Diana had grown up in. She was still trying not to show how out of place she felt among all the marble and gilded edges when Christina steered her towards the back, still prattling on in a way that the DEA would have a lot of fun picking through when they got the recording from her wire. 

"Ugh, this place is so... Sorry, we wanted the president's suite, but one of the North Valley people snatched it up. Their... Who is he, Franklin? That unpleasant little man - is he the leader of the pack? With the young woman we saw when we checked in. Was that his wife?" 

"Salazar." Franklin muttered, his face curdling into a deeper frown. At least Diana wasn't at the top of his most hated list, apparently. "Yeah, I think so honey." 

"She looked awfully young." 

"I'm sure we'll meet them all at the party." 

"Something to look forward to." Christina grimaced and pulled Diana into the spacious bathroom, settling her down in front of a gigantic vanity mirror. 

"Alright, what are we doing with you?" Diana looked at her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her while Christina started pulling her hair free from the simple clip she'd used to hold it up. 

"I, uh-" Diana pushed her glasses back up her nose and frowned. "I have contact lenses." She gestured vaguely towards her reflection. She had also packed a small bag with the handful of make-up items she owned, but lack of practice didn't exactly serve to make her adept at using them. Christina grinned excitedly, her whitened teeth shining. "Well no, that won't do! Hang on." 

She sprung up and rushed towards the door, only stopping when she reached her husband who had lingered there, leaning against the frame.  

"Hey you." For a moment, they softened, stealing a small kiss amid halted momentum. Diana ached to witness it. "Hey yourself." 

"Go get changed." Christina smiled, kissing his cheek as she brushed past to dive into her suitcase. 

"You're telling me? Don't take too long, we're on a schedule here." The words were softened by his tender expression, and as she walked past on her way back he reeled her in for another, deeper kiss. Diana pretended to be very invested in not poking her eyeballs out. Well, half-pretended. Putting in contact lenses was another thing she wasn't exactly used to. When she'd finally managed to fumble the second lens onto her eyeball, Franklin had long left and closed the door. 

Without further ado, Christina set to work. Within moments, the marble counter was covered with various cosmetics and the other woman's eager hands set to work. Diana had no choice but to submit. Thankfully again, it was Christina who shouldered the bulk of the conversation. 

"So, I did notice you're not wearing a wedding band, Mrs Galindo." Diana's eyes were closed, as her eyeshadow was currently being blended, but she did stiffen and instinctively her other hand went to touch where her ring had been. "Oh damn, I hope that wasn't- He's not tragically deceased, is he?" 

"No, we're...separated. Divorcing. It's... it's dragging on, to be honest. I've learned more about Colombian marriage law in the past year than I ever wanted to know." She tried to diffuse with a joke, but it didn't quite land. 

"Sorry, you must think me so rude. We only just met and here I am acting like we're friends!" She bit out in a jarring departure from her hitherto genial tone. "Anyway, I admire you. That can't have been easy what with how...uh-"

"...Catholic this country is?" Diana supplied, clasping the other woman's hands in hers with a slight smile. Christina huffed in relief. "Yes, I suppose. It's just... it's so hard. Marriage I mean. Sometimes I don't even know how to bear it." Her gaze fell towards the bathroom door that Franklin had closed behind himself upon leaving. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "How did you even know you couldn't go on like this?" 

Diana gulped, hating what she was about to do. Resenting, for a moment, women like Gabriela who only had to sell a bit of their time and acess to their bodies to these people. She felt like she was selling away her soul every single day. 

"Mrs Jurado-"

"Christina. Please, you can call me Christina."

"Christina, let me be honest. I never truly loved my husband, and he didn't love me. We liked each other and it was convenient, and expected, to get married. And in the end that proved to not be enough. But from what little I have seen, that's not something you and your husband have to contend with. Even if things are hard, as long as there is love you can overcome them. You have to believe in that." 

Christina choked out a tearful little laugh, like in spite of herself. 

"Oh God, good thing I haven't put on mascara yet. You're making me all dewy-eyed." She chuckled, then threw her arms around Diana and gave her a tight squeeze. "Thank you. Really." 

"Of course," Diana awkwardly patted the other woman's back, thankful that she wasn't currently facing the mirror, "and I would be happy to become your friend." Whatever ice had remained between the two women was broken after that. Christina perked up and returned to chatting animatedly, finishing her make-up, doing up her hair in a very elegant twisted bun, and gushing over her dress.

"Do you have any jewelry to go with it?"

"Not really, no. I only ever wear this." Diana indicated the thin silver chain around her neck. Christina tutted. 

"Well, that just won't do. Wait, let me just-" An impatient knock at the door interrupted her. "Oh dear, looks like we're running late."

Diana saw a chance to get a moment alone and suggested they each get dressed quickly, and separately, lest they waste any more time and husbandly nerves with their chatter. 

"Okay, but holler if you need help with the zipper or anything." 

Diana had never squeezed into a garment faster, glad that she had chosen to put on the wire device that morning already. She tugged the actual wire tight around her body where it had loosened over the course of the day, then shimmied into the underdress she'd brought in the hopes that it would conceal any suspicious bumps or lines. She had almost wrestled the zipper into its final position when Christina knocked and entered, quickly getting the last inch or so with a comment of how husbands were useful for some things. 

"Anyway, I thought these would suit you." Christina presented an opened velvet case. Sitting inside it was a jewelry set, sapphires with diamonds set in gold. Real ones, judging by the Cartier labelling embossed into the velvet. A necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring, all fancier and more ostentacious than anything Diana had ever set eyes on. Immediately, her palms started sweating. 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-" 

"Nonsense." Christina cut her off, placing the case down and snatching the bracelet and Diana's wrist. "You'll look so pretty and expensive. You can return them to me later, we'll be in town until Tuesday." Having clasped the bracelet around her wrist, she now moved on to the earrings. "Maybe we could get coffee on the weekend or something." 

"I'd like that." Diana lied. Christina smiled at her brightly. "Great! I just need to ...uh, freshen up a moment." Taking the hint, Diana gathered up her things and stepped outside, awkwardly holding her bag of of work clothes to give to Felipe down in the hotel lobby. Franklin was standing by a sideboard, boredly rifling through a magazine. 

"Mrs Galindo." He acknowledged. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to add something, but caught himself. Diana followed his gaze towards the closed bathroom door, behind which low noises of shuffling and splashing water could be heard. 

"How long have you two been married?" She had no idea how this information might help the investigation, but determined that wasn't for her to worry about. Franklin sighed, gaze still fixed on the door and absent. 

"Seven years now." He finally tore his eyes away from the door and let them flit over her briefly, catching on the borrowed jewels but electing not to comment on it. "They say the seventh year is the hardest, don't they?" 

"I wouldn't know. I never made it that far." Though if Juan Mateo didn't pull his head out of his ass soon she would spend the seventh year still technically married. The thought made her frown. 

Before either of them had to search for more overburdened smalltalk, the bathroom door blessedly clicked open and Christina emerged with a wide grin and a spring to her step, her eyes just a smidgeon glassy and too bright. Diana politely pretended not to see the remnants of fine white powder that Franklin surreptitiously wiped from her nose and upper lip. --- They arrived not exactly on time but not fashionably late either. There's a line of cars already plugging up the driveway to the sprawling estate, stringed lights illuminating against the darkening sky. They got out and sauntered towards the two-storey villa, the Jurados up front and Diana trailing behind like the kid that's finally allowed to come along to the fancy family outings. Her dress hadn't felt this tight in the store, or at any point afterwards, until just now. 

"Franklin! I'm so glad you're finally here! Mrs Jurado, it's a pleasure." Diana can only just contain the flinch at the sound of this voice, and before long Miguel Rodríguez turns to her with one of his bright, self-satisfied smiles. "Mrs Galindo, I'm so glad you could come. We need to introduce you to the rest of the guys! It's been too long!" 

He has his arm around her shoulders within the same breath, exuberant and steering her through the scattered throngs of people at a pace that doesn't even allow for snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters floating around. She plastered on a fake demure smile. The 'invitation' hadn't exactly been a matter of mere suggestion. 

Miguel led them to a dainty pagoda that sat a comfortable distance from the pool and most of the din and chatter of the other guests, nestled between the luscious greenery of the large garden. Diana could hear the mumbled whispers of the Jurados behind her, Miguel's droning on of meaningless small talk that she barely paid attention to. She could see Gilberto's back, his stature dwarfed almost comically by that of a much larger and broader man sat to his side, with short silver hair that gleamed in the low light. 

"Gentlemen, I believe we are complete!" Miguel boomed, ushering her up the few steps and into the circle. 

"Mrs Galindo, what a pleasure!" Gilberto shot up and made a show of shaking her hand and pulling her close to present her to the rest of the ...associates. 

"Now I believe you've not yet met these fine gentlemen. Pacho Herrera, Diana Galindo." Pacho stood and took her hand gingerly, his face impassive and tone painstakingly polite and neutral. "My pleasure."

"Mr Herrera." Diana replied, heart thumping up into her throat. They'd not so much met as passed each other in front of offices or meeting rooms a handful of times, his tightly coiled, jaguar-like energy always seeming just a smidge out of place in those blandly corporate spaces. 

"And here's Chepe, came all the way down from New York especially!" The large man with the silver hair stood to his full impressive height, snatching her hand with a wolfish grin and dropping a just-too-moist kiss on the back of it with a wink. Diana did her utmost not to flinch. For just a moment, she regretted the moment she'd taken off her ring and put it in front of a shocked Juan Mateo on their kitchen table before leaving their shared apartment. It was moments like these that she missed the protection it had afforded her from some unwanted advances. 

Pallomari was last, balding and skittish, with huge owl-eye glasses not unlike the first pair she'd ever had. 

"Mrs Galindo, how interesting to finally put a face to the name." He greeted, sounding painfully rehearsed. Diana returned with some meaningless pleasantry, hyper-aware of the wiretap device against her skin. She wondered whether it even picked up anything apart from the thundering of her heart. 

"So, about your big announcement-" Miguel began once everyone was settled into a seat with a drink in hand. Gilberto cut him off almost immediately.

"Now, now brother, let's enjoy the party a bit beforehand." A look passed between them, a challenge issued and accepted, until Miguel turned his gaze away with a barely concealed snarl. Gilberto leaned back in his seat, glass raised with a smug and triumphant smirk. "Let's just say that I have made an important investment into our future. We will continue to thrive, but more importantly, we will be safe. Our families will be safe." 

With that cryptic remark, he threw back his drink, expression melting from jovial to grim. The ensuing silence made the hair on the back of Diana's neck stand up, a feat she wouldn't have thought possible with the amount of hairspray Christina had encased her head in. 

"He's dead, Pablo's dead." Miguel reached over where she was squished between the two men, squeezing his brother's arm in reassurance. "He's gone and we helped bring him down." 

"We did. This country should build us monuments, instead they issue arrest warrants!" Gilberto bit out, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. 

"To Pablo Escobar, may he forever rot in hell!" Chepe bellowed, glass raised high. They all joined in. Diana thought of her father. How he'd done her hair and walked her to school every morning and tucked her in with a new story every night when she was a girl. How, during her first year of university when she'd been so lonely and homesick she broke down crying, he'd taken precious time off work and taken a night bus to come visit her in Bogotá for a weekend. How her heart still split down the middle whenever she so much as thought of the crash that killed him. But the gentlemen didn't need to know that she despised them just as much as she did Escobar, not yet anyway. So, she raised her champagne alongside and joined her voice in the chorus of gleeful condemnation. - She'd just escaped Christina and the gaggle of wives for a moment, excusing herself to the restrooms. What the DEA might glean from their inane chatter, she couldn't possibly fathom. She was glad that she was free of them for a moment, and that disecting the recording wasn't her problem to deal with. On her way into the house, she must have passed by at least two dozen important and powerful people. There were a few handfuls of representatives, a number of mayors, at least two senators, an attorney general and an army general. No one she'd ever voted for, at least. And those were just the ones she'd managed to get Miguel to introduce to her, or her to them - either way, she'd made sure to repeat every name as clearly as possible for the recording. 

Rounding the last corner in from the veranda, she all but ran into Salcedo. 

"Mrs Galindo." His tone was clipped as ever. She wasn't sure whether he might be suspicious of her in particular, or whether it was a general thing and he was just like that. 

"Mr Salcedo." She nodded, tone painstakingly polite. He set her teeth on edge, always so stiff-backed with that serpent edge to him; in a ranking of people within the cartel who had this effect on her he would probably come in about third. She wondered what Javier- what Agent Peña would make of the man. "What brings you here, Mrs Galindo?" Or perhaps he just didn't like her for some reason. Which was very much a mutual sentiment. Not that she held particular sympathies for anyone here. 

"To the restroom?" *Take a wild guess, buddy*, she thought, one eyebrow arching with clear condescension. 

"To the...house." 

"The restroom." She resisted rolling her eyes. As much as she may personally dislike Miguel's chief of security, purposely antagonizing him was probably a bad idea. And yet, petty temptation beckoned in every nook and cranny. Like the sideboard they were currently standing in front of that displayed a solid bronze statue of a very rotund dancing couple. "To marvel at the Botero, naturally." 

Salcedo's eyes followed her nod towards the heavy bronze. "It's genuine, you know." He said it not in the tone of an art aficionado, but rather in the crudely suggestive one of a third-rate telenovela detective trying to be slick by not outright asking if she meant to steal it. 

"Of course, Mr Rodríguez wouldn't stand for anything less." The thing was half her size and probably twice as heavy, what was he thinking? Himself a master at subtle insinuation, probably. Or that being poor and growing up in the comunas naturally meant she had sticky fingers. Uptight, hoity-toity middle class prick. Like his employers weren't internationally wanted criminals of the highest degree. The audacity of it!  

His mouth was already halfway open to retort when his name being yelled from outside made both of them turn. David Rodríguez hung onto the veranda door, snapping at Salcedo that his father wanted him for something, and pronto. Diana could practically hear his teeth grind in irritation, but he schooled his face into a carefully blank facade before he gave David a nod. 

"Ma'am." Salcedo gave in and moved, squeezing by David. David purposefully did not budge, instead giving her a leery once-over before following after the other man. 

Diana fled into the bathroom down the hall in a manner she hoped looked urgent rather than as panicked as she felt inside. She held it together until the lock slid closed, and then she was crouched on the floor, curled up and heavy breathing into her hands. The small pressure point of the wire recorder thingy felt like a ton weight against her chest and her heart was beating so fast she could feel it everywhere. 

Hyperventilating. You're hyperventilating, her brain supplied unhelpfully, and she almost laughed at herself. She wished she wasn't here all on her own, wished she had at least one of those spy devices in her ear for some moral support, tried to recall the exact feeling of Agent Peña's hands on her shoulders, warm and grounding. One hand remained up, muffling the desperate breaths and whimpers from her mouth, while the other dropped, thumb dipping underneath the fabric at her chest to brush soothingly across her collarbone. It worked...to a degree. A very small degree. What she would give to at least have the deep, comforting rumble of his voice, or the way he'd held her close after the festival. Did he even know how calming his presence was? It always seemed to work on her, in wrath and anxiety both (something that Juan Mateo had never been able to affect unless it was to irritate her more). So much so that now even just focusing on it was enough to help her pull herself together. 

The guest restroom was bigger than her childhood room had been and, of course, looked more like it belonged in some fancy hotel. All warm-toned marble and matte gold appliances. The mirror was huge and its frame, naturally, also gold. What was it with rich people's obsession with gold? 

"Okay." Diana said to her reflection, then went to work freshening up. Carefully, she wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick where it had come off on her drink earlier. She stuck her hands underneath her dress to check on the recording device, concerned that a wire had shaken loose or something, but the small rectangular container still sat right snug right against her sternum. She gave it an absent tap and adjusted the microphone bit so it sat just below the seam of her collar again. 

"I hope you'll get something worthwhile from this because I am never doing this again." A knock on the door nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Diana swore under her breath, then called out that she'd only be a moment. 

"Sorry," an apologetic female voice came from the other side of the door, "You've been in there a while, is all. Are you alright? I have an aspirin in my purse if you need it." 

Diana stopped dabbing at her still damp eyes and tried to determine whether her near panic attack was the sole reason her vision was still a bit hazy. She could count the times she'd been out without her glasses on one hand. 

"Oh no it's just-," she crossed over and unlocked the door to find a young, very pretty and very concerned looking woman on the other side, "I just had some trouble with my contact lenses. They're awfully fiddly." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "All yours." 

"Oh I don't-" She looked down the hallway, further into the house, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of something or someone outside of Diana's field of vision. "Actually, I think I need to...uh, powder my nose or something." 

The door fell into its lock the same moment the younger woman had stepped into the room, not giving Diana a chance to leave. Not that she was over-eager to get back outside and mingle with the corrupt and criminal. That and the discomfort and anxiety hung around the other woman like a cloud. Diana made up her mind, sitting down on one of the plush benches in the room. 

"I'm not a big fan of parties either." She stated, voice careful and soft. The other woman stood, unsure and tugging at the short hem of her dress. 

"I wish they could just open the buffet already. My husband is three drinks in and he gets-" She trembled. No, shuddered. Diana patted the space beside her on the bench, a gentle invitation. 

"It's alright, we can stay here for a little bit. I'm Diana." 

"Maria." She stuck out her hand, which was also still trembling slightly. "Maria Salazar." --- By the time the two of them dared venture outside again, there was indeed, finally!, food to be had. Diana pulled Maria along to the relative safety of the gaggle of wives, busy amusing themselves while their husbands dealt with their important business matters. But then, the bandleader announced that the dancefloor was now officially open and started off with a spirited selection of the finest Colombian rhythms of the past twenty years. One by one the wives were collected to fill said dancefloor, leaving Diana sitting alone at the table with the sad remnants of various canapees and salads. Here was another occasion where she didn't miss Juan Mateo. Or his two left feet. Idly, she turned the near-empty cocktail glass between her fingers and wondered whether Javier danced, or could at least be persuaded to try. 

"You don't dance?" David appeared so suddenly that she almost spilled the last bit of her drink. She remembered his leering earlier, forced her face not to flinch until she had raised the glass and could hide her  expression of distaste behind a sip of the overly sweet and fruity cocktail. Hummed non-committally and hoping against hope that he'd grow bored and leave. Of course, she had no such luck. 

"Oh, whom with? Everyone's paired up already." Sip again. The glass had another three or four in it, if she stretched it smartly enough. "I'm afraid third-wheeling is the unenviable fate of divorcees." How old was this boy anyway? She must have ten years on him, at the very least. But apparently he'd got it into his head that he must prove to himself what a man he was, and how irresistible. At least he had the good sense not to try anything with the wives of any of the powerful men present. 

"Dance with me." David stated. Ah, bingo. He might have at least pretended to ask, she thought sourly. "I insist." 

Of course you do, you entitled brat. "It would be my pleasure." She lies, as most politeness is lies, here in these circles comprised of snakes. Fakes a smile the way she's been taught to by this world, so easy to act and conceal the disdain underneath. It doesn't falter even when his hand, clammy and slightly sweaty, settles way too low for comfort or propriety on her hip. She resolves to step on his feet - accidentally - at least twice. 

David Rodríguez was not what one would call a skilled dancer. At first, Diana had been thankful that the band wasn't playing any slow songs yet, but it had taken approximately half of 'Bamboleo' to dispel the hope that this would keep David's hands from wandering. Well, if she was stuck here she might as well try to get some intel out of him. 

...It takes about two and a half songs - the band now switching to their international collection - to determine that this route of inquiry is absolutely doomed and David completely useless. Doesn't know any business particulars, and doesn't care to. Too distracted with trying to put some moves on her, which she steadfastly ignores. Well, if details of her failed marriage and dragging divorce aren't enough to discourage him, she's got another one up her sleeve. Not to mention she's been curious ever since the gaggle of wives had made their introductions earlier. 

"You're not married." She leaves the 'yet' unsaid, hanging in the air between them as heavy insinuation. 

"If I were, would I be dancing with you?" A faithful husband, and in these circles at that? What a novel idea. Diana almost snorted out loud. Left it at a telling look that seemed to go over his head completely. Doesn't have the energy to dissect how a dance with a friend or acquaintance at a party isn't exactly on par with, say, the juridical definition of adultery. Which brings her mind back to the tedium of having to explain to various lawyers, notaries, judges that no, her husband wasn't a cheating pig who drank and beat her, and that there were a multitude of quieter reasons why marriages failed. 

"I have been wondering, though, where the third of the Mrs Rodríguezes belongs. Besides your mother and your aunt." She nodded over at the three women in question, one dancing with either Rodríguez brother, the third being currently twirled about by Chepe and looking a bit motion sick from it. 

"My mother is dead." Ah, shit. Diana faltered, and this time the graze of her heel on his shoe really was entirely accidental. Something in David's eyes shuttered and hardened, gaze for once lifting from her body and darkly fixing on his father. "They're all my uncle's wives." 

"Oh. Oh!" Diana's mouth falls open. Of all things she could have expected, this was certainly not one. "That's um... That sounds, uh..." Illegal, but then again, what did a bit of consensual polygamy matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. 

"You sound so scandalized. Didn't think he had it in him, didn't you?" David smirked, tightening his grip on her back again and leading her in a turn. 

"No, I'm just...wondering...about the, um...time management...aspect." In fairness, that was one of the things she did wonder about. David laughed, bringing her in closer. 

"Each gets two days per week and Sundays he has them come all together and sit there while he watches sports." 

How thrilling. "Whatever works for them, I suppose." 

Diana tried to subtly twist away again. She wasn't going to get anything else from this, what with David already being bored and growing increasingly impatient. And she didn't have an escape plan that didn't consist of ramming her heel into him somewhere until she struck bone. 

"Damn, can't they play something from this decade?" He whined as 'Money, money, money' faded into 'Knowing me, knowing you'. "All of this ancient stuff-" Sensing another chance to subtly nudge him away from his inexplicable sudden attraction, Diana jumped. "Oh I quite like it," she remarked lightly. Now go in for the kill "Reminds me of my youth." 

David harrumphed, then grunted as her heel dug into his toes again. "Oh dear, so sorry." Diana said breezily,  forcing his hand up from where it had been creeping towards her ass with a deft twirl. 

"It's fine." He gritted. "Did you want to-" 

"Allow me to cut in." Herrera stepped up, lightly shoving David aside to take his place. "I've not had the pleasure yet, Mrs Galindo." Diana forced a smile as his hand settled at her waist. Pro: at least this one wouldn't spend the whole time trying to feel her up. Con: not being thus distracted, he might notice...something. And become suspicious. If he wasn't already. Truth be told, Herrera scared her almost as much as Navegante did. Sometimes more so. 

"Right, well this is a very tight dress, so I can't do any adventurous moves." She warned, plastering an apologetic expression onto her face. Thankfully the band had changed to a faster track, though they kept with the international flair of the selection. Next up was some Brazil, if she wasn't mistaken. David stood between the twirling couples for a long moment, glaring but not daring to do or say anything that might affront his father's business partner. She shot him a fake apologetic smile, but suspected it was more the insistent raised eyebrow from Herrera that ultimately got him to scurry. 

Pacho Herrera could dance, that much was undeniable. Under different circumstances she might have even enjoyed this. He was also unnervingly quiet. If the purpose of this was to unsettle her, his tactic was very successful. At this rate, just keeping her feet under her proved to be challenge enough. One could think the band had launched into a Tarantella, given the speed they were going. Her head swam from the quick succession of turns and twirls, and when he dipped her upon the song's grand climax, her heart stopped for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she thought she felt some of her concealed wiring dislodge. 

"I think your dress is not too tight after all, Mrs Galindo." He pulled back up and righted her again, blessedly stilling a moment while the band segued into a mellower number. Diana gulped in a few deep, unladylike breaths. 

"No trust me, it is." She was still catching her breath; meanwhile he didn't even have a single hair out of place. Unfair. "So," Diana began her feeble attempt to bring the situation back under some semblance of control, "Are you interested in... tax exemptions?" Apparently humans could wheeze and cringe simultaneously. Very interesting. Herrera didn't answer immediately, just started leading her back into a mellow sway. 

"I think you're interested enough for all of us, Mrs Galindo. Miguel showed us the figures earlier. Very impressive. I see why DIAN recruited you right out of university." How he made what was ostensibly a compliment sound like a threat, Diana didn't know, just that it did nothing for her heart rate. 

"Thank you." He spun her out along with a flourish from the brass section, turning her already shaky voice into a squeak. She really hoped the recording had not picked that up. After the spin, his hand slid up over  her back, before settling back on her waist. To her horror, something in Pacho's expression twisted and he pulled her closer, hand splaying over her mid-back again. So much for avoiding being fondled for one dance. 

"What's this?" 

"Oh, I don't want to bore you with the details of women's undergarments. Suffice to say I'm wearing an insane amount of Spanx right now." 

There was a prolonged moment, during which Diana tried to keep her cool while deciding how much of a scene she was willing to cause should he not let it rest. Normally none at all, then again it was her life on the line. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Rodríguez requests you make your way to the equestrian ring for the big announcement." 

Never in her life had Diana welcomed an interruption like at this very moment. Herrera hesitated for a split second, expression still unreadable, before joining the throngs of people set in motion. He grasped her hand firmly, looping it through his elbow until it rested on his forearm, where he pinned it with his other hand. Just unconspicuous enough to look polite to any onlooker, just forceful enough that she knew she couldn't free herself without obvious struggle. 

"He could have done this up on the other stage." Miguel grumbled when they reached him, standing off the side to the stage that had been set up in the area. 

"You know how he is, Miguel. Always has to have his way." The two men exchanged a glance around her while more people filed past. 

"Mrs Galindo." 

Diana hummed in acknowledgement, returned the meaningless pleasantries. Yes of course she was enjoying herself. What a lovely party. The music? Exhilarating. The buffet? Exquisite. Her divorce? Ugh. She would really prefer not to think about that right now, thank you very much. 

"It's next Thursday, right? Your court appointment?" 

"Yes, thank you for letting me combine this with a work trip to Barranquilla. It's my personal business after all." 

"Of course, we want you at your best. Undistracted. Unburdened." Diana almost laughed, barely managed to suppress the snort and cover it with clearing her throat. 

"I thought that had all gone through ages ago." Herrera remarked lightly, grip finally easing up some from her wrist. Diana sighed. 

"I'm divorced, as far as I'm concerned. I moved out, signed my papers. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I'm not going back to him. This obstinate little tantrum isn't helping his case anyway." Countless hours spent arguing with various legal professionals flashed before her eyes. "It's a very tedious process."

"It's a very catholic country." Pacho said, somewhere between wistful and embittered. She used his momentary distraction to pull her arm free. 

"That's true." 

Up on the stage, Gilberto was fiddling with a microphone and waiting for the last few stragglers to come and fill up the equestrian ring so he could begin. Again, the two men exhanged a telling glance around her. 

"You gonna go up there with him?" Pacho said lowly, hands now crossing behind his back. Miguel shook his head. 

"You go. I'll stay here. Better view." 

Diana stayed demonstratively rooted to the spot when Herrera started moving. He shot her a look, which she pretended not to notice in favor of striking up more mindless small talk with Miguel. Apparently Herrera decided that it wasn't worth making a big deal out of, choosing instead to let her be and weave through the audience until he reached the bottom of the stage, exchanging a greeting with Santacruz and glowering over the assembled crooks and accomplices. 

Gilberto's speech was... full of pathos and grandstanding, and too many high-minded terms for such a petty crook, she thought. When did the delusions or grandeur usually start appearing, she wondered. Was it with the first million? The first billion? But it's the core of the announcement that makes her gasp and sets the wheels in her mind into overdrive, the implications just mounting up. She spares a quick glance at Herrera at the foot of the stage, his face too demonstratively blank save for furrowed brows. Miguel beside her is more expressive, but quick to reign his face back in. Among the surprised gasps and whispers all around it tells her enough. Briefly, she thought of making a comment to Miguel, but his jaw is set so tight she can hear the grinding of teeth and she doesn't have anything productive or intelligent to say anyway, so she lets it be. Swallows the bile that rises up in her throat as Gilberto proclaims 'For our children! And for our children's children!', and tries not to roll her eyes. Or gouge his out, for the sheer gall of it. Because here she stands, approaching thirty-five and still deathly afraid to bring a baby into a world they have made so violent, so toxic, so dangerous. Meanwhile Salome is without her parents, both murdered by this unending war. Meanwhile a David Rodríguez flounces around as some sort of better henchman, he and his cousins all cushy and carefree thanks to daddy's blood money. It churns the stomach with rage. 

"Mrs Galindo! Just the woman I've been looking for!" 

The crowd parts for him, less so out of reverence and more because people are slowly drifting away, gossip already flying about, Diana is pleased to note. 

"Mr Rodríguez, what an...impactful speech." She said demurely, keeping all her sneering tucked safely away behind the mask of officiousness. 

"It's the coup of the century!" She catches Miguel's scoff just in the corner of her eye. "It also means transferring our assets into the...ah, ...legitimate sphere, if you will." He's got his arm around her shoulders again, leading her back towards the dancefloor, the buffet and tables, the house. By chance and his smaller stature, he's speaking almost directly into the shoulder with the hidden microphone attached, detailing all the financial acrobatics he wants her to perform to save all their assets from both law- and taxman. There she went again, trading complicity for access. --- Just over an hour on and the gender ratio has left Diana sitting squished between Herrera and the youngest of the Mrs Rodríguezes, but at least he seems to have taken his measure of her. And swallowed her undergarment excuse. Swallowed...undergarments. She snorted semi-loudly into the cocktail she'd been nursing this whole time, the ice in it all but dissolved. Dammit, here eyes were getting heavier by the minute and it wasn't even that late, barely midnight. Then again she had been up since five and alcohol, even though she hadn't had all that much, always made her sleepy. And the guests had started trickling away, leaving behind a scene of mild devastation. 

"I think Mrs Galindo needs to go home." It was Franklin Jurado speaking, Christina's head buffered on his shoulder as she slept. Diana had just enough self-control left to not tell him to fuck off. Or maybe she really is too tired to; doesn't even have it in her to get annoyed at Gilberto's patronizing tone as he agrees. 

"Yes, why don't you drive Mrs Galindo home?" 

She hums more in acknowledgement than agreement to Hererra's suggestion, tired eyes hazily following his line of sight to the man stepping forward from the shadows at being summoned. His gaudy shirt reminds her of one Juan Mateo had worn on their honeymoon and which she had hated half because it had been a gift from her horrible mother-in-law, and half because it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. And then realization hits and her blood runs ice-cold and alertness slams back into her consciousness like a bullet. 

"Mr Velasquez." her voice is so weak and brittle, she thinks it must give her away if nothing else did so far. She took one last sip to wet her dry mouth, and because frankly she needs the alcohol now more than ever. The suggestion to call a taxi died on her lips as she realized that there was truly no way out of this. So, she steels herself and stands on sore feet, bidding the bosses of Calí and their dependents a good night. "I would be much obliged, Mr Velasquez." 

Navegante approximated a smile and stalked ahead. --- Well, there goes his progress. He'd been down to three smokes a day, four on a bad day, due in part to an iron adherence to some hard and fast self-imposed rules, such as no smoking in his office (or, in fact, no smoking inside the building at all). Tonight, however, is the night of the Calí godfathers' big announcement party, and Javier had not moved from his office for longer than a quick bathroom break or coffee run. He had also gone through half a pack of cigarettes in the last two hours, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy the longer he spent glancing at the phone on the edge of his desk from the corner of his eye as he pretended to make his way through the mountain of paperwork that somehow never seemed to get any smaller. The fact that he'd woken that morning with the memory of Diana Turbay's lifeless body crumpled in that cupboard certainly hadn't helped. 

He last looked at a clock around half past nine, when a very insistent cleaning lady had shooed him out of his office and he'd spent around ten anxious minutes hovering by the door in case the phone rang. It hadn't, and now here he was, eyes burning and brain mushy with his heartbeat a steady pulsing behind his temples. And he wondered– 

Javier swiped up the phone before the first ring had even finished. "Miss Rivas!" 

"I'm fine." She didn't sound fine. She sounded on edge. Rattled. Like she was trying to reassure herself. He gripped the phone receiver tighter. 

"Where are you?" What was he gonna do? Drive all the way to Calí from Bogotá at half an hour past midnight? Even a flight would take hours, and raise suspisions to boot. 

"I said I'm fine," she replied, nails clacking rhythmically against the plastic phone casing in what he knew by now to be a nervous tick. "I'm safe. I'm home." 

Javier breathed a relieved sigh, rigid shoulders slumping a fraction. He supposed he could have ordered Duffy or Lopez to do something if push had come to shove, though what he honestly had no idea. 

"Good, that's good." 

"Mr Velasquez gave me a lift." 

Who the hell was that? "Who the hell is that?" Javier asked. 

"You probably know him as Navegante." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Mentally he's already halfway out the door, physically at least halfway out of the office until the phone wire makes known its spatial limitations. 

"You alright? Is he still there? Lock your door, double lock it, I-" 

"I didn't give him the exact address, please calm down." He does, but only enough to catch his breath and not bolt out the door. There's a rustling from her end of the line, and she makes a sort of breathless little sound, somehwere between a sigh and a grunt, followed by a low but vicious curse.

"You okay?" 

"It's the damn zipper again; I'm this close to pulling something. Hang on." Judging by the thud that reverberates she set the phone down on a counter or table. Javier's hand went to rub at the back of his neck, half reflex, half sympathy. "Let's focus on the real issue here. The announcement." 

The way she said it was urgent, but he chose to believe this was due to wanting to get the message out and not to any concerns of Navegante lurking nearby. He had to, for his own sanity. 

"Apparently Gilberto cut a deal with the government." 

"The government?" Javier echoed weakly. 

"The new Samper administration. I knew why I didn't vote for those clowns. No, that's ...I had many reasons for that actually, first and foremost of them being that the Liberal Party nowadays is a damn joke. And to think that this is the same party that my parents fought for in their youth! Anyway, enough of that. They get half a year to get their house in order, then turn themselves in on the smallest possible charges, minimal jail time, back out again after a few years and back into their cushy lives with all of their blood money laundered neatly away. A clean slate." He'd never heard her sound so bitter, and he'd heard a good deal of her opinions on the Gentlemen of Calí over the past year. 

"So they're just going to get away with it." Javier grit out, equally livid. "Wait, you said Gilberto cut the deal? What about the others?" 

"Yes, so here is where it gets interesting. I didn't get the sense that they knew. Beforehand I mean. You should have outfitted me with a camera too, because Miguel's face was priceless." Another grunt and then a triumphant little 'ha' and then her voice sounded clearer again, nearer as she picked the phone back up. 

"He doesn't like it." 

"None of them like it. Don't want to give up the power, if I had to guess. What is it with men and building their entire ego on how much they can make others fear them?" 

Javier hummed non-committally, deciding that he had nothing valuable to add at this point. 

"Yeah, you're right. So how do I get the 'ooof' ...the recording to you? Usual way?" Javier didn't even get to reply no when she went on, now audibly shuffling around her apartment and out of the rest of her clothes. "I can't believe I almost forgot! I met the money launderer. His name is Franklin Jurado. He'll be in Calí until Tuesday with his wife Christina. I somewhat promised her to meet for coffee on Sunday; if you can have one of your agents trail me you can get them." 

She sounded so hopeful that he hated to have to dash it, even for her own safety, but snatching such an important cartel member so soon and with her so close would cast suspicion. She couldn't be involved. And he hadn't heard back from his agents yet, which was possibly a bad sign. Javier made up his mind, cringing while he glanced at the clock to make some mental calculations. 

"I'm coming over." 

"To Calí?" 

"Yes, what's your address? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else?"

She gave her address, sounding stunned. He jotted it down under the note he'd made of Jurado's name; he'd need someone to look the guy up first thing tomorrow. 

"You're not leaving now, are you? It's late, you need to sleep." Javier could picture the way her brow creased in a frown just from the tone of her voice. 

"No, I'll call you again as soon as I know when I'll be there." Driving the whole way would be a nightmare and eat up most of the day. Javier whirled around and pulled an atlas from the shelf behind his desk. Flying in directly was out of the question with the way the godfathers had the whole city under surveillance. Buenaventura, under two hours by plane and then about two and a half from there to Calí. Yes, that would work. 

"Goodness, you're actually serious about this." 

"Of course." Javier stopped in his tracks for the first time in several minutes now, taking a moment to breathe and slump in his seat. He was exhausted yet wide awake, and likely would be for some time. "I mean, if that's okay with you." 

"Of course, umm...anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Javier stopped. He would be staying for dinner, possibly the night, too. In a hotel of course, he couldn't possibly impose- 

"You don't have to cook for me." His mouth said, but his stomach said bandeja paisa. Briefly, the thought of taking her out for dinner popped up, indulgent and unbidden, and was immediately squashed by the thought of the godfathers' eyes everywhere. "I can pick something up on the way." 

Her protest turned into a yawn not two syllables in. Javier couldn't help the small smile appearing on his face, felt it only by how it twinged his tense jaw. "You're tired, you should rest." 

"We're not finished with this." She mumbled obstinately. "You rest." 

"I will." He would, eventually. "I'll call you tomor- ...today." A quick glance at the clock revealed it was now past midnight. She made a very grumpy, very adorable huffy sound, mumbling something about the inexorable passage of time. 

"Sleep well, Miss Rivas." 

"You too..." There was a rustle and the quiet squeak and groan of a bedframe and mattress. He waited a moment, unsure whether more was coming or whether she'd just been too tired to disconnect the call. A short silence burst into a quick curse, her voice remote but still clear enough to make out. "...God fucking dammit, fucking contact lenses! Son of a rabid-" 

"Miss Rivas?" By the rapid padding of feet and the continued cursing he had to suppose that she hadn't heard, and by how either sound seemed to be at about equal distance with neither decreasing, he supposed further that the phone was still in her hand. As soon as he heard the 'thunk' that most likely meant that the phone had been tossed down on some surface, he tried again. "Miss Rivas?" 

"You're still there?" She sounded marginally more awake now, but not like this state would persist for very long. 

"You didn't hang up." And perhaps Javier wasn't all too opposed to having the continued assurance that she was alright and her cover intact. "You swear very entertainingly, by the way." 

"I'm glad my lack of filter and ladylike decorum amuses rather than appalls you." Splashing water interrupted them for a moment, but was quickly replaced by more colorful cursing. 

"Please, don't hold back." Javier commented drily, not really expecting to be heard clearly since the satphone didn't have a loudspeaker. 

"Very funny. Why don't you talk to me a bit more while I try not to poke my eyes out by accident-" 

"I- ...I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to talk about." 

"And I don't have enough brain left today for anything more taxing than the weather anyway. I just need your voice; I'm dead on my feet. How was the weather in Bogotá today? I always found it so cold when I was at university there. Nothing like Medellín. They used to call me 'chompa' at uni because I would never go anywhere without one. Too cold. And of course Calí is so much warmer than either..." 

"It's been quite grey here, and not especially warm either. Back home it's at least twice as warm but I've been here so long now I think I'm more used to it." 

"I never asked where exactly you're from..." 

"Laredo, Texas. It's right on the border with Mexico." 

"Laredo..." She mused, puttering about still. "Oh like the song? As I walked walked out on the streets of Laredo..." She must really be tired and devoid of all usual inhibitions, Javier thought, to just start singing like this. Not that he minded. She got halfway through the first stanza until she faltered, the lyrics escaping her. Her voice was soft and with that same raspy edge she had when speaking. It was a voice suited best to lullabies he thought; or to yearnful ballads performed in smoky bars, or some similarly wistful thing. "Aren't I supposed to be the one talking?" 

"Hmm, this works too. I'm almost done, so you won't have to humor me much longer. So, tell me more about Laredo while I brush my teeth." --- He ended up talking longer than that - divulging more than he ever planned to as per usual, of the town and the ranch that sat up against the river - until she was settled back into bed and about to doze off for good. If nothing else, it settled him too somewhat, though sleep would elude him for a a good while yet even despite the physical and mental exhaustion the day, or in fact the whole week, had brought him. No sooner had he disconnected the line with a soft 'Sleep well' than the phone rang again. 

"Yes?" 

"Boss, I've been trying to reach you for half an hour!" Duffy's voice sounded strained and any modicum of relaxation Javier might have gained dissipated with immediate effect. He scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and resigned himself to dealing with one more catastrophe. 

"Duffy, what is it?" Agents Duffy and Lopez had organized their own infiltration of the godfathers' party, courtesy of the intel provided by Miss Rivas as well as what Operation Cornerstone had shaken loose. At least he knew it was nothing that had blown the cover of his informant. 

"Okay well, no use beating around the bush here. Our guy got made, and Calí knows we're here-" Javier listened to his agent's report with his frown deepening. Why was it that with every step forward, another wrench was thrown his way? 

"Alright, close up shop. Leave as soon and as inconspicuously as you can. I'll see you back here at the embassy on Monday morning." He ordered. Hopefully the gentlemen and their security would leave it at the gesture of intimidation, especially if they thought themselves well on the way of becoming untouchable, but one could never be too careful. 

---

Javier consulted the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. Normally the bar down the street from the embassy wouldn't be his first or even fourth choice, but tonight he was looking for a place to wind down with the shortest possible distance to cover afterwards. The danger of being accosted by any of his co-workers was one he'd simply have to brave. If luck was on his side for once, none of the more sociably inclined would be there any more, or too engrossed in their own merriment to notice him slink in, and if not, his curmudgeonly ways were known well enough that a civil yet decisive refusal would hopefully be deterrence enough. 

It was for Stoddard, but of course not for Bill Stechner, the non-drug-lord bane of Javier's existence. Ostensibly on the same side, though Javier would argue that the CIA was on its own side entirely. Or that their budget would be spent more productively by making the damn lot of them just feed dollar bills through a shredder, but no one asked Javier about these things. So, he sits and grinds his teeth while Stechner's smug voice grates on his nerves. Visualizes strangling the CIA station shief with the tie he'd just pulled off and balled up into his pocket moments ago, which does a little bit to alleviate the almost overbearing urge to smash Stechner's face into the bar top. "Oh come on, you don't care about American streets or dead Colombians." 

And the deal? How the hell does Stechner know about the deal when it's only just been announced? For a split-second, he wonders whether Diana- but no, he trusts her completely, and he hasn't told anyone except a handful of his agents about her, deciding this information was so sensitive it was strictly need to know, and even they only knew her by her assigned code name. Not even the ambassador knew that he had such a high-priority informant on the inside of the cartel. Stechner must have some government source, be it an informant of his own or bugs in the offices of ministers. The way he only mentions Lopez and Duffy's operation confirms it. 

"Same goal my ass." Javier muttered into his whiskey after Stechner slithered away. This had been supposed to be a one-drink-night, but now he was feeling like he might need at least three more, if only to dull the screeching of his swirling thoughts. 

It's no use. He's all keyed up still, something feels like it's burrowing inside of his chest, some sort of woodland critter both desperate and unable to settle down. He's tired, too, of course, eyes heavy and burning and sore, feels like his eyeballs are coated in smoke and pitched open by caffeine. He shouldn't have had that much coffee that late; despite his high tolerance it does still have an effect on him. Thank goodness on any given day, but right now he's regretting it. His leg jumps, knee knocking painfully against the bar front. He feels eyes on him. They've been there since he walked in, furtively glancing throughout his confrontation with Stechner, but bolder now. He feels it like a prickle on his skin. Turns his gaze finally. Sees long dark hair, open, melting into the late shadows of the bar. Too long, but it'll have to do. She's... he's definitely seen her around before. The elevator? Different department, perhaps press office, or visas. Definitely nowhere near the DEA offices or he would have known her name. She's coming over now, leaning easily against the bartop, slender fingers tapping, and an easy, eager smile. Her hair isn't dark enough, and too long and wavy all the way through instead of only curling at the ends, and nothing else about her appearance quite matches up, but she's pretty and willing and he's pent up and about to crawl out of his skin. And so he lets her take him home. And he means to leave right after, he really does. If only not to give any impression of this having even the slightest potential of becoming any more than it is. But Katie (that's her name, but he's learnt a long time ago to not groan out names during, because whether the name is correct or not it always turns out bad somehow), Katie sleepily mumbles that he can stay because it's late, and truth be told? He's completely shot, feels like he couldn't move if he wanted to. And the thought of dragging himself back to his empty apartment with only his thoughts for company is the most unbearable thing at this moment. Her mattress is too soft and despite the fact that he only laid on it until waking again at first light, it messes up his back for almost a week. --- It is indeed much warmer in this side of the country, and an especially hot day in Calí itself. On the coast where he'd landed, there had at least been a breeze blowing in from the Pacific, but the further inland Javier drives the less the air seems to move. He felt the sweat start to gather at his hairline, and down his neck, as soon as he parked the rental car in front of the cluster of new-ish high rise apartment blocks in one of the north-western boroughs of the city. 

Javier grabbed his one piece of luggage and the bag of takeout he'd picked up on the way, just as promised, and walked up to the first building to study the panel beside the door for the correct bell to ring. A sharp whistle made him look around, then up at the next building. Miss Rivas was all but hanging off the side of her balcony, waving down and giving Javier half a heart attack seeing as she was on the sixth floor. He waved back in acknowledgement, then jogged over to the already buzzing door, which he pushed open. Blessedly, there was an elevator, and not two minutes later he stood in front of her apartment, the door swinging open before he could raise his hand to knock. 

"Hi." She sounded breathless, as if she'd run up six flights of stairs, not across an apartment. 

"... Miss Rivas." In his relief, he'd almost slipped. Almost called her by her first name, but they're not there yet, strangely. Or not strangely at all, in fact. It's quite by design. It's a way of keeping himself detached; professional. Or whatever excuse he could come up with to maintain this state of perpetual denial. 

"Umm, ...lunch? I brought lunch." He thrust the bag foward, watched it swing between them while cringing inwardly. 

"Good! I've only been up for two hours or so; I don't even care what it is, I'm starving!" Carefully, she took the bag from him, one hand supporting the bottom like a newborn's head, the other brushing his as she looped her fingers through the handles. "Come in, come in." 

Javier stood a full three seconds or so after she'd already turned around and walked down the narrow hallway, rooted to the spot and struck dumb like some sort of imbecile. His skin prickled in all the places he'd let Katie touch him the night before, which, admittedly, hadn't been too many - but still enough to be burning him with that familiar mixture of guilt and shame now. So he does what he does best when it comes to emotions: deny and repress. 

He left his shoes beside the pair of strappy heels she must have discarded there the night before, probably in a hurry to get the severely uncomfortable looking things off after spending a whole evening in them. The hallway opened into an open living room and dining area, the balcony beyond that, and a galley-style kitchen off to one side not unlike his own apartment. It was a sparse place, not quite enough furniture to fill the space - a long couch and coffee table, a low sideboard with a TV on it, none of it new save for the stereo system that was of course on and softly playing the usual eclectic music mix. Javier dropped his bag beside the couch where it would be out of the way. The dining table barely deserved the name. It was a small, round, reedy looking thing, just large enough for two, or maybe two and a child, with two plastic fold-out chairs. On it stood a light blue and white ceramic fruit bowl that currently held zero fruit, just the recording device he'd given her and... some pieces of golden sapphire and diamond jewelry? Puzzled, Javier picked up what turned out to be a bracelet. He raised one eyebrow at her as she set down plates for them. 

"Got a raise?" 

"Ha! As if. I should have, though. What with the extra work I got saddled with last night. That's the problem with rich people. Miserly. The more zeroes on their bank statements the stingier they get." She scoffed, ranting away all the way to and fro carrying the cutlery. "No, this-" she stabbed a spoonhandle through the bracelet and swirled it around once, twice, before glowering at the gemstones darkly, "This is what Mrs Jurado had me borrow to complete my outfit yesterday. Obviously I have to return them, which is why I'm meeting her for coffee tomorrow afternoon. If you do your whole government agent covert spy observation thing you could at least get eyes on her, maybe even him, too. Franklin Jurado, the money launderer. You can just smell the entitlement on him. I bet he went to one of the really fancy schools over there, like Princeton. Or maybe Harvard." 

"I'm glad to see you're making friends." Javier had followed her to the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet and watching her place the food on plates, any attempts to help or make himself useful deftly rebuffed as always. 

"I think it was Harvard actually. I think he mentioned it- It's on the recording, in any case. Real smug about it too. La Javeriana is a perfectly good university, too. Older, too. Luis Carlos Galán attended it, you know? Graduated in economics and law, like I did." 

"Like the new president, too." Javier dared remark, only to be leveled with a death glare that could make a man fear for his life. 

"Professor Samper, oh yes," she said pointedly, thrusting the plates at him, "Don't remind me please. The whole family attended, have for generations." 

Javier dutifully carried over the dishes and set them down, returning a moment later for the pitcher of water. Diana followed him, wiping her glasses with her tee-shirt in a gesture he had come to know was more about calming down than it was about being able to see better. 

"Right, no politics at meal time. Tell me something interesting instead." Diana attacked her food with a frightening kind of fervor. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was what Stechner had told him the night before, how the deal would go ahead, a neat little setup by politicians whose only objective was looking good enough for re-election. Naturally, the words died in his throat. He shrugged and started digging in. 

"Nothing huh? Okay, well, how about this then: How many Mrs Rodríguezes are there?" 

"Is this a trick question?" There should be one only, seeing as Miguel was widowed and his little shit of a son wasn't exactly husband material - nor looking to be. "One?"

"Close. There's three." 

That didn't make any sense. "That doesn't make any sense. Miguel is widowed and David- ...Gilberto! Gilberto?" 

"Gilberto." She confirmed. "All three. They have a rota, apparently. On Sundays they just sit around while he watches whatever game is on which sounds thrilling. And I thought my marriage was crap." 

"Huh." If Javier thought that the farcical nature of governmental - and inter-governmental - bureaucracy had prepared him for the absurdity of chasing drug kingpins he had apparently been sorely mistaken. But mostly, he was relieved to see that Diana was in such good spirits again, what with how affected she'd sounded the night before. Lunch was over in no time at all, and Javier felt his short night starting to catch up with him. He yawned surreptitiously as he helped carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, or what he thought had been surreptitious anyway. 

"Okay, coffee or nap?" 

"Huh?" Dammit, his eyes were burning. Diana took the plates and deposited them in the sink, leaving him to blink sluggishly. "I can do those. The dishes." 

"You're about to keel over. Haven't slept a wink, have you?" 

"About three hours, and another half hour or so on the plane. I'm fine, really." He admitted. The fact that he had to lean against the cabinets did not exactly serve to strengthen his argument. Diana tutted. 

"I need to run some errands, grocery shopping and the like. If you are really determined to get to work on the recording I'll make you a good strong coffee before I go, but I would personally suggest you use the time to catch up on some sleep. The couch pulls out." 

It was tempting, it really was, but Javier also knew that he'd have a harder time falling asleep later if he messed up his rhythm more now. 

"Coffee it is, then." She set to work in the same breath. 

A fond smile pulled at Javier's lips. "Thank you." --- Even knowing she was fine and safe now, she hadn't expected that listening to the recording would be so excruciatingly stressful. She had very helpfully compiled a list of encounters, along with time estimates (and a very evocative caricature of the chief accountant, Guillermo Pallomari), which had allowed him to fast forward through the recording to get a general overview. Even so, he'd gotten stuck on several bits, even replaying a few. The introductory round, for one. Her panic attack in the bathroom. Or the segment with that slimy little bastard David Rodríguez. Her quick thinking and clever diversion of Pacho's suspicions. He hated hearing the strain in her voice, the barely masked anxiousness that none of them even seemed to notice but that stood out to him so very clearly. His jaw was clenched so tight he could feel his teeth grinding– The lock on the front door clicked open, jolting Javier from his focused state. A quick glance at his watch told him it had been well over three hours since she'd left for her errands, afternoon now melting into early evening. In his haste to get up he tangled the wires, cursing as he he sat back down. Diana huffed into view, heavy-looking bags on each arm. 

"Hey there," she threw him a quick smile before vanishing into the kitchen to set down her load, re-emerging a heartbeat later. She crossed the distance in a few strides, lightly squeezing his shoulder as she leaned over him to peer at the notes he'd taken. "How's it going? Anything viable?" 

Her touch, given with such casual affection, electrified him. He'd never been, never considered himself the type of person anyone would come home to. 

"Plenty." He needed to collect himself, clear his throat and mind and get a grip. "You did amazing work." And I can't use it in court because you incriminate yourself all throughout.

"Good, I'm glad. Would have been a re-" 

The shrill ringing of her landline interrupted them. Immediately, Javier mourned the loss of her touch, the spot on his shoulder where her hand had lingered now turning cold. Pull yourself together, dammit! 

The telephone was mounted on the wall that separated hallway and kitchen, and had a cord long enough to allow for a range of movement to about halfway into the latter. Unsure of whether he was supposed to be listening, he tried to go back to the recording. Only tried rather turned into pretended. As quickly as he had put the headphones on, he took them off again, watching Diana for a moment of hesitation. She was shuffling around the kitchen entrance, emptying her shopping bags with the phone receiver pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She was talking to her aunt, tense and worried, but managed a small smile when she caught Javier's eye. Wordlessly, he started helping her putting the groceries away as directed. 

"No, I know you don't approve. No one approves except Gabriela, and incidentally Gabriela is also the only one who saw that I was making a mistake right from the start and the only one who tried to dissuade me from going through with the wedding, and if I'd only listened to her and my gut back then, I wouldn't-" She turned her back at this, and Javier put away the last few pieces and left the kitchen, giving her the pretense of privacy at least. It wasn't like the apartment was so vast that her voice wouldn't carry. He walked over to the stereo system he'd turned off earlier and switched it back on, fiddling with the volume by way of looking distracted. 

"...No, and I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't care what the Pope says; the Pope was never married! ...Yes, put her on; I think that's better for everyone involved." 

Immediately her voice and stance relaxed, became softer and warmer, and the conversation a lot more one-sided as Diana talked to Salome on the phone. Javier's knees were starting to protest at his half-kneeling by the sideboard, but he was too transfixed by trying to determine whether the little girl would perhaps say a few words today. She sometimes did, though very rarely, and Javier had yet to witness it himself. 

"Okay, my little darling, you be good for granny, alright? Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Bye-bye." 

Diana hung up and shuffled over, taking a seat on he edge of the coffee table closest to him. Javier gave up on the volume dial and turned towards her. 

"Everything okay?" She nodded and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. Cautiously, Javier placed his hand atop hers where it laid in her lap, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of it soothingly. "And are you okay?" 

"I will be; I just- ...I try that she at least hears my voice every day, even if I can't be there and- She's so little and has already lost so much, and every time I have to leave I feel like I'm just making it worse and like maybe that's why she still barely talks. And it's so unfair! She's just a little girl and she needs her mother or at least she needs a mother and we try - my aunt and I try our best but we're all that's left of this family." Her voice got quieter with each word, fading to a whisper before ceasing. Javier didn't know how to respond; all the obvious things seemed like meaningless phrases, frivolous and unhelpful. Diana deflated, her whole frame drooping like misery personified. She let out a single, quiet sob, gripping his hand in both of hers like he was her anchor. "I just wish I at least knew what I was doing." 

She wiped at her eyes angrily, blindly grasping for the glasses on the table behind her until she found them and shoved them back on. She stood abruptly, but did not let go of his hand, instead tugging him up, to which his beleaguered knees only objected more. 

"Sorry, forget that. Let's sort out dinner." She stalked back into the kitchen, and Javier could only follow of creaky knees, the blood rushing back down into his feet and making them prickle and almost falter. She finally let go of his hand in front of the refridgerator, throwing open the door of it like a shield between them.  

"So for dinner I was thinking-" 

"Miss Rivas." She didn't even hear him, just went on explaining what was possible with the ingredients she'd picked up earlier. Javier laid his hand on top of hers gently, feeling the tension in her fingers, the tremble in them as she gripped the fridge door tight. Gently still, he eased her grip and shut the door. She didn't even look at him, obstinately staring down at the tiled floor instead. 

"I'm in control of my emotions." She declared defiantly. "I'm not a liability to your investigation." 

"I know." Javier took both her hands in his now, squeezed them once, still gentle. Kept his voice soft too; soft and low and for her ears only. "I know you ...aren't. It's okay. You're doing so good. You're doing amazing. It's okay." On the last few words, he raised their entwined hands, nudging her chin up to look at him. Took in her reddened but stubbornly dry eyes, her lips pressed into a painful line, and the hard set of her jaw and brows. All she needed was one final push to let go, one word of permission, and he gave it gladly. "It's okay." 

He'd expected an outburst now, an explosive outpouring of grief or at least wrath. Instead, Diana squeezed his hands back once before letting go, leaving him standing in the kitchen while she went into her bedroom. He heard her rummage around for a moment, then she returned with a small photo album in her hands which she carefully set down on the counter before throwing it open and flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for. It showed what he assumed was her family. He recognized only her and Maritza, both noticeably younger then. Side by side, the family resemblance became more apparent, especially in comparison with the respective parents. Wordlessly, she flipped through the pages. In the next one Maritza's father was missing, the one after that, her own father was no longer there. The one after that showed the addition of a young man and what must have been a newborn Salome, him holding the baby with a broad, dimpled smile that his daughter had inherited. He was gone in the following picture, Diana's mother vanished in the one after that, until the last photograph showed only Maritza's mother, Diana herself, and little Salome. 

"Some time after we cleared out Maritza's apartment, I went to Escobar's grave. If I was looking for some kind of satisfaction, I didn't find it there." She closed the album with a sharp snap. "The whole drive back, last night, I was sure I was about to end up fish fodder, and I just thought... with how my aunt's health is failing, will Salome be all alone in the world before she's even five?" 

Javier swallowed hard, choking on the words that had sprung up onto the tip of his tongue. That he wouldn't let that happen (but it could have happened not twenty-four hours prior and there would have been nothing he could have done about it). That he would make sure the little girl was taken care of (How? He wasn't kin and Diana's aunt didn't know him. And he wasn't exactly prime fatherhood material, so what exactly did he think he could do?). And in the back of his head, he still heard the desperate shallow little breaths she'd heaved during her panic attack. So different words jumped onto his tongue instead, tumbling out before he could ever think through the implications. 

"Do you want out? You don't even have to go meet Mrs Jurado tomorrow, I can organize to have you pulled out within the week. And your family too. You'd be safe." 'I am never doing this again', she'd said. Well, he wouldn't make her. And considering what he knew now, that his whole investigation was just a front? What was the damn point of it anyway? 

Diana smiled, just a slight quirk of the corner of her lip, but the first in what felt like hours now. "Now? No. I don't want anyone else having to go through what my family and I went through, here or anywhere. This kind of...lust for power - it's grasping. It never stops, it is never satisfied. And it doesn't care what stands in its way." 

"You sure?" He ought to tell her, he really ...but even though the betrayal isn't his, just his to hand on, he hesitates again. 

"I am. Starting with meeting Christina Jurado tomorrow. Besides, you'll be with me all the way through." 

"Yeah," his voice creaks like a rusty hinge, "Yeah, of course I'll be. Just a stone's throw away." --- "Goodness, does she ever shut up?" Javier shut the door behind himself, hanging up the spare key on the hook by the door. They'd just returned from Diana and Mrs Jurado's coffee and lunch date - separately for safety purposes - and Javier's head was still swimming. Diana might be reasonably called talkative, but at least she had things to say. Christina Jurado, it turned out, could talk a mile a minute without saying much of substance at all. Diana had been all but steam-rollered by the barrage of conversation and Javier, who had listened closely to all two and a half hours of it, was starting to feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building. 

"Without being condescending, Agent Peña, there is so much that men don't understand about the way women talk with each other." Diana peeked out into the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, she may well have been... uuh-" 

"May have been what?" After discarding his shoes, he walked into the apartment fully. Diana frowned, then touched a fingertip to the side of her nose with a meaningful look. When he didn't light up with sudden understanding, she gave a good-natured yet long-suffering sigh. And Javier really thinks he should probably have slept more than four hours, but his back was now paying the price for his stint on that marshmallow fluff that passed for Katie's mattress, and also his mind liked to give him trouble when it ought to quiet down. 

"She may have been what, Miss Rivas?" 

"Mrs Jurado, I have good reason to believe, likes to uhh... sample the product." The penny rolled around Javier's exhausted mind a moment longer before dropping. 

"...You mean to tell me she was high on cocaine the whole time?" 

"Yes. Why are you whispering?" Why indeed. Javier cleared his throat and wondered why this revelation left him so scandalized. "She did use on Friday night, too, which is a frequency I honestly find alarming. I hope it's more of a weekend thing- Franklin knows, but I don't think he has any idea what to do about it. I'd reckon it's something they're both keen to keep under wraps, though for different reasons. I don't imagine the gentlemen would be overly thrilled, especially the brothers. They like to keep a pretty tight hold on everything even remotely to do with the business." 

"Huh... what the hell are you do-" While he had been musing on this new development in his sluggish mind, she'd stuck one hand down her blouse from the top and the other up it from the bottom, fumbling around for a moment before pulling the wiretap she'd been wearing for the meeting out and handing it to him non-chalantly. 

"When's your flight?" 

"Uh, late. Later. Ten-ish." He'd be back in Bogotá before midnight, but there was the drive back to Buenaventura to consider. Even so, it was only mid-afternoon now. Javier rubbed his hand over his burning eyes. His brain was no longer in a state to be doing that kind of math and he sighed, the coffee he'd just had clearly not doing anything. 

"You have at least an hour to get some sleep. Come lie down." She was out from in front of him and across the room before he could blink tiredly, already pushing back the coffee table and bending to pull out the couch. Javier meant to protest, he really did. But. Sleep beckoned. And so, with heavy feet dragging across the laminate floor, he acquiesced. 

"Thanks." He mumbled, gratefully receiving a pillow. 

"I'll wake you in an hour, hour and a half tops." She already sounded further away than she should be, considering she was by the sofa-bed's - and his - head still. Javier hummed a reply, more affirmative sound than any proper words. As he drifted off, he thought he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead. But surely that was just wishful thinking, for what else could it be? ---

So, six more months of looking busy and doing nothing while the Calí godfathers revved up operations to squeeze as much money as they could out. He'd had to send his agents home after they'd been splashed all over the front page of the Espectador, so not only did the DEA not currently have any presence on the ground in Calí, it also left Diana without even the faintest layer of protection. And with the massive stink the Colombians, fronted by General Vargas, had kicked up about it, he couldn't send in any replacements, no matter how eager or indeed fastidious Agent Feistl was. And now the incident in Yumbo. The youngest of the dead had only been six years old. Javier glowered at the TV report where the safety inspector was giving his final report. Natural gas leak... yeah, sure. This thing reeked; he felt it in his bones that the cartel was responsible somehow. And he couldn't go after them. The desire to go find Stechner and smash his stupid smug face through the screen became near unbearable. He turned the TV off before the urge manifested into action. 

He sat down behind his desk, taking a moment to look around the largely dark and empty office space around him before opening that particular drawer on the top right and taking out the arrest warrants. Their money and power and the influence both bought meant that the Calí bosses could move comparatively freely, but they still hid away. Carefully so, with the kind of tight-knit security that most heads of state could only dream of. Even if he did find a way to get at them, his hands were now unofficially bound. Well over a year's work, two good agents sent home, his informant risking her life every single day, more innocent dead who would never get justice, and what for? He hated it. He still hadn't told her. He thought about quitting. 

The phone rang. He knew it was her. She didn't even try his home landline first now, knowing he spent his evenings at the office more often than not. Javier let it ring once more while mustering up the courage to come clean. 

"Miss Rivas, good evening." 

"Decidedly not. Did you watch the news?" 

Javier scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut so as to not have to look at the warrants spread out on his desk. There was only so much mockery a man could take. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." 

"It was them. David specifically, that self-absorbed buffoon. They chewed him out for over half an hour over it, which is far less than he deserves." 

"I figured." His throat felt tight; undoing another shirt button did precisely nothing. 

"Gilberto worries it will give the government leverage to go back on the deal. I hope it does."

So did Javier, but knowing the special interests being at play here he didn't hold out much hope. 

"And you have been made to recall your agents from Calí." 

Javier gulped. "Yes." 

"But they'll be replaced, right?" 

Well, here goes nothing then. "...No." 

Silence. She's not one to raise her voice even when upset and right now she must be livid. But perhaps she's shocked before anything else. Shocked into silence, into disbelief. He hates this, too. He wishes she would scream at him. Instead all he gets is a brittle quiet little '...What?' 

And it's so unfair, all of it. Stechner doesn't have to face her with this, the bastard. None of the politicians who are oh so invested in this little vanity project do either, the consequences aren't real to them. They get to collect the empty symbol of a supposedly bloodless surrender, some good publicity, and don't have to do or face any of the ugly truths on the ground. He thinks about quitting again. Pats his pocket for the reporter's business card. If he's leaving, he thinks, he'd do it with a bang. Burn all bridges with a mighty barrage of his personal J'accuse. But for now that's all idle thinking. 

"The surrender deal is going ahead as planned, because the powers that be will it so." He explained, truly understanding the sentiment of shooting the messenger at this very moment. "My hands are bound, there's nothing I can do."  

"Bullshit!" Yeah, agreed. He tries saying more, justifications that turn to dust on his tongue before the words even leave his mouth. His heart's not in it, and it only serves to stoke her wrath, fearsome even over the distance of the phone line. 

"What else will they get away with? If you're rich enough you can buy impunity? A blank cheque for murder? How many more people must die? Every day I go in and make myself complicit in it all on the promise that it will take them down!" 

The worst part of this, perhaps, is that he knows she's right. If any of those senators in their cushy Washington offices had even a bit of her bravery, her steadfastness, her moral clarity– 

"I'm sorry." His mouth is so dry. At last he opens his eyes again, glaring down at the warrants. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela. Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela. 

"You're sorry?" Even now her voice is still level. Full of venomous disbelief and cold with rage, yes, but it has not risen even a single decibel. 

"Miss Rivas, I-" 

The line went dead with a click. She'd hung up.

--- --- --- 

author’s notes: 

*me, an idiot* this chapter will cover episodes 1 through to 4. this is a thing that is feasible and realistic

*me, 7000 words in and still at the party* ah. oh no.

in other words: remember last chapter when I cut things off because I wanted to keep it below 10k? yeah, that won’t be happening anymore. It takes as long as it takes. *shrug emoji* stay hydrated.

DIAN (Dirección de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) is the Colombian government agency that is responsible for collecting taxes

Fernando Botero is a Colombian artist and sculptor, famous for these really chunky bronze statues, though the one I reference here is a complete fabrication and does not actually exist

according to the Art and Making of Narcos book Navegante’s actual name is Jorge Velasquez

‘chompa’ according to the dictionary I used, is a term for jacket used in Colombia and some other places

yes I looked up average temperatures in all these cities. I have concluded that it gets hot af in Laredo

La Javeriana (Pontificia Universidad Javeriana) is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Colombia. Presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan did indeed attend there, as did president Ernesto Samper, who is president during the season in the show. He also did indeed teach there for a while in the early 80s, which fortunately matches up with my timeline. It was indeed founded before Harvard. Thirteen years before to be exact (1623 vs 1636)

here’s the drawing Diana made of Pallomari (contador=accountant): 

tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @fromthedeskoftheraven @dindjarindiaries @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml @javier-djarin @huliabitch @heatherbel @shestillwrites1​

didn’t ask to be tagged but reblogged all previous parts and therefore I assume you enjoyed it regardless of that you reading my story made me very happy list: @asoftcollection​ (thank you for indulging me and brainstorming the Jurados with me it helped a lot) @holographic-carmen​  @dermandalorianer​  @oldstuffnewstuff​ (sry it won’t let me tag ur sideblog hope this is okay)

Next Chapter

[ptolomeia]

Rhymes With I Love You

Summary: Thomas realizes he is deeply in love with his friend Janus. Luckily for him, it turns out Janus loves him back.

Pairing: Thomas/Janus

Rating: T

Tags: Human Au, Fluff, Mutual Pining

Words: 1802

Read it on AO3

It was the laugh that undid him. Loud, unrestrained, belly laughter. Tears in the corners of his eyes and little sounds that Janus would never admit were snorts escaping. Janus unabashedly, dorkily, loudly happy, for all the world, but most importantly, for Thomas to see.

Thomas knew then and there that, not only did he love Janus, he’d loved him for a while. He didn’t think the words “I love you so much” would have come so close to falling out of his mouth like an armed, friendship destroying bomb if he hadn’t been in love for a while.

And could anyone really blame him? This was Janus he was talking about. Brilliant, beautiful, eloquent, funny, sharp—Thomas could go on all day. And had. The less said about the contents of the margins of his notes (kept carefully tucked away whenever there was a change of seeing Janus) these days, the better.

But more than any of those things (and they were great things!) Janus was kind. You’d never guess, when you first met him, but under all that snark and swagger, Janus was one of the most considerate people Thomas had ever met. He was always willing to go a little out of his way to help, and he never forgot to make Thomas a cup of tea when he made himself one.

Yes, Thomas was deeply and irrevocably in love with Janus, and had been for who knew how long. There were only two problems with this.

The first one wasn’t so bad; Janus didn’t love him back. Which was fair, honestly. Thomas was an anxious mess of a human being, barely able to keep on top of his master’s work. Thomas might be able to listen to Janus talk for hours about the philosophers he loved and studied and analyzed, but it’s not like Thomas had ever been able to really get any of it. Why wouldn’t Janus want someone who was his intellectual equal? Someone who could at least appear to be as put together as Janus was?

So yeah, Janus didn’t love him back, but that really wasn’t the real problem. Thomas was happy just being Janus’s friend, spending time with him just as he always had. No, it was the second problem that was the real problem.

You think a man who’d spend over two decades in the closet would be better at hiding things, but nope. Apparently he’d used up all his secret keeping abilities in those years because now, every time he saw Janus, every time Janus made a quip, or smirked, or breathed, Thomas was overcome with the desire to tell Janus about his unreciprocated feelings.

In retrospect, letting Janus serve him wine when Janus had come over for dinner had been a bad idea.

He hadn’t actually said “Janus, I love you, please pass the salt”, but it was a close run thing.

No, it wasn’t until after supper and another glass of wine was finished and cleaned up from, after Janus had made them both a cup of tea and was sitting with Thomas on his small, busted up couch in his small, student apartment, talking in depth about the idiocy of some famous philosopher, as Thomas watched Janus’s elegant hands so eloquently illustrate what Janus was saying, that the words he’d barely managed to keep behind clenched teeth for the past few weeks fell out into the world.

“I’m in love with you.”

Janus froze. Thomas froze. Oh shit. He wanted to believe he hadn’t actually said that, but Janus’s entirely unreadable expression said otherwise.

“What?” Janus hissed, his eyes searching Thomas’s face.

“Oh God,” Thomas said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Too late to pretend he hadn’t said anything and they could ignore it. Now he just had to try for damage control and hope he hadn’t managed to destroy his friendship with Janus completely. “I’m sorry, Janus—I don’t know why I said that. No, I mean, I do, but I know you don’t return my feelings—which is totally fine! I just hope we can—”

“I hate tea,” Janus interrupted Thomas’s frantic and pathetic attempt to explain.

“What?” It was Thomas’s turn to say.

“I hate tea,” Janus said, putting down the mug of tea he made himself, and leaning towards Thomas. “I always have. I’ve spent years trying to find a blend I could stand—you have no idea how many samplers I’ve gone through—before realizing no such blend existed and stopped bothering. Black, Green, White, Pu’er, Herbal, Rooibos, Oolong, Chai—I’ve tried them all to no avail. It doesn’t matter how long I steep them, or if I use the right temperature of water. It doesn’t matter how I try to doctor it with milk or sugar or lemon or honey. Wine, Coffee, plain water, even milk are more to my taste than tea. Hell, I’d rather drink beer.”

“But—But that’s ridiculous!” Thomas managed, unable to reconcile the words coming out of Janus’s mouth with the hundreds of mugs of tea he’d seen his friend drink. “You’re literally drinking tea right now! You made it yourself 20 minutes ago! I was right there watching you! Besides, I’ve seen you drink hundreds of cups of tea over the years and never seen you even touch a beer. I swear, every other time we’re at one of our places you say you were thinking of making yourself some tea and would I… like… some…” Thomas felt his eyes widen. No, that couldn’t be it… could it?

“Yes,” Janus said, leaning further forward, eyes bright and intense and overwhelming. “Very early on after meeting you, Thomas—After falling so deeply in love with you I knew I’d never be able to find my way out if I ever wanted to, not that I ever have—I realized you are the most stubborn person on the face of the planet when it comes to letting other people take care of you. You once mentioned that you find a cup of tea soothing, but later, when I wanted to make just you one, you absolutely refused to let me. So, even if I couldn’t stand the stuff, the simplest way for me to offer you the comfort I so desperately wanted to give you was to learn to choke down the stuff myself. I may hate tea, Thomas. But you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because as someone once said ‘how can I help rhymes with I love you’ and I didn’t think you’d let me say either. Thomas, I would drink a thousand mugs of tea to see that soft, relieved smile of yours when I make you one when you’re stressed. I love you, Thomas. I have loved you for years.”

“But… but why?” Thomas asked, knowing he was repeating himself, but way too overwhelmed to do anything else. Janus loved him?

“Why?” Janus said, head jerking back. “Thomas, I knew you had issues knowing your own worth but—” Janus bit back his words and narrowed his eyes before starting again. “While the fact that you are physically stunning is what first attracted me to you, it’s not the reason I love you.” Breathing. Thomas had to remember that breathing was a thing. “No, I fell in love with you for other things. First of all, that brilliant mind of yours. Not only can you retain and easily access the truly astounding number of facts and how they relate to each other than you need for your engineering work, you have an astonishing way of coming sideways at a problem and developing an elegant solution no one else would imagine. There’s also the fact that you’re hilarious. I don’t think anyone has ever made me laugh as hard or as often as you have. But most importantly, Thomas, the real reason I fell so inescapably in love with you is that you are kind. You look at a world filled with casual cruelty and callousness, where injustice runs rampant and stupid rules let people day for no reason at all—and you say ‘Yes. All this is true. And I will do what I can to change that. I will be kind’. And you are. And you make the world a better place for it. Thomas, I’d have to be an idiot not to fall in love with you.”

And Janus was no idiot.

“You really love me?” Thomas asked, not quite able to believe it.

“I lie about many things, Thomas. You already know that about me. But I would not, will not, lie about this.” There was more honest vulnerability and emotion in Janus’s eyes than Thomas had ever seen there, and if possible, Thomas fell even deeper. Not that it mattered, because apparently Janus had been waiting to catch him all along. “I love you, Thomas Sanders. And I cannot possibly express how happy I am to hear you love me too.”

Janus loved him. Janus loved him.

Janus had also lied to him, but Thomas had known Janus’s flaws when he’d fallen in love, and had fallen anyway. And now that he knew what Janus was willing to do to make him happy?

“At some point,” Thomas said breathlessly (he seemed to have lost his breath somewhere deep in Janus’s eyes), “At some point we’re going to have to talk about the fact that apparently you’ve been lying to me.”

“Agreed,” Janus said, quick and so certain that Thomas didn’t doubt for a second that they would.

“But until then,” Thomas managed. “Until then, can I kiss yo—”

He didn’t manage to finish the sentence before Janus’s lips were pressed against his own.

“My love,” Janus said with a faint, almost disbelieving reverence, pulling back just far enough to look into Thomas’s eyes. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever we want,” Thomas corrected gently, reaching up to lovingly cup Janus’s cheek. “From here on out, we both tell each other what we actually want, instead of dancing around it, okay?”

“In that case,” Janus more purred than said, turning his face slightly to press a kiss against the pad of Thomas’s thumb, while never taking his eyes of Thomas’s face, “I would very much like to kiss you again.”

Thomas swallowed. Thomas swallowed again. “Agreed,” he just managed to say.

With a soft laugh—a laugh Thomas thought he loved just as much as the belly laugh that made him realize the truth—Janus leaved back in and kissed him again.

Later, they would talk with each other about all the things they still needed to. Later, they would be honest and communicate and build something that let both of them feel heard and loved. But that could wait til morning. For now, there were better things to do.

[amanda-teaches]

Til Death Do Us Part? (3)

Series Summary: At a work party with your best friend, Dean, you panic when your new boss asks if you’re couple. Lying to protect your promotion, you wind up fake engaged before you can take it back. When Dean agrees to go along with your lie for a weekend retreat, you end up finding something neither of you had bargained for: love.

Chapter Summary: After your near kiss on the horses, you are more awkward than ever around Dean. What will the arrival of the executives bring? Surprisingly, just the thing you need to push your relationship to the next level.

Pairing: AU Dean x Reader

Square filled: Mutual Pining for @spnfluffbingo​

Word Count: 2220

Warnings: Swearing, a touch of angst, fluff, Dean cuteness, YEARNING, kissing

A/N: Okay, it’s Chapter 3 and we’re finally getting somewhere! But, don’t worry if you love the slow burn, because these two are idiots, so it isn’t anywhere near over yet. Let me know what you think! I’d love to see your thoughts on what’s been happening and where you think it’s going. Tags are open for this series!

Til Death Do Us Part? Masterlist

The first part of your ride back to the hotel was spent in relative silence, the awkwardness from the meadow still lingering in the air, but, true to form, Dean quickly perked up, moving past it to start a long, passionate rant about one of his favorite Western shows, The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.

“I’m just sayin’, it’s got everything, cowboys, bounty hunters, weird futuristic technology used by a evil guy to take over the world.” He paused dramatically, giving you a pointed look. “John Astin. Listen, Y/N/N, it’s criminally underrated.”

You laughed, mostly humoring him because this was far from the first time you’d heard this particular rant. “I’m sure it is, Dean.”

The stables, and hotel in the distance, came into view, and you hesitated, wondering if you should broach the topic of your near kiss before the ride ended. Glancing over at Dean, you quickly reconsidered and chickened out. For all you knew, he hadn’t interpreted it the same way at all and would be completely freaked out if you mentioned it. In fact, the more you thought about it, the more you were sure he hadn’t. Dean didn’t have any romantic feelings for you, so there was no way he’d really been just about to kiss you.

As your eyes shifted back to the horizon, the ring you were wearing caught the sunlight, and you felt a pit of guilt sink into your stomach. You couldn’t tell him. Dean had already done more than enough, and he certainly didn’t need or deserve to deal with whatever one-sided feelings you were developing.

Once you arrived at the stables, Dean helped you dismount, putting his hands on your waist to stabilize you while you jumped down. With Dean’s expert assistance, you quickly unsaddled and brushed down the horses, before putting them back into their stalls.

Dean grinned and grabbed your hand as you stepped outside the door for the short walk back to the hotel. He interlaced his fingers with yours, and you had to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was all just an act. He was just playing the part, a part that, for you at least, was blurring more and more with every touch.

When you got back to the hotel, you noticed that there were more cars parked outside, signalling that at least some of the executives had arrived. You tightened your hold on Dean’s hand, and he smiled back at you, helping to ease some of your nervousness.

Once you made it inside, you saw Clarissa right away, and she rushed over to you, her excitement practically spilling over. “Y/N! You made it!”

“Yes,” you said, your voice spiking a little as she pulled you into an unexpected hug. “Um, you remember my fiance, Dean.” You couldn’t help but relish the way those words sounded on your tongue.

“Yes, yes!” she exclaimed, pulling a stiffened Dean into his own hug. “And, this is my husband, Robert,” she continued, waving over a stately looking man in his 50s, his hair tinged with gray.

“Clari, baby, stop stifling the kids. Your smothering is going to scare them right off.” His welcoming smile and twinkling eyes made you warm to him right away. “Don’t mind my wife. She gets a little overzealous when she’s vacationing on company time.”

“Don’t we all,” you laughed, happy just from the fact that you were the one on the receiving end of your boss’ excitement instead of Stuart. You could handle a few extra hugs this weekend if that’s what it took to get your promotion.

Clarissa clapped her hands together, ignoring her husband’s jokey apology all together. “Oh, Y/N, Dean, I have to introduce you to the other couples!”

She grabbed your hand before you could say anything and dragged you over towards the group on the other side of the lobby. You looked pleadingly over your shoulder at Dean for help, but he just raised his eyebrows at you, smiling amusedly, and shrugged, choosing to hang back with the relative safety of Robert instead.

Traitor.

You were pretty sure you got whiplash with how fast Clarissa skidded to a stop, her hold on your hand sending you lurching forward. Thankfully, you caught yourself and straightened up. As you stared at the six people gathered in front of you, the only thought you had was that you hoped to God your sweat from the horse ride had dried.

“Y/N, this is Joshua Klein, our head of operations, and his wife Delia, Amy Dunn, our management director, and her husband, Thomas, and, of course, you know our company president, Ben Yates, and his husband, Oliver.”

You nodded, still a little too starstruck to respond. You had no idea the company retreat with the “higher ups” would include the head of the company himself.

Ben reached out his hand, shaking yours with a warm smile. “Y/N, it’s so good to meet you. Clarissa’s been telling us some wonderful things. She seems to think you’re quite the rising star in our company.”

Holy shit, he knew your name.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Stunned, you blinked a few times, trying to think of a response, any response other than unintelligible noises, but nothing came out. Luckily, Dean was there to save you.

“Yeah, she’s something else alright,” he chuckled, moving to stand beside you. “I’m pretty sure she lives and breathes work. You wouldn’t believe how many dinners I’ve lost to talk about project ideas and client needs.”

Ben’s husband, Oliver, laughed heartily. “Now, that’s something I can relate to.”

Everyone joined in, and Dean put his hand on the small of your back, giving you an anchor as he continued to talk, charming his way into the group with ease. You looked up at him, smiling softly, and you knew you’d definitely done one thing right this weekend. You’d picked him as your fiance.

That night, you were standing in your room, freshly showered and changed for dinner, but you didn’t make any effort to leave and join Dean and the others. Instead, you stared blankly into the mirror, frozen and wavering, unsure if you could really do this.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean opened the door and popped his head in to investigate your absence, concern flickering in his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

You smiled, trying to put on a brave face, but the second you saw him, your walls crumbled. “Noo…” you stammered out, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this.”

He was by your side in a flash. “Hey, hey,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. You placed your head against his chest and began to cry, all of the stress and fear just pouring out of you. “Is this about the lie?”

“A little,” you choked out. “It’s everything. I mean, the freakin’ president of the company is here for, God’s sake. All the other couples are high level executives, and I’m just...me. I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t lied, I shouldn’t be here.” Your voice dropped to a shame-filled whisper. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Hold up,” he said earnestly, stepping back slightly to look at you, his hands gripping your shoulders. “That’s a bunch of fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

That hadn’t been the response you expected at all, and the surprise of it startled out of your self-pity, your eyes widening at his bluntness. “But…”

He shook his head. “No buts. Y/N, you are the smartest, hardest working person I have ever met. Maybe you did have to tell a little white lie to get in here, but that has nothing to do with how fucking awesome you are at your job. Don’t you dare start to question yourself or your worth. You 100% deserve to be here. Do you think I’d be doing all this if I thought you didn’t?”

You considered his words for a second and shook your head, earning a smile from Dean.

“Damn straight. Now, you’re going to wipe your tears, go out there, and show those big shots exactly who you are, got it?”

“Got it,” you echoed, Dean’s tough love cutting right through and revitalizing you.

“Awesome,” he grinned, dropping his hands from your shoulders and spinning around to make his way back towards the door. He paused before he reached it, looking back at you with a smirk. “Oh, by the way, you look gorgeous.”

You beamed as he winked at you and left, and you knew you couldn’t wipe that smile off your face if you tried.

Dinner was a huge success.

Dean was there to back you up, of course, but you didn’t need him, impressing the group all on your own. You captivated their attention, with your big ideas about the company, passion for its clients, and quick humor. By the end of the night, all eight of them were eating out of the palm of your hand.

After dinner, the ten of you relocated to the lounge, Oliver pouring out drinks for everybody. You sat on the loveseat, and Dean sat down next to you, slinging his arm over your shoulders. You curled into him, the warmth from the alcohol making you feel just relaxed enough to let your guard down.

The company president, Ben, sat down across from you, regarding you with a reassuring smile. He exchanged knowing looks with Joshua, Amy, and Clarissa, who all smiled in return. “Y/N, I’m going to be frank with you. We had a lot of expectations coming into this trip. We’d heard good things about you, but all of us wanted to hold off and wait to see it for ourselves. And, I gotta say…” He paused so long, you were pretty sure he was deliberately trying to give you a heart attack. “You’ve blown them all away.”

Your eyes widened to match his smile, surprise finding its way to your face. “Really?”

Ben nodded, and the others all echoed the action, confirming his statement. “Really. In fact, we all discussed it, and we’d love it if you could be our new Vice President of Client Relations. You’d be working directly under Clarissa, managing all client relations teams and projects.”

This was it, your promotion, the one you’d been dreaming about and working towards for the past three years. It was really happening. You realized after Dean nudged you, that you hadn’t said anything, and you straightened up, busting yourself out of your shock. “Yes, yes! I would be honored. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“You earned it,” Joshua said with a sincere, kind smile. “Long before this trip.”

You turned to Dean, completely elated, and his grin was so proud and heartfelt, it made your heart swell even more. “You did it, Y/N/N! Guess I’m not the only one who believes in you.”

Instinctively, you leaned in to hug him, but you stopped, suddenly remembering your audience. That’s when you heard a soft chuckle from behind you.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account! This is your big moment. Go ahead and kiss him.”

Your eyes, still connected with Dean’s, flickered with a deep-rooted uncertainty, and you started to give into your fear, pulling back. But, before you could, you saw a flash of yearning dart through Dean’s eyes, like he was fighting to hold himself back just as much as you were. You resisted it, trying to convince yourself your mind was playing tricks on, but in the thrill of the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from giving in.

Knowing this might be your only chance, you threw caution to the wind, letting your feelings take over for once in your life. You grabbed his cheeks, pulling him closer until your lips met his. The second they connected, it felt like fireworks going off. Your whole body responded, and you tugged at his lower lip, moaning so softly, only he could hear. Your fingers tightened on his cheek, and he groaned deep in his throat, parting his lips before quickly moving them, pressing and pulling eagerly at yours.

You felt helpless and strong all at the same time to be able to get him to respond like that. He turned your brain and your body to mush, but you had enough frame of mind to pull back as his hand landed on your thigh, remembering where you were.

You looked around frantically at the others in the room, but if they’d seen how quickly the kiss escalated, they didn’t mention it, instead talking quietly amongst themselves. When you turned back to Dean, he was breathing heavily and staring at you, dumbfounded.

Unable to imagine his reaction as anything but appalled at the line you’d just crossed, you panicked, closing yourself off and sliding away from him, letting his hands fall from their places on your shoulder and thigh. Everything in you wanted to look back at him, to tell him how you felt, but you couldn’t, so you kept on staring straight ahead, willing your heartbeat to slow.

What you didn’t know was that, if you’d looked into Dean’s eyes at that very moment, you would’ve seen the exact same desire staring right back at you.

Forevers- @atc74​ @babypieandwhiskey​ @be-amaziing​ @carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @deans-dirty-writer​ @deanwanddamons​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @dolphincliffs​ @edgeofreality35​ @emoryhemsworth​ @focusonspn​ @hannahindie​ @heyitscam99​ @impala-dreamer​ @impandagrl​ @karikatz12481​ @katymacsupernatural​ @maddiepants​ @masksandtruths​ @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester​ @mysterious-398​ @ohmychuckitssamanddean​ @pinknerdpanda​ @roxyspearing​ @spnbaby-67​ @squirrel-moose-winchester​ @wi-deangirl77​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​

Dean Tags - @adoptdontshoppets​ @akshi8278​ @alexwinchester23​  @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @flamencodiva​ @squirrelnotsam​

Til Death Do Us Part?- @vicmc624​ @wayward-gypsy​ @compresshischest09​ @lottieellz101 @roonyxx​ @marvelouslysherlockedhunter​ @hardcoresupernatural​

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Three

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, male-on-female violence, mentions of non-con/rape if you squint, (purely for backstory) PTSD

A/N: WOW! I am so incredibly happy! Thank you guys for enjoying the first few chapters so much! This chapter is the turning point in the story.AKA SHIT GOES DOWN. Please keep interacting and commenting. It means the world! 

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Bucky was already in the training center when you arrived. You yawn, hoping it would expel the exhaustion from your body.

Last night, you and Steve had decided to catch up over pizza and a movie. You talked well into the evening; almost midnight. After kicking him out at 11:45, you kicked yourself for being up that late in the process.

The floors of the room were covered in gray mats, and the walls in mirrors. Practice weapons were strewn about the room for use. There were monitors along one wall and a table against another.

“Morning.” You speak flatly. Refusing the hope that maybe he’d greet you first.

He moved a practice dummy with ease, “Morning.” He responded, continuing his task.

Wow. You think. That’s a first.

Bucky had his back to you as he began to wrap his hands in tape. Had he even looked at you since you walked in? You didn’t think so.

You observed him whilst his back is to you, in awe of his physique. Muscles looking like they’d been carved from marble. Despite enjoying the view, you noticed how incredibly tense his body was; like a rubber band ready to snap. Something was different about him today, and you couldn’t put your finger on it. He was just...off.

“So, what are we starting with?” A question in an attempt to cut the tension.

He didn’t speak for a moment, but you heard a sigh escape his lips. “Right just uh,” he stumbled over what to say, “Show me what you know.” Bucky gestured to the dummy he’d brought over earlier.

Okay, who the hell was this and where is Sergeant Barnes?

Quickly, you grab the tape from Bucky and tape your wrists and knuckles, then stand in front of the dummy to get in position.

Bucky nods at you, signaling you to begin your strikes. Lefts, rights and uppers thrown with ease. Knees and takedowns came just as easily. You barely broke a sweat, but then again it was just a dummy.

You’re stood waiting for approval from Sergeant Barnes, but he doesn’t even look at you.

“Um hello? Did you miss all that?” You ask, already irritated.

He shakes his head subtly to bring himself from his thoughts. “What? Yeah, yeah that was fine.”

You scoff, “Alright you’re obviously not interested in training today so...”

“So what? I said it was fine.” He retorted

You shake your head, “So I’m gonna go. Your mind is clearly somewhere else.”

You turn from him, and begin to remove the tape from your hands. “Did I say you were dismissed, Cadet?” He asks angrily.

You look up at him momentarily, his eyes are dark and there’s very little of that gorgeous cerulean blue showing. “No, but—“

Bucky grabs your wrist firmly, not enough to hurt you, but enough to let you know he’s serious.

“You don’t leave until I say you can leave.” He practically growls.

You snatch your wrist back from him. “Don’t touch me again, Barnes.”

He doesn’t respond to your comment. He just stares at you for a beat, before crossing to the other side of the room.

“Hand-to-hand, now. Show me a takedown.” He orders, pointing at the spot on the mat in front of him.

You shake your head. “No. I’m done with you for today.”

Bucky stares at you, a bit in shock of your defiance. As your hand grips the door handle, you hear a loud scoff.

“Maybe if I get Steve down here you’ll be happy to train.” The way he said his friends name was almost taunting you.

Your feet carried you back to Sergeant Barnes faster than your brain could stop you. “Excuse me? What the hell does Steve have to do with this?”

Bucky let out a sharp laugh. “C’mon Ella.”

You cross your arms in front of you, “Am I suppose to know wh—“

“Tell you what,” He interrupts. “Next time you and Steve decide to spend the night together, you might wanna make it on a weekend so you can actually start making some progress.”

You look at him with confusion before you realize what he is insinuating.

“Are you serious right now?” The anger coursing through your veins was making you tremble.

Bucky held his hands up on defense. “Hey not judging, but if you’re gonna bring a guy into your bedroom, you should make sure your door is shut next time so the whole fucking compound doesn’t hear the two of you.”

A scoff of disgust left your lips, “How dare you!”

Bucky took a step closer to you. “How dare I what?”

You push him back with all the force you could muster, sending him stumbling a few steps.

“That’s your new plan? Spy on me? You listen to me Bucky and you listen real fucking good,” you take several paces towards him and look up into his eyes.

“My life is mine. My choices are mine. You have no right to follow me around and monitor who you assume I’m sleeping with. Got it?” Bucky’s jaw was clenched and his fists were tight. “Last I checked, Steve was your best friend—why didn’t you ask him what was going on between us, hm?”

Bucky was visibly shaken by your words, but you didn’t care.

“Ya know what? I would actually love to do some hand to hand. Right now.” Swiftly, you hit Sergeant Barnes’ left knee with yours, causing him to drop down to one knee. You plant your foot hard against his chest, knocking him backward.

“Have I got your attention, Sarge?” You quipped.

Bucky could’ve stopped you easily, but he deserved it. He tried to control his tongue and his temper, but when he saw you he couldn’t get the image of you and Steve...together, out of his head. It made his stomach churn.

He stood quickly after your takedown and looked at you. “Again.” He ordered.

He watched you charge him. He dodged both of your punches, and grabbed your arm, twisting it behind your back.

You did a back flip to put yourself in a position of leverage, and Bucky allowed it, curious to see what you’d do next.

You were good, naturally good. Practically anticipating the moves he’d try next. The only thing concerning Bucky were the takedowns you used were all too familiar to him.

Using his own arm against him, you jumped behind him swinging his right arm over his neck, yanking him down to the ground. With a twist of your body, you grappled with both of his wrists, pinning them to the mat, and Bucky watched with panicked eyes as your knee aimed for his groin, but you moved it an inch down before you made impact.

Bucky was breathing heavy, as were you. You brought your face inches from his, feeling your warm breath mingle in the space between. “I’m not fucking your friend, Barnes.” You seethe.

Your eyes flickered to his lips that were teasingly close to yours. They looked soft and gentle in contrast with the prickly stubble growing across his face. You imagined how easy it would be to kiss him like this. How it would warm you from top to tail, but his comments from earlier returned to your mind, discarding those.

You pushed off of his chest, jumping to your feet, begrudgingly offering him a hand to stand. He took it, watching you cautiously.

“Where did you learn that?” He asked flatly.

You look at him inquisitively, “Learn what?”

“That,” he said. “Those moves. Pretty advanced for a rookie. Where did you learn them?” He asked again.

Bucky asked you like he knew the answer. Did he know? No. Steve said he didn’t say anything.

“I-I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.” You stuttered, quickly unwrapping the tape from your hands.

He walked closer to you, causing you to back up until your hip hit the table.

“Stop lying.” He ordered. “Where were you trained before this?” The metal vice grabbed your wrist again, only this time it was meant to hurt

“S-Sergeant Barnes, you’re hurting me.” You said, a small tremble in your voice.

The blue of his eyes was completely gone, and they were dark and bloodshot.

“Who the fuck are you?!” He shouted, causing a ringing in your ears.

You twisted and pushed off of him, making a run for the door. As you reached it, you felt a powerful tug on the back of your hair. The force of being slammed into the ground knocking the wind from your lungs. Bucky dragged across the room by your hair, holding down so you weren’t able to escape.

He threw you to the center of the room. “FRIDAY! Get Steve!” You shout.

“I’ve already alerted him Miss Monroe, he’s on his way!” She shouts.

Bucky released your hair, and moved his metal grip to your throat. “Я знаю кто ты! Ты один из них!” He shouted at you in Russian. You knew what he was saying, he thinks you’re one of them.

“B-Bucky...” you choke. “I’m not. I s-swear!” Your eyes are full of tears as you plead with him.

He doesn’t register what you’re saying—he just grips your throat harder. You punch and kick with everything you have left, but he doesn’t move an inch.

Vision spotty, and feeling yourself losing consciousness, you suddenly hear the door of the room burst open.

“Bucky! Stop!” You hear Steve shout. You watch as he grips his friend shoulder and rips him off you with ease.

“Sam, get her outta here!” He shouts.

The man scoops you in his arms, “I gotcha. Don’t worry.” You’re still faint, but safe. The last thing you see is Steve attempting to hold Bucky back.

Before you knew it, you had passed out completely.

The scar where metal met flesh was burning and his head was throbbing.

Bucky’s eyes took their time adjusting to the bright lights. Groans escaped his lips as he shook off the delirium, realizing he couldn’t fully move.

He looked at his left arm, it was strapped down to the floor with what he could only assume were vibranium restraints.

“Buck?” He heard his friend call.

Bucky’s eyes looked to the wall opposite him. Steve was there, arms folded leaning against the off-white walls of a holding cell.

“Steve.” Bucky gently tugged at the restraints, “What...what did I do?” he asked, sounding defeated.

He hadn’t had a relapse in months, damn near a year. He thought all the progress he’d made with therapy had finally been working for him, and now it seems that’s all down the drain.

“What do you remember, Pal?” Steve asked kindly. He’d been through this with Bucky before. He knew it would be better for Bucky to recall things himself, rather than painting him a vague picture.

Bucky let out a puff of air, “I-I was in the training center.”

Steve nodded.

Bucky was struggling to fit the puzzle pieces of his mind together as quickly as he would like. Her face flashed across his memories, except it was distorted. Scared.

“Ella and I. Ella was there. We were training, fighting...we had a fight.” Bucky’s voice was painted with sadness and embarrassment at the thought of fighting with her.

The cloudy images of what happened next began to enter his mind. He saw himself on top of her, choking her. He remembers wanting to kill her...

He felt his blood pressure rising and his heart pounding in his chest. “Oh my God, Steve. Where is she? Is she okay? Did I...” Bucky swallowed hard.

“Did I hurt her?” He sounded like he would cry if Steve’s answer has been yes.

Steve shook his head, “She’s okay, Buck.” He walked to his friend, undoing the restraints and hoisting him to his feet.

“Did I hurt her...” Bucky asked again firmly.

He nodded. “She’s a little banged up, but nothing...serious. Sam took her back to her room. She’s resting.” Steve said, putting a reassuring arm on his friends shoulder.

“Shit...” Bucky cursed, rubbing his face. He felt his heart nearly split in two at the thought of what he did.

“What happened, Buck? Do you know what triggered it?” Steve sounded as if he knew the answer.

Bucky sat down again, leaning his head against the wall next to Steve, waiting for him to join him. When he sat, Bucky let out a shameful sigh.

“She—Ella, she reminded me so much of HYDRA. Everything she was doing, and with the way she moved. I’ve only ever seen HYDRA agents know how to take me down that way.”

Steve rubbed his hands over his knees a few times; an old habit from when he and Buck were kids and Steve was nervous.

“I know you said you know her, and you trust her,” Bucky spoke. “But how, Steve. Who is she? Where did she come from?”

Steve sighed. He knew Bucky needed answers, he just hopes Ella forgives him for spilling her secret. “Okay, first things first, she’s not HYDRA.”

Bucky kept his gaze on the floor as his friend spoke. “She was...raised, I guess you could say, by them. She was kidnapped when she was 9 or 10, she doesn’t remember exactly how old she was.”

Bucky looked to his friend, confused. “What? HYDRA takes kids?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. She was one of the first. Took her from her family while they were on vacation. The theory was if you eliminate the compassion—the innocence before it can grow, you have someone...something that doesn’t know anything but rage and obedience and violence.”

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. In all the time he was kept by HYDRA, he’d never seen them take kids.

Bucky didn’t speak, so Steve continued. “They...they did things to her. Experimented on her, trained her to be a sword-for-hire, and used her for...other really horrible things, but she survived. That’s what she does Buck, she’s a survivor. All the hell they put her through, she found a way to hold onto that little piece of herself.”

Bucky wanted to cry. He wanted to run to her and hold her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to make her feel safe, and wanted and loved.

But he couldn’t. He screwed up, like he screws everything up. He’d pushed you away, making you feel like you didn’t matter and worse than anything...he hurt you.

“How did you find her?” Bucky asked with tremors in his voice.

“Around 8 years ago, we were storming the last active HYDRA base over in Romania. Got all the hostages out, right in time to blow the building. Then Sam tells me he’s getting heat signatures in the basement. It was her, Buck.”

Steve helped Bucky to his feet, and continued talking as they made their way back toward the compound.

“She was surrounded by 4 or 5 of them, she was chained to the wall...the things they were doing to her...” he shook his head in an attempt to erase the memories, “It’s a scene I’d never want to relive, and I don’t think she would either. I got her out right before the first charge blew. From there I brought her to a SHIELD infirmary, she was there for a few months. After that she was debriefed and gave us anything we could ever need on HYDRA. I set her up with a place to stay, and a job...anything to help her try and find a sense of normality.”

Bucky still hadn’t said a word. He knew what HYDRA was capable of, and what those men probably did to her. He also knew how lucky they were to have been killed already, before he got his hands on them.

The two of them reached the housing level of the compound. Steve heading into the kitchen with Bucky on his heels. Each of them grabbing a water from the fridge before taking a seat at the table.

“Ella’s not a threat, Buck. You two have a lot more in common than you think. Give her a chance, she’s a great gal.”

Bucky nodded at his friend. “All you’ve done for her, why’d you do it?” He asked.

Steve smiled softly. “I’ve seen what happens when HYDRA takes someone’s life from them, this time I had the means to give one back.”

When the pair had finished talking, Bucky headed for his room. He strolled down the hall, instinctively stopping in front of her door. He heard her breathing, steady and rhythmic. She was asleep.

He put his hand flush with the door, wanting nothing more than to go see her, and apologize. Instead he stood there for a moment, repeating a silent apology to himself over and over again.

Bucky slipped through his bedroom door, stripping himself of the dirty, sweat stained clothes currently clinging to his body. He entered his bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

Steam filled the room in seconds and Bucky jumped into the scolding water, not caring how his skin was screaming at him to get out. He washed himself thoroughly, scrubbing his hair and rinsing that too.

By the time he was done, the water had run cold. Bucky didn’t care, he pressed his back to the glass wall of the shower and slid down it. He brushed his wet hair back with both hands and closed is eyes.

In the icy water, it was easy to feel the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He sat there weeping for what felt like hours. When was the last time he’d cried? He couldn’t remember.

Bucky was embarrassed, and he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had done, and what he was still capable of doing. Hurting you was his biggest fear and now look at the mess he’s made.

When he’d had enough, he climbed into his bed somberly, bracing himself for a sleepless night. He knew he’d have to see you again, but he also knew it would probably be the last time.

It’s going to hurt him. To not see you smile every morning at the sunrise, not hear your voice wish him good morning, or see you steal those momentary glances at him everyday.

Distance. That’s the only way it could work. No more training, no more contact. Just removing himself from your life, one day at a time.

Bucky’s lost you before he even had you, but maybe that for the best.

Chapter Four: A Mistake

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Crack!Fic

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Can't Afford to Fall by p1013 Rated:  Explicit Words:  100543 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Auror Harry Potter, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Past Draco Malfoy/Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy & Minerva McGonagall Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Rubeus Hagrid Friendship, Neville Longbottom & Draco Malfoy Friendship, House Elves, Hogwarts Castle, Quidditch, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Boggarts, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Excessive Quidditch, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Obsessed with Harry Potter, minor vomiting in the final chapter, Frottage, Getting Together, Pining, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Resolved Sexual Tension, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Growth, did I mention slow burn?, POV Draco Malfoy Summary:  Looking at Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, curled in on himself on a classroom floor, Draco can't help but think of that scared sixteen-year-old version of himself. All he wanted was for someone to help, to save him from his own choices. And here he is, with Harry Potter pooled before him like blood on tile, needing the same. Draco takes a hesitant step forward. He's on the edge of something, though he doesn't know what it is yet. But there's a choice before him, one he almost doesn't want to make. Draco's been the potions master at Hogwarts for four years. At the beginning of his fifth year, everything looks like it'll be smooth sailing. That is, until the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher arrives and throws all of Draco's well-considered plans out the window. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 to punch & to understand by canonjohnlock Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  12393 Tags: AU, text fic, Social Media AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Non-magical AU, Alternate Universe - Social Media, Harry and Draco text, Humor, Crack, Sexual Humor Summary:  The group chat names are all over the place, Hermione does a keg stand, and Ron passes out at dinner. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Ad Pavonem by Lomonaaeren Rated:  Mature Words:  29460 Tags: Aurors, Crack, Jealousy, Mystery, Peacocks, Birds, Master of Death Harry Potter Summary:  Draco Malfoy, who had seemed to be staying out of trouble after the war, has been connected to smugglers of Dark artifacts. Harry goes to investigate…and runs afoul of a defensive spell at the Manor that makes it highly improbable he can complete his mission. Much worse, Draco doesn’t even know the defensive spell has been triggered. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Ten Points for Gryffindor by VivacissimoVoce Rated:  Mature Words:  31395 Tags: Romance, Humor, Patronus, Christmas, Fluff, Redeemed Draco, Crack, Auror Harry, Transformation, Healers, Post-Hogwarts Summary:  It’s Christmas and Harry is growing antlers, but no one knows why. Perhaps Draco Malfoy can apply his expertise as a Healer and figure out how to remove them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 nailed by peachpety Rated:  Mature Words:  1788 Tags: Texting, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Oblivious Harry, Cock Soap, Dick Jokes Summary:  An innocent search for a birthday gift has Harry in quite a lather. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 It’s a lovely day at Malfoy Manor, and Draco is a horrible goose by toutcequonveut Rated:  General Words:  2225 Tags: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Comedy, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Crack-ish, Untitled Goose Game References, Task Lists (Untitled Goose Game), Animagus Draco Malfoy, Based on a Tumblr Post, Crack Treated Seriously, ish, i dunno i can't tell what's crack anymore, Embedded Images, Getting Together, Animagus Summary:  What the title says ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Three Wishes by PalenDrome (nerdherderette) Rated:  Explicit Words:  10161 Tags: Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Godparents, Wish Fulfillment, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Butt Plugs, Sex Toys, Implied Switching, Light Angst, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Confessions, Auror Harry Potter, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Be Careful What You Wish For, Thirsty Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary:  Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing. [excerpt]: Pop! "Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming." "What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Noble and Most Ancient Kettle of Black by MaesterChill, timothysboxers Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  8296 Tags: Established Relationship, Moving In Together, Sentient Objects, Tea, Bickering, more tea, Not all of it good, more bickering, POV Alternating, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Fluff and Humor, Claustrophobia, Panic Attacks Summary:  Things get steamy in the newly formed Potter-Malfoy household. Unfortunately it's not in the sexy way you might expect... When a copper kettle and a porcelain teapot stir up tensions to boiling point, who will be the unlikely saviour to calm the troubled waters with a perfect cup of tea? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Secret Diary of Draco Malfoy: Aristocrat, Ne'er do Well, Rampant Homosexual by Alysian_Fields Rated:  Mature Words:  73008 Tags: Humor, Crack, Explicit Language, Sexual Content Summary:  Draco is the bitchy gay wizard version of Bridget Jones. And he has a huge crush on a certain Boy Wonder... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Malfoy's Secret by justasnake Rated:  Explicit Words:  24059 Tags: Crack, Smut, Alternate Universe - Crack, Gratuitous Smut, Crack Treated Seriously, Shameless Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Doppelcest, Snakes, Time Travel, Shrinking, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Hyperdimensional Bondage, Underwater Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Coffee Shops, Public Blow Jobs, Eventual Plot Summary:  The Malfoy family holds an ancient and terrible secret. Harry finds out what the secret is on page one. 90% Drarry smut/crack, 10% discussion of higher-dimensional physics. COMPLETE! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 So find your happiness by LakeWitch Rated:  Mature Words:  40731 Tags: Mentions Of Infidelity, not drarry though, Swearing, Drinking, Drunkenness, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, POV Draco Malfoy, Computers, YouTube, Ibiza, This was all an excuse to research Ibiza as if I was planning a vacation, Dancing, Clubbing, Sexual Tension, charity work, Beaches, Stargazing, Television Watching, Skinny Dipping, Brief talk about Muggle religion, Confessions, there is some drama, someone cries, custard, Literal Sleeping Together, No Smut, crackish?, Crack Treated Seriously, at least, The crack bits include:, DJ Harry Potter, Draco singing along to Britney Spears, Harry makes YouTube videos of himself dancing in his living room, Harry's ringtone is the intro to Aaliyah's Try Again, Too many late 90s/early 00s RnB and Pop references, yes Harry is a DJ in Ibiza, Draco plays Boyz II Men when he's pining, mentions of clown sex, pandemic brain wrote this, ignore me, Oh and Also, Possessive Behavior, Gaslighting, this is really a mixed bag, but mostly enjoying Ibiza and friendly conversation, And lots of dancing, Draco Malfoy is Obsessed with Harry Potter, Stalking, but with good intentions, Meddling Pansy Parkinson, everything I write is essentially the same story Summary:  Thanks to a special interest in Muggle culture, Pansy comes across something rather interesting on the internet: someone who looks very much like Harry Potter is posting videos of himself dancing on YouTube under the name "Evan James". But Harry Potter has been missing and unheard of for years. They say he couldn't take the fame and he'd just up and left the UK behind, with rumour placing him somewhere on the Continent. When Pansy shows Draco one of the videos, something ... well, awakens in him. Something he had very much tried to move on from and forget—that he has loved Harry Potter ever since they were fourteen. Pansy convinces Draco that it's time he travels to Ibiza to find Harry and "shoot his shot", once and for all. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Bitch, I'm Harry Potter by Aylaar Rated:  Mature Words:  12068 Tags: Crack, Fluff and Humor, crackfic, This is crack, What the hell did I write this for, Hogwarts Eighth Year, This Is STUPID, Song Lyrics, Parody, Drarry, Love, Flirting, Kissing, boys, Gay, Help, Pansy is a VSCO Girl, Draco is embarrassed, Skateboards, Dyed hair, Harry wears vans, and he sings songs, really awkwardly, i cant believe i wrote this, I'm super weird, I'm Sorry, Famous Harry, Good Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Alternative Energy, Not Epilogue Compliant, Epilogue? what epilogue, Out of Character, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Crack Relationships, Draco is sassy, Why Does Draco Roll His Eyes SO MUCH, Hermione Wants Pansy, Pansy Wants Hermione, it's cute, Pansmione Will Happen, I promise, Blaise Might Want Ginny, Ron Loves Chicken, Song: Toxic (Britney Spears), Song: Sad (XXXTENTACION), Song: Buy U A Drank (T-Pain), References to VSCO Girls, References to Carly Rae Jepsen's Call Me Maybe, I May Have Made a TikTok Reference, I'm 26 and I act like a 14 Year Old, Cute Boys Singing To Each Other, Happy Ending, Boys' Love, Boys In Love, Marriage Proposal Summary:  It's Eighth Year at Hogwarts and Harry Potter rocks up with a skateboard, turquoise hair and is fully prepared to prank, annoy and act completely ridiculous. It could be for the attention of Malfoy, it may not be. Who knows? This is a crack fic, it's not serious what so ever and really just a fic full of ridiculousness. This is for my favourite Mommy Puff Complete ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Surprise us by tomoewantsdolls Rated:  General Words:  1036 Tags: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, Portkeys, Travel, Crack, Humor, a pissed off portkey official is vengeful, Mythical Beings & Creatures Summary:  A pissed off portkey officer sends Harry and Draco to an unknown destination. ❤️ Read on AO3

[identityarchitect]

*poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you* *poking you*

i expertly deflect every single strike

[piastrinorris]

busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

masterlist | prev. | next

Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 9.3k

A/N: This thing's getting out of control at this rate! Not only do the chapters keep getting longer, I keep making more and more complicated assets to tell the story, too. I hope you like it!

Also, to all my patient angst queens (gn) out there - not sure how long it's gonna take me to write bc I'm sure it's going to RUIN ME but. Next chapter. Look out for it. :)

Also x2, big love to @steddiesandwich @joemazzmatazz and @heroeddiemunson especially for all the love and contributions they've given to this series. There's some special cameos from them especially somewhere in this chapter!

Another week goes by, another chance to check Ralph's social media numbers. Ever since he remained a trending topic on Twitter following his face reveal - along with the phrase “oh no he’s hot”, which your friends found hilarious but you found yourself feeling… Uncomfortable over. Every now and then you look up his name on social media sites, grateful that the name relatively died out to the point where he’s one of the most popular Ralphs these days, though it leaves you with a strange feeling in your stomach every time. 

There’s just something about the way people tend to objectify him - he’s your friend, and you know he’s so much more than the curls in his hair and the chain on his neck and his chocolate button eyes - a phrase becoming very common amongst his admirers. Arguably the worst part about that is that, either just because you’ve been seeing talk of nothing but those details, or maybe they’re all things you’d already appreciated about Ralph, but you find yourself more and more aware of them with every day that you live with him. And with still no word from Homeless Pete about whether the time machine is awake again. 

You even start to visit the building that Ralph had pointed out on that day 6 weeks ago for yourself, just to see if it really is taking that long to reboot, but it seems to be an ordinary lift every time you go to look at it. You’d be lying if you said you were anything other than relieved whenever the lift would work completely normally, even when you tried to replicate how Ralph had described Pete getting the two of them over here. 

If you were a stranger, looking in on Ralph every now and then, you’d have no reason to believe he wasn’t just your flatmate. He’s been getting more confident about his own role in the modern world, even going so far as to hold brunches for his girl gang, which you’d appreciate a lot more if he ever told you in advance when they’d happen. Though you can usually predict at this point that, if you’re having a rough day at work, you can guarantee you’ll be returning to a flat full of people that you can’t decompress around. 

Not that you didn’t like Ralph’s friends, of course you did - but you’ve been letting Ralph have this group to himself, so as not to make him fully co-dependent on you. You hope that, if anything, him having the confidence to keep up so many friends himself will translate once he’s back home and he can hopefully confront his sister. You know it’s a sore subject, and so you’ll never ask - and it’s not got anything to do with you, anyway - but you wonder whether he’ll seek Lauren out there as well. Whether the New Ralph will try to win her back, or realise that he deserves more than someone who even you know wouldn’t be compatible with him. But again, that’s none of your business. 

Today’s another day off, and you and Ralph are sat in your living space. With Ralph growing tentatively more aware of what social media is actually for, he’s accumulated many questions about it that you’d told him you’d have to dedicate a whole day to answering, and that day has finally arrived. 

“Okay, first things first,” Ralph starts, crossing his legs on the sofa cushion beneath him and opening a book he had bought a couple of weeks back. “Who is mister Stanley Loona and why do people insist on telling me his name all the time?” 

You promised yourself you wouldn’t laugh in his face, that just because internet lingo is second nature to you doesn’t mean that Ralph is silly for not understanding. But Mr Stanley Loona immediately cracked you. Once you calm down, you apologise profusely. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t want to do that! But, stan in this sense isn’t a name, it’s a verb. To stan something is to be a really, really big fan of it. Loona spelled the way you see it, that’s a Korean pop group.” 

“That explains all the dancing ladies that accompany that name, then,” Ralph mutters under his breath as he scrawls on his notepad some more. You bite your knuckle so as not to laugh again. “So, if I were to express my gratitude to you, would I say that I stan you?”

You feel your face get warm. “Well - not exactly, stanning is more of a parasocial thing, between fan and celebrity, or character, or franchise. For example, you might call yourself an Audrey 2 stan,” you smirk as you jerk your head over to the TV screen, where Ralph has requested Little Shop of Horrors for the fifth time since he’s been here. 

He looks at the TV in awe for a moment, “That puppeteering work is just spectacular, isn’t it?!” You’d felt your emotions rise and then drop fleetingly. He’d once referred to something as being “wizard”, and you’d been dying to hear it again, but clearly it must have been a phrase reserved for the most truly special of things. He clears his throat as he reads down his list. “Anyway, next question. Why does everyone feel the need to tell me about their lack of headgear when I ask for clarification on something?” 

You rack your brain for a moment before it clicks, “Do you mean that they say the words “no cap”?” Ralph nods. “That’s just another way of saying “no lie”, it means they want you to know they’re telling the truth. Remember, we talked about fact checking the things you read for the first time before you believe them?” 

Ralph frowns, “Listen here, it would not be entirely uncommon for a Penbury to be loosely related to royalty, we’ve always had ties with high society for generations -” 

“Something tells me that maybe you’re probably not closely related enough to a Nigerian prince that they’d be genuinely emailing you to offer you a share in their fortune,” you reach out to pat his knee before smirking. “And the less said about your potential investment in enhancement pills, the better.” 

“Moving on,” Ralph quickly continues with deliberation, his ears growing pink again. “So, when you posted that photo of me, the one where I had been wearing a red scarf. It seemed to make a lot of people sad,” he frowns. “And they kept telling me I was in an era that I didn’t recognise, the one of Jake Geel- Guy- G-” He sighs in frustration as he flips his book around to show you the name he’s copied down perfectly, but you’ve already figured it out, and texted both Anna and Grace to let them know that the time has come to show Ralph the full video of All Too Well. 

Neither of them respond to your text, but they’re both at the flat within ten minutes, thankfully interrupting the second after Ralph deadpan asks you for the definition of the word “bussy”. 

The girls are a little taken aback at the sight of Ralph, which worries him, but they answer his concerned expression with, “Oh, sorry, there’s nothing wrong! Just so used to seeing you always looking smartly dressed. Strange seeing you in pyjamas.” 

Ralph frowns, “Well, yes, you must always look smart, even in your resting hours, that’s why I got these matching pyjama sets! They don’t quite seem to be what they used to be, but I’ve been getting rather used to sleeping in shirts without buttons!” 

“I’m not sure how Pokémon PJs could be considered “smart”, but you do you, bud,” Anna ruffles his hair, which he sits upright to lean into happily. Between that and his co-opting of Grace’s love of pet names, he’s become very comfortable amongst your friends’ presence. Even if you do have to find ways to make sure they don’t see you react every time Ralph calls anyone “darling”. 

“Poke them on? What am I supposed to poke?” Ralph asks, pressing the graphic of the yellow creature on his shirt. 

Anna smiles, “No, Ralph, those are Pokémon. That’s Pikachu.” 

“God bless you,” Ralph looks Anna in the eye immediately, straight faced as anything, before looking around for a box of tissues. 

“Oh my god,” you groan under your breath, hanging your head as your friends laugh. “You know, the Pokémon ones aren’t even his worst set.” 

“I got some that have a man named Rick on them who became a pickle, no less!” Ralph explains excitedly, his nose wrinkling as his head bobs back and forth. “The shop assistant assured me that it was quite hilarious when it happened.” 

“This isn’t even the worst thing he’s said this morning,” you look at the girls in despair. “I’ll never let Connor take him shopping alone again.” They promise not to, either, and you gesture for them to join you around the TV. Before you can reposition yourself to allow for them to sit between you and Ralph, Anna has sat herself on the other side of Ralph to you, and Grace is on the floor. 

Ralph’s brow furrows. “Grace, please, allow me to sit in your place and you up here, the floor is no place for a lady to be sitting -” 

Grace interrupts, in her classic way, “Women can do anything, Ralph!” 

He frowns, “I hardly think that sitting on the floor is something that anyone should aspire to, regardless of gender, but I suppose if you must.” Grace and Anna exchange similar expressions that you can’t quite get a read on as you set up the video to play. 

Ralph’s first thought as it starts is, “Well, that actress certainly looks far too young to be playing the part of this man’s partner believably!” 

“Keep watching,” Anna hushes, though it’s only Ralph that’s looking at the screen; the three of you anxiously await his reactions to the whole video. He pulls faces of disgust at every loved-up scene, and positively scowls when Dylan O’Brien drops Sadie Sink’s hand. 

“Now, why would she possibly return to him after that godawful apology?!” he exclaims. “He was clearly just telling her what she wanted to hear, there was no weight behind that at all!” 

“We were all young and stupid once, Ralphie babes,” Grace shakes her head. 

“But surely these men would want something far more enriching with someone their own -” Ralph falters as he remembers how he and his twin had found their father on the day he had passed away. He had always found it strange that they’d found him lying naked on top of a far younger woman, and his mother’s rushed explanation of them both performing a specific style of Chinese acrobatics never quite seemed to ring true. He shrinks down in the seat as he watches, quietly seething. 

He does seem to perk up ever so slightly when he sees the protagonist celebrating her birthday surrounded by her own friends. “I’m glad she saw what an awful man he was and left him,” he muses. 

“Oh no, he broke up with her,” you explain, and Ralph’s expression once again shifts to that of total horror. 

“What?!” he exclaims. “And she was just turning 21?! What an awful, awful man.” 

“Yeah, when it actually happened to the real couple, his PR team came out and said it was all because the two of them were in the limelight so much.” 

“Ridiculous,” Ralph spits, scowling as he folds his arms. 

“Yeah, so that’s why now she’s getting her side of the story out there.” 

“Good for her! As she should,” Ralph nods, earning himself another head pat from Anna. He gasps loudly, “Wait!” and rushes to the bedroom, soon emerging with the red scarf that prompted this whole situation, though he holds it as though it’s diseased. “Do you think she would like this one? Could we send it to her as a present?” 

A chorus of aww s comes from your friends as you shake your head, “It’s fine, mate, and you don’t even have to throw it away, really.” 

He looks at it, and then pulls a face. “No, I can’t. Red has never especially been my colour, anyway.” 

The girls continue teaching Ralph about Taylor Swift’s relationship history as you inform the boys enquiring in the group chat as to where everyone is. They’re talking about how she’s always written her own songs when Anna asks, “Do you play any instruments, Ralph?” 

His eyes light up, “Oh, yes! I must say, leaving home… The way that I did, I do miss my ukulele.” Your eyes dart quickly to see if the girls react to Ralph talking about leaving home, but thankfully that’s not the part that they focus on. 

They excitedly ask him about his craft as you text the one friend you know can help you give Ralph a little bit of his old life back: 

You also tell Scott that Connor is coming over, and he lets you know that he may as well complete the group. 

Connor does, however, groan when he and Scott walk through the door, “We did not come all this way to listen to Taylor Swift the whole time.” 

Ralph frowns at his new favourite artist being disrespected, but you pat his shoulder comfortingly. “Why don’t you play us a song?” Everyone else nods excitedly as Connor hands him the instrument, but Ralph looks unsure as he starts strumming.  

“Well, I don’t really know any actual songs, I just know the chords and then I write my own,” Ralph admits, his ears getting pink. 

Scott looks at him and gasps excitedly. “I beg, play one of your songs for us!” 

“Oh, codswallop, you don’t want to hear any of that!” You could fry something on the poor man’s ears, they were that red. 

Instead, in a bid to satiate everyone, you tell your Echo to play Queen, but it doesn’t recognise your voice, as you’d forgotten until this moment. Sighing in half-hearted frustration, you ask Ralph, “Can you ask it to just play Queen , please?” 

Ralph shuffles in his seat, shimmies his shoulders and grins proudly as he looks around all of your friends. “I’m the machine’s best friend, you know, it only wants to listen to me!” 

“He set it up to be locked on his voice?” Connor asks, amused. 

“And figured out he could use it to buy things,” you smile sarcastically, flicking your eyes over to a new pair of shoes sitting just by the door. 

“So it’s not you that’s suddenly into tap dancing, then? Shame,” Scott teases as you flip him off. 

“He did also order me those as an apology,” you gesture at the arrangement of a variety of flowers that sits on your coffee table. “Though off my account, so really it was a gift to and from myself.” 

“Do you all mind, please?” Ralph asks shortly, and you all fall silent. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Alexa, darling, be a gem and play some Queen music for my friends, won’t you, please?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He frowns, “My speech was quite clear, was it not?!” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose, to everyone else’s quiet titters. “Three words, mate. That’s all you need to say.” 

Ralph’s eyes widen with fear as he shakes his head. “That thing already knows how to do too much, once it gains full sentience, I want it to see me as an ally!” 

“Then just add a single please at the end,” you explain, resigned, which he does to his own chagrin. 

While Ralph doesn’t know any of the songs, obviously, he does seem to be enjoying listening out for how chord progressions go and trying to play along with them. He seems at peace with the instrument. It’s very sweet to watch. 

Connor pulls you out of your trance by loudly exclaiming from behind you, “Speaking of good old fashioned lover boys!” You cringe at your friend’s segue, terrified at what that could insinuate. “Hey Ralphie, have you managed to pull yet?" 

He looks at you, confused, and mouths, Pull?

You roll your eyes and shake your head before addressing your friend again. "Ralph's had enough to learn just being here, and besides, I am not laying out here while he goes at it with some stranger in my bed, thank you!" You can't even think about Ralph kissing anyone else, let alone… No. Absolutely not. 

When you look back over at Ralph, his ears resemble a pair of Polish flags. “Gadzooks, certainly not! I couldn’t - I would never - not even - that would take months of courting!” 

Your warning stares at your friends to not laugh at the word gadzooks doesn’t last through the mention of courting. “It’s… A bit different around here these days, Ralph. You know those things on your phone, the apps?” He nods. “And how there’s apps for everything?” Another nod. “Well, there are apps that help you connect with potential… Suitors,” even you have to bite your lip as you try to translate the likes of Tinder into Ralphspeak. “You make a profile with photos and a description of yourself, and you look at other peoples profiles to see if you like them. If you both like each other, you can talk to each other and arrange to see each other from there.” 

Ralph looks entirely perplexed, but he still hands his phone over to an excited Scott. “Right, do we use a photo from his Insta that’s already doing numbers? That way we know what’s gonna be the best received.” 

Grace shakes her head, “Nah, anyone who recognises him will just think it’s a catfish.” 

Ralph leans close to you to ask quietly, “Why would they -” 

“They’re not gonna think you’re a fish, Ralph,” you groan back in the same volume. “A catfish is someone who pretends to be someone else on the internet. So, what photo do we use?” You hope they don’t ask to look through your camera roll. You’re forever taking candids as potential shots for Ralph’s social media, but the ratio of photos you take versus ones you feel are good enough to post may give your friends ideas about just why you take so many photos of him. And you don’t need that to add even more complications to what is already the most bizarre two months of your life. 

“Definitely a brand new one, right off the bat,” Grace nods. 

“Could we not use one that already exists that nobody’s seen? Anyone got any of those?” Connor asks. You quickly shake your head, keeping your phone out of sight. He frowns, “All I’ve got is group photos.” 

“Oh, never have a group photo as your first one,” Anna shakes her head. “Why don’t we just let Ralph choose how to have his first photo, without our judgement? It’s his profile, after all.” 

Despite their complaints, the others agree to let Ralph decide what photo he should take, though you do suggest that perhaps he change out of his Pokémon pyjamas first. Your friends are quick to hurry him, reminding him that he only really needs to change his top half. 

The sight that befalls you within the next twenty minutes is arguably one of your most favourite Ralph moments. There he stands, against the back wall in your flat, wearing a smart polo shirt with bottoms that are adorned with Bulbasaurs, Squirtles and Charmanders; and after having plucked out a rose from the arrangement of flowers that he’d ordered for you and inspecting it for a while, Ralph had decided that the most charming way to pose with it would be to put it between his lips. You and your friends all look to each other to silently react without Ralph catching on, and everyone seems to silently agree that the best way to do so is to stare at Anna in a way that lets her know she’s entirely responsible for this, which she takes from everyone quite happily. It puts you at ease that all your friends are just accepting him as merely being a bit quirky, rather than anything suspicious. 

Scott takes the official photos, and you’re happily documenting the behind the scenes for it all to look back on someday. Or later that night. Who’s to say? After Scott deems that the perfect shot has been taken, you all crowd around to decide what else to include. Connor comes up with the idea of creating a slideshow presentation in which you all contribute to help “sell” Ralph. He agrees to it quite happily, putting faith in everyone else’s knowledge of the modern dating world over his own lack thereof. 

After much deliberation, and some creative brainstorming amongst the five of you, you create the perfect Tinder profile for him: 

Once it’s all uploaded, Connor and Anna teach Ralph how to use the app, showing him how to read bios, look through others’ photos and ultimately swipe either way on them. Ralph still finds it all unusual to judge people so superficially, but Grace assures him from a distance that it’ll come with time. 

While the idea of Ralph having a Tinder account did seem funny to you at the time, something doesn’t sit right in the bottom of your stomach. The idea of Ralph dating? Hilarious. The reality of it? Of him finding someone he’s attracted to, of him falling in love with someone els- someone, of him leaving you and the flat to start a life with them? How would you explain Ralph’s situation to them? What if they wanted to get married, have a family? The thought of Ralph becoming someone else’s husband just doesn’t compute. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, maybe once everyone’s gone home you can scare him away from it. But then, who are you to deny Ralph a little fun while he’s here? Surely, dating around might be a good experience for him, especially around the new friends he’s made. It’d be a good confidence booster for when he returns to his own time. It might even teach him not to fall as fast and hard for people as he did for Lauren. Or to be the kind of person that wins her back. Whatever he wants. The pros of him dating massively outweigh the cons, but there’s still something in your heart of hearts warning you against it. 

At the end of the day, you tell yourself, Ralph is a grown man. Only he can decide if he is ready to date someone. It’s your job, as his friend, to support him even with all his… Extra stuff. 

The gang suggests going out for a late lunch, but as you prove by gesturing to your own questionably mismatched outfit, you’d originally hoped you could take today as a laundry day. It's too late to start now, though; with the sheer amount you've got to get through, it's a full-day devotion, and now that you're all ramped up from the day's events, there's no possible way you could focus on something as mundane as washing your clothes. Instead, you all order in and pass time with some games while Ralph happily strums away in the background. 

You occasionally pick up on him singing lyrics such as, “It’s easy to see yourself / through a negative lens / but it’s certainly harder / when surrounded by friends” and feel yourself welling up. As if the fact that he had changed into your favourite sweater of his, the blue mohair one that Connor had written that extra-cheesy joke about in Ralph’s profile, wasn’t enough to make your heart soar. He looks the very epitome of comfort right now. 

Then Ralph gets a notification. He’s got a match! He’s thrilled, bragging about how the app found his ideal match immediately, when Connor had been talking about being on it for several years by now. The rest of the group explain that Tinder is not a matchmaking service in the sense that he thinks, and that it simply means someone he’s swiped right on has done the same to him. Connor and Scott help him communicate in a succinct, non-Ralph way that allows him to quickly arrange a date for tomorrow. That knot in the depths of your stomach wrenches tighter, but you ignore it, for the sake of Ralph’s excitement. 

Connor encourages him to keep swiping still, in case he gets any more matches, and that way he can arrange even more dates! It takes Ralph a while to accustom to the modern world of dating, rather than just seeking out one person and “courting” them, as he would say, but he gets excited at the prospect of going out on dates. He doesn’t mention anything about any more matches, but he does lock himself in the bathroom for some time. You know that usually means he’s talking to his girl gang about important things; ever since that first night out, Ralph’s convinced himself that the only place to have a deep conversation with his new friends is anywhere that there’s a toilet, and quite frankly, the notion is too hilarious for you to correct him. Plus it gives him a little privacy, and you definitely don’t want him to keep relying on you for the entire duration of his stay in this era. 

That night, as you lay out on your sofa, wondering if your back will ever get used to a mattress again, you notice one particular notification buried amongst the others: 

Tinder Someone has Super Liked you! Find out who. 

You admittedly hadn’t been swiping for a hot minute, yourself - you’ve been somewhat preoccupied with a whole new flatmate to worry about - but since it was the topic of the day, you figure you’ll bite. A few ordinary profiles show up, but none of them take your fancy. Even the cute ones, their bios are just so… Dry . And then you see it. The profile that Super Liked you, the blue border perfectly coordinating with the artwork that hangs on the wall behind you. 

~~~ 

The following morning, Ralph awakens earlier than usual. He’s excited about his date tonight, and still conflicted about something else that had happened last night. He looks through the group chat app again to remind himself of his friends’ advice: 

If you don’t say anything about it, neither will Ralph, but if you do, then it’s time to sit down and discuss these feelings like the adults you both are. That’s what he tells himself. 

Ralph takes a deep breath before opening the door from the bedroom into the main part of the flat. You’re in the kitchen area, finishing off your breakfast with a duffel bag full of clothes resting on the counter. It appears that almost all of your clothes must be in there, since you’ve resorted to wearing one of Ralph’s most favourite T-shirts that he’d picked out himself. The way that it fits your form so differently to Ralph captivates him into silence, and the fact that it almost covers your pyjama shorts entirely feels so scandalous to him. He has to stop looking, or else his mind will wander to uncouth places, but he just can’t . 

Not until you catch his eyesight and groan as you roll your own eyes at him. “Morning, Ralph! Don’t worry, I’ll make myself “decent” now that you’re out, I think I’ve got some yoga pants shoved in the back of the wardrobe from that one New Year when I was convinced I would join the gym,” your voice disappears as you walk past him and shut the door behind you. 

Ralph makes himself some cereal, once again telling himself that he has to stop living in this secret. Especially if he’s to pursue other people. 

You re-emerge from the bedroom, now wearing bottoms that cover your entire legs, but they may as well not at all be, with how little they leave to the imagination. You ask, “Oh yeah, by the way, did you… Happen to find my profile on Tinder last night? Because I think you must have swiped up instead of left, and Super Liked me by accident.” 

“Accident!” Ralph exclaims hurriedly, squeezing his eyes shut and open again, and clenching and releasing his fist repeatedly, desperate to change his focus onto anything else. “Yes, that's entirely what that was, I’m so glad we cleared that up! Aha! I suppose I should get ready for my date now!” 

You frown, “That’s not for hours yet, and Scott said he’d take you to get ready while I - don't forget your cereal!” You call out after him as he rushes back into the bathroom but the door closes behind him before you can finish your sentence. You write on the whiteboard that you keep on your fridge that you’re going to be at the laundromat for most of the day doing your laundry, but that Scott is arriving at 12 o’clock to take him out clothes shopping and to help him get ready, as you’ll be busy. You leave him your bank card to take with him on his big date, and wish him well before heading out of the door. 

Ralph rests his phone against the bathroom wall, goes onto the only group he trusts himself to keep on WhatsApp and hits the video call button before immediately pacing the room. One by one, his friends pick up, all asking various questions. 

“What happened?”

“Did you talk about it?”

“Are you okay?”

“Did you have an argument?”

Ralph blinks harshly again, his arms gesticulating with a deliberate wildness to them. “You all remember that the plan was, say nothing unless I’m spoken to, and then tell the truth, no matter what?” 

“Yeah…”

“Well, I may have been… Distracted. And I may have shouted that it was an accident and ran into here.” 

“Oh, babe, you didn’t.”

“Ralph!”

“We had a plan, hun! We mapped it all out!”

“I know, I know!” Ralph holds his hands on top of his head. “I was so ready, I was telling myself the plan over and over, and then… Well, it’s so-called laundry day, and I’ve had more time to get mine done and so my clothes were the only clean ones and -” 

“Oof, god, yeah. Once you see your crush wearing your clothes, it is game over.”

“Oh, Ralphie, what are we gonna do with you?”

“Well, the damage has been done, now. It’s probably best to just… I guess, either try and get over how you’re feeling, or wait until another opportunity arises. If it does.”

“Yeah, honestly, babes, I’d say cut your losses for the day and focus on your big date tonight, that’s so exciting for you!”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna tell us everything, aren’t you?”

Ralph sighs, rubs his eyes and puts on a small smile. “Yes, of course I will. Thank you all for being my voices of reason, I do appreciate you.” 

“Anytime, my lovely. Now, tell us all about this date. Where is it you’re going?”

“Well, Scott knows the location, but apparently it’s some kind of cocktail bar that plays swing and jazz and all the music that I like! I do hope there’ll be dancing,” he places his elbow on the sink to rest his head wistfully onto his fist, to an adoring chorus from the girls. They all sign off, wishing Ralph the best, and he hangs up, too. Right, Penbury, he tells himself, there’s nothing more you can do. You’ve messed up one more avenue of your love life, let’s not let it ruin another. 

Instead, he focuses on his date tonight. He knows the exact look he wants to go for. And so, despite the comments he gets on how nice he looks, he just can’t justify having facial hair with such a smart outfit in mind. 

Scott almost doesn’t recognise him, and calls Ralph “baby face” all day. It’s not his favourite nickname, but he’s been called worse. Scott helps him to pick out a nice suit with a bow tie - Scott had had the audacity to suggest Ralph wear a neck tie, for crying out loud - that Ralph liked because it reminded him of a suit he had back at home. Light tan in colour, with pinstripes down it. Just like his everyday going out suit. Scott had turned his nose up at it, but had admitted that “vintage” isn’t his style, anyway. Ralph had wanted to get a straw boater to really complete the look, but Scott wouldn't let him wear it past taking a photo. 

Ralph gets ready at Scott’s apartment, a little more upscale than the flat, but he shares it with his partner. Ralph had only met him a few times, but he was always absolutely besotted with everything Ralph had to say, and Ralph couldn’t deny that he loved the attention. It was always Victoria that everyone wanted. But not here. People know the name Ralph here. Not The Penbury Boy, not Victoria’s Brother, or That Other One. Not Creepy Stalker. Just Ralph. 

Scott and his partner help preen Ralph for his big night out at Ralph’s request, but they both audibly groan when he teaches them the hairstyle his old staff would give him - though of course, he omitted the involvement of any “staff” from his explanation. 

“First the beard, and now you want me to gel down the curls? You’re killing me here, Ralphie. Literally taking years off my life,” Scott frowns as he pats down Ralph’s hair. 

“I shall remember you fondly,” Ralph jokes, making Scott’s partner laugh. 

“Rude!” Scott scoffs jokingly. “You’ve spent too much time with that flatmate of yours.” 

Ralph’s heart still sinks thinking about his blunder this morning. Instead, he goes back to teasing Scott by composing an obituary as he styles his hair for him. 

After a few final looks in the mirror, Ralph feels as though he’s gone back in time, as though the last 6 weeks had never happened. Another wave of sadness befalls him at that thought, but he pushes it aside. His nerves are a calling card for any negativity to overwhelm him, and he was determined to have a good time. 

Scott walks him to the bar and waits outside with him until someone recognises him. As an extra measure to protect him from any radical internet followers, Scott borrows Ralph's phone to corroborate that he's definitely meeting his date, returns the phone back to Ralph with the reminder to ring you first and him second if anything happens, and bids the pair adieu. 

Once he's gone, Ralph greets his companion for the evening by taking her hand and gently dusting her knuckles with his lips. She looks him up and down strangely, turning her nose up as she pulls back her hand slowly. Ralph could do the same, she certainly isn’t dressed for the occasion, but he won’t, because he’s a gentleman.

She does try to make the effort to get to know Ralph, at first. Making small talk about how he came to this part of London, he tells her he was simply looking to get away from his old life. She asks him what he does for a living, and seems to judge him again for saying that he was yet to find employment. 

She lets him buy her a martini, despite him having ordered that with the intention of drinking it. She seemed to already be judging him for potentially ordering that drink for himself, so he ordered one of the only other drinks he knows that he likes - a double whiskey and lemonade, courtesy of Scott himself. She doesn’t seem to disapprove, at least. 

Barely anybody in this place seems to be in the spirit of things. They’re all just standing. Talking. There’s a very sweet older couple in the corner who are dancing away, that Ralph watches wistfully. He gestures over to them, looking at his date. “Rather lovely,” he notes. “Do you dance, at all?” 

“Not like that,” she shakes her head. 

“Would you like me to show you?” He asks excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

She rubs her arm awkwardly. “I’m good, thanks. Nobody else is doing it, it’d be weird if we started.” 

“Right. Right, of… Of course it would,” Ralph falters, dejected. 

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” his date states plainly. 

Ralph nods, “Of course, I shall be waiting right here!” 

As she walks away from him, Ralph decides he can still smooth things over by buying her another drink. He buys himself another double whiskey lemonade, for liquid courage, and the lady another martini, and returns to the spot he promised he’d wait for her. 

And he waits. 

And he waits. 

He sips his drink. 

And he waits. 

When he finally turns around to ask a member of staff to check on her, he’s met with many a sympathetic look. Ralph may not know a lot about dating in the modern age, but he knows that look when he sees it a mile off. Downing both the whiskey mix and the martini, he finds a quiet corner and takes out his phone. 

~~~ 

You’d been a fool for going to the laundromat in October with just Ralph’s T-shirt and a light jacket on. Being in a heated building means nothing if the front door is being left open all the damn time. Checking the time on your machines, you deduce that you just about have enough time to drive back, very quickly grab an extra layer and drive back. 

Rushing into your flat, you look around for anything that you could throw on that’s within arm’s reach. Nothing in the living area. Nothing in the kitchen area. Nothing in the bathroom. Desperate, you burst into the bedroom and you see it.

You’ve loved that blue jumper of Ralph’s from the moment you’d first seen it on him. You’d called it his Cookie Monster jumper, though of course that went over his head. It’s always looked so soft, and he’s forever burying his face in his arms when he wears it. It’s sickeningly adorable to be around. You’ve always wished you could experience its comfort for yourself, but Ralph would never let it out of his sight, and you very rarely get the opportunity to offer Ralph a hug without it potentially causing any more confusion in the nature of your friendship with him; certainly never so while he has ever worn the jumper. 

And so you jump at the chance to finally experience it for yourself. Throwing it on, not only are you immediately comforted with the soft sensation against your skin, but a familiar smell wafts around you. The ultimate makeup of the olfactory cocktail that is Ralph Penbury’s signature smell. 

You wonder how he’s getting on as you rush back out to your car. Whether he’s picked his outfit or if Scott’s moulded him in his own image. Whether he’s excited, scared, confident. Whether he plans on kissing her at the end of the night. 

You hit the steering wheel with the heel of your hand. Why are you worrying about these things? You never do when Connor, Grace or Anna go out. Perhaps it’s because you’re so used to being on 24/7 Ralph alert that not having him around keeps you on edge. But he’s bound to go home soon. And then you’ll be in this Ralph-less void all the time. That’s far, far worse a fate. And yet, cruelly, it’s the inevitable one. 

You make it just in time for the washing machine to chime. Throwing your clothes into the industrial sized dryer, you sit and scroll through your phone. You check the numbers of Ralph’s last Instagram photo, and end up reading through the comments from all of his little fans. None of them know that he could disappear off of social media at a moment’s notice. 

Except, now he could never truly disappear. Whenever he goes back, whenever his fifteen minutes of internet fame are up, he’s left his permanent mark on the world. On you, your friends, even all these people. Though they only see Ralph superficially. They see his photos, and his twitter presence, and they think they know him, especially since he learned how to reply to people when they would ask him questions. Sure, they know that he prefers strawberry ice cream, and that his favourite Gilmore Girls character is Paris, but they don’t know that he ties his shoes with bunny ears. They don't get to see that no matter how wild his bed hair is in the morning, one curl always falls across his forehead. They don’t know that he smells like citrus with an extra whiff of cinnamon. 

You bury your face beneath the sweater you’re wearing and breathe in deeply. An elderly woman looks at you fondly, and you bring yourself back to reality, sitting upright and switching to a puzzle game on your phone instead. You're already fooling yourself with these delusions of imagining a life where Ralph's a more permanent fixture. You can't be letting the locals believe it, too. That's just for you. 

Once your laundry's dry, you quickly fold it as neat as you can back into the bag you'd brought with you and throw the bag into the back of your car. Once you’re home, you just can’t find the energy to unpack it all. And besides, putting it away in your bedroom furniture only means you have access to it whenever Ralph isn’t there. Perhaps it’s better to keep these clothes out here in the living room, anyway. 

You laugh to yourself as you go to the kitchen to find enough things to cook together to make a decent meal. If you’d have been told 3 months ago that in the very near future, you’d be living out of a bag, sleeping on your own sofa, all for the sake of a man that you’d just met, you’d have never believed them. And yet, here you are. 

Once your food is made, you settle on your sofa and find something new to watch - because heaven forbid you watch one of your ongoing series without Ralph, he’d be giving you the silent treatment for the rest of the night. 

You wonder how his evening is going. He should be at the bar by now. No word from Scott, though you wouldn’t exactly expect him to check in with you about Ralph’s date. Although perhaps a photo in the group chat wouldn’t have gone amiss. No word from Ralph, either. 

You’re rooting for the iguana on your screen to outrun the predators that chase it, despite David Attenborough commentating his lack of faith, and it’s just escaped a tight bind as your phone rings. A particular jarring photo of your flatmate smiling his animatronic-esque fake smile fills your screen, along with the word “rALPH”. 

You answer, “This better be an emergency, I’m on high alert right now.” 

“Alert? In what way?”

“I’ve got an iguana I’m trying to save from some killer snakes, it’s life or death here, Ralphie.” 

“Ah, right! You’re watching one of those programmes about nature again.”

“Everything alright? You sound… Sad.” 

“Yes, well…”

“How’s your date going?” 

“It, um… It rather isn’t.”

“What?!” 

“She - She told me she was going to the women’s room. Approximately forty minutes ago.”

“Oh, Ralph. You should have called sooner!" 

“And this place is nothing like I had thought it would be, nobody is giving it the respect it deserves, I’m the only one appropriately dressed and yet somehow I am the one who sticks out like a sore thumb!”

“Okay, okay, it’s alright, mate. Get to the toilet, get yourself all sorted out, I'm on my way. Make sure you’re in the right one this time, too!” 

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Oh, I know I am. I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright?” 

While you’re still not quite ready to say goodbye to the sweater just yet, you do fish out a far nicer lower half of an outfit to go with it, before heading out the door and following Google Maps’ directions to this bar. 

When you enter, you look around trying to find your friend. The first scan yields no results. Neither does the second. You’re about to take your phone out to call him again when you notice a very sad, very baby-faced Ralph talking to a bartender. He looks just like he did when you first met him - without the coffee you’d spilled over his back, of course. 

You speed your pace up as you head towards him, and he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you pat his arm. He looks close to tears when he makes eye contact with you, and you immediately pull him into a hug. That clean, citrusy scent of his gets stronger as he wraps himself around you. When you start to relent, he doesn’t. With a small chuckle of defeat, you return to hugging him tightly again. 

Eventually he lets go, and so you do as well, rubbing his arm comfortingly as you pull away. “You look dapper,” you comment, “really smart.” 

Ralph wrinkles his nose up as he waves you off, “It’s… Really not as appropriate here as I thought.” 

“Codswallop!” You grin, putting on your best Ralph voice, which makes him smile, too. “Best dressed one here, hands down.” 

“I do seem to be a style icon of yours,” he muses, poking at the sweater. “It’s very becoming on you.” 

“Thanks, Ralphie,” you smile, trying desperately not to blush. Instead, you pull the sleeves over your hands and ask, “You still got my card?” He nods and fumbles through his pockets to grab it and hand it to you. You lean over the bar to order two of your usual drink, and one martini for Ralph. 

The bartender hisses through their teeth. “You sure? He’s already had one along with the others, he doesn’t seem in a good place to be mixing his drinks too much tonight.” 

You frown, “Oh, then sure, whatever he’s been having, get him another one of those.” 

You smile at the impact Scott’s clearly had on Ralph with his change in drink choice. Clinking your glass with his, you finish both of your drinks in the time he finishes his one, to try and catch up with him. 

As he swills the remaining ice cubes around the bottom of his glass, a high-energy song starts to play. You grin as you outstretch your hand, “Wanna put our kitchen dance lessons to the test with me?” 

Ralph looks at you sceptically, but his excitement is palpable. “Oh, heavens, we’d be the only ones dancing!” 

You shrug, “So? We’d be the only ones doing it right, everyone else would be the weird ones.” 

Ralph nods, “Very well,” and takes your hand. You don’t see it as you’re leading him to the dance floor area, but he’s putting all his energy into not looking completely giddy with happiness. 

The two of you dance together for several songs, swinging and twirling and laughing away. You nudge Ralph to show him that you’d even inspired some other coupl- other pairs of people , you correct yourself, not wanting to slip up and accidentally refer to yourself and Ralph as a couple in front of him. Other pairs of people are now dancing just like you two were. Ralph looks around in awe just as the music slows considerably. 

He looks at you with uncertainty, squeezing his eyes and his hands as he does when he’s conflicted or trying to correct himself, though he’s yet to say anything to you. “May I - I mean, we - would you like to - we could stop now, if you like, or -” 

You cut Ralph off by placing your hands on his shoulders. He places his ever so tentatively on your hips as you sway from side to side together. “Thank you,” he mutters to you. 

“Well, you seemed close to having a stroke over getting your words out, figured I had a good shot at guessing what you wanted before I had to call for help!” 

He chuckles softly, “Not just for that. For… Everything, really. Over the last two months. I really haven’t shown you the proper gratitude.” 

“I’ve not been keeping you around for gratitude’s sake, Ralph,” you shake your head. “You’re not that bad to be around, you know,” you smirk. “I’m sorry that girl didn’t see that in you. But I’m proud of you for trying!” 

“I don’t think I want to try much more,” he tells you quietly. 

“Don’t blame you. I gave up a while ago, myself,” you admit. “But you did it! I bet the Ralph I first met wouldn’t have done this.” 

“I am quite the changed man, thanks to you,” he says with a small smile. 

“You sure don’t look it at the moment! I don’t know who this is, but I’m looking forward to getting Ralph back when we’re home.” 

He frowns, “But this is how I always looked before I met you!” 

“I know, but it just doesn’t… Suit you. Not like your new look. I mean, I guess if you go back in time looking like The New Ralph, everyone back there would think otherwise, but… I dunno,” you shrug your shoulders. “This doesn’t feel like the real Ralph.” Recalling a conversation you’d had with him a couple of weeks ago about how he was perceived back in his time, you add, “This is just That Penbury Boy.” 

“I like that you all see a side of me that you don’t mind having around,” Ralph admits bashfully. “And I like spending time with you - all.” 

“We love having you around too,” you grin. “But I am being serious, I’ll hold your head under the bathroom sink here if we don’t get that shit washed out of your hair soon.” 

Ralph laughs, stepping out of the hold to extend his arm out to you. You take it and walk out of the building with him. 

You laugh at the ooh! that comes out from him as you step out into the brisk air. “Yeah, all that whiskey finally kicking in?” You ask with amusement. 

Ralph shakes his head, blowing a raspberry sound out into the air. “Just a tad!” 

“I’m excited to see what Whiskey Ralph is like,” you muse, still keeping your arm around his as you lead him down the street. 

He frowns, “Are there different versions of me based on what I drink?!” 

“Different versions of Drunk Ralph, yeah,” you grin. “Martini Ralph is super sociable. Vodka Ralph, an emotional wreck. We stay away from vodka,” you warn, and he nods, remembering the shot he had taken weeks ago and shuddering again. “And from what you’ve told me, Champagne Ralph really loved to party.” 

“Oh, I do so wish you could have been there for a Penbury social!” Ralph muses. “They were always such a blast to plan. I just… Sometimes I wish that Victoria let me be the “main event” host rather than the “planning” one.” 

“Well, when you go back, you can down a couple of martinis, tell her to shove it, and then throw the greatest bash Penbury House will see before it gets filled with tote bag-carrying indie kids and grandmas hiding romance novels between murder mysteries,” you laugh, though it’s strained. You know it’s only fair to make sure you’re both still actively talking about him returning home, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. 

Ralph gives you a small smile, “I’m not so sure about that. I think it’s far more than a few drinks that make me the man that I am while I’m here.” The way he bites his lip back bashfully would have you holding him by the cheeks and kissing it back, were you a couple more drinks in. He quietens after that, and you simply allow him to stay in that moment rather than pressing him as to what exactly he means. 

Once you’re back home once again, you change back into comfortable pants while Ralph washes his hair under the shower. You also finally look at your phone’s notifications to see a lot of activity in the group chat: 

Ralph re-emerges wearing another jumper and some sweats, but instead of sitting at his usual spot on the other end of the sofa to you, he sits far nearer and leans himself onto you. “Hello,” he greets simply, a dopey grin smeared across his face. 

You cock your head as you smile softly at him. “Hello, cuddly-drunk Whiskey Ralph.” 

“Is that what it is?” He asks, his voice slurring a little. “Do you mind?” 

“Nah, just give me my arm back,” you tease as you move so that your arm is no longer trapped beneath him, instead draping it where it’s most comfortable - which just happens to be over his body. 

You show Ralph the things everyone has been saying in the group chat, and he smiles into your torso. "Can I expect this jumper back any time soon, by the way?"

You grin down at him, "Yeah, you can have it back when it stops smelling like you. It's too nice to give up."

His ears burn pink as he gently settles further down until his head rests in your lap. “Do you want to see if your iguana made it out safely?” 

“Oh, yeah! Here, I’ll restart the episode for you, I need you to care about this lizard as much as I do.” 

Commentating alongside the documentary with Ralph proves a far more entertaining watch than before, and you both cheer as you watch the iguana finally climb up some rocks to the safety of its friend. At some point, your fingers end up absent-mindedly stroking back and forth through his hair, and you notice his chest starting to heave up and down heavier than usual. Leaning over, you see his lower lip move in and out ever so slightly with each breath as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful, and you could honestly keep him here forever. But, realistically, you can’t feel your legs and your body will certainly be unforgiving over you sleeping while sat upright. 

You gently prod at Ralph all over until he wakes up. “Hmm, what?” 

“Eh, what, what,” you tease, once again putting on your ‘posh voice’ before returning to your usual cadence. “C’mon, if you’re gonna sleep, go do it in a bed, please.” 

“Of course,” he mumbles wearily. 

When he stands up, you realise something with a laugh. “Oh, no! Oh, I’ve done a real number on your hair, look at it!” 

Ralph reaches up and pats his wildly spread curls with a sleepy smile. He faces you, then turns to the bedroom door, then back to you. He repeats this a few times, and just before you can ask, he shakes his head. “Goodnight. Sleep well.” 

“You too, Ralphie,” you grin as you push yourself around by your fists to lay across the sofa for the night. 

When you wake up, Ralph is yet again trending on Twitter. Wondering what on earth he could have done, you’re horrified when you see paparazzi-ish photos of Ralph with you as you both danced last night. The original tweet with the photos going around has the caption, “Pack it up, girlies, Hot Ralph is taken” 

Making sure your current account is most definitely still set to private, you make a new one under the name @RalphsFlatmate. You tweet an old selfie of you and Ralph with the caption, “hi, ralph stans. just here to remind you that sometimes people can be just friends and that’s it. please don’t take my photo without my consent in future. kinda insane that i have to ask that but here we are. cheers x” 

Once Ralph is awake, you borrow his phone to retweet yourself onto his profile to make sure people see it and get ready for work, dreading what is now to come with also being perceived on the internet. 

next chapter

[rosesisupposes]

If you're craving prompts, might I humbly request DLAMP, "we keep doing everything out of order."

…this took much longer than I planned, and is far longer than I planned. Also, much fluffier. But I hope you like it, dearest @potestessemagishomosexualitatis 💗💗

Last To Know

Pairing: (hurtling towards) DLAMP

Warnings: immigration, marriage of convenience, mild swearing? I think that’s it

Word count: 3,135

Tag list: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice  @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed  @hawthornshadow @mariniacipher 

read on ao3

There was a very reasonable explanation for all of this. It had been purely a logistical decision. Four acquaintances of Logan’s needed a place to live in his city; Logan had four vacancies in the house he owned and rented. He always kept the top floor for himself, making new tenants a risk, but he at least knew of the others through a combination of mutual friends, shared classes back in undergrad, and generally living in the same area.

They’d settled in fairly easily, right up until Roman confessed his visa was running out and he would likely have to leave the country. Patton had immediately started crying and hugging Roman and insisting they’d find a way to keep him there. Logan was unaware of when Patton had started caring so much. But even Virgil looked distressed, and Damien started wondering aloud how well they could hide him in the house so that he didn’t have to leave.

“Why can’t you apply for a new visa?” Logan asked.

“I’m no longer a student, and I’d need a more regular job for them to sponsor me for a full green card…” Roman said, facing Logan with some difficult thanks to Patton still being twined around him.

Dee’s dark eyes alit. “I know! You should marry one of us! Spouse visa! And then you can work on citizenship!”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme-” Logan started, but he was interrupted by Patton and Virgil both raising their hands as volunteers and Dee cackling in delight.

“But how to choose,” Roman said mournfully. “All my best friends in the world, how could I possibly marry only one of you!”

Virgil suddenly smirked, and Logan looked over curiously. “You know…” the dark-clad man said thoughtfully. “If you’re marrying someone for a visa, it really should be someone responsible and trustworthy. Someone who could believably support you.”

Logan had no idea what he was talking about, but suddenly all heads were turned towards him, and there was a more-than-a-little disturbing resemblance in the mischievous grins on each of his housemates’ faces.

Roman gently dropped Patton back onto the couch, and strode over to Logan wearing his “pompous prince” face (as coined by Virgil, of course). Stopping a foot away, he bowed elegantly.

“Dearest Logan, generous landlord, resident nerd, first stop for endearing space trivia and Sherlock obsessions, would you do me the great honor of giving me your hand in transactional matrimony?”

Logan blinked once. Then twice. Then attempted to speak but only achieved opening his mouth like a particularly stunned fish.

“Is that a yes?” Patton whispered to Dee in the background.

“I think it’s just gay panic,” Dee whispered back, looping an arm around the smaller man’s waist.

“…me?” Logan finally got out.

“Yes, my textually-charged academic,” Roman purred, taking Logan’s hand in his. “I need a man to support me in this foreign land of haw-yees and rednecks, you are the only one I trust to protect me.”

“Hey, we’d protect you too!” Virgil objected, sitting down on top of the couch. “But if you were in trouble, Patton would cry, I’d probably end up punching someone by accident, and Dee’s plan would either end in flames or crimes or both.”

“…isn’t this proposal also Dee’s plan?” Logan asked weakly.

“Yes, but this one is wonderful,” Roman said, kissing Logan’s hand in a way that was not distracting at all, thank you. “Plus, this way you don’t need to find a new lodger midway through the year!”

“I suppose that is a perk,” Logan admitted. “And the immigration process is so convoluted, this would likely be easier…”

“That’s the spirit! Almost!” Patton cheered. “Logan, you own a tux, right?!”

“Yes, why?”

“For the wedding, silly!”

~~~~

Logan really should have thought this through more. But the house had dived into preparations before he could properly object. Dee had made a Pinterest board and “ironically” sent Logan post after post of nerdy wedding aesthetics. Patton kept sneaking up on Logan and Roman with cake samples to try. Virgil popped his head into Logan’s room on a regular basis with out of the blue questions like “Black Parade could be a reception song, right?” and “How many volts of fairy lights could we run without fucking over the electric bill?”

And Roman just kept… being Roman. Flirting outrageously in that way that clearly meant so little to him but was starting to mean something to Logan himself. He’d taken to kissing his hand a lot and greeting him as “my darling fiancé,” and sitting next to or practically on top of him whenever the group was in the same room. Logan found himself agitated by how easily he was blushing now, all the time.

Roman had apparently opened the floodgates, because everyone was being far too affectionate now. Yes, Patton had always been a hugger, but now he kept planting kisses on Logan’s cheek, and holding hands with Dee, and sitting on Virgil or Roman’s lap and sometimes both at once. Dee flirted with, Logan was quite sure, every single person he laid his eyes on ever. But now he kept upping the ante and using fantastical phrases and wordplay tailored to the object of his attention. Logan had had no idea that being called ‘starlight’ would be quite so jarring and endearing and infuriating all in a moment. And Virgil had entirely betrayed him. They used to be the two reasonable ones, or so he thought. But no, Virgil was willingly participating with all of this madness, and had an amazing irritating habit of rubbing the nape of his neck when he was stressed so that all his muscles went involuntarily fluid and relaxed.

Logan arrived home one day to see their small backyard decked in lights, all the lawn furniture moved to the side so that the patio was clear. Patton greeted him at the gate with a hug and yet another cheek kiss as he said, “Lolo! Thank goodness you’re home, you need to get changed!”

“Whatever for?”

“Silly, it’s the 15th! The wedding!”

Logan stopped in his tracks. “I thought we weren’t going to the courthouse until next week?”

“Yes, but the semester will be over and all our friends still in undergrad won’t be able to make it. So we’re having the reception part tonight. We had this whole conversation after the movie last week, don’t you remember?”

But Logan did not. He didn’t even remember which movie it had been. Because Virgil had been slowly stroking his hairline, right at the back of his neck, and Patton had been lying across his lap so that he was across all three of Roman, Logan, and Virgil, and Roman had been giggling and leaning into his side in a way that it only made sense for him to lift his arm and drape it around him, and Dee had been telling Virgil how lovely his eyes were and… Logan had absolutely no memory of any other conversation that may or may not have happened.

But apparently that meant they had a party tonight.

Virgil convinced him to wear the tux still, and Patton blocked off the kitchen to finish the cake in secret. Dee kept making cracks about helping him change, but Roman was mysteriously absent all afternoon. Logan definitely didn’t miss him. It had only been a couple of hours! That would be silly and ridiculous and not what a highly logical person would do.

As 5pm arrived, Logan was in his well-tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. Dee, grinning in a tux with a bright yellow tie and matching gloves, arrived at his bedroom door to ‘escort the groom to the festivities.’ Somewhere on the walk down the stairs, Virgil joined them in a plain but nice-looking suit in black with a purple vest.

They walked out into the yard, filled with friends from the city and university they’d all attended. Everyone was in various forms of ‘their best’ from sundresses to cocktail dresses to gowns, from suspenders to jackets to tuxes, and some wonderful mixes of the two. Patton, glorious in a blue dress, had a microphone (where had they found a mic?) and greeted all his housemates happily and loudly.

“And now that the whole gang’s here, we can welcome the star of our hearts and the show! Roman, come on out for your first dance!”

Logan was pushed into the middle of the patio and Virgil held his shoulders facing away from the house. He could hear the door opening behind him and some “awws” and gasps from the crowd. Logan turned to look but Virgil held him, grinning. “Patience,” Virgil said teasingly.

Finally, the arms released him and Logan turned. Roman was only a couple of feet away, and he looked… stunning. He was wearing a gorgeous fluffy gown of red and gold and sequins, and matching makeup. Logan reached out a hand without thinking, and Roman took it with a smile. Music began to pour out of the speakers.

“It’s a beautiful night/We’re looking for something dumb to do/Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you”

Logan snorted. “A little on the nose, perhaps?” he murmured.

“I wanted to be precise,” Roman said back, lacing their fingers together and placing his free hand on Logan’s waist. With Roman taking the lead, they started to dance around the small dance floor of the patio. Virgil had done an amazing job with the fairy lights, rigging them to create a ceiling of sparkles that cast them all into a warm golden glow.

Roman suddenly smiled wide, and spun Logan around, letting his hand go free. Before Logan could catch himself, Dee caught his hands instead. Now Logan and Dee were waltzing around the floor in parallel to Roman, who was now dancing with Virgil. Their height difference made it a little awkward for Virgil to reach Roman’s shoulders, but then he lifted Roman by the waist to spin him through the air. The watching crowd whooped, and Roman laughed out loud, and Logan accidentally stepped on Dee’s foot because he forgot to watch where he was going. He stumbled, but was caught by something soft and blue. He looked down into huge blue eyes and a freckle-dappled smile.

“Thank you, Patton,” he said. “I’ve not quite got the hang of this dancing thing.”

“Maybe I can help!” Patton replied, pulling Logan close and guiding them into a simple waltz. “One-two-three, one-two-three,” he counted softly, and Logan followed the count, watching his feet.

He kept looking up slightly and then down again. Something about how bright Patton’s smile was, and how the lights reflected in his glasses and eyes, he just couldn’t look too long. But he did note that Dee and Roman were dancing now, some complicated dance that Logan felt himself mentally tripping just watching. But the two biggest drama queens of their house were in perfect sync, moving with fluid precision and both grinning hugely.

A tap on his shoulder pulled Logan’s attention to his side. Virgil smiled comfortingly. “Can I cut in, Lo?”

“Of course, Virge!” Pat said, stepping back. Logan was going to object to yet more dancing, he was, but Virgil had dressed up for this, and he was just self-conscious in front of crowds, so it would just be more polite to not turn him down. Virgil guided Logan’s hand to his hip, and Logan most definitely did not blush to be able to feel the shorter man’s muscles even through his formal outfit. And Patton had swirled off to dance with Ro, something much less regimented but with plenty of twirls and giggles. Dee kept the music going with “Can’t Keep My Eyes Off Of You,” and Logan and Virgil danced sedately, just swaying and turning.

“Virgil, why isn’t anyone else dancing?” Logan asked. “I thought after the first dance, the guests joined in?”

“Well, that is how it works for traditional weddings, yeah,” Virgil said in his familiar rumble. “But what about this is traditional?”

Logan chuckled at that, and let himself relax into the dance. Roman parted from Patton to change the music as Dee and Patton started to swing dance. Virgil and Logan both grinned watching them. Clearly all those old movie marathons had paid off.

Finally, Patton broke off and grabbed Virgil away from Logan. As the shortest members of the household, they were matched perfectly, and Virgil was willing to twirl and lift Patton to make the other man wriggle and laugh. Roman took the opportunity to pull Logan into his arms once more, and the crowd finally started to fill out the dance floor.

“Have I told you how good you look tonight, Logan?”

Blushing would absolutely be his cause of death. He hoped there wasn’t an afterlife, otherwise he would never live it down.

“I… thank you. Your dress is very dramatic and a little ridiculous but it’s so you.”

“They told me I couldn’t have a quinceñara,” he replied with a sniff. “So what better way to celebrate now?” They spun in relative quiet for a moment, when Roman smiled softly. “So, are you enjoying our wedding so far, Lolo?”

“You know, I rather am,” Logan admitted. “My feet are starting to get a bit tired, though.”

Roman swept Logan up off his feet and into his arms. “Is that better?”

Logan blushed hotly, muttering, “I meant I needed to sit down.”

“But is it better?” Roman wheedled. “No lying to your almost-husband, dear nerd.”

“…yes,” Logan admitted, and Roman laughed. The world was fairy-lights and glittering gowns, Logan was surrounded by his favorite people in the world, and later there would be five-tier cake and Crofter’s. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected, but he wasn’t such a stick-in-the-mud that he wouldn’t admit that it was magical.

~~~~

The flourescent lights of the courthouse were a far cry from the dreamlike lights of their reception, but today was the day and they were getting legally married. Logan was still a bit unsure about how they had reached this point, but found he cared less and less.

The whole house had come, of course, Patton linking Virgil’s and Dee’s arms around his own as he bounced in excitement. They waited through the decently-sized line until they finally reached the desk.

“Good morning, we would like a marriage license, please,” Logan said.

The clerk grinned just a bit bigger. “Congratulations! And what date would you like it made out for?”

“Today, please,” Roman said happily, linking his arm with Logan’s and squeezing. Patton make a sound of delight behind them.

The clerk nodded, and typed on the computer until they were interrupted by a question. “Do you know if it’s possible to enter a legal partnership with more than one person in this municipality?” The seemingly-idle question was in Dee’s unmistakeable drawl.

“Oh, yes, certainly! Marriage, domestic partnerships, and adoption can all be amended to have any number of partners. I think we need special permission at ten or more, but even that is still possible, just a longer process.”

Roman squeezed Logan’s arm tighter. “Lo? Is that okay?”

Logan looked back in confusion. “This is for you, Roman. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

Patton squealed again, and hugged them both from behind. “Form for five, please!”

Logan supposed that was all right. That would make it more believable, right? If Roman was equally committed to all his housemates, that would be more reason to let him stay in the country. And it made Patton so happy.

He felt slightly divorced from his body as he went through the motions of showing his ID, and signing the forms, but suddenly they were finished, and Roman had his arm looped around him on one side and Dee was on the other. Pat and Virge were on the outside, both snickering as the group tried to walk down the hallway without detaching with varying levels of success.

They were married. All five of them. And Roman would get to stay.

As they got home again, they all ended up sprawling across the couches. They fell into their most comfortable configuration, with Logan the only one sitting normally. Patton was taking full advantage of being the small one to sit across their laps. Dee was lying on the back of the couch up against the wall, fingers intertwined with Roman’s where he lounged diagonally with Pat’s head in his lap. Virgil was upside-down from the back of the couch, curled oddly so his head was on Logan’s thigh but Pat could still hold his hand.

Logan sighed contentedly.

“Whatcha thinkin’, Lolo?” Dee asked, a little sleepily.

“I was just reflecting on how comfortable I feel with you all. Even though we started as mere acquaintances, I do think of you all as very much like my family, now. And it’s rather nice that we’re legally a family now, for however long.”

Logan didn’t see the glances exchanged around and over him, but did hear Roman’s question. “How long would you like us to be, Logan?”

“Well, as long as it takes for your citizenship, of course.”

“What about after that, L?” Virgil asked.

“I… I don’t know. Divorce is rather a process, I suppose we could stay in this arrangement until a large enough inconvenience comes along to justify it.”

“So… you would like to stay married to us all?” Patton asked. Logan couldn’t tell what his tone meant, but there were hints of… curiosity.

Logan answered slowly. “I believe… yes. I would. I am… rather fond of you all, and always appreciate the time we spend together, for whatever reason.”

Roman smiled softly, and reached out to pat his face. “We love you too, Logan.”

Logan blinked. “Love? In which sense of the word?”

“Romantic, you dummy,” Dee muttered, practically falling asleep on the back of the couch.

“…wait, you… all? Romantic? Love?” Logan stuttered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, man. Normally that’s what marriage means. Plus our first dances? Of the people in love?”

“Hey, don’t make fun of Lolo, he’s not that good at his own feelings,” Patton chided. “Yes, cupcake, we all love you. We thought you knew.”

“Oh,” Logan said, blushing. “I… apologize for being the last to know. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’ve fallen in love with you all, too. We keep doing everything out of order, don’t we?”

“Nah, ‘s just you,” Dee said, snuggling into the blanket Roman had just passed him, seconds from sleep.

“But we all got here in the end,” Virgil said, a comfortable rumble on Logan’s left.

Logan ran a hand through Patton’s soft hair, and smiled at Roman, who’d started it all. “Here’s to arriving, then. I look forward to being your collective husband.”

“We love you too, Lolo.”

[dresupi]

magic eraser

Darcy Lewis Crack Challenge 2019 |  Day 5: A Literal Eraser | 

Ship: Darcy Lewis/Loki |  Rating: T |  Prompt: Day 5: A literal eraser  |  Other Tags: Crack, Crack treated seriously, Mutual Pining, Crushes, Flirting, Eventual Date, Runaway Appendages, Swearing |  Word Count: 2303 | 

Summary:

How was he supposed to know the damn thing would actually erase her hand?

Well, not erase exactly…

But to hear her talk, it's close enough.

"Loki. Do I need to hire a babysitter for you or something?" Darcy asked, reaching over and gingerly taking the blinking black and green device from his hands.

He'd never seen anything like this piece of tech before, but if he had to guess, he'd say it had something to do with Dr. Foster's ever-changing star charts. "I know Janey's got some shiny blinkies, but you really have to learn to control yourself, babe," she continued, safely placing the piece of tech out of his reach.

Well, not really. He could have it if he wanted. That was the point, wasn't it? He liked irking Darcy Lewis.

All in all, he'd call what he had for Foster's lab assistant a 'mixed attraction'. A general fondness with a side of liking the way her voice sounded when she was annoyed.

"Who do you think they'd task with looking after me?" he pondered aloud, leaning over on the counter and cupping his chin in his hand as he gazed over at Ms. Lewis expectantly. "Do you think they'd hire some security officer to subdue me with brute force, or do you think they'd ask you?"

She frowned a little and looked at him. He liked the way her forehead wrinkled just between her eyebrows. "Knowing Jane, she'd ask me. She knows you can't stand being told what to do, and by someone so clearly your inferior, all the better. Or worse. Whichever." Her frown had disappeared by the time she'd finished talking, a triumphant little quirk in her smile tugged the corners of her mouth instead. He liked the corners of her mouth as well, so let her have her triumph.

"You believe yourself to be my inferior?" he drawled.

"No. I think I'm pretty hot shit. But I happen to know you don't agree," she countered. "So like… if it bothers you, I'm game."

He smirked slightly. If she only knew exactly what he thought of her. 'Hot shit' didn't begin to cover it.

"Go speak to Dr. Foster, then. If it would bring you such pleasure to boss me around."

Color rose in her cheeks and she glanced down at her laptop instead, stammering something about talking to Jane later if he didn't stop his nonsense.

As adorable as her blushing and stammering were, he already had his eye on another item from Jane's workstation.  This one looked relatively harmless. And if it urged Ms. Lewis to speak with Jane about his lack of supervision, all the better. He would simply adore more time spent in Darcy's company.

He pushed up from the empty counter and sauntered over to the table, making sure to ease his feet down on the floor as quietly as he was able. Too quiet for Darcy's Midgardian ears, at any rate.

Scooping up the device, he turned it over in his hands. "What does this do?"

"Seriously dude? You can't even wait five minutes before you're back on your bullshit?" She made a grab for the object, and he tossed it easily to his other hand, holding it behind his back so she had to reach around him.

He smirked. "Surely you've seen Dr. Foster use it before?"

"No, actually. I haven't seen that one in action. So for all I know, it blows up planets. Please. Give it back to me before it Alderaans us into oblivion."

Grinning, he held it just out of her reach. "Surely she wouldn't have something such as that in her possession. Just lying around for me to find."

Darcy pursed her lips and jumped up, grabbing for the device in her left hand. He'd let her have it in just a moment. "Whatever. Just give it back, dude."

"Since you asked so nicely--" he began, stopping short when her thumb and forefinger grabbed it, pressing against the front panel. Darcy screamed loudly a split second later when her hand disappeared.

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" she screeched, grabbing the sleeve of her sweatshirt and yanking it up to reveal a bare wrist. She turned it towards her face and immediately turned a horrible shade of puce. "OH MY GOD!" She wavered on her feet and Loki dropped the device on the table and slipped an arm around her, catching her just in time.

He peered at her wrist, seeing exactly what had made her queasy. Her hand was gone, that much he knew already. But, in its wake was a neatly sliced wrist. Not a wound, per se. There was no blood gushing. The flesh around it wasn't angry or inflamed. It simply looked like he was peering through a window at her bone and circulatory system.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, frowning before lifting her up and onto the counter in front of him.

"No… no? Am I in shock, FRIDAY?"

"Your heart rate is increased, Ms. Lewis, and you seem to be in a slightly panicked state. But otherwise, you seem fine. I'll continue to monitor your vitals just in case? Is that okay?"

"Yes, that's fine," she said absently, suddenly realizing she was still in Loki's embrace. She stepped to the side, swallowing thickly as she reached for one of the rolling stools.

"How does it feel?" he asked, nodding down to her wrist. "Are you certain you're not in pain?"

"No, I don't feel any different… it's like nothing's wrong… like my hand's still there… oh my god, is this what phantom limbs feel like?"

Loki frowned. "I'm sure I have no idea. What sort of… sensation do you have in the fingers??"

"My entire hand… the one that's gone? It feels... " She frowned, closing her eyes. "It feels like it's crawling."

"Your skin?"

"No. My hand. My fingertips are on something hard. It's moving. Like it's walking. Like 'Thing' from the Addams' Family."

"You're delirious…" he concluded, making to carry her to the med bay and alert the staff. He'd no sooner taken a step towards her than she stopped him.

"No. I mean it… Let me see if I can…" She frowned, deep in concentration.

A rapping sounded across the lab.

"There!" she said triumphantly. "That was me."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he took a few steps towards the sound. "Do it again."

The rapping continued and Loki darted off in the direction from whence it came. Darcy hopped off the table and followed him.

Once he'd reached the far wall, where the sound seemed to be originating, he knelt down, listening to a peculiar rustling and alternating raps until one of the large silver vents near him burst open and Darcy's hand skittered out onto the floor.

Or at least, he assumed it was Darcy's. He wasn't aware of any other rogue appendages running around the labs, but he wouldn't put it past these people. This one had lovely teal painted fingernails and a silver ring, so he was almost positive it was hers.

Loki jumped back and Darcy shrieked. "Grab it! Loki! Grab my hand!"

"If you insist," he teased, taking off after it, but the little bugger was too fast.

Darcy jumped up on the countertop, eyes scanning the floor and yelling directions for him. Badly.

"IT'S BY THE THING! It's over by the red blinky lights! The red blinky lights!"

"Where is that?" he countered.

"Never mind! THE DOOR! THE DOOR!" She yelped, pointing not to the front door, but the supply closet.

The hand leaped up and grasped the handle, opening it and running inside.

Loki quickly shut the door and spun, holding it closed. "There aren't any vents in there, are there?"

"Just the one on the door that ventilates the space," she replied.

"No others?"

Darcy glanced up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY? Are there any heating or cooling ducts that lead into this closet?"

"No. The only way in or out is through the door," Stark's A.I replied automatically. Loki was slightly jealous, the A.I wouldn't speak to him unless he tried to go somewhere he shouldn't.

"Good. It's trapped. Now, help me barricade the door…" Darcy hopped down off the counter and shed her hoodie as she placed her attached hand on a rolling file cabinet with locking wheels.

Loki took care of that one and one other for good measure, starting to roll them both towards the closed supply closet. He was at least partially responsible for her runaway hand, and he had two working ones attached to his wrists, so it was the least he could do.

But of course, at that precise moment, Jane and Thor reappeared in the doorway. Loki's stomach dropped. Having to explain this to his brother was bad enough. But Dr. Foster might slap him again.

He glanced over at Darcy, who, unprompted, jammed her hand into a nearby bag of potato chips just as they approached. An odd feeling swept through his abdomen. Almost as if he were falling from a great distance. Without the hard landing.

"What are you two up to?" Thor asked, warily reaching out to wave his hand over Loki's shoulder, slapping him in the process. Loki rolled his eyes.

"Just some redecorating," Darcy said, hand still in the chip bag. "And eating chips."

Jane and Thor gave them some odd looks but continued over to Jane's main work area.

There was a clatter from the bottom of the door as the grated opening at the bottom of the door came crashing out onto the floor.  Loki half expected Jane to start screaming as Darcy had, but nothing happened.

Perhaps the hand had remained in the room after seeing Thor out here.

If it could see. It was only a hand after all. Perhaps it sensed things. A soft tugging on his pant leg soon answered that question, however.

His eyes went wide as Darcy's runaway hand crept its way up the back of his leg. He glanced over at Darcy, who was also wide-eyed. "Sorry," she mouthed, shrugging slightly as it moved over the back of his thigh and up over the swell of his rear.

He shifted slightly and reached back to grab it, to perhaps stop it from feeling up Thor next, but when he turned to look for it, he saw nothing. Instead, he felt something tap his shoulder.

"Um… Loki. You seem to have an extra… hand," Thor replied, looking with a bemused expression as Ms. Lewis' hand tapped once more on his shoulder.

"Don't just stand there, help me catch it!" Loki growled.

Darcy squealed. "Be gentle, Thor, it's my hand!" She pulled her wrist out of the chip bag and Thor, without missing a beat, grasped the rogue hand tightly. It slipped from his grasp into Loki's, who laced his fingers and held it tight.

"If you wanted to hold Darcy's hand, you only need to ask her, brother!" Thor joked with a wink.

Loki sighed heavily, seriously struggling to not hold the hand too tightly, but also to keep it from bursting free once more.

"Darcy, how even…" Jane asked, reaching for the exact device that had caused the issue in the first place. "You cannot mess with my spacial modifier… it's not one hundred percent working correctly!"

"No kidding!" Darcy exclaimed. "It sent my hand rogue."

Jane sighed. "Yeah, mine takes a nap whenever I try to use it. Makes it easy to reattach, but I can't ever get anything done. Apparently, yours runs through the walls and gropes Asgardians. I can't say I'm surprised."

Darcy shrugged. "What can I say? I have a type." She winked at Loki and he felt that same sweeping feeling once more. He almost let go of her hand. Almost.

Jane eyed him, clearly amused at his clear discomfort. "Here, Loki… hold her hand still.  Darce, bring your wrist up to where it attaches. I'll get it back on there for you."Thirty seconds later and Darcy's hand was reattached and still clasped tightly in Loki's grasp.  She wriggled her fingers against his hand and he quickly let go, pressing his lips together as he took a few steps back."Woo, thanks, Janey!" Darcy wiggled her fingers and stared at it in wonder. "I should probably wash this, right? No idea where it's been."

"I know of at least one place," Thor muttered, chuckling when Loki glared in his direction.

"Close your mouth," he hissed.

"Close yours," Thor countered. "You're the one blindly flirting with a woman and doing nothing about it."

"I'm doing plenty."

"Sounds as if her hand has gotten further than you have."

"I've been biding my time," he said. "I want her to be certain she wants more before I--"

Thor's gaze flitted from Loki to where Darcy was standing across the room. He spoke loudly, "Loki should take you to lunch to make up for losing your hand!".

Darcy stopped in mid-scrub. "Yeah! He should! Lunch, Loki?"

He turned to face his brother, ready to chastise him for sticking his great big nose where it didn't belong, but instead, he simply mouthed 'Thank you' before turning back to Darcy. "That sounds lovely. Where to?"

"I dunno, but you lost my hand. I'm thinking something expensive. Maybe nothing that costs an arm and a leg. Maybe just an arm, you know?" she grinned brilliantly, and the feeling returned to his stomach.

"Whatever you'd like."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow. Meek is a new color for you. I kind of prefer the snark, honestly."

If she wanted snark, he could definitely provide it. He smiled and offered his arm. "Here. let's put that hand somewhere for safe keeping." He reached out and placed it in the crook of his elbow. "Can't have you losing it again."

"Hey, buddy. I didn't lose it!"

"If I recall, it was you who pushed the button, so…"

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid Chapter 18

Previous: Cricket & Bunny

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Our resident P.I. finds who she's been looking for, and gets an unwelcome surprise. 

(two shorter chapters today!) 

Harboring Hoseok

Present Day

           I found Jung Hoseok.

           Let me back track that statement – After months of digging, harassing my sister for more help, using all my contacts in various bureaus, lying to Euna that I’d made progress when I hadn’t, I finally have found Jung Hoseok, Hoseok Jung.

           I know, you’re wondering, how? What finally cracked the case? How did I, the person incapable of finding Min Yoongi, lucky enough to stumble into Park Jimin, find Jung Hoseok?

           You’ll be shocked, you’ll be amazed, you’ll be dumbfounded that I stumbled into him in the most millennial way possible, because I found him on, don’t hold your breath:

           Instagram.

           That’s right, I stumbled upon Jung Hoseok on fucking Mark Zuckerberg owned, Instagram. It was a coincidence, a twist of fate, that I was even in the vicinity of him, because we do not live in the vicinity of each other. I wasn’t sure he was even alive; I wasn’t sure if he had moved continents or countries. But, in the ether, he resides.

           Sometime after Jungkook told me he loves me, and after I created permanent scarring on his back from my too long fingernails (they’ve since been cut multiple times), I went to my favorite Barre3 studio. I’m not going to lie, I go regularly. I’m addicted. Yes, it can be cult-ish, but have you ever worked out so thoroughly your ass hurts when you stand? Or listened to a teacher relay the message that you are strong, that your body is powerful, that you can accomplish any challenge? If not, and I know this is propaganda, but like take a class. I can give you a discount.

           The point is, somewhere between sumo squats and parallel bridge lifts, I noticed this woman, stunning, who seems to come to class every day before or after she hits the gym with her trainer. The. Stamina. Can you believe? On a Wednesday, I accidentally bumped into her, spilling some of my water down her Sweaty Betty matching set. I apologized profusely, and she laughed it off, saying it cooled her down. She noticed my earrings, liked them, and ever since then we’ve been texting. We’ve even gone so far as to get coffee, which prompted me to do my favorite activity, troll her Instagram. Some people say Instagram is going the way of Facebook, which it easily could be, but it’s so damn fun that I pray every day the trend continues in its favor.

           A public figure, Genevieve Yang is the height of couture. She is at every fashion week, Milan, Paris, New York, and donates nearly as much as Kwan and Seo, combined. Leaving the spotlight to work on a smaller sect of her organization, focusing on women’s reproductive rights, specifically women in poverty, she’s rarely photographed or seen outside of said events. Instead, she works 8-5, exercises regularly and rumor has it, is vegan. She’s the eldest of three, and her siblings are a pediatric cardiologist and a Rhodes Scholar. Within the universe of the Lee’s, she’s looked down upon for being biracial, her father, a first generation Nigerian-American, fell in love with her mother, a first generation Korean American from Busan, during their study abroad stint in Italy. I’ve been dying to find a connection to the Lee’s, and here, in all her melanin glory, is Genevieve.

           In scrolling through her Instagram, I came across a photo series from a few weeks ago. To my surprise, standing with his arm around Genevieve’s shoulder, stands a man with dimples so deep and rays of sun beaming through the photo and barreling past my phone screen.

           Jung Hoseok.

           And who should be next to him?

           Lee Kwan-Min.  

           They’re in an ornate ballroom, gold ceilings and ball gowns, masquerade masks held in their manicured fingers. They’ve been drinking and dancing, as is evident in their, what Jungkook would call Asian Glow, and in the caption.

           Drink every night bc we’re drinking to our accomplishments

           A paraphrase from a Drake song, it seems to ring true as I scan through the other photos of the evening. It must’ve been Lee Enterprises semi-annual gala, masquerade theme taking turns with Gatsby or in the era of Bridgerton, Regency London. Their summer event, Polos & Picnics, is as you guessed it, a Lacoste and Perignon soaked day drinking celebration of everyone’s summer tans and Hampton houses. It’s anyone’s guess which event raises more money, or costs more to put on. Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min throw a few other smaller events, brunches and casino nights, all earnings going to their philanthropy. The galas are the hottest ticket in North America, and I am still stunned that Hoseok had made it into the embrace of Kwan-Min.

           Think Crazy Rich Asians meets the Met Ball. It’s all anyone ever wants to attend, and damn if I’m not jealous every year.

           Hoseok is tagged in the photo series, and by clicking on his name, I can see our mutual friend, and nothing more. The age-old question every millennial has to ask themselves is this, is that enough to send a follow request? I don’t know if it is, but what’s the worst that can happen? He blocks me? Alright, that gives me information that I can use. Sure following him would be the best case, but he could leave it pending for weeks.

           I send the request and text my newest friend, Genevieve Yang, who immediately calls me.

           “Oh Y/N, what do I owe the pleasure?” Genevieve asks.

           “I just thought we could chat, I was looking at your Instagram and-

           “Oh my god! Do the pics from the Masquerade look good? I can’t tell if people love them, or just tolerate them, you know?” She sips loudly on what I assume is some green smoothie, her favorite non H2O beverage.

           “Sure, absolutely, I totally know,” I lie.

           “Don’t lie to me,” Genevieve scolds.

           “They’re beautiful, but I didn’t recognize who was in that first one with you,” I bait.

           “Come off it, you absolutely know,” She laughs but I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes.

           “The woman looked familiar, but I don’t know from what,” I tell her, curiosity in my voice. “I have no clue who that man is.”

           If she could see me, she’d laugh. A barely eaten sandwich, cold coffee in a travel mug I got when I was 20, and dark circles under my eyes from my inability to sleep the last few nights. The paranoia of the last letter has seeped into my subconscious, and I can’t bring myself to sleep unless Jungkook is nearby, of which, he isn’t. Gone on a business trip for the last three nights, gone for five more. How incredibly rude of him, but there isn’t much I can do when his boss could possibly be 007 incarnate. Or Danny Trejo.

           “She’s one of the heirs to Lee Enterprises,” She tells me.

           “The Lee Enterprises?”

           “Oh so you do know?”

           “I’ve heard of them, how could you not? Their parties are exclusive, and that’s putting it generously,” I respond sipping on my own beverage. Two can play ASMR phone games, Genevieve.

           “Oh, the most exclusive, top of the line guests, one year, Beyonce performed, and the next, Adele,” She regales me, tempting me to go off topic.  

           “Are you dating that guy? He’s gorgeous,” I inquire.

           “Hoseok? No, no, not for me. I think he was going to ask Kwan out,” Genevieve says.

           “Really? A new boyfriend?”

           Scoffing loudly, “Just because she isn’t like her siblings doesn’t mean she doesn’t date.”

           “None of them have a particularly stellar track record,” I remind her.

           “Does anyone?” She breathes.

           “I suppose not,”

           “Mm, anyway, Hoseok is eying Kwan, I’m single and you’re still with that guy, who?”

           “Jungkook,”

           “Mm, I think Hoseok might know him,” She says.

           “What?” I ask.

           The thing with being a P.I. is accepting the reality that nothing is a coincidence. There are no happy accidents, nothing is considered fate. I’ve been so, blinded, by my personal connection with Jungkook to see the larger picture. What if he is part of this? Could he be conspiring with these other men? Does he know them, like they seem to be implying? How fucking blind have I been?

           “Yeah, he said something to me later, about knowing a Jungkook and wondering if they were the same. He said that it’s not a common name in Korea, so why would it be here?” Genevieve’s soft voice pulls me back from my panic attack.

           “Yeah, say, does Hoseok know a Namjoon?” I ask.

           “I don’t know, do you want me to ask?” Genevieve sets her drink down, the sound clinking through my phone.

           “Uh, no, no, that’s okay,” My hands hastily move against my keyboard, searching Hoseok’s followers for Namjoon.

           But I don’t find him.

           Instead, my blood runs cold at who I find.

Next: Codename Miss Cuttlefish, If Ya Nasty

[lilyy-james]

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Neither. It’s highly unlikely in both their cases, though could happen ofc. #bcdrugs Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither. I feel like if either said they were going to leave, they would just leave. Who actually keeps their word and leaves? ^ Who trashes the house? Jude when he’s high probs. Do either of them get physical? During sexytimes (ง ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ง How often do they argue/disagree? Not often enough. #fightingishealthyguys Who is the first to apologise? They’re probably both quick to. Or probably Vic because Jude spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to word his apologies right lol.

Sex:

Who is on top? Whoever feels like it that day. (They probably switch a few times lbh). Who is on the bottom? ^  Who has the strangest desires? Jude, solely due to all the weird porn he’s seen. Any kinks? So far  Who’s dominant in bed? Mostly Jude, but he loves it when Vic takes over. Is head ever in the equation? Always. (I mean, their alternate tag is #otp: sit on my face, so you do the math.) If so, who is better at performing it? They’re equally bomb at it. Ever had sex in public? Not yet, but you bet. Who moans the most? Vic. Who leaves the most marks? 50/50, but Vic when Jude can’t leave any on her bc #shoots. Who screams the loudest? Vic. Who is the more experienced of the two? They’re pretty evenly matched and seasoned hoes. Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Both, sometimes at once. Rough or soft? Depends on the day and mood. How long do they usually last? Longer than most couples. Is protection used? Nah. (If we’re talking rubbers). Does it ever get boring? Nope. Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? So far? A balcony with a view to the eiffel tower comes to mind.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? They’re not actively planning, but definitely don’t mind. If so, how many children do your muses want/have? They’ll probably let fate decide, lol. Or cap it at two or three, most likely. Who is the favorite parent? They’d be the favorite at different things. Who is the authoritative parent? Neither, they’d probably be shit with playing authority roles. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Both. Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Jude. Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both or they take turns. Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Jude probs, Vic might get sassy. Who changes the diapers? Vic but occasionally Jude. Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? They’d take turns. Who spends the most time with the children? Probably Vic, if Jude is on tour a lot. Who packs their lunch boxes? Jude. With smiley faces and heart post-it notes. Who gives their children ‘the talk’? They’d do it together, in the most intentionally embarrassing way possible.  Who cleans up after the kids? The nanny? Lol. Who worries the most? Vic maybe. Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Jude.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Both. #cuddlemonsters Who is the little spoon? Vic, but Jude loves it sometimes too. Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Both. Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?  Both.  How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? If by uncomfortable you mean wanting it to turn into sexytime, then either/or. If uncomfortable as in they want it to stop, then never. Who gives the most kisses? Vic’s tally is probably higher. Only because she wakes up first and leaves him a dozen little face kisses every time.  What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Just melting into each other on the couch, watching cooking shows. Where is their favourite place to cuddle? The couch. (The couch). Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Both. Jude is a notorious butt grabber, though. How often do they get time to themselves? Pretty often.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Neither. If both do, who snores the loudest?  Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Share a bed. If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Cozy up 99% of the time. (Exceptions are passing out drunk, total exhaustion, or too hot.) Who talks in their sleep? Vic probs. What do they wear to bed? Vic in some kinda nightgown or Jude’s t-shirt, Jude in a fresh pair of boxers. Or quite often, nothing. Are either of your muses insomniacs? Jude used to be, but he’s getting better at it. Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nah. Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Tangled like pretzels. Who wakes up with bed hair? Both. Jude most definitely. Who wakes up first? Vic 90% of the time. Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Jude whenever he can. What is their favourite sleeping position? Vic lying with her head on Jude’s chest. Who hogs the sheets? They’re pretty decent about it. Do they set an alarm each night? Yeah, for work. Can a television be found in their bedroom? Nope. Who has nightmares? Vic sometimes. Who has ridiculous dreams? Jude. Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Both. Who makes the bed? Neither? What time is bed time? Depends and whenever really. Any routines/rituals before bed? Is sex a ritual? Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Jude, fo sho.

Work:

Who is the busiest? They alternate busy seasons. Who rakes in the highest income? Vic as of right now. Are any of your muses unemployed? As of right now, nope.  Who takes the most sick days? They don’t really. Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Who sucks up to their boss? Neither probably. What are their jobs? Vic is a photographer, and models on the side. Jude is a musician, and currently working on a film set too. Who stresses the most? Vic. Jude gets high, lol. Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? They love them. Are your muses financially stable? Pretty much.

Home:

Who does the washing? Vic. Who takes out the trash? Jude. Who does the ironing? Either if need be. Who does the cooking? Jude. Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Vic. Who is messier? Jude, Vic is a close second. Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Neither I feel like. Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Jude. Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither. Who is the prankster around the house? Jude, if he has a good idea. Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Jude. Who mows the lawn? They don’t have one. Who answers the telephone? ^ Who does the vacuuming? Sarah, lol. Who does the groceries? They do it together. Who takes the longest to shower? They probably both take forever. And if together, then an eternity. Who spends the most time in the bathroom? They’re pretty equally matched.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Nah. How many cars do they own? One. Do they own their home or do they rent? Rent. Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Right now, neither. Though Jude wouldn’t mind living near the coast. Do they live in the city or in the country? In the city. Do they enjoy their surroundings? Yeah, fairly. They live close to NYC, so. What’s their song? You mean pick just one? ( Can’t Help Falling In Love is a special one, though.) What do they do when they’re away from each other? Pine for each other, lol. Send a lot of ridiculous selfies and snaps. Where did they first meet? In Paris. How did they first meet? In Paris at a party, bored out of their minds.  Who spends the most money when out shopping? Vic probs. Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Vic. Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Both. Any mental issues? They’re both pretty stable, Vic is suffering some PTSD-like symptoms currently, and Jude tends to get a little depressive, but does not have depression. Who’s terrified of bugs? Both. Who kills the spiders around the house? Jude, reluctantly. Their favourite place? Anywhere they’re together. (gross) Who pays the bills? Vic probably, it’s her apartment. Do they have any fears for their future? Plenty. (They fear no longer being together, for starters). Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Jude, if he’s cooking it. Otherwise, either/or. Who uses up all of the hot water? They both might. Who’s the tallest? The six foot two blonde ofc. Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both. Who wanders around in their underwear? Both. Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Jude. What do they tease each other about? Any and everything. Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Vic at Jude’s. Do they have mutual friends? Yep. They live in a small town. Who crushed first? It was mutual ‘I wanna fuck the shit out of you’ at first sight. Any alcohol or substance related problems? Jude has a substance abuse problem. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Jude. Who swears the most? They’re pretty equal.

[Lifted from here.]

[justwhellmed-a]

✩✩✩

the ultimate relationship tag; accepting.  ( @celerem ) !

send ‘✩’ for the following:

disagreements:

WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO RAISE THEIR VOICE?  wally WHO THREATENS TO LEAVE BUT NEVER ACTUALLY DOES?  dick ! WHO ACTUALLY KEEPS THEIR WORD AND LEAVES?   wally fowiej WHO TRASHES THE HOUSE?  neither ! DO EITHER OF THEM GET PHYSICAL?   wally gets a little– pushy. HOW OFTEN DO THEY ARGUE/DISAGREE?  they argue over silly things all the time.  its all for fun really. serious arguments are few and far between.  WHO IS THE FIRST TO APOLOGIZE?   dick.

sex:

WHO IS ON TOP?  both b ut mostly wally. WHO IS ON THE BOTTOM?  both b ut –  WHO HAS THE STRANGEST DESIRES?   dick definitely. ANY KINKS?  rubs hands o ver face.  wally and his food.  dick and being bound, dominated, dirty talk,  both love being praised. WHO’S DOMINANT IN BED?  wallyIS HEAD EVER IN THE EQUATION? o f course ! IF SO, WHO IS BETTER AT PERFORMING IT?  boooth ? EVER HAD SEX IN PUBLIC?   no. WHO MOANS THE MOST?   wally. WHO LEAVES THE MOST MARKS?  both are equal.WHO SCREAMS THE LOUDEST?  dick. WHO IS THE MORE EXPERIENCED OF THE TWO?  i’d say ?? it’s about the same.DO THEY ‘FUCK’ OR ‘MAKE LOVE’?  both ! ROUGH OR SOFT?   mostly rough, but there is no stopping dick when he i s in a lovey mood.HOW LONG DO THEY USUALLY LAST?   sometimes they can g o all night. IS PROTECTION USED?  most of the time. DOES IT EVER GET BORING?  nope. WHERE IS THE STRANGEST PLACE THEY’D HAVE SEX?  in the back of dick’s police cruiser. 

family:

DO YOUR MUSES PLAN ON HAVING CHILDREN/OR HAVE CHILDREN?  dick doesn’t really think about it, wally y es. IF SO, HOW MANY CHILDREN DO YOUR MUSES WANT/HAVE?  dick is thinking of just one.  wally wants all the bbies XD WHO IS THE FAVORITE PARENT?  both WHO IS THE AUTHORITATIVE PARENT?  dickWHO IS MORE LIKELY TO ALLOW THE CHILDREN TO HAVE A DAY OFF SCHOOL?  wally WHO LETS THE CHILDREN INDULGE IN SWEETS AND JUNK FOOD WHEN THE OTHER ISN’T AROUND?  wally B[ WHO TURNS UP TO EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES TO SUPPORT THEIR CHILDREN?  both ! WHO GOES TO PARENT TEACHER INTERVIEWS?  both !WHO CHANGES THE DIAPERS?  b o th ?  WHO GETS UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO FEED THE BABY?  bo th WHO SPENDS THE MOST TIME WITH THE CHILDREN?  pff they b o th try toWHO PACKS THEIR LUNCH BOXES?  dickWHO GIVES THEIR CHILDREN ‘THE TALK’?  dickWHO CLEANS UP AFTER THE KIDS?  both WHO WORRIES THE MOST?  wally! WHO ARE THE CHILDREN MORE LIKELY TO LEARN THEIR FIRST SWEAR WORD FROM?  — dick

affection:

WHO LIKES TO CUDDLE?  both !  WHO IS THE LITTLE SPOON?  dick ! WHO GETS NAUGHTY IN THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE OF PLACES?  w a l ly WHO STRUGGLES TO KEEP THEIR HANDS TOTHEMSELF?  wally. HOW LONG CAN THEY CUDDLE UNTIL ONE BECOMES UNCOMFORTABLE?  dick oh my gosh wally you are a space heater there is no way he can stay snuggled up to you for long WHO GIVES THE MOST KISSES?  wally !WHAT IS THEIR favourite NON-SEXUAL ACTIVITY?  e ating probably, going on patrol together.WHERE IS THEIR favourite PLACE TO CUDDLE?   in bed. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO PLAYFULLY GROPE THE OTHER? wally HOW OFTEN DO THEY GET TIME TO THEMSELVES?  not that often :/

sleeping:

WHO SNORES? neither. DO THEY SHARE A BED OR SLEEP SEPARATELY?  share ! IF THEY SLEEP TOGETHER, DO THEY COZY UP TOGETHER OR LAY FAR APART?  cozy up together at first and then dick is on the other side of the bed when they wakeWHO TALKS IN THEIR SLEEP? dick when he has intense dreams and nightmares.WHAT DO THEY WEAR TO BED?  shorts – rarely . Are EITHER OF YOUR MUSES INSOMNIACS?  nope !  CAN SLEEPING PILLS BE FOUND BY THE BEDSIDE? no. DO THEY WRAP THEIR LIMBS AROUND EACH OTHER OR JUST LAY SIDE BY SIDE?   they are all the wrapped up. WHO WAKES UP WITH BED HAIR?  bo th. WHO WAKES UP FIRST?  dick.  WHO PREPARES BREAKFAST IN BED FOR THE OTHER?  jason. dick tries ?? but – cooking man. WHAT IS THEIR favourite SLEEPING POSITION?  dick curled up to wally with his head under his chin.. WHO HOGS THE SHEETS?   dick. DO THEY SET AN ALARM EACH NIGHT?  yep! CAN A TELEVISION BE FOUND IN THEIR BEDROOM?  no. WHO has NIGHTMARES?  both.WHO has RIDICULOUS DREAMS?  wally. WHO SPRAWLS OUT AND TAKES UP MOST OF THE BED?  neither ? WHO MAKES THE BED?  both. WHAT TIME IS BED TIME?  anytime they get back from patrol. Any routines/rituals before bed?  nope !  WHO’S THE GRUMPIEST WHEN THEY WAKE UP?  dick.

work:

WHO IS THE BUSIEST?  dick.  WHO RAKES IN THE HIGHEST INCOME?  wally ARE ANY OF YOUR MUSES UNEMPLOYED?  dick has his periods when he is.  WHO TAKES THE most sick DAYS?  ehh, they both try not to miss work at all. Who is more likely to turn up late to work?  dick. WHO SUCKS UP TO THEIR BOSS?   dick. WHAT ARE THEIR JOBS?  being a vigilante is dick’s top priority.  he’s been known to be a bartender, a cop and others. wally works at star labs. WHO STRESSES THE MOST?  wally  ?? DO YOUR MUSES ENJOY OR DESPISE THEIR CAREERS/OCCUPATIONS?  well for dick ? as long as he’s a vigilante he’s fine  s   o. ARE YOUR MUSES FINANCIALLY STABLE?  yes.

home:

WHO DOES THE WASHING?  both.  but wally just does it better. WHO TAKES OUT THE TRASH?  dick. WHO DOES THE IRONING?  wally. WHO DOES THE COOKING?  wally XD . WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN JUST TRYING?  dick. WHO IS MESSIER?  dick. WHO LEAVES THE TOILET ROLL EMPTY? neither. WHO LEAVES THEIR DIRTY CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR?  dick. WHO FORGETS TO FLUSH THE TOILET?  neither. WHO IS THE PRANKSTER AROUND THE HOUSE?  both. WHO LOSES THE CAR KEYS WHEN IT COMES TIME TO GO SOMEWHERE?  dick. WHO MOWS THE LAWN?  dick. WHO ANSWERS THE TELEPHONE? both. WHO DOES THE VACUUMING? both. WHO does THE GROCERIES?   both. WHO TAKES THE LONGEST TO SHOWER? — depends on where their thoughts take them and if they are alone.  WHO SPENDS THE MOST TIME IN THE BATHROOM?  dick.

miscellaneous:

IS MONEY A PROBLEM?  nope. HOW MANY CARS DO THEY OWN?  two? DO THEY OWN THEIR HOME OR DO THEY RENT?  own a home  ! DO THEY LIVE NEAR THE COAST OR DEEP IN THE COUNTRYSIDE? countrysideDO THEY LIVE IN THE CITY OR IN THE COUNTRY? country. DO THEY ENJOY THEIR SURROUNDINGS?  yes ! WHAT’S THEIR SONG?   a few here. WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY’RE AWAY FROM EACH OTHER?  work, school, hang out with friends. dick likes to do some more intense training that focuses on his acrobatics. WHERE DID THEY FIRST MEET?  on a mission. HOW DID THEY FIRST MEET?  batman and flash teamupWHO SPENDS THE MOST MONEY WHEN OUT SHOPPING?  dick. WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO FLASH THEIR ASSETS? both really. WHO FINDS IT AMUSING WHEN THE OTHER TRIPS OVER? wally.  ANY MENTAL ISSUES?  ptsd, depression, lots of phobia’s, ect. WHO’S TERRIFIED OF BUGS?  neither ? WHO KILLS THE SPIDERS AROUND THE HOUSE? both. THEIR favourite PLACE?  i – have no idea. WHO PAYS THE BILLS?  both !  DO THEY HAVE ANY FEARS FOR THEIR FUTURE?  dick likes to live one day at a time.  i ?? dont know about wally weeps WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO SURPRISE THE OTHER WITH A FANCY DINNER?  wally ! WHO USES UP ALL OF THE HOT WATER?  both and neither. WHO’S THE TALLEST? wally . WHO’S MORE LIKELY TO JUST RANDOMLY HOP INTO THE SHOWER WITH THE OTHER? dick XD WHO WANDERS AROUND IN THEIR UNDERWEAR? both. WHO SINGS THE LOUDEST WHEN SINGING ALONG TO THE RADIO?  both.WHAT DO THEY TEASE EACH OTHER ABOUT?  about a l o t. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO CRINGE AT THE OTHER’S FASHION SENSE AT TIMES?  wally. DO THEY HAVE MUTUAL FRIENDS?  yes ! WHO CRUSHED FIRST?  dick. ANY ALCOHOL OR substance related PROBLEMS?  no. WHO IS MORE LIKELY TO STUMBLE HOME, DRUNK, AT 3am?  dick. WHO SWEARS THE MOST?  dick.

[identityarchitect]

Hey. Ive just been told this

https://open.spotify.com/track/53mlRrLqNowFkjPhwzmcWq?si=ulUhlSepRqyklueOs5OMtw

Is. Possibly a magnus archives fansong

What the actual genuine fuck happens in that podcast. Whos eating computers. What

oh yeah this is a magnus archives fansong! theres. fun things that happen :3