#i try to shift around for her to get the memo and she just adjusts her sitting position

[ratcandy]

trying to convince my cat to get off of me so i can go make food for myself is really one of life's biggest challenges

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 3

A response to the prompt: "You're staring." Thanks to my harem cohort @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally @powerofelvis and @whositmcwhatsit

Summary: Bess heads to the dance the Morale, Welfare and Recreation Committee for the 37th armored tank division is throwing, and manages to avoid dancing with the most notorious soldier on post, who cannot seem to take his eyes off her.

Warnings: None! Wait, kissing. Swear words. This may be the slowest burn yet. Probably typos, I wrote about 1K words over the last three days and then the rest in a fever dream. So.... may not make sense. Also I am pretty sure the first phase of basic training would not have them in tanks yet, but....I am playing fast and loose with Army life in this one.

Word Count: 5. 3 K

This is my newest WIP, please like, comment, reblog and tag and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading.

You can catch up on the previous chapters here

Basic Training Chapter 3: Just Kiss Me

Saturday, April 5, 1958

7:30 p.m.

The Schwartz Residence, Killeen

Just as her shoe hit the bottom stair, Bess realized she had left her lipstick in her room and was turning back around to grab it when she saw Kay sitting in the living room, dressed in a pink cocktail dress. Her puffy crinoline skirt was gathered in a heap around her as she shifted in place, adjusting her pearl necklace.

“Um, where do you think you are going?”

Kay looked up, tucking her brown hair behind her ear as she eyed the tight, fitted sheath dress Bess was wearing. She smiled at how the white sequins and embroidered red flowers glowed iridescent in the dim light and whistled low.

“Who are you dressing up for? The guy who you snuck in last weekend?”

“What makes you think there’s a guy, Katherine, honestly. I don’t sneak men into our house.”

“Uh huh,  so you’re all gussied up in your favorite dress just for a bunch of enlisted soldiers?”

Kay grabbed her purse and followed her sister to the door.

“Why are you being weird Bess, I always come with you? You’ve been going to army dances since you were sixteen. I’m about to graduate, plus, I told Dickey I’d meet him there.”

Bess sighed, thinking of Kay’s latest boyfriend. She supposed that she should be happy because he seemed like a harmless nerd, and, according to the files she had pulled on him, was not married, inbred or bankrupt.

“I just - we - I didn’t invite you to this dance because it’s an enlisted platoon. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Wow, you must really like who ever it is, if you don’t want me to see you with him. Too bad. Dori called earlier and told me to come. She’s been trying to reach you all day, by the way.”

Bess locked the door, and they got into her car.

“Can you believe her date?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Of course, then it all made sense why you guys would be messing around with an enlisted tank unit. How did Dori even get involved with their MWR Committee.”

Bess rolled up her skirt so she could comfortably drive, and shifted into reverse, arching her eye bow at her younger sister as she did.

“How do you think? She asked to be reassigned to it two weeks ago.”

“Man oh man, she really is lucky. I wonder if we’ll all get to dance with Elvis?”

“Look, Kay, they sent out a memo to everyone, do NOT make a spectacle over Private Presley. Just act like he’s any other solider”

“Of course Bessie bushka. I’m on my best behavior.”

Bess looked Kay in the eyes as they pulled through the base gate.

“I am just going because I told Dori I would, I don’t wanna stay too late. So maybe Dickey Rooney can drive you home if you wanna swing all night?”

“Yeah, sure, ja volt. You don’t have to be ein klafte, Elisabet.”

**************************************************************

The tight cloth of her dress didn’t have much give, and Bess regretted her choice as she tried to keep up and hold on as she danced

“Look, this is tactical move that requires delicate maneuvers—”

“I’m not spiking the punch, Jim.”

Bess huffed and got into her rhythm as they kept up with the band’s rendition of “Tutti Fruity.”  If she let her self relax and swing into each step, it was almost like old times when she, Jim and Ben used to go out dancing in Austin or Killeen and she’d take turns dancing with her fiancee and his best friend all night. They had been the three musketeers. But that was last year, when she had a fiancee. And a different future peering back at her from her crystal ball.

The music brought her out of her silent reverie, and Bess looked to her where the band was performing on stage. The lead singer’s voice reverberated through the building, echoing up into the tin ceiling and back down again, making the room buzz with energy. There were six people in the all-Black Flapjacks: drums, guitar, bass, trumpet and then a male and female vocalist. The men wore matching silver dinner jackets and black bow ties, and the beautiful, Black woman had on a gorgeous silver dress with tulle flowers at the bust.

Bess took a deep breath, her attention shifted back to Jim, whose hands were always steady, but never needy. She was grateful he had agreed to come when she called last night and asked. A year ago they had spent almost all their free time together. Stalwart, an honorable prankster, Jim wasn’t shipping out to the Army Intelligence station in Heidelberg for another two months and Bess wondered if their friendship would end. If Ben’s new German wife would win him over and, like his friend before him, Jim would forget all about the last three years of shared adventures and promises of a lifelong friendship. Men mean it in the moment, Bess thought, I suppose women do to. Forever. What a meaningless word. How can we plan forever when we cannot know the future? The song ended and Jim escorted her off to the side. She looked for her sister, and found her swaying with her beau towards the back, hands clasped together between the lock-eyed look of first love.

“I forgot how good a dancer you are, Schwartz. And in that dress, whoowee! You’re a knock out tonight.”

“You can cut the flattery, Jameson, still not spiking the punch.”

“S’not flattery, how dare you insinuate that I would be disingenuous? You look good all dolled up, s'nice to see you this way. It’s almost like fun Bess is back, though a year ago she wudda helped me spike the punch.”

He took out his large, dark leather flask and handed it to her after taking a nip. Bess’ face scrunched up in distaste as the vodka burned down her throat, but she greedily held on and took another long drink.

“A year ago I didn’t work here, I was just hanging out with some of the reprobates from the German language division. Now it would be bad form for a Front Office secretary to spike the punch.”

“Look around, Bessie, this crowd needs to relax. They’re alllllll keyed up waiting for that Hound Dog.”

Jim was right, a heightened sense of anticipation pervaded the warehouse, even the strings of colorful paper lanterns seemed to sway with anxious excitement above them. Bess looked over at the big bowl of punch, next to the trays of deviled eggs, brisket sliders, the lime jello mold filled with seafood salad, pineapple upside down cake and more. She was sizing up the punch and checking her breath as they waited for the next song when she heard a wave of hushed murmurs ripple through the large room and turned to see Elvis, Dori and a few other soldiers in dress uniform enter the dance together. Bess’ eyes narrowed as Elvis’ looked at her.

Jim followed her gaze, then met Bess’ eyes.

“There he is, as handsome as he looks in the movies.”

Bess’ grimace could have cut through glass as she turned to her friend and elbowed him.

“Not you too?”

“What, art thou so high above us mere mortals that you don’t find Elvis Presley attractive, Schwartz? To gouache for a scholar like you?”

“It’s Private Presley now. And I’m not made of marble, Captain. Of course I recognize his attractive features. He just isn’t my type.”

She sniffed, and grabbed the flask from inside Jim’s uniform, the breath coming out of her nose forcefully as she drank a long draught.

“I’ve met him, actually, already. I was there.” Bess took another drink, tipping the flask back again and noticing that the liquid didn’t burn so much this time. “When he asked Dori out. I’m happy for her.”

Elvis and Dori began walking toward them, and Jim noticed how Bess’ stance changed as she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, suggesting that she what felt was the opposite of 'happy for Dori.'

“Well, I was at the press conference his first day here, at least four reporters asked if he has a girlfriend. Said he was playing the field so many times, sounded like a broken record.”

Bess straightened as she watched Elvis’ hand tighten around Dori’s waist and push under her bust while the blonde leaned into it and introduced Elvis to some of the eager MWR committee members who had stopped them.

“Yeah, that would be the alternate version of Hound Dog, it’s on the B side.”

Jim chuckled at Bess’ joke, but she didn’t notice, she was busy watching the Hound Dog himself, and caught Elvis glance over at her and give a little nod before his lips bent into a smirk. She realized she was frowning and plastered a big smile on her face. Jim watched this exchange with interest as Bess turned back when he spoke.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Definitely not your type.”

Bess scowled and whispered for him to stop as Elvis, Dori and another soldier approached them.

“Why Captain Daniels, how nice to see ya over at this little ol’ dance for the 37th, are you Bess’ date ta night? Or sneaking in to try and meet you-know-who?”

Dori giggled and playfully tapped Elvis’ chest. In case, you know, they didn’t get whom she was referencing.

Jim nodded and shook his hand to stop Elvis and the other soldier from saluting him.

“Oh, neither, actually, I’m just here to make sure Schwartz doesn’t spike the punch.”

“Don’t believe a word the Captain here says. This is a great introduction, by the way. Captain Daniels, meet Private Presley, you know Doreen of course, and then, well, I cannot say we’re acquainted.”

The liquor had loosened Bess up and she giddily put out her hand to the other soldier, as Elvis fiddled with the blue dress uniform cap under his right arm and took charge of the conversation.

“This is Rexadus, I mean, uh, Private Mansfield, he’s in the 37th wit me, another Mephisss boy, we were inducted ta gather, actually." Now Elvis was turning his hat over and examining it, speaking with confidence, almost as if from a script he had rehearsed in his head. "He’s a solid, solid, guy. He really is. Guess I’m lucky, since he’s spending all his time stuck in a metal box with my ass - I mean stuck with my behind.”

Rex her shook their hands with tight, swift grip and a warm smile. Jim raised his eyebrows at Bess.

“And how do you find the Army, so far, Privates?”

“Well, it was easy ta find, just follow all the tanks.” Elvis  smiled and  looked down. “Nah, well, speaking’ jus for me, I mean, I was real honored when President Eisenhower sent me an invitation to this here costume party, and all the boys are real nice."

There was that scripted voice again, Bess mused. She had seen under the hood and Elvis' attitude toward being drafted had not struck her as honored and grateful.

"It’s not easy, golly, I tell you, it’s really whooping my - uh - caboose. But I never felt I earned my supper so well, that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Dori giggled like Elvis was the wittiest man in the world, but he barely noticed, his eyes were focused on Bess and she coughed, uncomfortably. It was hard not stare back. She almost forgot to breathe, and exhaled deeply as she forced herself to look over at the band.

Her eyes trailed over to the food, and she looked back at Elvis with concern, knowing he rarely actually went to the mess hall. He had been meeting her at her back stairwell every evening at 5:15, opening her car door and getting in without even asking. As if it were his own car and sliding across her seat was the most normal thing in the world. It actually did seem normal now, and had become part of her daily routine these last three days. They sat there in their own private enclave, and every time, as he laid his head between her thighs and rubbed her waist, she told him that they were just friends hanging out. Yesterday they’d talked past dinner hours and she’d ask him if he didn’t want to go to get food, prompting Elvis to share how someone had yelled out in line at him Monday, asking if he missed his teddy bears, and he hadn’t gone back since. Sergeant Norwood’s wife, apparently, was providing him with a loaf’s worth of peanut butter sandwiches every night. But that wouldn’t have happened this evening and Bess thoughtfully looked over at the food table.

“You must be hungry. All of you, I mean.” Bess stuttered, trying not to stare at Elvis, which, for some reason, backfired, because consciously trying not to made her think about him even more and she failed horribly at being able to stray from his blue eyes for very long. “Because you just got here. Of course.”

Dori smiled and took this as her cue to play hostess and lead Elvis away to the refreshments.

“Yes, of course, of course, y’all must be hungry, doing those tank exercises all day. I made the seafood dip over there in the jello mold, it’s a recipe from Ladies’ Home Journal, you simply must try it and tell me what you think.”

“Aw, darlin’, I don’t, don’t eat seafood.”

“The brisket is pretty good.” Bess chimed in.

Dori smiled even deeper.

“Hmm, well, I suppose it’s probably ok for a Yankee like ya self, Bess honey.”

She pulled her arm tighter around Elvis, leading him to to the brisket as Bess heard her say, “Personally, I find Millie’s brisket a little bland and dried out, but come on, you’re a growin’ boy, need to refresh ya energy.”

Dori’s giggle trilled back as she walked him away and Bess frowned again when Elvis turned back over his shoulder, clearly grinning deeper as he took in Bess’ eyes following him.

She made small talk with Rex, mentioning how the last time she had heard this band, The Flapjack’s, they had played all of Elvis’ big hits and there had been none tonight.

“He bribed them.”

Rex whispered, looking over at where Elvis and Dori stood, as she fed him a deviled egg and then a brisket slider, sticking her finger in his mouth to lick the barbecue sauce off. Her high laugh echoed all throughout he warehouse, prompting Bess to roll her eyes.

“Bribed them?”

“Yeah,” Rex continued. “Not to play ‘Hound Dog,’ not to play any of ‘em. And he bought cases of cigarettes for all the guys in our unit. He wants to make sure tonight is nice, smooth, and normal. As it can be for him, I suppose.”

Before she had the opportunity to inquire further Bess was distracted by the band as they started up a new song, a rendition of Johnny Mathis’ “Chances Are,” and she watched Dori squeal that she loved this song.

 Bess smiled at Rex.

“Well Private, want to cut a rug?”

He hesitated. “Uh, I think -" he looked over at Elvis, who was making his way to the corner of the dance floor. “Probably better if I don’t, gonna go check out the chow.”

“C’mon, you little Yankee, I’ll dance with you, even if you have no taste in brisket.” Jim took her hand and raised his eyebrow. “By the way, Elvis Presley is in love with you Bess.”

“Stop it, Jameson.”

“Did you see how his buddy hardly touched you?”

“How would he know? These boys don’t talk about their crushes in their bunks at night. ‘Sides,he is here with a date.”

“Oh fooey! Elvis doesn’t have to tell him anything, all Rexadus, or anyone need do, is clock how that boy looks at you and, man, that’s all she wrote. You don’t dance with another soldier’s girl, it’s the code. Dori doesn’t stand a chance, honey, he’s just too polite to turn her down. I bet his mama is just like her. Which is probably why he likes you.”

Bess gave him a stare.

“Ok, maybe not exactly like Dori. I cannot see the good Mrs. Presley making you go all the way to Dallas so she can dress shop at the boutiques. They were share croppers, right?”

Bess nodded at Jim as she swayed with him, attempting very hard not to look over at where Elvis and Dori slowly danced.

“Something like that. Very very poor. But Jim, you dance with me, and I was your friend’s girl for two years.”

“That’s different Bess, I hate most women.” Jim looked back over at Rex and his voice trailed off. "Most people, actually. You are saving me from all the eager beavers here looking to snag an officer as a husband.”

“Well, looking around, some of them would probably settle for snagging just a night with an officer.”

They laughed and Jim led her around the dance floor in perhaps the most chaste slow grip of any of any officer or gentleman that danced a slow dance that evening.

The song ended, and the band kept going with their version of Sam Cooke’s hit “You Send Me.”

Bess could not help herself, and found her eyes move to watch Dori press her cheek to Elvis’ and it made Bess’ stomach clench inadvertently. Elvis’ eyes locked on hers while he pulled Dori tighter to him, tilting his head with a smirk. Something in his eyes told Bess he could tell how much she envied her girlfriend, a fact she refused to even concede to herself as she looked away, scanning the room for her sister. To her dismay, Kay was now kissing her dweeby young lieutenant toward the back of the warehouse, not so much dancing as staggering back and forth in place.

Hitting someone’s shoulder, Bess turned to apologize until she saw Elvis had moved Dori right behind them. She stepped hard on Elvis’ foot, then apologized loudly and profusely. That didn’t get him to scout off and they remained dancing next to each other as Jim ignored Bess’s pinches at his wrists clearly signaling for him to lead her away.

“Why hello there, Moo Moo, fancy bumping into you here?”

Dori smiled big and pushed her hands further up around Elvis neck as she swayed to the rhythm.

“Moo Moo? Y’all are gonna havta tell me bout that” Dori giggled. “And look at you Bessie, honey, I just LOVE your dress.” Her eyes moved to Jim. “Y’all having fun?”

Bess stepped closer to Jim, nodding and avoiding the coy irreverence in Elvis’ dark blue eyes as she slyly tried to navigate her partner away from them. She kicked Jim’s shin to let him know that if he did not politely guide her away this very instant she would begin to kick harder.

*******************************************************

Leaning against the wall during a ballad, Bess found herself making a mental note that Elvis’ seemed to avoid dancing to the faster songs. During this one, he had gone off to get some punch and then started walking in her direction only to be assaulted by a troop of MWR committee members, offering him samples of the desserts they had baked as a pretext to come and talk to him. Bess smiled as one asked him to dance, then turned at Mabel’s voice, observing the rosy glow of the other secretary’s cheeks.

“Mhmmm, the punch is good tonight.”

Bess smiled, then leaned in to smell Mabel’s glass.

“How many of these have you had, Mabel?”

The older woman replied without missing a beat. “Five.”

“I’m cutting you off, I think it’s been spiked.”

“Of course it has. By me.” Mabel took her glass back, gulping the rest down with a wink. “Someone needed to liven up this funeral. Hold this for me, won’t you?” She asked, and Bess’ jaw dropped a bit as she watched Mabel cut in on Dori.

Bess wondered if Mabel still preferred Burt Lancaster to the movie star she currently leaned her head against, happily watching her colleague cozily nuzzle into Elvis tall frame. He was a good sport, joking and swaying with Mabel for a second dance,  then stepping to the side and chatting with another swarm of woman who tried to contain their eagerness as they brought him another tribute of dessert platters.

Bess danced to The Flapjacks performance of “Jambalaya,” but quit as the music turned toward more and more ballads while the night went on. It was late, the people on the dance floor seemed to have coupled up and the decorum had slowly fallen to the wayside as the senior personnel disappeared. The air fell thick with a heady, hazy lust provoked by the swell of sweet, slow rhythm and blues and the release dancing provided from the stress of barracks life. Jim had ducked out, and Bess wished she had given Kay her keys and gone with him. She managed to stay as far away from Elvis as she could through he evening, which wasn’t hard. If Dori was not monopolizing him, he only made it a few feet before another woman tapped on his shoulder. During this time, Dori had cornered her and begun drilling Bess for information, asking why she didn’t pick up her phone anymore, and what the deal was with Elvis.

“Moo Moo? Is that a nick name? Are you sure y’all are just friends? Honey, say the word, and I will be on my way. I do not throw myself at men.”

Thinking of their double date last week, Bess restrained herself from explaining that this seemed to be Dori’s primary hobby.

“I promise, it’s a silly nick name, Moo Moo is what he called his childhood cow named, get this, Bess. I’m telling you, Doreen, we’ve just accidentally stumbled into a very casual friendship.” She rubbed her friend’s shoulder, and looked out at Elvis laughing with his dance partner.

“He's lonely, and just jives more with women. You saw him with Mabel in the office. I’m not saying I see wedding bells in your future either. But then again, Dori, you don’t want to get romantically involved with Elvis Presley, do you? I can only imagine the havoc he is going to wreak on the girls in this town once he gets his bearing and into phase two. That boy is a fast operator, so fast you don’t even know what happened and boom, you’re asking him out.”

Dori narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm. Well, honestly I don’t want to marry him, Bessie Boo. I just want to experience him. He is so soft, Bess. That jaw! And those eyes. Ufffff. And when he kisses you, oh, it’s like having lightening strike your cheek. I’m fixin’ to get more before the night is over, hopefully with my mouth.”

She winked as the song ended, and strode off to get him back. Bess had to giggle at the glare Dori shot a younger girl from the switchboard office who looked like she was about to ask Elvis to dance.

Lonely, awkward, and ready to be done, Bess rolled off the wall and told Kay she was ready to leave. Her sister politely told her to get bent, promising Dickey would drive her home. So Bess subtlety slipped out of the side door next to the stage and made her way towards her car, ambling slowly in the cool evening air. Bess found it a sweet respite from the crowded, stuffy ware house stuffy. Out here, it was peaceful, and she savored the darkness as she looked up into the black sky. The stars and moon were hidden by some clouds, and Bess tried to get lost in the murky shadows as she wandered away from the sounds of the dance. She begged the wind to tamp down the anxious buzzing in her head. It was then, when she paused in the passage way between two tall buildings, that she heard the sound of footsteps following her, and turned to see a tall, dark figure striding toward her with purposeful, swift steps. His shoulders were back and his hands were out and he slowed when he heard Bess speak.

“All dressed up and marching in a hurry, huh? Loose your parade, Tupelo?”

Elvis’ gait turned into a wide swagger and Bess stumbled into the building backing away from the force of Elvis’ magnetism. It was not a smart escape strategy because he followed in step, his hands on his waist as he looked her over.

“Al - al - always, the smart ass, huh?”

“I’ve been a smart ass my whole life, Tupelo. Try to keep up.”

Elvis shook his head, chuckling low.

“You’re staring. Stop it.”

“Honey, if you didn’t want me to stare at you, shoulda worn a different dress.”

She gasped, and Elvis stepped closer, his right arm up against the wall while his left moved over her waist and he whispered into her forehead, his voice was low, teasing, almost babyish.

“Be honest, Moo Moo, did you come out here cuz you wanted me to chase you?”

Bess looked at the eaves of the building above her, she could hear the faint sound of the band back at the dance playing “The Girl Can’t Help It” and Elvis hips swayed very slowly at half time with the beat.

“Nope, I, I was leaving, actually.”

“How could you leave without dancing with me, baby. Not even once. An ya hardly even talked to me all night. Every other girl in there is ready and rearin' ta pounce on me, but you make me come chase after you?”

“I’m - I’m not like very other girl, Elvis. I’m not trying - trying to ….”

The way his thumb trailed up her arm made Bess shudder and she lost her train of thought.

“Hmmm. Not tryin’ to what, Moo, huh?”

He leaned into her ear as he spoke, and the skin on her bare shoulder prickled as his thumb rubbed over it while he whispered softly.

His voice was warm on her neck, and it reminded her of the first summer Mama drove her and Kay down to Galveston spontaneously for a week. They had stayed in a cheap motel across from the beach and enjoyed the warm Gulf water while eating fried shrimp and hush puppies and getting sunburnt. There, in the golden sun of the Texas Gulf, Bess had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to move through the world. No, standing where the sun met the surf had set her free, and she had become a wild animal dancing in the water and screaming into the waves while the sand crabs tickled her feet.

Elvis’ breath on her neck had the same effect. She felt wild, relaxed, totally at the whim of her body as she bit her bottom lip and looked up at his half-lidded eyes. She wanted to pull him close and scream into his mouth, howl at the untamed force of nature that rippled beneath his cheeks. He tightened his hand at her waist and kissed her neck, but then stepped back at her shudder.

“Ya scared not scared of me, Moo Moo, are you?”

She shook her head, but trembled as Elvis fingers feathered lightly down her arm.

“You don’t never have to be scared of me, baby, I won’t ever hurt you.”

“Elvis, I -”

He kissed her neck again, murmuring into her skin. The top of his cap rubbed into her hair. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere we can jus… Talk?””

Just as Bess began to answer, she felt a light sprinkle of water on her nose and looked up as it started to drizzle down on them. The rain brought her wits back to her and she gently pushed Elvis away, feeling the water increase and her hair slip down over her face. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“You are here on a date with someone else, and I have to go home.” Squeezing him in a tight hug, she kissed his cheek one last time as he nodded, before removing her heels and sprinting off through the puddles to find her car.

**************************************************

Bess had managed to wash her face and get her dress off before she succumbed to the extreme need for a pot of hot tea. Now she stood in her kitchen, towel drying her hair and shivering as she waited for the kettle to boil. Hearing a knock at the door, she yelled out hurrying to the front of the house.

“Kay, the door is open! Or is numbnuts a catching disorder -  shit.”

There was Elvis, hat in hand, on her front doorstep.

“Numbnuts?”

She swayed to the side, watching the back of a white Studebaker whirl around the corner. A white Studebaker very much like the one Mabel owned.

“My sister’s boyfriend is not the sharpest shooter in his platoon.” She held her robe closed as she looked down at her thin, white silk night gown. The thin matching robe didn’t do much, but she felt more decorous pulling it over herself.

“Did Mabel sneak you off post?”

Elvis grinned mischievously and strode past her into the house

“Hello to you too, Bessie, whatcha cookin, good lookin'?”

Closing the door, she shoved him as he walked backwards down the hallway.

“Don’t you hello me, what are you doing here?”

Elvis unbuttoned his jacket, and draped it around her shivering body.

“Still cold honey?” He drew her in, rubbing her shoulders. “Let me see if I can warm ya up.”

His jacket was still cozy with the heat of his body as he drew Bess into him. Breathless, she let him enclose her in his embrace, folding her arms into his chest as she lifted her chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“There she is, there’s a good lil Moo Moo.”

Elvis leaned down to bundle her further into him, his hands moving inside her open robe to caress the sides of her body, his nose stroking hers as she closed her eyes and whispered into his jaw.

“Elvis, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know honey.” He pulled her closer, kissing her cheek at the fold of her earlobe as Bess crushed into his.

Her mind was racing, racing the with knowledge that at any moment her 17 year old sister would come home and probably know how to work the door knob. Racing with the knowledge that her father and mother were flying back to Waco tomorrow and she needed to be rested and alert when she drove to pick them up. Racing with the knowledge that Elvis Presley was the absolutely worst choice for a romantic entanglement or fling, not just because he was famous, handsome, rich and probably already dating any number of women in Los Angeles, Memphis and God knows where else. And therefore, an unimaginable person to be seen with publicly or explain to her family.

But it was worse than that, she could already tell, from the way her mind bent towards him all through the day when he wasn’t around, and directed itself to him with an intense, buzzing focus when he was. For these reasons, she knew he would be the worst kind of all-consuming distraction that she could possible let herself get involved with right now.

Her mouth had other plans. Namely, how could it find his mouth?

“Elvis.” She mumbled as her lips brushed the nape of his neck and her hands wrapped around his body.

“Yes Bess?”

He looked down at her as she tried to find the words she wanted to say.

“I - I - I”

“I know honey, you don’t date soldiers.”

She smiled a lazy, goofy half smile.

“Mmmhmmm.”

He gripped her tighter, pinching the flesh at her sides.

“Honey, dating is not the word on my mind right now. I am not interested in asking you on a date.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I do not have no intention of driving up to your house in my pink Cadillac.”

He kissed her nose.

“I don’ wanna have to come meet ya mama and shake your daddy’s hand.”

He kissed her cupid’s bow.

“And I definitely ain’t about to take you out to fancy restaurant and buy you dinner.”

He kissed her lightly on the top of her mouth, his teeth grating over her lip.

“I do not want to date you, Bess.”

“Good, because I don’t want to date you either.”

“So don’t date me, baby. Jus kiss me.”

**********************************************************

Click here to read Chapter Four: Dance

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Nerd 14

Previously on Nerd

There weren’t many things considered as decorations in the house on the corner of Inglewood Street. The old stone house, with its black shutters and manicured lawn hid behind a stately oak and the polished Porsche in the driveway, glowed as a beacon in the neighborhood, of perfection and wealthy modesty. Inside, it was less populated than one might expect, never fully lived-in, at least not to the casual observer. 

Clarke moved her way down the stairs as she balanced the bag on her shoulder, fully prepared for work and then studying with her girlfriend on a fairly boring Saturday night. For the first time in a long time, she looked at the sparse frames of pictures of her family. 

Unsure of what made her pause, she furrowed, pushing her eyebrows tightly together and leaning into the image of her mother and father on a random date when they were together in college. They were carefree and at some bar trivia night. Abby hugged Jake’s bicep and nearly hid in his shoulder as he leaned forward, other arm lifted to interject an answer. He was smiling wide despite his eagerness, the flash ricocheting off part of his large glasses. His hair was floppy and fully, swept to the side and neatly arranged, while Abby was brimming with life. Clarke loved the candid picture because sometimes she looked at it, and these were two people who had entire lives and experiences and she forgot that. They probably got butterflies like she did when Lexa smiled at her. They probably spent hours excitedly waiting to see the other. 

In that picture, her mother wasn’t the person she was now, though both seemed insanely far away from Clarke. This college-aged person was alive, vibrant, in-love, awake, eager, and not cheating on her husband. The body language alone showed how much she adored him. 

In that picture, her father was the funny, charming man she remembered, not the angry, frustrated man who was skin and bones, who couldn’t eat, who couldn’t swallow, who had difficulties moving most days and remembering his own daughter others. He was alive as well. He was the man everyone wanted to sit beside for some reason, for som inexplicable reason he had this… he had a spark that drew those to him like a moth to a flame, except he was that flame, and he shared his light eagerly with those around him. 

Clarke relaxed her face after a few moments of looking and seeing and trying to find some kind of detail in that picture that would indicate that the couple in it would know what their life would like like two decades later. There wasn’t a single indication, and that terrified her. 

“Did you finish you math?” her mother’s voice called from the hallway, hearing her daughter shift and move to look at the next picture without seeing her first. 

“Yes.” 

The next image was a very tiny Clarke on her father’s shoulders and her mother hugging his waist as they all stood beneath a redwood tree. They had hiking gear, shorts, sunglasses, hats and sunscreen. They were all smiling. They were a family. 

“Did you email me that draft of your personal essay for applications?” 

Clarke gave up perusing, no longer feeling the yearn for that family unit that was far away. She rolled her eyes and stomped her way down the steps to find her mother sorting through envelopes and mail. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” Abby didn’t look up as she flipped.

“Because I’m a junior, and I have five months before applications are due.”

“That’s no excuse not to be prepared. Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time chasing after some gir--”

“Who am I chasing after?” Clarke scoffed, crossing her arms and peering at her mother. “Do you mean helping Lexa on her submission for film school? Do you mean tennis practice? Do you mean working part time? Do you mean having a social life?” 

“Considerate that you can help someone else get into college.” 

“It’s going to take her months to edit, which I can’t-- I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

That did it. Clarke knew it would. Clarke new an overt expression of her own independence would trigger her mother. She knew arguing and not appearing to care about college would give her the satisfaction of a righteous fight. She wanted it. It’d been brewing for about a week and a half, ever since Clarke said she was going prom dress shopping without her. Ever since Clark forgot to tell her about spending the night camping with Lexa and the film crew while the powered through the project. Ever since Clarke didn't’ come home for dinner last Tuesday and then raved about Mrs. Woods’ garlic chicken. Tiny things Clarke did with spite because she didn’t know what else to do, because she couldn’t do anything else. 

Abby’s nostrils flared and Clarke jutted her hip, shrugging to herself as she dug for her phone, ready to go to work and escape the house and the persistent smell of medical equipment and cleaner that haunted her until she was about two blocks from the house. 

“I’ll be home around midnight.” 

“Like hell you will. You’ll be home right after your shift.” 

“No,” Clarke paused as she turned to leave. “I’m going over Lexa’s to study. We’re watching a Cary Grant movie.” 

“You’re under the misconception that you get to make your own schedule and plans without asking permission. But that is not the case, Clarke.” 

“I’ve been doing fine.” 

“You’ve barely been home. Your father is--”

“Right there, in that room, asleep. I know this because I spent the morning with him. We made pancakes and played a game of cribbage. We talked about school and Lexa and I showed him pictures of the past week of my life. And I helped him with his meds because he’s having a bit of a flare. I told him I’d see him in the morning for omelettes because we’ve been watching cooking shows together and he wants to try the french style. I know exactly what is going on with my father.” 

She hadn’t meant to, but her voice began to raise as she spoke. Clarke felt her fist shake. She felt her muscles tighten and her jaw clench. She was okay with being considered lazy and unmotivated, but to be accused of negligence was uncalled for, especially from someone like her mother. 

“Don’t you raise your voice! You are greatly mistaken as to the nature of our relationship. I am your mother, and I am sick of your attitude, and your priorities not being your father and your family or your education.” 

“Lexa has nothing to do with any of that. Are you just mad I’m dating a girl? Or that I don’t care what you think anymore?” 

Slightly taken aback by her daughter, by her words, by her actions, by her entire demeanor over the past few months and frankly just sick of dealing with being the bad guy. 

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Abby shook her head. 

“I could say the same thing.” 

The two stared at each other before Clarke shook her head and adjusted her bag. She toyed with her keys in her pockets before checking her phone again. 

“I’m going to be late for work. I’ll be back tonight.” 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Abby insisted again. “You’re grounded indefinitely.” 

“Except I’m not,” Clarke sighed and shook her head. “I’m not because I don’t care anymore. I genuinely don’t.”

“You’re going to. Give me your keys and your phone.” 

“No.” 

“I’m not joking, Clarke. You’re going to need to readjust your priorities and attitude.”

“I think you should take your own advice,” Clarke insisted as she reached the front door. “Or are you too busy fucking Kane to realize that there is no more family here?” 

With a satisfying slam, she yanked the door shut. The anger that was stationed in her shoulders dissipated with the noise and movement. Clarke stood there in the quiet of her perfect neighborhood, the flapping of the flag lazily moving in the spring breeze was all she heard at first. Then the birds came. Then a lawnmower started in the distance. 

Clarke felt lighter than she’d felt in a long time. She also felt emptier than any other time in her life. It was officially the end, and now she had to deal with that because the anger and the hurt and the betrayal was all she’d had in her for what felt like months. It hadn’t made anything better, and it certainly ruined everything, but Clarke took some solace in the fact that now she could try to fill herself up with something else. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The party at Bellamy Blake’s house was in full swing by the time Lexa made her way up the winding driveway and into the belly of the beast. She wasn’t sure how she ended up there exactly, except that her girlfriend texted and said to show up. That seemed to be enough of a reason, though Lexa wasn’t particularly prepared. They’d had plans. Quiet plans. Private plans. Movie plans. 

And now Lexa was going to her girlfriend’s ex’s party. 

She shoved her hands in her pockets as she moved through the crowd, clearly not getting the memo that jeans were not entirely good enough attire, and in fact she seemed to be extremely overdressed. Her eyes bugged slightly as she watched a girl from her physics class walk by in a very tiny, very teeny lime green bikini. Lexa became suddenly aware of the appeal of such things, as if she hadn’t noticed them before, but then MIchelle who sat diagonally in front of her third period looked like that and she gulped. 

The music thumped loudly. The beats were rattling the walls and shaking the windows while the screams and giggles of her classmates sought to shatter glass. It wasn’t like the other parties she’d been to with Clarke. It wasn’t even like thrones Anya dragged her to when she visited. This was a night of debauchery and she hadn’t had time to prepare. 

And as much as she saw everyone else wearing bikinis, she hadn’t thought about Clarke wearing one. She’d seen Clarke’s boobs before. That was nice. But there was something to her girlfriend in a bikini that was… good. Very good, even. 

Lexa pushed her glasses up slightly on her nose and stared. 

“What are you doing here?” Gus asked, approaching quietly. She didn’t move or say anything else, just stared from across the pool, the steam billowing upward to ward the sky while everyone seemed to glow blue and green and red, the lights alternating around them, the flames of the fire pits dancing to keep everyone warm. The warm glow of the lights inside were lost on the white-blue shade to the water. 

“Lexa, focus,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What are you doing here? Your sister would kill me if she knew you were at a Blake party.” 

“How is it different than any other party?” 

“It just is.” 

“Because of the pool? I’ve been to pool parties.” 

It hadn’t been since seventh grade and didn’t look like an episode of a CW show, but still, she’d been to a pool party with many of the same cast of characters that were currently on display. It was before puberty, but still. 

“We need to get you home.” 

“Clarke invited me.” 

“It doesn’t matter. This isn’t your scene.” 

“I can be in any scene. I’ve watched every John Hughes movie.”

“This is more of an episode of Euphoria than an 80s teen flick,” Gus sighed and took another swig from his cup. “And I fully believe you would fit in fine with Molly Ringwald.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Lexa nodded. “I’ll be fine.” 

She took her eyes off of her girlfriend long enough to assure her friend that she was perfectly fine now. She was dating the head cheerleader. She’d been to parties and seen--

“Gus-- is that cocaine?” 

“Okay, yeah, we have to get you out of here,” he shook his head and tossed his empty cup into a flowerbed. 

“Is it really?” she asked, craning her neck as he pushed her forward. “I’ve never see that in real life before. People actually do that thing with the credit cards and dollar bills? Astounding. Where does one get cocaine?” 

“You don’t need to know that.” 

“I’m not going to do it. I’m just curious.” 

They only made it a few steps before the ran into a sopping body. A tall, muscular, tan, perfectly chiseled and dripping body. It was the body of an actual god. It was the body of the perfect specimen, with biceps and the long swimmer cuts that pointed firmly toward his… his-ness. 

“Gus, long time, man. How you been?” Bellamy Blake grinned before slipping his cup in his teeth as he hugged the other football player. 

“Not too bad. Heard you’re heading to Oregon in the fall?” 

“Yeah, partial scholarship. We’ll see what happens,” he shrugged. “Staying close?” 

“Yeah, St. Johns, about three hours away.” 

“Full ride?” 

“Yeah. I got offered half to OSU, but would rather not have to pay anything.” 

“No, that’s smart.” 

The whole time they spoke, Lexa watched Clarke’s ex intently. She frowned to herself and wondered how her girlfriend broke up with him. He was effortlessly cool. He was huge. He looked like he knew how to go down on a girl, and Lexa was still apprehensive. She wished she could fast forward in life until she was really good at sex. 

She watched him grin and sip from his red cup, meeting her eyes curiously as Gus explained something about his college recruitment process. 

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before. I’m Bellamy.” 

He held out his hand. And though she didn’t want to do it, she sighed and shook his hand. 

“Sorry, I should have introduced you. This is Lexa.” 

“Lexa… Lexa…” He mulled. 

“Anya Woods’ sister.” 

“Wow, you’re Anya’s little sister?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How is she? I forgot she had a little sister. I remember her little brother died-- oh shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We were just heading out,” Gus interrupted. 

“I was actually just going to go talk to Clarke.” 

“Why would you--”

Before anything else could be said, before anything else could transpire between the two of them, before Gus had to interrupt again, Clarke appeared, launching herself into her girlfriend’s arms, wrapping her own around her neck, her body still slightly damp from the pool she must have just climbed out of during the awkward introduction. 

“You’re here. I’m so happy,” Clarke hummed against Lexa’s warm neck. She buried herself there, suffocating herself happily, slightly tipsy. 

“I told you I’d stop by.” 

Clarke kissed her girlfriend’s neck. She leaned most of her body against her there and giggled, oblivious to the eyes, too drunk to care about anything else happening. 

“I am have the worst day. Maybe the worst week. Maybe the worst year ever. No, wait. Definitely the worst year, and today I finally told my mom everything and then left. So Yeah. It’s been terrible. I got drunk.” 

“Not the healthiest coping mechanism.”

“Not a bit,” Clarke grinned, agreeing eagerly and with a wide grin. She leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend despite her words. 

“You can be healthy tomorrow,” Lexa offered. “You okay?” 

“As okay as can be.” 

There was some throat clearing that happened behind them, and Lexa felt a burning in her ears and chest at the display, unaccustomed to it all. 

“So this is your new girlfriend?” Bellamy asked, looking at the pair. 

“Lex, I suppose you’ve met my ex,” Clarke gestured. 

“Kind of.” 

“Is this party a little much?”

“If I remember correctly, this was exactly the kind of thing you liked. We went to many a party in our tenure,” Bellamy shrugged, lazily leaning against a counter. “Things changed since I left, I guess.” 

“I enjoyed not thinking,” Clarke offered. “You were great for that.” 

Gus and Lexa looked between the two and then at each other. She was almost certain she didn’t know what was happening, but that certainly, something was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. 

“You moved on quick, huh?” 

“Hey, step back,” Gus interrupted as Bellamy took a single step. “This is Anya’s sister.” 

“Woods?” he furrowed. “You’re dating Anya Woods’ kid sister?” 

“Yup,” Clarke nodded. 

“I heard she was--”

“Standing right here,” Gus finished. 

Lexa felt Clarke’s hand move into her own and she smiled despite the fact that she was picking up a drunk girl at her college guy ex’s party. There was a lot in that sentence she wasn’t happy about, now that she thought about it. 

“You ready to get out of here?” Lexa asked innocently, ignoring the rest. 

“I think we still have a few more shots lined up, Clarke,” Bellamy smiled and Lexa understood the need to punch. 

Noticeably torn, she looked at her girlfriend and back at her ex before realizing that she was actually drunk, and that wasn’t good. Lexa smiled softly and rubbed her girlfriend’s back. She kind of imagined how it must have felt to implode and take her mother down with her. Lexa remembered the feeling of telling her father she was gay and sad. Clarke’s implosion didn’t seem as successful as her own, and Lexa was more than happy to try to help in whatever way she could. 

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded quickly. “I’ll text my mom to let her know.” 

“You’re seriously leaving?” The college football player and terrible ex scoffed. “The night is still young. It’s barely after eleven.” 

“Thanks for getting me drunk, but I should probably go do something better.” 

“Thanks for showing me around,” Lexa offered nodding her head slightly toward the host before he could argue. “Have a good night. I’ll see you on Monday, Gus.”

“Get home safe,” the linebacker warned. 

Slightly dumbfounded, Bellamy Blake stood there, hands on his hips as he watched his ex weave through the crowd of people and disappear. As much s everything stayed the same, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling of change, and how averse he was to it. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“Here, you can, uh,” Lexa quickly moved through her bedroom, leaving her girlfriend standing by the bed. “I have some old sweats if you want.” 

Already, Clarke began taking off her pants, and Lexa quickly looked in the drawers of her dresser. She felt the tips of her ears burn slightly as she looked over her shoulder, her girlfriend slumping into the bed, pants lost to the floor. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that party. I knew it,” Clarke sighed, rubbing her face with both hands to ride herself of the spinning. “But I didn’t care. I just wanted to… you know…”

“You had it out with your mom. You just anted to go far away. I get it.” 

“Don’t be nice to me. I knew better than to go, especially to anything involving Bellamy Blake.” 

“Why?” 

“He doesn’t care about any of it. Just has drinks. I should have called you or like done something else.” 

“You’re allowed to want to take a night off from a giant secret after a huge fight. And you don’t need my permission,” Lexa reminded her girlfriend, offering an old shirt. 

“It was stupid.” 

“Do you feel better?” 

Gingerly, Lexa tugged at Clarke’s shirt, pulling it over her head until she flopped back down on the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillow. Agitated at herself, at her clothe, at the unfathomable uncontrollability to the entirety of her life, Clarke growled to herself as she tugged off her bra, tossing it to the side and gracelessly pulling on the shirt Lexa offered. 

“I don’t feel better at all.” 

It was certainly a pout, and Lexa did her best to ignore it. Instead, she slicked off the light beside the bed, and slid between the sheets next to Clarke. Lexa laid there until Clarke turned to face her, until she placed her hand on her neck and cheek. 

“I’m sorry you had to pick me up.” 

“It’s okay,” Lexa whispered. 

“It’s not. I’m not like this… I don’t mean to be… I mean--”

“It’s okay.” 

Clarke leaned forward, shifting beneath the blankets until their knees were touching. She moved to only push the hair from Lexa’s forehead and she paused before kissing her lips. She tasted the warmth of the tequila there and she didn’t care. Lexa signed. 

“Please don’t give up on me anytime soon,” Clarke murmured. Stunned from the kiss, Lexa blinked in the dark and shifted closer. 

“I wouldn’t ever.” 

“I know you wouldn’t. I just had to say it out loud.” 

“Okay.” 

Lexa was certain she was going to get another kiss, but instead, Clarke dug her forehead under her girlfriend’s chin and pressed their bodies together, hugging her tightly and disappearing, being overwhelmed, anchoring herself to a steady force. Lexa rubbed Clarke’s back for a few moments until she fell asleep, and then she allowed herself the option of sleep.

NEXT

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 12: locked here for forever

pls don’t kill me, I wanted to do the whole new chapter but i’m not totally done with changing some things up at the end and I’m on a time crunch because i’ve got crap to finish for school and two more essays to vomit out (hahaha, but good thing i can type a lot, right!?! ;-;) please take these meager offerings of the teaser for the next chapter instead

Story: Locked Here for Forever (Blurb of Chapter 3)

Fandom: One Piece, Modern AU, Memos Modern AU

Pairing: Dark!Sabo/Oc/Dark!Ace (Rated NSFW but this blurb is okay)

(locked here for forever)

Hoku cradled the mug of hot tea in her hands, watching the murky red color swirl as steam wafted up. There was a faintly sweet smell to it, noting something different from just apples. Herbal?

Sabo had told her there was already a pot steeped for her if she wanted it, some nice brand from some place she forgot the name of he was starting to like apparently. 

She thumbed the bits of graphite still staining the curve of her hand. She watched it smear under her thumb, graying her skin. It was a familiar look, the same way Hoku liked to feel the hard, chipped and flaky feel of paint still lingering on her skin. A bit of slow music was coming from the stereo behind her, filling the silence for her comfort. Ace’s taste? It seemed they had remotes to control all sorts of different parts of the apartment. Luxury places like this do it differently. She hadn’t seen a single normal light switch since walking through their door.

Hoku sat alone beside the dining table in Ace and Sabo’s luxurious apartment, the sleek, shiny material she didn’t know the name of showing her unreadable expression right back at her. The high ceilings and sheer size of the nicely decorated, well furnished apartment made the feeling feel much more powerful. Sitting here beside this table, Hoku felt a bit small

But she didn’t really know how to admit that she was glad to have a second to herself either. Do I really need it? I’m fine, right? She felt fine. Ace and Sabo had offered to come out and see her off if she had to leave right away, but she’d ushered them on, telling them they could go… clean up and shower or whatever they might need.

She’d wait.

“Wait in the dining room for us then,” Sabo had said, smiling warmly at her, exactly the same way he smiled at her in the cafe.“Or the living room if you want to make yourself comfortable. We’ll be finished in just a bit, alright?”

It’d been a bit hard to keep her eyes focused on him when Hotaru was still in the room as Sabo adjusted his robe, tying it off at his waist. Hoku remembered the surge of uncertainty rising up in her chest as she gently held the drawing between her fingers, not knowing whether or not she should say something to Hotaru or just keep her mouth shut. If this had been a normal shoot or session, she’d have thanked the models and started up small talk if the mood struck, but this wasn’t exactly… a conventional shoot.

Hotaru had been wrapped up in the thick duvet, sitting on the corner of the bed and looking away from them as she scrolled through her phone. The slender curve of her neck, pointedly turned away from the three of them, had pushed Hoku to decide she probably should just keep her mouth shut. But she’s the one who wants this, right? Maybe she wasn’t expecting… no, no, Sabo said she knew I’d be female… she’s probably more comfortable with that… maybe it’s just awkward?

Hoku could understand that. She tried to rationalize it. Of course it’d be a little awkward. This wasn’t exactly an everyday request for a portrait of a beloved pet or family member. Hoku was just working, after all, there wasn’t any reason for them to talk beyond that.

Still though. Hoku glanced Hotaru’s way, unable to help herself. She doesn’t seem very happy that I’m here.

“Hoku?”

Hoku jumped, turning quickly back to Sabo. He’d smiled back at her, easy and polite as he gestured for her to move toward the other side of the room—on her way to the door. “I suppose we can talk more in a second. Ace and I won’t take long.”

“Unless you want to join!” Ace had shouted from somewhere down the hall with a chortling snicker. Sabo rolled his eyes and Hoku snorted, carefully rolling up the drawing she’d finished and handing it to Sabo.

“Here,” Hoku had handed Sabo the drawing. “We can talk more after. Let me know if she has any questions.”

Sabo has smiled, eyes crinkled at the corners, full of warmth and appreciation. It’d made Hoku suddenly think there wasn’t any reason for her to think of anything else after all.

(She was just helping out.)

A bit of sweat rolled down the side of her neck now. Hoku reached up and rubbed it away, smoothing out a little crick in her neck while she was at it. Her hair was pulled back into that messy ponytail, a few stray strands sticking out. A small bag of her supplies sat beside her on the table top, drawing her attention.

That hadn’t been so bad. She just needed to not think about it. Yeah, that’s just about it, right? To not put much more thought in the aftermath—it was done with now, and it was nothing more than a commissioned job. This was definitely different from anything Hoku had done before, but it was a good chance to experience something new. Step outside her comfort zone a little to find something new about herself. This is nothing but a good opportunity. 

Hoku glanced back to her pencils.

She imagined her hand sliding across the paper to the sound of breathy moans. To the quiet sound of skin sliding against skin. Of—

“Sabo. Sabo, please—”

“We should give her a hand.”

“Did you like that—”

“Do you like it?”

Hoku jumped, knees smashing into the underside of the table. The very same tea almost sloshed out as well had she not moved her hands to try and scoop it back into the cup. She almost screamed, but only managed a startled, wheezing gasp instead. 

Sabo looked horribly apologetic, pressing fingertips to his lips in a wince at her reaction. 

Tea. Hoku’s mind automatically supplied, maybe for her sake. Tea. He’s talking about the tea.

“Good,” Hoku said intelligently. “Tea. Tea good.”

Ace broke out into a guffaw behind Sabo. The other brother quirked a brow at Hoku, looking hopelessly amused. Water dripped down the ends of their tangled locks, rolling across Sabo’s neck and disappearing into the line of his robe.

Hoku offered them a bit of a constipated smile.

Bonus:

“You ever think about getting laid?”

Law stared at his soup as though the liquid had just parted its lips and asked him the question itself.

He stared at it longer, for good measure, making sure he wasn’t seeing things after running an almost 72-hour shift non-stop dealing with both a nasty, unfortunate pile-up and some crazed stalker lashing out at his victim in a near fatal stab wound.

Law slowly turned his head to look at the young woman beside him. Hoku didn’t even blink, calmly moving her spoon through her own soup—she wasn’t much of a soup person, save for a few different dishes, but Hoku was usually always willing to try anything once, and she was even more willing to cave and eat something if it was for the sake of the other person.

She didn’t even look that tired, despite how late into the night it was beginning to be—and sporadic as Hoku’s schedule was, she always tended to get a little tired around this time before ignoring it in favor of work if she had any.

No, wait, aside from that—Hoku had just asked him a question. Not the soup. Hoku.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, rubbing the tired lines under his eyes before he refocused on her, brows furrowed and lip curling downwards in—in something.

“Do I what?”

Maybe he’d heard wrong.

“Sex,” Hoku said again, changing the vocabulary up a bit. “You ever think about it sometimes?”

Law stared at her for what might have very well been more than ten minutes to his frying, failing brain. He opened his mouth, closed it, jaw setting to the side as he tried to focus on Hoku’s face and make sure he wasn’t seeing double—make sure he hadn’t actually been gassed by one of the new anesthesiologists.

“What?” Law said, because no, it seemed the 72-hour shift had killed a bit of his cognitive process off after all.

Hoku brought the spicy beef broth to her lips, taking a long slurp.

(more to come soon! ty for your patience!)

[mockingjayne12]

Take Me Home - Chapter 3

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

CHAPTER THREE:

She can feel the spray of scalding hot drops hit her back, their rhythmic pounding against her flesh vibrate through her, seeping into her skin, the heat of water the only warmth she allows herself to feel.  Her brown hair becomes blacker still, creating a shield, shrouding her in darkness.

“What are you, stalking me?” She hears herself say, the shock of seeing the red haired actor staring up at her with his impossibly blue eyes.

Her music softly plays through the trickling of water, the kind Gillian refers to as “doom and gloom” but whose words touch her in a way she doesn’t permit others to attempt, making her feel that maybe she’s not so alone.  She pulls her knees closer to her body, collapsed into a ball.

He nearly chokes on his laughter, her face turning red with an almost blush at her assumption.

“I dinna think it’s stalking, as ye say, if I was asked,” he teases, that grin she can’t wipe from her eyes playing on his lips.

“Asked?” She balks, and he points at Gillian, who’s not so subtly eavesdropping from her table behind them.

“I’m going kill her,” Claire mutters under her breath.

As if noticing that she was letting on that he’d thrown her off, she straightens, her long neck peeking from its collar, the tips of her eyes covered by fringe, leaving a narrowing effect down upon this man.  She can feel her heart beating loudly against her ears.

“What can I get for you?”

“I dinna ken, what’s good?” He asks with a raise of his brow, and a grin that she can’t quite tell if he’s trying to be cute or just oblivious to her mood.

Her hands drop by her side, her pad hitting her apron with an exasperated sigh.

“I do have other tables to get to…” And she swears his grin falters a bit before perking back up with a shake of his head, his curls floating across his eyes, like fire threatening to be extinguished by the blue sea it hovers over.

“Two coffees,” he says, and she balks again, the thought of someone joining him having never crossed her mind.  And she silently kicks herself for believing this was anything other than a coincidence, him being here.  He certainly didn’t show up for her.  Of course not.  And she quickly turns to escape before her glass face gives away that she ever thought differently.

Heading to the back, she glances at the mirror that hangs above the employee sink, and sees her hair sticking out in all directions, her fringe curling at the ends, and she quickly sweeps them to the side.  The stain on her shirt has set, a ring of embarrassment displayed for all, tie crooked, and the black of smudged makeup creasing in the crinkles her eyes give way to when she smiles, which isn’t too often these days.  Turning on the faucet, she cups the water between her palms before splashing the liquid against her face, the droplets momentarily waking her, before she attempts to wipe away the black evidence of sadness with her finger.

Sitting in the bed of her tub, the shower pours down on her, and she looks up into the water, never quite drowning her in its wake, instead trickling against her, escaping from her presence the way she wishes she could do to herself.

“Here you go,” she says, placing one coffee in front of him, and the other on the other end of the table, likely for some blonde he’ll have meeting him.  “Would you like to wait until the rest of your party gets here…” but her question trails off, as she sees him laugh just a bit to himself.  “Is there something funny?”

“No,” he quickly says.  “I’ll wait,” his tongue comes to lick his lips, and she swears if she had still been holding the coffee mugs, she’d have spilled them right into his lap.  

“Hmph,” she says with a flick of her head, and nearly running right into Gillian carrying a tray of drinks.

“Careful, Sassenach,” she hears over her shoulder, tempted to turn towards him with her tongue stuck out like a two year old, as she slinks off to her other tables.

Claire shakes her head, sending water hitting the curtain, her hair refusing to relent, clinging to her, like soot against snow, polluting her mind with conversations she knows she needs to rid herself free of.

She finds herself peeking over at his table as the rush begins.  A flurry of people begging for her attention, demands that have her questioning if they were this picky in their every day life or just when it came to food.  Every time she’d head over to refill his coffee, which was beginning to become impressive he could consume so much (the second cup still sat full) she’d be beckoned over to one of her more demanding tables, which was okay by her, it gave her an excuse to avoid James.  But her eyes refused to get the memo, constantly travelling over, raking over his strong back, to the red curls that gathered on his neck, the glint from the sun coming in through the window he sat by, striking the scar that rested on his cheekbone, and not for the first time, she finds herself wondering what it would feel like to run her finger over the mar of imperfection.

The water puddles in the bend of her arm, caught between her connecting flesh, with one movement she lets it go, splashing into to where her feet rest, and her toes curl at the sudden deluge.

“Get back to work, Beauchamp,” her manager’s voice grating on her nerves, interrupting her daydream.  Gillian always claimed he had a crush on her, but Claire mostly found the man to be harmless.  As long as she kept her head down and showed up for her shifts, he wasn’t too hard on her.  But when he’d lean against the counter just a little too close, she’d find an excuse to be busy.

“Going, Christie,” her emphasis on his surname not unnoticed.  But the rush had died down at this point, only a few patrons remained, one being James.

Sidling up to his table, she almost feels badly for the man who’d clearly been stood up.  Almost.

“Hot date didn’t show up?” She asks with a raised brow, her finger idly tracing her own mar of imperfection.

“Verdict’s still out,” he says with a shrug.

“Maybe next time,” she offers, and then scrunches her face at the idea of acting hopeful for his love life.

“We’ll see,” he says with a glint in his eye, and then she hears the giggles from a few tables back.  Glancing over she sees two women having clearly spotted James.

“Never short on admirers, I see,” she says as he stands, and Claire nearly stumbles backwards to get out of his way, his hands shooting out to steady her, briefly, before quickly letting go, her mouth hanging open as he makes his way towards the door, a quick nod and smile sent towards the two women who’d sent him fleeing.

“Hey, you forgot to…” she’s about to say, when he turns, his hand running through his hair, and then he’s off.  “…pay.”  She huffs, moving to clear the mugs, when she finds a bill tucked underneath the second cup of coffee.

Momentarily breaking from her sitting position, she reaches for the drain, stopping the water’s escape, left with no choice but to gather around her.

“Bitch, what was that for?” Gillian screeches, Claire’s hand having slapped her shoulder.

“You told him to come here?” She practically growls, her anger having stewed enough to skip a meal on her break.

“Told who?” Gillian says, voice going high, acting innocent, twisting a piece of her own red hair between her fingers.

“Fuck off, you told him to come here as some sort of pity date,” she argues, flopping back in her chair out back, the sun beating down on her pale face.

“Honey, if you think that was a date…” Gillian starts, tilting her head in horror at the thought.

“You know what I mean,” Claire’s words tinged in defeat.

“I simply suggested that if he wanted to see you again, he should stop by…that’s all,” her shrug acting as if it really was nothing to get angry about.

“Yeah, well, he clearly felt sorry for me, as he left me this,” she yanks a hundred dollar bill from her apron.  “Like he can just…buy me off like that.  I swear, they’re all the same.”

“At least he didn’t try to shove it into your shirt,” her friend counters with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to bloody shove this up his arse if he shows up again,” taking the money and putting it into a separate pocket.

“I love it when you get all British on me,” Gillian teases, causing Claire to roll her eyes.

There’s a break in the music as the song changes, a soft instrumental piece begins to play, the keys of a piano almost twinkle her vision with its sound, causing a settling feeling to manifest in her stomach.  It’s a nostalgic piece, one she can’t place, but that builds within her, until she’s breathing heavily.  The water climbing up above her ankles, just deep enough that she can easily lay down now.

She’s not sure why she’s surprised then the next day, as she’s pulling her mess of curls into a top knot, when Gillian runs up behind her with a beaming smile on her face.

“He’s back,” she practically sings.

“You’re kidding,” Claire says with an annoyed tone, but she can’t help the way her heart begins to beat just a little faster, as she quickly looks down to see that at least today she’s managed not to spill anything on herself.  Yet.

Marching out onto the floor, she quickly arrives at his table, the same one he’d been at yesterday, and she nearly does a double take, the glasses he’s wearing today somehow making him even cuter than usual, but she shakes her head, her indignation back within a second, and slams the hundred dollar bill down on the table.

“I’m not a charity case, James,” she sneers, and his shocked face looks up at her as if she’d slapped him.

“Never thought ye were, Sassenach,” he tries, but she’s not buying it.

“Who gives this much for two cups of coffee?  Do you think I’m that desperate for money?”

“No, I—“

“Because I’m not,” she says with a crossing of her arms.

“Wait, why didn’t ye use it to pay for my coffee?”

Her face begins to heat, her arms awkwardly adjusting, as she looks anywhere but him.

“You saved it just to make a point…”

“Yeah, so…”

“Stubborn,” he laughs.

“Stop, it’s not funny.”

“It’s a wee bit funny,” he says, making his accent thicker to drive the point across.

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Fine, consider it a downpayment.”

“For what?” Her hands come to rest on her hips, her mouth pursing, and she can see he’s fighting back a comment.

“For all the coffee I’m going to order,” he says matter of factly, a curl slipping underneath his lenses, and she has to dig her nails into her palm not to reach out and move it out of his eyes.

“I’m never going to get rid of you, am I?” She sighs, her annoyance rising at the same rate as her hope.  He was persistent, she’d give him that.  But it was only a matter of time until he got bored of whatever game he was playing and left.

“Not so long as ye’ll have me,” and there’s no hint of a grin with this, and she feels a warmth spread over her.

“Yeah, well…” she fumbles for words.  “I’m not allowed to kick people out so…”

“So…I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he says, pulling out a book, the cover having been removed, so she can’t see what it is he’s reading.

“Great,” her sarcasm out in full force with an obviously fake smile.  “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“Jamie,” he says, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“You called me James, but my friends and family call me, Jamie,” he explains, licking his lips.

“Well, I am neither, James.”

And she swears she hears him mutter something in Gaelic as she walks away.

The music makes its way further and further from her as the water rises up against her ears, every subtle movement sending a wave crashing against her, a euphoric sensation trickles through her as the spray of the water beats down, slowly taking over her body.

Their routine becomes the same, every day James shows up, is seated at the exact same table in her section all the way in the back of the restaurant, with the same book, the same order of coffee.  Some days he’ll come in with his glasses already on, other days, he’ll pull out the case he has tucked in his pocket before diving into his book, always pausing whenever she approaches the table.

He attempts to engage her in conversation, but she knows how this goes, it’s only a matter of time before he gets bored and moves on.  So she carefully avoids answering anything about herself, the walls around her built high and sturdy.

She lets her hands rest on the surface, a delicate balance between rising to the top and pressuring herself to the bottom.  Her eyelashes feel heavy against her, wet and clumped, she teeters on the verge of being fully submerged and choosing to let her lips peek just above the surface.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” She’d asked one day, and he’d laughed, claiming his film was still in pre-production. And for as much as she acted annoyed at his appearance every day, she found it oddly comforting to have something to look forward to, although she’d never admit as much to herself.  She found she didn’t dread coming into work as much, waking up before Adso clawed her, a “bounce in her step” as Gillian had noticed, only to be quickly denied by Claire.  The banter between her and James had become one of few interactions she had throughout the week that wasn’t with either a pet or a coworker.  He was careful not to cross the invisible line she’d set for them, but he’d notice when she came to work one day with her hair braided, rather than it’s usual top knot or the bandage on her finger (from her cat) to which he’d perked up at getting a piece of information about her, and ever since had made it a point to ask how the “wee cheetie” was doing.  She wasn’t used to people being interested in her life, and most of the time she found herself holding her breath when he’d ask, like she was being backed into a corner with questions, her first inclination to lie or shoot back a sarcastic remark, feeling he was getting too close.  But she couldn’t deny there was a thrill there.

Plunging her head down, she imagines the struggle, how easily she could let it all go, the tiny beads of water creating tiny bursts in her ears as they spray down on the full tub she’s created.  Her eyes wide awake, refusing to close, her body tempted to buoyantly make its way to life, but her will demanding she weightily suspend herself between the choice to sink or swim just a moment longer.

“Well, don’t you smell nice today,” Gillian teases Claire as she rushes to clock in.  

Pulling on a loose curl, her friend refuses to let up.

“So you two married yet or what?”

“He’s just a customer, G,” the blush crawling on up her face, reaching for the light sprinkling of freckles giving way to the feelings she refused to admit even to herself.

“Yeah, a customer that just happens to be rich, famous, hot as fuck, and did I say rich?”

Claire rolls her eyes reaching to tie her apron on.

“Like you said, I’m not his type,” she reiterates, tossing a look that begs for the subject to be dropped.

“Fine, fine,” she backs off, holding up her hands in surrender.  “But if you don’t make a move soon, I will,” she winks.

Making her way out onto the floor, she looks to see if James has been seated, only to find his table empty.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she attempts to distract herself with her other tables, her eyes always wandering over to where she’d become accustomed to him being,  nearly snapping when the hostess seats a group at the table that’s usually reserved for the bookish redhead.  She can feel the hurt rising in her chest as the hours tick by and he never shows, and with it, comes the anger at having let her feelings reach a point where she’s actually upset at his absence.  Her mind reeling at having thought, just for a second, that maybe he could like her.  Maybe someone could actually care.  But she’d been wrong.  They were all the same.

By the time her shift ends, she’s near tears.  Beating herself up with self-loathing foolishness that has her stripping off her clothes and crawling into the shower, flicking on her music, as she settles back to her old routine, washing away James Fraser from her life.

Bursting upright, she lets the water slide from her along with her anxiety, threatening to pour over the tub and flood her floor, and that first breath, the one she found she’d been holding longer than before she’d sunk underneath, feels all too familiar, the moment she has to accept that she’s still here.  Not clean, not healed, but still here.  Another day ahead of her.

A day that didn’t include James Fraser.

[mmidsay]

EnderMemiorSMP (Maze Runner AU)

A/N - I’m so sorry if I missed anyone I don't keep up to date with ender smp! (I only really watch remi’s pov i tried to ask questions and make it as accurate as possible!)

God my head, it smells of steel. I struggle to open my eyes as I feel the texture of the metal I’m laying on. It reeks, My body slowly let’s every sense come back. The last to return was my hearing, the banging of the chains almost impossible to miss yet moments ago It all sounded like nothing existed. 

I sat in the box for what felt like hours, I don’t remember anything about myself, that’s fucking terrifying. All I know is that my hair is shaggy and out of place then I’m used to I could tell by the uncomfortable and foreign feeling it brought, I’m a decent height and my voice is too quiet to hear with the chains rattling. 

Wait 

What’s my name..

Where am I.. 

What is this..

I try to recall the people in my life and it all seems to have faded. I can smell the room but I can’t see the people, or why they’re there. The bright red and black hair gives a sense of friendship, the brunette seems as if they are proud of me? But what do I do? The memory fades more as I try to think about it. I felt like I was in hell, each memory I tried to recall slipped from me.

My memories are falling apart. I remember the brunette hair, and the- the uhm.. what is it.. as I think harder it slips even harder. The box halts hard and fast, sending me fast first into the ground.. for a moment I think the cage will finally open, but it doesn’t not for a while.

The top of the cage opens and the bright rays of sun hit my eyes.. My name is yuckles.. fucking yuckles? Really thanks mom for that one. Ugh I push myself up and someone jumps into the box.

Someone with a split dye of blonde and Brown hair appears in front of me.. “Day one greenie.”

I push myself trying to adjust to the sun's heat, the people around me are trying to help pull me up and out of the box, I look around for a minute and feel lost. This is not my home, I shifted to look at the looming stone walls before- Someone grabbed my shoulder, “hello greenie!” 

I nod towards them, “I feel it’s best if you come meet Alexa and Reggie before we do anything!” 

Who is this, who are the names. I’m so confused. “What’s your name?”

They turn to smile at me, “Names Bloo! I’m the keeper of the builders!” 

They look at me as if they're asking a question, “you want my name?”

They nod excitedly.

“Yuckles… at least I think?” It felt foreign coming off my tongue.

“Yuckles? Well alright shank! Let’s get you too Alexa so you can deal with that whole mess! Mess hall won’t fix itself!” Bloo smiles pushing me towards a shed

“Alexa! Reg! New greenie coming in!”

Two voices shout back in unison, “Let em in!” Bloo opens the door letting me in before it hits me in the back as they run away yelling “good luck!” As they go.

Alexa and Reggie told me they were the leaders and what I needed to know and what I didn’t need to question, I guess they could tell from my eyes I was curious.

“We’ll leave you with last months greenie Andrea”

I looked at them with confusion, they act as if I’m supposed to know who that is..

They seemed to get the memo, “go to the gardening area. You’ll see someone with bright pink hair, their name is remi.. they’ll be able to help you to remi.”

I nodded, asking one last question before I got to the door, “where are the gardens?” Alexa I believe follows me out and starts me off in the direction of the gardens. 

“I must be going now,” I nod as she talks, “See remi over there?” I look at the pinkette with a purple ribbon holding back their hair.

“Remi!” Alexa shouts from beside me

Remi looks up from the crops and raises her body to stand, you can see a younger person who was copying her movements, “Alexa! Hey!”

She shifts her eyes to me and then whispers to the person next to her then runs over to where we are.

“Hiya greenie! I’m remi” she mimics as if she was tipping a hat.

“Rem, this greenie is stuck with you until the doors shut.” Alexa pushes me forward towards remi before the turn around

“You got it boss!” Alexa starts walking in the opposite direction, remi wraps her arm around my shoulder

“I guess I basically have two greenies under my ranks!” Remi smiles as we walk back to the gardens

“Remi who’s this?” The person who was crouched down now standing with curious eyes.

“This is our new greenie but don’t you worry Andrea! You’ll still be called greenie.” Andrea sighs in defeat before smiles 

“I’m Andrea! I now have the privilege of calling someone greenie, so when you do remember your name I’m going to call you greenie anyway” Remi snickers lightly next to me.

“Just out of curiosity greenie what is your name?” Remi smiles as we walk toward the crops

“Yuckles I think? It doesn’t sound like a real name but it’s all I can remember.”

Remi smiles “whatever works, works. Is it cool if I call you, Yuck? Yuckles is too long.”

I nod before Andrea shouts out in laughter, “YOUR NAME IS YUCKLES OH MY GOD THAT IS SO FUNNY.”

They continue laughing until they see Remi’s glare. Remi is a bit smaller than Andrea and Significantly smaller than me, yet I would not fuck with her.

“I’ll be leaving the gardens a bit early today, so you will be with Andrea from dinner to sun down. They'll run through everything.” She smiles sweetly at me. Andrea nods their head.

Remi starts teaching me the basics of a gardener, constantly apologizing for the fact that I have to start as a gardener. They know everyone hates the job.

Eventually after enough remi gets up, “alright Kofi and Sky are back. I got to go, Andrea, be nice.”

Andrea smiles and shouts as Remi leaves, “No promises!”

I keep an eye on Remi as they walk over to a Tall strong and built black man wearing baggy clothes with a satchel across his shoulders and a shorter raven haired with a red hat with a notebook and a pale complexion smiling at Remi as she walks up to them both giving her a hug. 

They walk to a wooden structure before someone yells out. “DINNER FOR WORKING GLADERS! LETS GO!” The voice seems as far away as you can be in this area

“Okay come on greenie let’s go get dinner.”

We both walk to the mess hall, they guide me through the line. They smile at the people saying hello. They led me to sit down the the person who pulled me out of the box, another guy similar to the guy remi had run up to but significantly less built, and someone else with a brown curly hair and a black mask covering their face.

“Guys this is the new greenie!” They yelled as they sat down at the table pulling me along.

“Hello again Greenie!” The person with the split dye says to me as I place my plate down, after explaining and giving names of everyone at the table They then turn to Andrea, “Will Kofi,Sky and Remi be here soon?” Bright shrugs, “It’s always a toss up with them, I heard they’re mapping everything while Sky interrogates Remi about how they’re feeling. 

The mess hall door opens with laughter, The boy named Matt speaks “Speak of the devil. Hey Guys!”  Remi and Kofi come in and sit down, Sky walks to the food line grabbing three plates, I assume for themself and the other two. “Sky and Drell are probably gonna be a minute they haven't seen each other all day.” I pipe up, “Who’s drell”

“Sky’s sibling.”

[nightingiall]

where the skies are blue // a niall horan au (coming soon)

Sonia has known Niall for what feels like their whole lives. He is her best friend, her anchor, and occasionally, a pain in her ass. They are polar opposites. This is a fundamental fact they have always known. She likes making lists and checking them twice while he thrives on spontaneity. He is destined to fly away to unknown places while she is doing just fine on the ground. 

So, it is not surprising that when they are forced to reckon with the fact that their corporate job makes them both miserable, Niall's first instinct is to uproot and leave. What does amaze Sonia, however, is that he wants to take her along for the ride. 

A roadtrip AU about stepping out of comfort zones, discovering what it means to be alive, and untangling a years' long web of really complicated feelings all on a journey that changes everything.

C O M I N G     S O O N

Start date and update schedule TBA.

sign up for the taglist here // wattpad // read a preview below!

“Sunny.” 

Niall is currently lying face down on her couch, worn out from the day’s work and the fact that Sonia made sure he was fed, showered, and in comfortable clothes. He is watching her with a frown. 

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t realize it then but this is a moment she will think about a lot. The two of them, there in her tiny apartment, Niall giving her this somber look and Sonia feeling tired and helpless. She doesn’t realize it then, but this is a turning point. 

Niall’s fingers are twirling around a loose thread on the pillow, eyes glazed over in thought. “Why exactly does your boyfriend hate me?” 

Sunny sighs. Her laptop is a blurry light in front of her. Dev. She can’t lie, she has thought extensively of this very thing herself. Mulled it over on sleepless nights. Watched every single one of Niall and Dev’s interactions like a hawk, storing them to memory to analyze later. She’s really not sure why her best friend and her boyfriend can’t seem to get along. Perhaps, she’s considered, that it’s mostly to do with the fact that they are both, coincidentally, attractive men. 

Otherwise, what else could it be? When they’re not around Niall, Dev is an absolute sweetheart. She loves him to death, really. Something strange happens when the two of them are in the same room together, though. Dev becomes reserved and curt. He’ll always stay close to Sonia, always will find a way to have contact with her. A kiss on the cheek. An arm around her shoulder. 

Just twenty minutes ago he stopped by to drop off a dress of hers that she’d left over at his. It was meant to be a quick thing; she needed the dress for an event tomorrow and he’d deliver it to her, along with a lingering kiss, and be on his way. When he learned that Niall was over, though, something shifted in him. His beautiful smile became stiff, his tall and lanky spine tense. He’d invited himself inside and stayed until he was called into work, but not before subtly interrogating Niall and adapting that weird sarcastic persona that only Niall could elicit from him. 

Sonia didn’t like it. One, because everyone always seemed to be so happy around Niall. And two, because she wanted her boyfriend and her best friend, two people she loved to the ends of the earth, to get along. 

But she can’t tell Niall all of this. So she simply shrugs and attempts to get back to typing up a memo for tomorrow. “He doesn’t hate you.” 

She doesn’t have to look at Niall to know that he’s giving her a look. “I’m pretty sure he does. Just now when you went to the kitchen he told me that he doesn’t understand why you and I are even friends when we’re so different.” 

Now she looks up at him, shocked by this statement. “He said that?” 

“Yeah, he did.” Niall is slightly upright now, resting on his forearms so he can send her the full force of his wry look. Be honest with me, is what it says, and now Sonia is sighing. 

“Okay, fine.” She saves the document she’s working on, just in case this is a long conversation. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like you.” Even as the words leave her mouth she knows that’s a lie. Dev is jealous of Niall, this much Sonia is aware of. Why that is the case is beyond her. Sure, she and Niall have been friends since they could toddle, but that was no reason to dislike a person. Truthfully, this is one thing that’s always bothered her about Dev. Niall is important to her; why couldn’t her boyfriend see that? 

“You’re doing that thing with your nose,” is what Niall says to this. For his part, he doesn’t look all that upset anymore. 

Inadvertently, she scrunches up her nose. “What thing?”

He is visibly repressing a smile now. “You do this thing when you’re holding something back. It, like, wiggles.” He attempts to demonstrate but it only makes her laugh and she throws a pillow at him. “Hey!” Niall throws it right back at her, but he’s laughing too. “Since you’re being mean I guess I should tell you that holding something back was just a euphemism for lying.” 

Sonia gasps, feigning offense. “I’m not lying! It’s not like he’s told me why he doesn't like you. Every time I try to ask he changes the subject.” This, in her defense, is true. She learned early on that Dev hates talking about anything having to do with Niall. Which, now that she thinks about it, leaves not much else to talk about. After all, most of her life is connected to something about Niall. Considering they’ve been best friends for over two decades and they work together, this is natural.

Niall just looks at her for a while, his smile fading. Sonia feels a sort of heaviness settle over them at the absence of that ever-present grin of his. This is important, she realizes now. She cares deeply about this blue-eyed boy. This is a fact of her life that she could never ignore. It follows her everywhere, the shadow of him. She doesn’t know how to breathe without him, so how could she just allow a significant other to walk all over him for seemingly no reason?

“I’m sorry if Dev has upset you,” is what she says next, voice quiet, the only sound in the room now that the playlist Niall had put on earlier has faded out. She didn’t notice how silent the apartment had gotten. As always, she’d been too distracted by Niall’s laugh. “I don’t like that you two don’t get along. I promise I’ll talk to him about it the next time I see him.” 

Niall smiles again but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m not upset.” That’s a lie. She knows it from the rigid angle of his spine as he settles down on the pillow again. Guilt pools in her belly. “You’re happy with him. That’s all that matters.” 

This moment. You’re happy with him. These words will play on repeat in her head for the rest of the night. Is she really? She loves Dev, this she knows. They’ve been together for nearly a year. He listens to her, respects her, makes time for her. But the truth is, lately, she’s okay with being away from him. He’ll go away to assist on a surgery at some out-of-state hospital or she’ll be away on a business trip or they could spend weeks apart, and she won’t miss him. Not in that aching, longing sort of way. 

Yes, she’s happy with Dev. But she’ll also be okay if he wasn’t in her life at all. 

That, she knows, is not the kind of love that keeps a relationship standing.

Silence settles over them then. Niall doesn’t prod the subject and Sonia doesn’t offer any more information. Her laptop screen, true to her prediction, has dimmed out, so she enters in her password again and gets back to work. She somehow falls right into it, her workflow, moreso because it’s a distraction from her current predicament. Dev and Niall. Dev or Niall. She never thought she’d have to choose between them. While no one is making her select one out of the two of them, she gets the feeling that it may be something she will have to do soon. 

She nearly thinks Niall has fallen asleep when he speaks again. 

“I’m so tired,” he’s mumbling into the pillow. She glances up at him, softening when she finds that he looks about two minutes away from passing out right there. “So tired.”

She sighs, adjusting her glasses on the top of her nose as she tries to finish up her work for today. There’s only one more item on her to-do list and she intends to complete it before hauling herself to bed. If she doesn’t, she won’t sleep. “You don’t say,” she deadpans, but mentally adds something to her list: get Niall his favorite sheet so he can go to sleep. 

When the quiet stretches on between them again, Sonia can’t say she’s glad for it because, suddenly, she can’t focus. There’s something heavy in the quiet between them, and she doesn’t understand why until she sees Niall shift his head to look at her, the shadows under his eyes more prominent than ever. She doesn’t realize she’s staring until he blinks.

“What are we doing with ourselves?” It sounds like a nonsense question at first, but the way Niall’s voice shrinks to match his feelings exposes his vulnerability. Their vulnerability.

“What?” She tries to brush him off, make it seem like she has no idea what he’s going on about, but her voice gives her away—breathy and uncertain. They’re definitely not talking about Dev anymore. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Probably not ever, really. Even though they’ve been skirting around the topic for months.

Niall sits up slowly, and Sonia realizes that she’s never seen him look so defeated. It makes her feel defeated too. “This.” He gestures around them, her scarcely decorated apartment, the piles of files and paperwork currently burying her coffee table. “What are we doing? Why is it so hard to get out of bed in the morning? Why do I hate my job?”

I just want to be happy. His voice is suddenly as clear as day in her head, and something else comes back to her in that moment. She remembers what she said to him afterwards: “Yeah. Me too.” She remembers actually believing it, even up until she was standing in front of her parents’ smiling faces, their cameras held up as she posed with her degree on graduation day; she just wanted to be happy. 

“Niall,” she sighs, and the words suddenly escape her. She doesn’t know what to say to him, how to make any of this better. All she knows is that she feels the exact same way.

Neither of them say anything after that, but the look in Niall’s eyes tells her that it won’t be long until they won’t be able to escape the remainder of this conversation. She never pictured Niall with a desk job, and she knows why when she looks at him now. This bright, free-spirited boy was always meant to fly, as high and as far away as it took to reach those dreams of his that seemed to stretch miles and miles. But Sonia’s not sure she’s meant to fly with him. And maybe she’s selfish, but she doesn’t want to let him go before she can figure it all out. 

He’s done it once before, and she’d let him with promises of flying out to visit each other at their respective college campuses, despite there being hundreds of miles in between, and she doesn’t think she can do it again. At least not right now, not when she realizes how incomplete she’d been when the hundreds of miles between them had them losing touch.

It’s nearly midnight when she finishes her work, and when she looks over at the couch, Niall is already sleeping. As she drapes the sheet over him, she wonders how long she has until he decides to fly away again.

[strange-changes-ln]

“Strange Changes.”

Chapter Five: “What a Surprise.”

“ Pssst. Heyy… wakey wakey. “

It’s funny how someone can sleep on a constantly rocking boat. They guess the people here just got used to it. You’d probably have to, really. The only way they could really tell, is how the angle of Roger’s room shifted every so often. It’s fascinating.

They stare, intently, at the resting worker, a big smile upon their face. They do silently note the lack of the skin covering his eyes. That’s new.

“ ..Pssssssttt…. “ [ REDACTED ] begun to tap on his shoulder, at a quick pace. He should be up now, since he was so fussy about work. Was sleeping an exception? They doubt so.

They watch Roger stir, unblinking. Wake up, friend, the time has come…

To wake up, they mean.

They watch, floating uncomfortably close to the Janitor’s face, as his ‘eyes’ flutter open. Grinning.

“ Hey there, buddy… I’d say you have a nice bed head, but you don’t seem to have any hair. “

They calmly watch his reaction, his eyes widen, before jolting upwards, yelping. [ REDACTED ], only snickers at this. “ Ehehehe. Did I get you? Yeah, I got you. “ Their voice had a childish tone to it. Roger simply blinks, in- surprise- and confusion. Who-… why does he recognize that voice.

“ …W-Who— what- “

“ Say, do you happen to know any Chefs? I just so managed to give them a visit yesterday! It was fun… “ They giggle a slight bit.

“ ..wait… a-are you the… th.. “ Processing, he’s lost. Perfect. “ … “ He rubs at his eyes, rather aggressively. All the while, the strange shadow just looms, smiling.

…

Though, the looming doesn’t necessarily last for too long, as they are swatted at. Wow. How rude!

“ Wh— excuse me?? Can you not? Gosh! “ They float backwards, away from the swatting Janitor, staring him directly in the eyes as he glares.

“ What’re you doing here..? “ His eyes narrow. [ REDACTED ] blinks.

” I just wanted to visit a friend. But clearly, you didn’t get the memo. “

“ ..Friend? The hell are you talking about. “ He slowly steps out of his bed, and onto the floor, staring the… thing down. “ I barely even know you, Mr. It’s Not Important. “

“ Hey! You wouldn’t want to say who you were to a stranger, right..? “ They tilt their head to the side, that smile still plastered onto their face. Roger just- frowns. You’re kidding, right?

“ Says the person who’s calling me their ‘friend.’ “ He huffs, glancing to the side. “ Now- if you excuse me.. “ the Janitor simply turns, and shuffles away from them. They aren’t worth his time, really. He has work to do, now recalling yesterday. Gotta get caught up.

He heard the snickering. The giggling. How immature are they? He just exits the room, not even taking the time to look at them.

…

…

Sigh. Okay. He glances back as he closes the door. Are they… not following? Well, that’s probably for the best. He doesn’t need many distractions today. He just continues to move forward. This is fine. He can get maybe a little bit more work done than usual before the boat arrives. When does it get here again? Soon, at least. He can’t remember exactly, but… soon.

He shuffles through the Lair, barely thinking about anything else other than work. That’s, what’s most important.

Muttering a bit. Well, that was the first time he’s ever seen whoever that is, and he can say for sure that- that’s not someone he’d see on the regular. Looked like a sentient shadow ghost or something. Where’d they come from, anyway?

Ah, what does it matter. Maybe they’ll get bored, and leave, off to bother someone else, hopefully.

… yeah. Hopefully—

“ Roger? “ A voice spoke from up ahead. The Janitor blinked, jumping a little at the-

“ ..Thomas? What’re- what’re you doing down here? “ He squinted, this also was something he wouldn’t see on the regular. “ Did you need something? If so, what is it? “ He started asking.

” Well- no, I don’t need anything. But.. um… “ The Chef glanced to the side, rather awkwardly. “ ..Our Lady does. She said she needed to talk to you about something. She didn’t tell me much, but she did tell Marcus a bit more. But- he won’t say what she needs either.. so I’m- kind of lost. But maybe you could fill me in afterwards? “

…

Oh. Oh, lovely. She needs to talk to him. Privately. This is…

“ ……… “ Roger just stands in silence for a moment, staring down at the ground. What would she really need to talk about, that involves him? Was it about the package? The conversation about the stupid eye incident? Is she cross with him?? Oh god oh god-

“ ..Roger- are you okay? “ The Second Chef stepped forwards, trying to take his co-worker’s attention away from the floor, and towards him. “ ..Roger- “

“ -uh— huh? “ He glanced upwards. Oh.

” ..you okay? “

“ ..Uhh— yeah. Course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be? “ Roger shuffled his in place a little. This is awkward.

…The Chef merely sighed. “ ..Alright, uh.. how about we go talk to the Lady now. “ Thomas turns, and starts to walk away. It took a moment, but Roger followed behind.

. . .

. . .

“ What did she tell you. “

Roger was standing in front of the First Chef, Marcus, with sort of a suspicious glare. He, for some reason, needs conformation he isn’t walking into a death trap by confronting her. Anything can happen.

” I’m not allowed to say. “ The Chef spoke with a firm tone. “ I’m sorry, man, but you’re just gonna have to find out yourself. “

This is stupid, Roger thought to himself, with a frown. He took his glare away from Marcus, and down at the floor.

” … “ He merely grumbled, his hands clenching themselves into fists for, but a fleeting moment. Then he just- sighed. “ Is it important..? “ He asked, his voice quiet.

” What do you think. The Lady almost never talks to us, let alone one of us. What do you think, Roger. “ Marcus deadpanned, as if he were talking to someone with no brain-cells. He knows, they all should know that this is most likely important.

” … “ Yet, another grumble. Roger can’t argue much with that. Yet another sigh.

” What’re you huffing about? Get your dumb-ass outta the kitchen, before- “ The Chef had begun to berate- but had paused. He blinked, before narrowing his eyes at- something, above the Janitor. Thomas had already caught what his brother had been seeing, and he shrunk.

” …what. “ Roger blinked, looking to both of the Chefs. They didn’t response. He turned around—

… You’ve gotta be kidding me.

. . .

[ REDACTED] loomed over the three adults in the room, grinning widely. “ Hi! Oh, it’s so good to see you all again! Though- it hasn’t been that long. Just a day, but that’s still a while. “ They nodded to themself, emitting another one of those child-like giggles. He’s certainly having fun.

“ ..What the FUCK are you doing here?? “ Marcus stepped forward, his tone being aggressive. The shadowy being simply floated backwards.

” Ahh, well, I had just decided to follow our good old short friend here, Ehehe! “ Simply patting Roger’s hat, gently. None of them said anything. In-fact, they still looked either angry, nervous, or just giving a firm stare. Eh, it’s not the worst thing in the world. They watched as the first Chef snapped his glare towards the Janitor.

“ Roger, you just let them follow you?? “ He pointed towards [ REDACTED ], he’s preeeetty mad.

“ I- I didn’t think they were! “ Roger simply tried to explain this nice little arrangement. Oh, this was so much fun to watch. “ I— “

“ You should’ve gotten them off the ship. That’s all I’m trying to say. “ The Chef crossed his arms.

“ ..Well, how do you think I’d be able to do that?? They won’t listen to anyone, so I can’t tell them to buzz off- “

” Just force them out! “

“ I can barely touch them! “

…

This is fine. [ REDACTED ] eyed the second Chef, who was just… standing there, awkwardly. He then turned back to the argument going on. Welp!

” Now, now, relax. I just simply wanted to pay you a visit. I won’t stay long, if it’s gonna stir up trouble, hehe. “ He actually loved the chaos. But, just for now: he left. Once more.

…

” AND DON’T COME BACK. YOU HEAR ME?! DON’T! “ Marcus shoved Roger to the side, just to shout that to the exiting shadow. The Janitor winced, before just- scooting backwards, awkwardly. The Chef huffed, before turning back towards both his brother, and his co-worker.

“ … “

“ … “

” ..I-..g-uh… “ Roger shrunk, adjusting his hat. “ ..I’m- “

” Go talk to the Lady. Enough times been wasted. She must be getting impatient. “ Marcus interrupted, before motioning to do his work.

…

The Janitor left. Without saying anything else. There wasn’t anything else to say.

[ms-maj]

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

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

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

Finish below or on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything okay here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the fuck? "How the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

“What friends? Who has friends?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 2

U Street NW  3rd District  11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk.  My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me how he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and those connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

  I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door.  

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

 I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy.  The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library.  I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

------

3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

 Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library.  

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer.   

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincentti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

 “The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room.   

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) {2}

Summary: Ethan wakes up to a whole new set of challenges with his soulmate, but he had no idea just how deep the trouble she would get into would be. With a medieval infection in the hospital, Ethan only thinks of her.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, swearing, medical descriptions of things some might find nauseating, infectious disease

Word count: 5.3k

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) series Masterlist

A/N - heavily inspired by Grey’s anatomy, my own experiences and thoughts, but also by songs: Birdy - Not about angels, Bear’s den - Fortress, Matthew and the atlas - Out of the darkness, Harry Styles - Falling, Kodaline - Wherever you are.

I really hope you guys like it! Feedback is always wanted and appreciated, no matter how small or big it is! 

If you want to be tagged for future parts, reply down below.

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Pistanthrophobia - fear of trusting others

Waking up alone is the last thing Ethan expected, but to wake up alone and nearly five hours later was definitely unbelievable. Not a single page? Not one of his interns fucked up so badly that they paged him thousands of times? Maybe he misjudged this generation after all?

"Nah", Ethan mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he pulled himself up to sit. Rubbing his cheeks, he tried to stop himself from smiling, to stop the warm feeling in his chest where she laid atop him but he couldn't. Even if she left before he had woke, Ethan was happy with their progress, although leaving him in bed alone seemed to have become her memo.

Dragging himself out to get a cup of coffee during this tireless double shift, Ethan wondered if she'd be waiting for him close by or if she was feeling better after losing her first patient, but he found himself disappointed when he couldn't find a single trace of her. His phone vibrated and even if he wanted anything but to pick up the call, the only person he knew was persistent enough to wait for the last ring was his brother and he always picked up Grayson's calls.

"What do you want?" Ethan grumbled, slipping a few coins into the vending machine for that cup of coffee he was dying for, not in the mood to speak but he thought it might be important.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine." Grayson chuckled, waiting to hear his brother groan or growl on the other line and he didn't have to wait for long.

"Just wondering if you misplaced something? Or someone?" Grayson teased as if he didn't know his brother isn't a morning person and he was definitely not in the mood for games.

"What are you talking about?" Ethan frowned, grabbing his cup eagerly as it fills up.

"Just heard one of your interns ask for a transfer and they told her no, but she seemed adamant that the cardio resident she's assigned to isn't right for her education here." Grayson licked his lips, aware he's pulling at the right strings because even if he never saw the elusive Y/N, he felt like her description matched the girl Ethan told him about a year ago, his instincts screamed it was her, and he was quite unhappy with his brother's lack of sharing for he would have expected at least a text from Ethan about his soulmate being his intern.

"What was her name? Did you hear that?" Ethan cleared his throat, pursing his lips nervously because he really fucking hoped the progress he thought he made wasn't just erased. Did he scare her off?

"Y/N Y/L/N. Your soulmate?" Grayson clarified and Ethan leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. He managed to fuck it up, he just didn't know how.

"Did she see you?" Ethan asked, gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip, annoyed with himself because it seems as if every step he takes toward her, she takes two back.

"Nope, but I did tell the nurse I'll take your interns over for the day. They should see the miracle of life before they see death. Thank me later." Ending the conversation, Grayson moved to meet the interns at the changing rooms, eager to meet the little Miss who drove his brother up the wall. In a way, Grayson was fascinated by this woman who seems to disappear like a ghost every time Ethan was near and he didn't understand why she was fighting this unmovable force of nature.

"So, uh, I heard you killed a guy on your first day." Cocky intern leaned into Y/N who was just trying to tie her shoes and get on with the day. Escaping Ethan's arms wasn't easy, especially when he seems to have a death grip in his sleep. But she had to go, to leave and find a way to switch mentors before she fell for him, the guy who clearly wasn't falling for her.

"I'm Brett and I like girls who get their hands dirty." His cheshire grin made her sick to her stomach because as attractive as he is with his pale blue eyes and blonde hair, she had absolutely nothing but disgust for him.

"Leave her alone, asshole. She doesn't care who you are." The only other female intern spoke up and Y/N chuckled lowly, nodding in agreement.

"I'm Alex." The blonde settled beside her, shooing Brett away with her hand until he rolled his eyes and left to get dressed.

"Y/N. Thanks for getting rid of the fleas." Y/N leaned back on the wall as Alex laughed and Brett turned back just to make an annoyed grimace at the two.

"So, how was the boss yesterday? Was it easy working with a hot genius like him? Did you have sex in the on call room?" Alex whisper shouted in excitement and Y/N's face fell, realizing Alex won't be the friend she hoped she would be a moment ago. She just wanted gossip.

"He's a talented surgeon and a good teacher. As for the rest, this isn't Grey's anatomy, on call rooms are for rest not sex." But before she has a chance to get up, someone walks in - authoritative and eager; way too eager with his pink scrubs.

"Good morning. My name is Grayson Dolan and I am to be your boss man for the day." The moment Y/N looked at him, her heart stopped. There are too many similarities between Grayson and Ethan and she was realizing one irrefutable fact.

"There's two of you?!" The words escaped her and she slapped a hand over her mouth as quickly as possible, just not fast enough to stop herself from becoming an embarrassment.

The left corner of Grayson's lips curled up, forming a smirk as he turned his attention to Y/N, taking a good look of what destiny had chosen for his twin and he knew she was trouble even without Ethan's complaints about his torn up heart. She looked like she was made for heartbreak but also the loveliest nights.

"My brother and I may wear the same face but there are very few similarities between us which I'm sure you will learn in time." Grayson winked, before turning his eyes to the rest of the room. "You all will. After all, we will be seeing each other weekly from now on. One of you will be mine for a week until you have your OBGYN hours filled."

Swallowing thickly, Y/N looked away nervously as she fidgeted with her stethoscope. She felt warm, as if her body forgot to regulate her temperature and she could hardly breathe.

'Did it get hot in here? Or is this guy's sunshine personality setting every room aflame?' She wondered silently, thinking how as awkward as it was around Ethan, at least he didn't force conversations and he didn't seem like the overly curious type that pries into people's lives as Grayson does. He looks like the kind of a person people go to in order to feel better, for his warmth and cheerfulness to transfer onto them - he was the definition of sunshine, a cure for dark and depressing people and Y/N was certainly one of them. But she didn't want a cure and she didn't want him to meddle. For the first time ever, Y/N wanted to spend time with Ethan, in the comfort he gave because he didn't force happy onto her and she felt safe in feeling what she feels, knowing she didn't have to adjust, to change. It was the first time she hoped for Ethan, but it wouldn't be the last time.

And lucky for her, he showed up right on time, just as she started losing her shit.

Fingers snapped in front of her face and Y/N gasped, blinking fast as her eyes refocused on identical twins that stood before her. "Hey! Are you listening to any of this?" Grayson questioned with a slight smile, genuinely entertained by her and her dreamer personality because he was sure it would both annoy and compliment Ethan's personality. Ethan is a dreamer too, but never at work and that would surely be a challenge for the pair.

"Um. Missed the few last minutes. Probably should get a cup of coffee." She raised her eyebrows, trying to seem convincing because she didn't want to be unprofessional but she also didn't want to piss off two of her teachers.

"Well, let me sum it up. You're in the pit today, page me if you find any pregnant women in need of a consult or any cardio patients. That's when you -" Stopping him mid-sentence, Ethan jumped in. "That's when you page me."

With a nod, Y/N pressed her lips together and pushed her hands into the front pockets of her lab coat, hoping they would just stop staring at her so intently, as if they're expecting something of her and she can't understand what that is.

"Got it."

She rushed out of there faster than humanly possible, needing room to breathe because for whatever reason, the Dolan twins made it impossible to draw in a proper breath during that short interaction.

Expecting insanity in the ER, she had managed to eat a granola bar before heading into a rather calm emergency room. Using the chance, she introduced herself to the staff, learned the proper numbering of beds and trauma rooms and a few hours in, she finally got a proper case.

"I'm doctor Y/L/N." She smiled, gathering information from the patient while doing a checkup.

"So you're an exterminator?" She kept her voice airy, her tone pleasant as she noted the man has a fewer, complains of chills, muscle aches, diarrhea, cough and fatigue.

'Likely the flu', she presumed.

"For the last thirty years. Used to be a banker, a painter and a writer in my three hundred years." Hearing that sparked jealousy in her heart. She shouldn't be jealous about other people managing to do all they wanted to in their long lives, but she was. She had plans of her own and they seem unlikely with her current soulmate situation.

"Sounds like quite an adventurous life." She smiled, checking for swollen lymph nodes. Finding quite swollen, tender but firm lymph nodes, Y/N frowned, cold sweat forming at the back of her neck as the man coughed. Managing to turn her head to the side, she grasped for a facemask and placed it for protection as she prayed. Caution is always better than reckless endangerment.

'Surely it can't be...'

"Is everything alright?" The man questioned, startled by the sudden change in her stance and the odd look in her eye.

"Can you please take your socks off?" She asked, hoping it won't be what she thinks it is because that would be just her luck.

However, the moment this man took his socks off, he took a few fingers off in the process and no matter how many times she had read about gangrene, she still wasn't prepared to see it up close and personal. The foul smell of rotting flesh made her stomach turn and she struggled to keep her composure. You're supposed to be calm and collected but they don't really prepare you for this in med school.

"Oh, God!" She exclaimed, looking around wildly to figure out what to do.

"Stay calm, sir!" She told him but she seemed more upset than he did. As if he knew it was in such a state, as if he had come in for the gangrene in the first place - the 'by the way' syndrome at its best.

With shaky hands, mask in place, she stumbled to the nurse's station and lowered her voice, careful not to touch anything or anyone.

"I have strong suspicion that we have a case of the Black Death...the pulmonary type, and I've been exposed. Make sure all the patients are isolated just in case and then make sure so am I. I'll take samples for the lab, send them as emergent testing, I'll write a CITO order. And disinfect every inch of this floor." Y/N ordered, her voice shaky as she set herself back to see the patient again, preparing to take samples to confirm her diagnosis. She hoped to God she managed to get that mask on in time, swearing under her breath for being reckless and assuming it's the flu and that she'd be fine. She finally got her immune system up, she finally got her vaccines and she got cocky, thinking she's untouchable and now while everyone else is delivering babies or having once in a lifetime surgeries, she'll be in isolation because she got a patient with a medieval diagnosis. Just her luck.

And while Y/N was being quarantined along with the three patients who had the misfortune of being in at the same time and one nurse that admitted the patient, the entire ER closing for disinfection, Ethan and Grayson were drinking coffee in peace.

"She's definitely a piece of work." Grayson chuckled lowly, raising the cup to his lips casually as if Ethan wasn't snorting at his statement, aware of that fact even without his brother pointing it out.

"Young too. She's a baby surgeon, Ethan." Grayson deadpanned, taking a sip before putting his cup down. Curling his fingers around the cup, he scrunched the plastic cup easily, something he did with every plastic cup he drank from.

"Is there a reason why you're stating all known facts?" Ethan sassed back, sarcastic undertones very clear and matching his annoyed face. While Grayson sat back relaxed, Ethan tapped his fingers on the desk continuously, telling just how difficult Ethan finds the situation at hand. He wanted to know this girl so badly but she didn't seem to share that want. How do you love someone who doesn’t want to be loved?

"Yeah. I'm tryna’ help you bro. She's young, meaning she didn't have a hundred years like you to do her thing first. She didn't have time to be her before being your soulmate. Besides, did you even tell her you're her soulmate? Does she even know it's you? Because if you're not ready to risk your pride and heart for her, why are you expecting it from her?" Grayson raised an eyebrow, waiting for Ethan to open his mouth and say something right, something that would lead him on the path toward her and just as his lips part and the lost look in his eyes fades, Alex, the intern he barely remembered by anything except her being the only other woman with a fancy stethoscope, walked in with news he never wanted to hear.

"Y/N, I mean one of your interns is in quarantine!" She screamed more than spoke, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

"What the fuck do you mean by quarantine?!" Ethan jumped to his feet in an instant, feeling as if a bucket of ice cold water fell on his head and he had never been as wide awake as he is now.

"It's the black death."

Autophobia - fear of being alone

Loneliness had never bothered her before. Accustomed to the lone wolf kind of a life, Y/N had started questioning the unsettling feeling in her chest. After all the time she had spent on her own, she was scared by the coldness inside her that lived within ever since she snuck out of Grant’s apartment where she had left her underwear along with her virginity. That feeling of coldness was gone since he had appeared in her life again and now when she found herself isolated, alone again, she felt the cold grasp at her insides once more and for the first time in her life, Y/N wasn’t prepared to be alone again.

“Hey there. Feeling good?” She didn’t meant to smile when she heard the sound of his voice nor did she mean to let her eyes light up with the sight of his pretty brown eyes on the other side of the glass. She hadn’t expected her heart to jump inside her chest nor did she expect her cheeks to flush considering she’s wearing just a hospital gown and while she managed to hide her ass, she still felt exposed, indecent.

“Yeah. Already started myself on antibiotics before the CDC came in.” She shrugged slightly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she approached the glass slowly, wondering if he’d be proud of her for managing to handle the situation so well. Or as well as it was possible in the moment. She didn’t expect Ethan to be anything but.

“Great!” He exclaimed with a smile that quickly turned sour and her own smile fell, the light in her eyes fading as he started yelling. “NOW I GET TO SCREAM AT YOU FOR BEING SO RECKLESS!”

Pacing left and right, he managed to keep his eyes on her, his hands shaking as he questioned her.

“I’m not sure what the hell you were thinking going to talk to a patient with a flu without a mask or why you were even seeing a flu patient when you’re a surgical intern! Now I’m down an intern and when we said some of you won’t make it till the end of the training, we didn’t mean you should go and recklessly handle patients until you catch a deadly infectious disease!” Throat hoarse, aware of the wandering nurses’ eyes that held judgement and the slightest bit of entertainment, Ethan stopped to take a deep breath and at least try to stop the never ending pounding of his heart and maybe it’s wrong of him to yell at her when she’s in a stressful situation of her own, but she is his soulmate and he barely had the chance to love her and he is scared to death he never will. So yes, he is angry and he is struggling to understand her and the dustiest parts of her soul but it’s beyond him. She’s beyond everything and everyone he has ever met.

“Reckless?” She snorted, folding her arms across her chest, shifting her weight onto her left foot before she too had something to say and while she wasn’t necessarily shouting, she wasn’t quiet either.

“I had my flu shot so I though approaching the flu patient without a mask might be less frightening for the poor man. Also, there was no one else in the ER to see the patient but me! Was I supposed to prolong his suffering when I’m perfectly capable of doing a physical myself? I did what any doctor would and more considering I made a rather remarkably rare diagnosis so quickly that I prevented that man from getting the rest of the hospital staff exposed! You should be proud of me, not pissed off!” Eyebrows knitted together, her eyes narrowed at him and lips pressed together, Y/N stood her ground, refusing to apologize for what she did because she didn’t think she made a mistake. Sure, the mask was a miss, but she would learn from her mistakes…if she gets the chance.

“You page me if she gets symptoms!” Ethan didn’t even spare Y/N a glance as he ordered the nurse and left her alone in that glass room that felt like a prison. He just stormed out, like a man with a paper sword that couldn’t handle losing an argument. For a girl who was all too used to hospitals, she wasn’t quite prepared to go through yet another period of time in a hospital bed.

“Do you need anything else, sweetie”, the nurse asked her, handing her a thoroughly cleaned stuffed animal to hold, her favorite one. A girl of mere ten years facing such a monstrous disease that grew within? It made the nurses cry after every shift. All the kids in the department did, as rare as it was.

“Are my parents coming?” Y/N asked quietly, her voice hoarse. Anyone’s voice would be hoarse after throwing up for five days straight, unable to keep anything down.

“I’m sorry baby, not this week.” The look of pity on the nurse’s face was what Y/N hated the most. She hated being treated like a baby, like a delicate little porcelain doll that couldn’t handle the world. She had faced more in her short life than those who chased immortality. She was very aware of the toxic relationship her parents shared and how they prioritized each other over her. She had learned to accept that.

“That’s fine. At least I have Mr. Cuddles.”

Y/N wished she had Mr. Cuddles now, to just have something or someone to hold. She wished she could relieve the sadness and the annoying sense of abandonment Ethan’s abrupt leaving left her with. She wanted him to stay a while longer for he made her feel lighter without even trying and she hated him for being an ass to her and even more so when he didn’t visit her for the next two days.

Thantophobia – phobia of losing someone you love

However, she didn’t know he was there whenever she was asleep, watching her with a worrisome heart and a tired mind. He knew she was a little troublesome, but he didn’t know she would make that tiny streak of silver hair turn into a full set of grey hair. It’s what he’d be facing in less than a year if her behavior continues as it is.

What he didn’t expect is for her to open her eyes in the middle of the night, finding him on a chair with his head resting on his numb propped up hand. She rolled her eyes at him instantly, pushing herself up with some difficulty before detaching her own IV.

“Scared I’ll die?” She asked groggily, taking a sip of her water to soothe her dry throat. She was definitely starting to feel ill, hating how her body turned weaker and weaker as it did when she was on her treatments. She didn’t want to go back to being the poor girl who sat alone in her room with no family to see her. Making friends with other patients was easy, but they could never touch, never risk getting each other sick. They were social distancing by sitting on opposite beds or coming to each other’s rooms and sitting on a chair by the door when one was too sick to get out of bed. But she didn’t have any patients to make friends with now.

“Yeah. But not from the plague.” Ethan huffed, swallowing before speaking. “Your tests are still being done, will probably be negative but you do have strep, so we’ll have to treat that unless you want to be on my table in about thirty years with faulty heart valves.” Standing, Ethan nodded to the penicillin she had inside her room, hinting it’s better she takes it on her own, although he didn’t mind getting into a hazmat suit if it meant seeing her ass again.

“Great. So if I do have it, I’ll be dealing with two diseases at once. Nice. Nice luck I got here.” Sarcasm dripping with every word she formed, Y/N grabbed the prepared medicine and groaned. She hated getting shots, even more so penicillin ones because they always hurt like a bitch. However, she had a fairly high pain tolerance after everything she’s been through. The nurses used to say when she complained of pain, they immediately called doctors to check up on her because her six was usually a ten on other kids’ pain scale.

Palping, she found the site she’s supposed to stick a needle in. Closing her eyes as she shakes her head, Y/N let out a dry chuckle at the ridiculous situation but she was ready to do it anyway. She didn’t care about Ethan being there, he couldn’t see her ass from where she was standing, but he could see her face. So, she took great care not to make a face when the needle pierced her skin nor when the penicillin started burning, her entire leg feeling like it would give out. Slowly, she injected the medicine, breathing a little shallow but she was proud of herself for remaining calm and collected, even with Ethan there.

“Wow. Actually did it. Impressive, rookie.” Ethan teased, his arms crossed and his face smug. Y/N didn’t like that. “I was sure you’d tap out in the last second. I’m actually surprised you weren’t late giving yourself the medicine like you were on your first day!”

But she wasn’t in the mood for jokes and he missed that.

“Un-fucking-believable! Now?! You want to keep taunting me now? I have no words!” She screamed at him, her hands up in the air in frustration as her nostrils flare and her eyes widen with a new thought. “Oh! Wait! I’m thinking of some! Jerk! Ass! Arrogant! Man-child!” Her throat felt raw and her face hot, but she was ready to fight even if her legs did shake in his presence…or was it her rage? Maybe the infection? She couldn’t tell anymore, especially when he raised his index finger and his face was overtaken with a wide smile and a chuckle followed soon.

“Hold up! Man-child?”

“YES! A fucking man-child!” She repeated herself and that’s when his smile faded and he remembered he’s supposed to be her mentor and this is supposed to be his hospital. Soulmate or not, he couldn’t tolerate this behavior.

“I’d caution you to watch what you say to your boss. You better shut your mouth if the next words coming from you don’t include an apology.” Ethan warned, his hands folded before him and he was no longer Grant as she saw him as most of the time. This was doctor Ethan Dolan, the man she was sure would make her life miserable and while she wanted to keep yelling at him, she couldn’t.

It wasn’t because she had a moment of clarity or because she thought kissing his ass would get her somewhere, figuratively not literally as she had already done that and she knew he had a pineapple on it. No, she felt something different, something she read about but never saw let alone felt. Her throat started closing up and her lungs burned for oxygen she couldn’t provide no matter how hard she tried.

Holding her throat, her eyes wide and bulging, Y/N fell to her knees, unable to hear Ethan who screamed for the nurses from the ringing in her ears that made her deaf to the world. Her face swelled up, her eyes closing and she could no longer see or hear, only feel and she felt herself slipping, falling to the ground, desperately heaving for some air.

Ethan couldn’t wait, couldn’t follow protocol and get himself in a hazmat suit before panic opening the room with his key-card, grabbing the emergency kit as he entered, collapsing on his knees beside her, an adrenaline shot in hand. Administering the adrenaline, bronchodilators, corticosteroids, antihistamines and an oxygen mask, Ethan finally felt like there might be hope as the swelling started to go down and he could hear her breathe again. He had her back on the bed, second line of medication set to drip in her IV.

Shaking uncontrollably, he had stared at every movement her chest made and listened intently to every intake of breath she had made, terrified his worst fear might still come true and he might lose her, rendering him alone for the rest of his life. Sure, Grayson would be insulted with these thoughts of his, but having a soulmate as you age is what life is supposed to be about, not a twin who’d make remarks about every line he gets on his face or how saggy his balls must be getting. She was what his whole life has come down to and hundred more years couldn’t counter the happiness he got to experience in a single night with her. That would never change.

Hours passed and he finally relaxed, not enough to sleep but enough to sit down and breathe.

Exhaling loudly, Ethan looked around for a chair or something to brave the night in, aware he’s now stuck in the room with her for as long as it takes for the tests of her swabs return which would likely take a few more hours at this point. He didn’t regret his actions and he understood why she defended her own so fiercely earlier. It was funny how he understood her soon after every fight they have and they had quite a few squabbles in this double shift – the first of many. She has a breathtaking, wildfire heart and he absolutely loved her for it. He had infinite tenderness for her. He always will. As long as he lives.

“If you get the plague and die, I will kill you.” Grayson threatened from the other side of the glass, his own fear of losing Ethan showing in his deep brown orbs, even more so in the frown he couldn’t hide. And Grayson Dolan was many things, but not a man who frowns easily.

“You can’t make me feel guilty over something I don’t regret.” Ethan shrugged, pressing his lips together before closing the distance between them. The glass stood as a barrier, one that would keep Grayson safe in case Ethan does catch a deadly illness but he had faith it would turn out to be nothing.

“I know. I’d have done the same.” Grayson shrugs sadly, a small smile gracing his lips as he looks over Ethan’s shoulder to see Y/N. “How is she?” He too cared for the girl, too quickly but he did. He saw her as a sister, someone to protect. He saw her as an extension of his brother’s soul.

“Good for now. The allergic reaction stopped but we have her on some meds to make sure it doesn’t enter into the late stage. As for her strep infection, I’ve got her on other meds that won’t kill her so that should be fine too. I expect her to be fully capable of chewing me out in the morning.” Ethan chuckled lowly, turning around to make sure she’s still asleep and while he had no intention on telling her about them just yet, he couldn’t stay away from her. Not ever.

“Why? Did you tell her you’re her soulmate?” Grayson clasped his hands in excitement and he reminded Ethan more of a high school cheerleader than doctor with more than a hundred years of experience under his belt. He loved how positive Grayson is, but he needed to keep his voice down when he’s spilling state secrets, especially when the subject at hand is only a few meters away.

“SHHH!” Ethan whisper-shouted, wishing he was on the other side of the glass to smack his brother over the head and teach him a lesson.

“She doesn’t know and I don’t plan on telling her. She’ll figure it out herself and until then, I want her to know me without the pressure of having a soulmate bond. Bro, I just want her to see we’re made for one another and not run from me every chance she gets.” Ethan rubbed his forehead in frustration, glancing over his shoulder at her stirring figure, unaware she managed to catch a few words the two have spoken about her and while she may be under the influence of more than one drug at the moment, she knew it was important to remember that Ethan and Grayson have both muttered the words she feared most of all – soulmate.

However, moments later for her, minutes for Ethan, she felt a knuckle against her cheek, gently dragging along her skin before the warmth of touch disappeared and she decided she wanted it to last longer, her hand moving on instinct, grasping Ethan’s.

Smiling in the darkness, Ethan settled beside her in a chair, his hand holding hers for dear life.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Tags: @beinscorpio @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes @iwastornsincethestart @graydolan12 @fxkthatdairy @zeusgrayson @libradolan @justordinaryjen @pineappledolan @graysavant @voguekristens @imayoutubere @livexdolan

(some of you couldn’t be tagged for some reason, probably Tumblr’s fault)

[writingithink]

After All This Time Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 4,762 Summary: Some things have changed, some things have stayed the same. The Doctor and Rose continue their honeymoon. Notes: This is for Day 4 of @timepetalsweek !! I used two of the prompts, the picture prompt and 'chips'. This is also for the @doctorroseprompts summer fic bingo prompt 'beach'. If you haven't read any of the other fics in the series, I feel like you should be fine. They're bonded. As always, immense gratitude to @hey-there-juliet for betaing <33 All mistakes are mine. I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457269

“Roooooose.”

“What?” she asked, looking over her shoulder from where she was kneeling in front of her dresser.

“What are you doing?” he asked, finally sitting up from where he’d been sprawled across her- their bed.

“I’m gettin’ ready to take a shower.” She laughed at him before turning back, pulling a couple tops out before tossing them back down, unfolded, and digging around some more.

“But why? You’ve just gotten up. You haven’t even had tea yet! I’ve been waiting for you to get up for ages. Come back to bed,” the Doctor asked (he was not whining, no matter what Rose thought).

“Thought you said you were waiting for me to get up,” she smirked, standing up and coming near the bed, but not getting in it or even within touching distance. Rude, his wife was being rude.

Excuse you?

“I meant awake. Should have said awake. Come here.” He held out both hands, making little grabbing motions and smiling, hoping to lure her.

“Doctor,” Rose sighed, but finally got onto the bed, where he was quick to wrap his arms around her, “my hair feels disgusting. You could always join me in the shower.”

Now there was an idea. He’d done the calculations this time, and was certain that he wouldn’t knock her head on the tiles … again. Provided they didn’t use any extra telepathy.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you,” she giggled, giving him a quick kiss on his temple, making their bond buzz.

“Mmm … yeah, when you go doing things like that,” the Doctor accused, though his voice wasn’t getting the memo about sounding upset. Then again, it was hard not to feel warm and fuzzy, cuddling with his bondmate - much better now that she was awake and could talk to him.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she whispered in his ear, pecking him on the cheek before wiggling away.

“Rooooose.”

“Doctoooor,” she mocked, back to shifting through her clothes. “‘Sides, we haveta go see my mum today. Told her we’d be back a week after we last saw her.”

“ What?!!”

He sat up straighter, adjusting the bed covers. For some reason it felt wrong to be naked and talking about Jackie at the same time.

“For wedding planning. I’m not gonna leave it all up to her, y’know. Not only is it a lot of work, but I do have some things I’d like in an Earth wedding and who knows what mum’ll do if we don’t give any input.”

“Bu- but- but we’re still on our honeymoon!”

She dropped her shirts again - and now most of them had to be unfolded - turning back around. “We just spent weeks at the Olympics. We’ve been honeymooning almost a month.”

“Yes, but we’ve only gone two places. And we have a time machine. I thought, y’know … seven,” he shrugged, starting to feel a little embarrassed.

Maybe he was doing this wrong.

Rose sent him a strong wave of love and affection.

“Seven places?” she smiled, sitting next to him on the bed and weaving their fingers together. The Doctor couldn’t help but tug her onto his lap.

“Yeah.”

“Instead of seven days?”

“Mmmhmm,” he mumbled into the top of her head. He supposed her hair was a little more oily than usual, but it didn’t look bad.

“How ‘bout this,” Rose offered, “we go see mum before we forget and wind up gettin’ the date wrong, and then we finish up our honeymoon.”

“Counter offer - we go on the trip I had planned today, and then sit through boring wedding planning with Jackie, and then finish the rest of our honeymoon.”

A lot of unflattering thoughts zipped across their connection before she said, “Wait, what do you have planned?”

Which was good, because he didn’t feel like arguing as to whether or not he would find any of the Earth wedding monotony entertaining.

“Well, I thought it could be a surprise.”

“Olympics was a surprise. This time ya gotta tell me,” she insisted, poking him in the side.

“Fine,” the Doctor huffed. “Remember when I was talking about hovercars?” 

“Mmm yeah. You said the best ones were on Toff.”

“Right you are,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “And Toff’s greatest megacity is Mailboon. Intergalactic hub, beautiful coastline, and our next honeymoon destination! I’ve even made reservations.”

Actually, he made them weeks ago, after they found out that all of the hotels in London had been booked for the Olympics. To have it happen twice in a row was ridiculous, and despite Rose assuring him that they really didn’t need to stay at a hotel, he’d researched honeymoons. Hotels were a very prominent part of them.

“What else did you research,” she murmured, turning around in his lap to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Rose Tyler, are you trying to seduce me?” he asked, gliding his hands down her back.

“Dunno. Maybe. Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you let me shower before we get to Mailboon,” she laughed, quickly hopping off of him and skipping to her ensuite.

Torture. His wife was torturing him. He should file a complaint.

“And who exactly are you gonna be filing that with?” Rose called out.

“You. I’m filing it with you.”

“Uh huh, well. I’ll review it next business day, then. Could you do me a favor?”

The Doctor could hear her turning on the shower.

“Next business day? When’s that?”

She ignored him.

“Could you see if you could find this top I have? It’s striped, think it’d look cute with my dungarees. Mighta left it at mum’s though, so if you can’t find it, just pick something.”

“You want me to pick out your clothes?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“Why not? It’s just a top. Not like I’m gonna have to commit to wearing it every day.”

“What are you trying to say?”

She didn’t answer, likely now in the shower. He’d been down this road before and knew better than to try to keep talking to her. There were only so many times he could repeat himself. Could use the bond, but telepathically talking to his wife about her clothes while she showered seemed like a level of domestic that was just too much. Best not.

So he rolled off the bed, put on a pair of pants, and then glanced down at her open drawer. Nothing striped was immediately apparent, and since over half of the drawer’s contents were messily strewn about, he pulled the whole drawer out and dumped it onto the bed. Blimey, she had a lot of tops! Should have known the TARDIS would make her dresser drawers bigger on the inside.

Eventually clothes stopped tumbling out. And Rose had way more than one striped shirt. The decent thing to do would have been to send him a telepathic image. Determined not to make this all more domestic than it already was, the Doctor didn’t ask her and instead just began tossing every striped one he saw up to the head of the bed.

It was all going decently quickly until he picked up a shirt that he’d initially thought was striped, but wasn’t. He paused, staring at the Union Flag top.

It was a lifetime ago that she’d worn it.

He’d been a different man - literally.

A man who would have never been able to imagine his life turning out like this . In fact, he had trouble imagining it even as he was living it.

“Whatcha doin’?”

The Doctor jumped. He hadn’t noticed the shower turn off, much less Rose coming back into the room, wrapped in a towel.

“I thought you’d gotten rid of your old clothes?” he asked her, knowing that his tumultuous emotional state was likely bombarding her through their connection.

“Not all of them,” she answered, tugging the shirt out of his hands and giving it a look over.

“But why’d you keep that one?”

“For the memories.”

The memories? “You want to remember almost being blasted off a barrage balloon?!”

Rose sat down the shirt before pulling him closer, resting a hand on his cheek. “Was wearin’ that shirt the first time we ever danced together,” she smiled, standing on her toes and kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, slowly spinning them, but when he moved to lower her onto the bed her empty dresser drawer was in the way. The Doctor shoved it off of the bed, but the moment was already lost.

“Oh, don’t pout,” she chided. “Thought you wanted to go to Mailboon?”

“Time machine.”

“Anyway, I just showered.”

She meandered over to her dresser, selecting the rest of her clothes. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep from grinning as he set about gathering his own clothes from off the floor. As he was buttoning his shirt, he turned around to see Rose pulling on the Union Flag shirt.

“Thought you were wearing a striped shirt?”

“Changed my mind,” she told him, as a few memories of the night they danced played over the bond.

I love you, he told her, giving up on getting dressed for the moment, walking back over and snogging her for all he was worth. I love you now, and I loved you then, even if I was too busy denying it at the time.

I love you, too.

And this time he didn’t try to go further, but he just wanted to keep kissing her, her presence in his mind glowing pink and golden and so full of love. Time in the TARDIS is relative, so the Doctor had no idea how long they’d actually stayed there when she finally broke away to breathe. 

“So,” Rose gasped out, “Toff, then? Maybe after a quick cuppa?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he told her.

“Toff sounds nice,” she laughed.

“And you’re sure about that top?” he joked.

“Mmm depends, think I’ll be a walking target in Mailboon?”

“Nah,” he grinned, giving her nose a quick peck before finally letting her go so that they could both finish getting dressed.

When he left for the console room, Rose still hadn’t found a pair of shorts she liked. By the time she joined him, a cup of tea and a half eaten slice of toast in hand, he’d already landed them at their destination. In fact, they’d been landed for 43 minutes. But it had given him some time to do a bit of TARDIS maintenance, which the Doctor realized he’d been neglecting ever since they’d bonded.

“Sorry I took so long,” she said, sitting down next to where he was lying on the grating, specs on as he examined a few fraying wires.

He glanced over to see that she’d settled on the black shorts that she’d first grabbed to begin with. Typical.

Hey! she scolded him telepathically.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scooting out from under the console so that he could sit with her. “You look lovely.”

Thank you. Her mental voice sounded quite prim for someone with a mouthful of toast. The Doctor grabbed the rest out of her hand and took a bite. Mmmm apple berry jam.

“That’s my breakfast, get yer own,” Rose laughed, immediately taking back her toast.

“I just wanted a taste,” he pouted, projecting as much sincerity as he could.

“Fine. You and your jam.”

He ignored her exasperation and just focused on the fondness bleeding through the bond as he sprang to his feet and put away his glasses. “Ready to go?”

“In a mo’.” 

The Doctor bounced on his feet as Rose gulped down the rest of her tea, grabbed her hand as soon as she stood, and rushed out the door.

“What’s this then?” Rose asked, looking around at the white and pastel green hallway they were now in.

“Hovercar rental place.���

“Don’t already got one in the garage?” She lightly elbowed his side, grinning with her tongue between her teeth.

“Might do, but not from Toff. I’d remember if I had one from Toff. Best hovercars in the quadrant!” he enthused, pulling her along, out of the side corridor and into the main rental facility.

She was still laughing when one of the workers came over and began to give them a long, noticeably rehearsed speech. The Doctor ended up needing to interrupt him, quite certain that he would die of boredom.

“Yes, right, I’m the Doctor and this is my wife, Rose. We’d like to rent whichever one is fastest. Also, most aerodynamic.”

“And can that also be a convertible?” Rose requested.

He turned to her, shaking his head. “No. No convertibles.”

“Why not?”

You’ll see, he told her mentally, not wanting to alarm the salesman. Which ended up alarming his bondmate, forcing him to send her waves of reassurance through their link as they were led to their rental vehicle.

“What are you planning?” she whispered, when they were finally buckling in after he had lied on a bunch of pointless paperwork.

“To have fun,” he grinned, turning on the car and grabbing the joystick-like controls.

The facilities garage doors opened and he engaged the thrusters, slowly exiting the building before punching it once they’d hit open air.

“Woah!” Rose shouted, having not realized that they’d been 30 stories up.

“Woo hoo! Hovercars, really, brilliant inventions,” the Doctor crowed, speeding up into the lavender sky and swerving around one of Mailboon’s many giant frosted-glass skyscrapers.

“Aren’t there some sort of rules for driving here?”

“Sure there are.”

“And are we followin’ ‘em?” she asked, trying and failing to stop her laughter from bubbling out. Rose was having a blast and he knew it.

“Nope!” He gave his wife a manic smile. “Wanna do a barrel roll?”

They ended up being late for their reservation’s check in time after being pulled over by a Traffic Control Agent, to whom the Doctor had to sincerely, sincerely apologize to, promising to never again do a barrel roll with a hovercraft. And he really had meant it when he said that it won’t happen again, being as they’d already done five and Rose was starting to feel a bit ill.

Luckily they weren’t very strict about it, and soon an attendant was showing them the way to their room.

You didn’t tell me we were goin’ to a resort, his bondmate chastised him telepathically as they were being taken to some sort of different exit. He could tell she wasn’t actually upset with him based on the sheer amount of excitement passing through their bond.

Is there a difference?

Before she could reply, the attendant opened a door and said, “And here is your hovercart, for traveling to the different resort areas.”

“Rose! It’s a hover golf cart! They have hover golf carts!” the Doctor exclaimed, running up to it and hopping into the driver's seat. “I didn’t know there’d be hover golf carts! Oh, this is just brilliant.” He turned to the bemused looking employee. “Do you know how fast it can go?”

“He’s just kidding,” Rose quickly lied, before following him into the cart, waving goodbye to the young girl.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“We just got pulled over for your reckless drivin’,” she told him, crossing her arms. “If you hadn’t lied your arse off and had the psychic paper tell ‘em you had some sort of weird galactic-diplomatic immunity, they woulda taken the car away. You mighta even had to spend the night in jail. I’ve never been to a resort before, I don’t wanna get kicked out yet.”

“Ah, right, yes, you may have a point,” he agreed, tugging on his ear and scratching the back of his neck.

She glared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “It was so much fun before we got caught, though.”

“I know!” he agreed, activating the hovercart and only slightly speeding to their room.

Which, actually, wasn’t exactly a room, per se.

“These are like tiny bungalows!” his wife marveled as he turned onto their little cart resort-y road thing. 

“Oooh, you’re right. I couldn’t think of the word earlier.”

“Earlier?”

The Doctor pulled to a stop outside of their bungalow-suite. As if on cue, the sound of the TARDIS dematerializing filled the air. Rose turned to him, brows furrowed.

“While I was waiting for you earlier, I thought I’d drop off our luggage,” he explained. “May have cut it a bit close. Just a smidge.”

“But I didn’t pack a suitcase, and I can’t imagine you knowing how to pack one.”

“I do so know how to pack a suitcase … probably. Besides, I had the TARDIS pack them for us. Well, for you, mostly. I don’t really need one.”

He took her hand and jogged inside, sonicking the lock out of habit. Sure enough, the two suitcases the TARDIS had provided him were right where he remembered leaving them.

“Oh my god! Is this our own private beach?! Oh, we have to go! I hope the TARDIS packed me some suit options.” 

Rose ran over to the patio doors and the Doctor leaned against the counter of the open-concept style kitchenette, smiling as he watched her. She was radiating such pure joy over the bond, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt happiness like this. It didn’t exactly top the day they’d bonded, but it was also a very different sort of happy. When he’d been picking out hotels, he had remembered that Rose loved the beach, but he hadn’t realized she would feel like this. He had a sudden desire to take her to as many different beaches as he possibly could.

“It’s not just the beach,” she laughed, bounding over and wrapping her arms around him. “It’s also being at a resort, and with you, and on our honeymoon. ’S perfect.”

He kissed her, deciding that it could only make things more perfect and hoping his bondmate would agree. And based on the way she immediately started snogging him, she agreed wholeheartedly. 

“I thought you wanted to go to the beach?” the Doctor asked a little breathlessly when Rose began kissing down his neck.

“I do. Soon. Not just yet, though.”

“Oh. Well. Okay. I mean, no complaints. Do, erm, carry on,” he rambled just a little bit, sliding his hands over her hips, under her shirt.

“Thought you might want to help me get undressed. Y’know, so I can change into my suit,” she suggested, loosening his tie and beginning to unbutton his collar.

“I’d love to, but you seem to be the one doing the undressing.”

Rose paused and looked up at him. “Aren’t you gonna swim with me this time?”

“Oh … am I supposed to?”

She frowned, brows furrowing. “No, you’re not supposed to do anything. I just thought you might want to. You’re not doing all of this because you think you’re supposed to, are you?”

The Doctor quickly projected as much love as he possibly could over the bond, quietly chastising himself behind his barriers for mucking things up. “No no no no no, I am 100% doing all of this because I want to. You’ve got to be able to tell that I want to do all of this, right?”

Rose gave him a slow nod.

“I just- I’m not- this honeymooning business isn’t exactly common knowledge for me. I did tell you about the research, after all. So I was just- it does seem like couples on their honeymoon tend to do all of their activities together. And I’m not really one for swimming in oceans and lakes and things, but I thought I- I-”

“No, I get it,” she interrupted and he was quite grateful, because his thought process had been getting away from him a bit. “And I know you don’t like changing your clothes. It’s fine.”

But still, she stepped back and then made her way over to the luggage and the Doctor threw up a bunch of barriers before mentally kicking himself.

“Which one is mine?” Rose interrupted his self-chastisement.

“Eh?”

“There’s two. Which one is mine?”

“Aren’t they both yours?”

“You think I need two suitcases? How long are we staying, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Long as you like? I only booked a week, though.”

She sat down and opened one of the suitcases before she began cackling. 

“What?! What is it?!”

“Ahh, come look!” she squealed, clutching her sides.

And soon as he ran over, the Doctor began cursing his irritating time ship. It was a suitcase full of a dreadful mix of paisley and floral button ups.

“This is ridiculous, I’m not wearing any of these.”

“Aww, they’re your vacation shirts.”

“I don’t need vacation shirts.”

“Oh, look, she’s packed you some swim trunks!” Rose noticed, holding up the swimwear for inspection - TARDIS blue, the pair he always wore ‘round the pool. Which reminded him-

“Why can’t my reason for wanting to do something be because it makes you happy?” he asked her.

The teasing grin left her face. “I mean, that’s sweet, Doctor. And you can, but you shouldn’t if the thing would make you unhappy.”

“But it’s not like I’m vehemently against swimming in natural water formations. It’s just kind of … icky.”

“Icky?”

“Yes, so if I can avoid it, I will. Though I did swim the channel for fun once, but that was different. I much prefer pools.”

“Then why’ve I never seen ya use the one on the TARDIS?” she asked, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

“Well … I mean …” I might have, kind of, not trusted myself to swim with you, so little clothing involved, he admitted telepathically, too embarrassed to say it aloud.

Rose giggled. “Suppose that’s fair.”

“We do have our own pool. It’s a very posh hotel. This is the honeymoon suite,” he told her. “We could swim together in the pool.”

“Okay. You’ll wear these at the beach with me?”

“B- but sand.”

The Doctor decided that as much as he didn’t care for his wife laughing at him, it was still preferable to her being mad at him. Besides, it did feel very nice in his head when she did it.

“Alright, alright, sit on the beach in your suit.”

“I could take off the coat? And the jacket? Maybe roll up my sleeves? Oh, and some sunglasses! That will be quite beach-y, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” came her idle response as she opened her own suitcase and began to rifle through it. Thankfully it didn’t take her long to select something to wear. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into a bathroom and the Doctor sighed. Still quite a long way from helping her get undressed. Needing something to occupy himself, he closed and moved the suitcases into the largest bedroom. While there, he did shed his coat and jacket, hooking a pair of sunglasses to his shirt before going back out into the main living area.

Just as he finished adjusting his shirtsleeves, Rose emerged wearing a bikini that matched his swim shorts exactly. It took him longer than he’d like to notice that his mouth had fallen open.

Glad you like it, Rose’s mental voice was bright and giggly.

“You’re positive you want to go to the beach right now, yes?” he felt the need to double check.

“Yup.”

“Right. Well then, erm, oh!” He dug into his pocket. “Sunscreen pill?”

“Why don’t we do it the old fashioned way?” she asked, sauntering up to him.

“Why would we do that?” the Doctor asked, frowning. She’d never refused a sunscreen pill before. “These are way better than 21st century Earth sunscreen.”

She knew that. He’d told her ages ago.

“Mmm … I dunno, there’s just somethin’ extra … intimate about you rubbing it on my back. Since we’re on trip three of our honeymoon ’n all.” 

And good, okay, yes, he was not going to bollocks this up again. Not three times in one day.

“I suppose … just this once … provided you sit in the shade,” he tried, his calculations for her skin and this planet’s sun not quite being what his libido would have liked.

“‘M not gonna sit in the shade,” she said, still smiling as she shook her head.

“Keep your skin covered up?”

“Nope. There’d be no point in putting on sunscreen.”

“Wear a hat?” the Doctor valiantly continued.

“TARDIS didn’t pack one.”

“You didn’t even take the time to look. You were in that suitcase about thirty seconds!”

“The TARDIS knows I don’t fancy them,” Rose countered.

“Does she really?”

“Yup.”

“What if I rubbed regular lotion on your back, and you took the sunscreen pill?”

“I suppose I can work with that,” she agreed, pulling him down for a kiss before accepting the pill.

“Brilliant! Molto bene! I’m sure they’ve got some in the bathroom already. Those little tiny travel sized ones!” he exclaimed, quickly ducking into the loo and finding himself correct. “These are the best. Just a tiny bit of everything. In case you forget your own, I’m assuming. Imagine collecting them! Your hair could have a different smell every day of the week. Did you know, there’s a species of alien a galaxy away from here that are so large, a thing of your regular lotion would look just like this dinky one in their hands?” he asked, holding up the teeny tiny lotion for his wife’s inspection.

“I love you,” she said instead of commenting and he certainly wasn’t complaining, their bond bright and warm in his head.

“I love you, too.”

They grabbed a blanket and a beach towel before heading out to their secluded beach. Rose immediately ran up to the water, like she always did, briefly testing it with her toes before running into the teal waves. The Doctor put on his sunglasses and settled in to watch, just like he always did, only now with their telepathic link he got to feel the entire experience from her point of view. It was quite nice to live it vicariously - after all, he never felt that way about going into oceans.

After a good twenty-three minutes she came back, dripping all over him and the blanket.

“Fun?” he asked, despite not needing to.

“Yeah,” she sighed, lying down on her stomach and pillowing her head on her arms.

“Good,” he nodded, smiling down at her as he picked up the towel and began to wipe the water off her back.

“Mmm thanks.”

“You’re welcome! Need a dry surface for the lotion.”

“Oh, I almost forgot about that.”

The Doctor just laughed before grabbing said lotion and beginning to massage it into her shoulders. The noises she began to make, combined with the pleasure he could feel over their bond, quickly made it very difficult for him to focus. In the end, the only thing that kept him from escalating things was his very real desire to not get a bunch of sand in some very unideal places.

“D’you smell that?” Rose asked as he made it down to her lower back.

He paused and took a big whiff, immediately realizing what she was talking about. “We just had chips two days ago,” he couldn’t help but point out. Actually, they’d had chips a fair amount during the London Olympics.

“So?”

“I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I?”

“They’re my favorite food,” she stated as if he hadn’t known this for years, pushing herself up on her elbows so that she could face him.

“You don’t say? We can get chips. I imagine the smell’s coming from one of the resort restaurants, so we could get chips for every meal if you wanted.” He finished up, sitting on his heels as Rose joined him.

“Think I’d get sick if I did that. And sick of chips. Can’t have that. But right now? Definitely. Then we can both go swimming. Just need to put my shorts and shirt on.”

“I think this is the shortest I’ve ever seen you spend at the beach,” the Doctor commented, following after her as she headed back into the suite. 

“Well, this time we’ve got all week. And it’s a private beach. Can go whenever I feel like it,” she grinned, and he couldn’t help but grin back.

“We’ll have to have them, you know, at the, er- after-wedding thing, reception! The reception. Chips.”

Rose had been about to pull on her shirt but paused, smiling softly at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Chips. That was our first date.”

“Yeah, it was. You and me, chips.”

The Doctor wondered if maybe chips were one of his favorite foods as well.

[bowlegsandbiceps]

Suptober Day 2: Earth

A Case of Space

Explicit / Destiel / 3,500 words

Read on AO3

Castiel sat in an uncomfortable chair, listening to the head of finance blather on about fuel budget and fought the urge to vomit. He tried to tell himself that the seesawing feeling in his chest was all in his imagination. The floor under his feet was firm and level, and even though they were hurtling through space faster than the speed of light, the equilibrium sensors absorbed any changes in density. He designed the system for god sake. The ship was not rocking back and forth.

His stomach didn’t seem to get the memo. A cold sweat broke out across his upper lip, and there was no way he was going to be able to sit through the rest of this meeting. Not with the inky blackness of space looming oppressively from the wall-length viewing glass on the other side of the table. What idiot decided it was a good idea to include that in a boardroom where important decisions were to be made.

Oh, right, it was him.

Something was wrong. Had to be. Castiel knew the Impala as well as he knew his own body. Lived, breathed, and thought her into existence from as early as secondary school when he’d stare up at the stars with bare feet on solid earth and dream of when he’d be up there one day.

Castiel stood on shaking legs, holding up a hand in apology as he stumbled to the exit and made a bee-line for the maintenance port hidden discretely behind a wall, the only indication it was there a small security pad near the wainscoting. He waved his hand over it, the dot on the inside of his wrist glowing white as the security pad blinked green. His stomach gave another precarious lurch like he’d reached the apex of a roller coaster and his mouth began to fill with saliva, a pulse of anxiety shooting through him when he wondered what it would feel like to start the descent.

He slipped through the opening, trading the artificial daylight of the main hall for the shadowed maintenance corridor, and took the stairwell down until it leveled out, hearing the clink and hum of the Impala’s systems and engines hard at work. He hurried along the suspended walkway, making his way to the heart of the ship, and something about the twilight heat made him breathe easier.

Another wave of his hand at the last security point, and he was able to hurry down the tight circle of stairs to the bottom of the ship, resolutely avoiding the panoramic viewing glass that looked out under the bow. His heart gave a pitiful lurch anyway, the pressure on his throat immense as he sidled up to the main terminal and began doing a system check.

The longer he searched, the faster his heart seemed to beat, finding everything to be in perfect working order. In fact, the levels were better now than they’d ever been in their pre-flight tests. He ran a report on the equilibrium sensors and gravity apparatus, the numbers blurring in front of him as he started to hyperventilate.

Something was wrong. Maybe if he did a complete system restart…

He’d given secondary clearance when he heard an angry shout echo down the maintenance shaft as the sirens began to wail, warning of a complete system shut down in 10…9….8…

Castiel was shoulder checked out of the way, tumbling to the ground as a young man in dungarees and an A-shirt covered in sweat and grease, welding goggles perched atop his head was scowling at the board. His fingers flew over the glass as he bypassed screen after screen, adjusting numbers here and there before pushing the commands to the system.

The siren cut off mid-wail, and Castiel glanced up, seeing the propulsion sphere begin to ascend again as it orbited around them, the frenzied whir dulling to its rightful, pleasant hum. Castiel’s eyes fell to the man who was also watching the inner workings of the ship, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, broad shoulders loosening a bit before he huffed a sigh out his nose and ripped the goggles off his head, hurling them, so they skidded across the floor to clink hard against the viewing glass. Castiel’s stomach lurched, and he was suddenly terrified that the glass was going to crack, and he’d be sucked out into the void.

“I don’t know how the fuck you got down here, but you nearly killed us all!” A large hand closed around Castiel’s bicep, jerking him to his feet.

This time Castiel’s stomach lurched for an entirely different reason. Green eyes, furious but clear as a summer lake and fringed with thick lashes so long it was practically obscene, especially on a man, held Castiel’s. Full pink lips were moving over hateful words but glistened as if he’d just wet them, and a stubbled jaw sharp enough to cut glass flexed with his frustration. Castiel was so mesmerized by the constellation of freckles spreading across the man’s nose and cheeks that it took Castiel a full beat to realize that he was looking up, a few inches shorter and much more narrow, the other man’s broad shoulders and bowed legs holding space the way Castiel’s lithe frame never could. His eyes lingered on the corded muscles of the man’s arm, moving down to the large hand with thick fingers that dug into Castiel’s arm. Castiel looked back at the face again, tuning back in to what he was saying…well, yelling.

“…insane, great. I oughta knock your fucking head off, but I’ll let security deal with you.”

“Something’s wrong!” Castiel blurted, planting his feet when the man began to drag him towards the stairs. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Come on, I’m sure they’ve got a nice jacket around here for you somewhere.”

“I’m not crazy!” Castiel ripped his arm from the man’s grasp, and he gave a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as he turned before he gave Castiel a placating smile. Castiel scowled. “The equilibrium sensors have to be down. The system isn’t showing it, but if they were damaged or if there was some kind of surge-”

The man waved a silencing hand before he cut Castiel off. “We’ve had clear skies since we launched and electrical has been steady the entire ride-“

“Even if it fluctuated by 1 to 2 Oms, it could trip another system to surge into another without setting off the alarms.”

The man lifted a brow and then laughed. “Do you know what kind of perfect storm in the machinery would have to occur for that to happen?”

“Yes, I do, in fact.” Castiel glared hard, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. “If the surge happened in the gravity channel-”

“Gravity channel has barely moved half an Om either way since we took off. Look, man, I been running this thing since the very first tests. She’s my baby and ain’t nobody knows her better than me ‘cept maybe the designer-”

“Castiel Novak, nice to meet you.” Castiel thrust his hand forward, and the man’s face went sober, eyebrows shooting to his hairline.

“Uuuuuuuuuh…” the man took Castiel’s hand, blinking at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“And your name is? Certainly, it’s not ‘uh.’”

“Uh - shit!” The man used his free hand to rub at his forehead and heaved a sigh. “It’s Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester. Sir.”

Castiel waved a hand as he let go of Dean’s and realized it came back with black fingerprints smudged across the back. Dean grimaced and pulled a rag from his back pocket, offering it to Castiel. He wiped his hand methodically, trying to calm his racing heart, but the panic still crackled along his skin. Dean was eyeing him up and down, and he felt a flash of heat that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“Shit, my brother is gonna freak,” Dean muttered as Castiel handed him back the cloth and shook his head.

“We need to do a full system restart.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he held out a hand, a cautioning gesture. “You… you know that will literally kill all of us, right? Like, you’re supposed to be smart, man! You gotta know that shutting down all systems when going hyperspeed through deep space is a death wish.”

“It’s dangerous, I know, but-”

“Dude, the climate shields will freeze over, and the slightest density shift would shatter it like glass. That’s game fucking over.”

Castiel frowned. “They wouldn’t freeze over.” Wait…

“Yes, they would, and I can see, now, you realize that.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, something is wrong!” Castiel’s voice cracked at the last word, arm flinging out towards the panel, and Dean’s face shifted from disbelief to suspicion.

“Wait…”

Castiel was trying to judge if he could sidestep Dean and get to the panel, shivering at the thought of their bodies colliding, so he didn’t hear what Dean had asked. He blinked at him, head tipping to the side.

Dean rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh, and Castiel found himself being corralled back against the wall, Dean invading his personal space. His brows were drawn, green eyes searching blue, and Castiel had the strongest urge to kiss him. What was wrong with him? Castiel was so freaked out he didn’t even flinch when Dean’s wrist pressed warmly to his forehead, then the backs of his fingers to Castiel’s cheek.

“How long you been off-planet?” Dean’s brow was knitted in concentration. Castiel shifted, very aware suddenly that he was half hard in his slacks.

“Three days…”

Dean’s mouth did something interesting that stole all of Castiel’s attention. “Hey? You hear me? Is this your first time? In deep space, I mean?”

“Oh,” Castiel felt his cheeks heat up and was further embarrassed when the backs of Dean’s fingers returned to his face, undoubtedly feeling the warmth of his blush. “Yes, actually.”

Dean gave a perfunctory nod. “You got a case of space.”

Castiel’s brows pulled down, and his head tipped to the side. Dean grinned. “Case of… what?”

“It happens to everyone,” Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Well almost everyone the first time they go deep. You get all queasy and panicky and… other things. It’s the artificial gravity.”

“No one…” Castiel swallowed hard as that sudden sense of falling hit him again. “No one mentioned that.”

“Probably thought you knew, man. You being… well, you.”

“Well I’m definitely queasy and panicky. What’s the other things?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose when Dean blushed, looking away, putting a good foot of space between them.

“Uh… well…” He huffed a laugh as he reached up to rub at the shell of his ear. “It can do things to… well…” Dean gestured vaguely between them.

Castiel’s head tipped to the side and squinted. “I’m sorry I don’t-”

Dean sighed. “It makes you really horny.”

Castiel blinked and looked down. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.” Dean chuckled. “My first trip deep, I almost got fired because I spent the first week disappearing to jerk off every hour.” Castiel’s eyes widened, and Dean’s smile slipped away, adam’s apple bobbing in a way that made Castiel want to bite at it. He was fully hard now. “That was an overshare, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s eyes flicked down. “You’re just saying that because you got a steel rod in your pants right now and I’m…. well…” Dean flicked a hand up indicating himself, and the cocky grin that spread across his handsome face made Castiel step forward right into his personal space.

“You are quite attractive.”

A subtle blush covered Dean’s cheeks making his freckles stand out even more. He chuckled. “I uh… don’t think it’s a great idea to fuck the boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “My boss’ boss’ boss then.” Dean let his eyes drift down, pausing at Castiel’s lips before traveling all the way down and back up again. “Shame, though.”

“How long does this last?”

Dean shrugged. “Week or so.”

“And masturbation…”

“Helps, yes.” Dean smirked, and Castiel felt a tug between his legs that made him shift forward, hands reaching to grip Dean’s face.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Dean didn’t move. “Okay then.”

It was tentative, Castiel trying to remember the last time he kissed someone, much less another man. Dean’s lips were soft and warm, and he almost seemed to melt into the kiss, letting Castiel lead, which surprised him. After a few moments, he pulled back, finding Dean’s eyes still closed, lips even cushioned into a soft pucker. Green eyes opened and the insistent pull Castiel felt in his balls nearly made him whine.

“Uh… so…”

“Your room is in the residential wing or down here?” Castiel knew it was down here. He designed the ship after all.

Dean’s lips quirked. “We’re going to my room?”

“It’s closer.”

“Thought you didn’t know where it was?”

Castiel nearly hissed as Dean’s hands landed on his hips, the heat searing through the fabric between them. “I wanted to give you the option to decline one more time before I take you right here.”

Dean’s eyes grew large, his pupils blown wide, and Castiel had to have lost his mind, but who could blame him with his erection throbbing the way it was. He wondered if he’d regret this later, once the fog wore off. They didn’t say anything after that, lips colliding over an over in a heady rush of teeth and tongue, pin-balling off various panels and encasements until Dean managed to pull them through the door of his small room.

Only a double bed with a small side table and a tall dresser filled the space barely larger than a closet, but the wall next to the bed was entirely viewing glass, and Castiel remembered wanting to make sure that the ship’s crew had views as spectacular as the residents. He was momentarily frozen, but a quick whistle from Dean and his attention was back just in time to catch the small bottle of lube as it hit him in the chest.

It was suddenly very easy to ignore, with Dean tugging his tank top over his head and tossing it aside before dropping his pants and boxers. Castiel tossed the bottle on the bed and made quick work of his own clothes as Dean stepped into his personal space, grabbing up the bottle and squirting some into his hand, grabbing Castiel’s cock as soon as his pants and boxers slid past his thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Castiel groaned, his forehead thunking against Dean’s as his slick, warm palm moved over his flesh, and he didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life.

“God, you’re so hard,” Dean murmured, voice a low rumble that sounded wrecked with want. “Fuck I want you inside me.”

Castiel didn’t need any more coaxing, grabbing Dean by the biceps and spinning him to face the bed, a firm hand going to the back of his neck as he bent him over the footboard, one foot tangling in the pants around his ankles to kick his feet further apart. Dean moaned, hands gripping the metal bar of the footboard, arching his back.

The head of Castiel’s dick brushed against the back of Dean’s thigh, leaving a trail of precum across his skin as Castiel got more lube, giving his dick a sharp jerk before pressing the pads of his fingers to Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, the sound tugging in Castiel’s balls, and he applied pressure, the tips of his fingers pushing past the tight ring of muscle and immediately began scissoring as he pressed gently forward.

“Fuck, Cas, yes, open me up.” Dean’s head hung loose on his neck, and Castiel admired the muscles in his back as they tensed and rolled with each twitch and roll of his hips.

Castiel’s fingers were seated to the knuckle after only a few moments, Dean hissing while urging him not to stop. Castiel couldn’t take it anymore, all the pent up, nervous energy threatening to burst from his skin. Dean’s whine when his fingers left him was immediately covered by a gasp as Castiel guided the blunt tip against Dean’s hole, prodding experimentally before applying pressure, and they both moaned when the head popped in.

Castiel felt frantic, hands moving to grip Dean’s hips, and he tried to press in slow, sweat gathering on his brow, but Dean was pushing back, and they met in the middle with harmonizing groans. Castiel’s fingernails bit hard into Dean’s skin, begging silently for control, but he knew this wouldn’t last long.

“Dean…”

“Give it all you got, Cas. I ain’t fragile.”

Castiel’s accompanying moan was drowned out by the sharp sound of skin smacking skin, and the rest was a blur of savage thrusts and slick skin. Castiel’s orgasm hit him hard, body curling in and over Dean as his hips kept working against him. Dean’s body began to tremble, moans turning to shouts as the new angle sent pulse after pulse against his prostate. Castiel’s arms wrapped around Dean’s waist while one hand trailed down, finding Dean’s own fist working himself furiously. All it took was Castiel’s hand closing over his for Dean to shout, his release flowing over both their hands as his ass clamped down, milking the dregs of Castiel’s pleasure from his tender flesh.

They both ended up on their backs, feet still tangled in pants and boots but neither cared. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them, so they were pressed thigh to thigh, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and Castiel was half surprised not to see steam rising from their cooling flesh.

Dean heaved a sigh after a while. “Well that was definitely not how I envisioned my day ending.”

Castiel let out a reluctant snort and made the mistake of glancing over at Dean, which got him an eyeful of the inky black outside, a nebula in the distance splintering the dark with purples, pinks, and blues. Dean’s arm lifted at the sound of distress pulled from the back of Castiel’s throat, tucking Castiel in against his chest and shushing him softly.

“It’s hell the first couple-a days.” Dean patted his hair placatingly. “You go up to medical they’ll be able to give you something for the nerves.”

“But not the lust?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Uh I dunno. Most folks only talk about the panic and paranoia.”

Castiel glanced up at him. “You never took it?” Dean shook his head. “Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m a badass.” Dean jostled him, grinning. “Now, my brother, Sam? - He thinks the sun shines out your ass, by the way-” Castiel gave a startled laugh. “First time I took him deep, I had to lead him around with his eyes closed any time there was viewing glass. Dork slept in the bathtub for a week because he said it felt safe. Space does screwy things to your psyche.” Dean rolled his neck, digging his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes. “The sex helps.”

“It seems to, yes.” Castiel peeked over Dean’s chest and out the viewing glass, the clouds of the nebula shifting. He shuddered. “Thank you.”

Dean chuckled, his voice turning to a silken purr. “Oh, it was my pleasure.” A pause. “You know I could be persuaded to let you stay down here, you know until you get evened out… Walk you through the logs every day… other things.”

Castiel blinked, his eyelashes brushing against Dean’s skin, and watched it pebble to gooseflesh. “That’s kind of you. What do you have in mind?”

“Welp,” Dean grunted as he dug his arm over the side of the bed and tugged out a book. Castiel’s head lifted, realizing it was his book. “Maybe you could sign this for my kid brother?”

“Sam?”

A fond smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “Yeah, Sam.”

“I find your terms agreeable.” Castiel wiggled back down and planted his cheek over Dean’s heart, exhaustion settling heavily on him suddenly. Dean snorted.

“Shoulda pushed for a video call.”

“We can do that too,” Castiel murmured, eyes sliding closed and felt Dean’s muscles tense.

“Wait, for real?”

“Someone needs to teach him that the sun is located in the Local Interstellar Cloud and not my ass.”

It took Dean a solid minute to quit laughing.

Three weeks later, after a complete overhaul of the Impala’s technological maintenance schedule, two video calls with Sam Winchester, and frankly a disturbing amount of sex with Dean, it was officially concluded by medical that his cells and organs had adjusted entirely and all his bloodwork came back normal. Dean’s casual observation that with most of Castiel’s stuff was already down there and the mechanical maintenance evaluation kicking off, it was probably for the best he just stayed down there. Castiel, without hesitation, agreed.

[7-wonders]

Everything All At Once

Summary: Summers are supposed to be fun, not stressful. Whatever deity is pulling the strings in your life never got that memo, apparently.

Word Count: 3651

A/N: Sorry for how long it’s taken me to post this! Life has been crazy lately. Enjoy, and if you did I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblogged!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE | Read Naked & Afraid (part seven) HERE | Read Ironically Alive (part eight) HERE | Read Blame It On My Youth (part nine) HERE

The process of moving, while normally quite stressful, is made simple with magic on your side. Boxes are packed according to room in a matter of minutes, dirty floors are cleaned with a glance, and the need for a moving truck is eliminated when items can just be transmuted to your new home. Even dealing with the bigger pieces of furniture that you no longer need, such as your bed and the couch, is an easy task when your new Antichrist roommate can just snap his fingers and send them to a thrift store in need. That last act is done much to Michael’s chagrin, who presents the admittedly tempting option of dropping them on your enemies. In mere hours, your once-full apartment is now completely empty. You’d be lying, however, if you said you were going to miss it. If anything, you’ll miss the certain sentimental value that your first apartment holds within its walls, but the cons of this place (a shower that never heats up, testy thermostat, that one time there was a family of mice living under your kitchen sink, and so much more) far outweigh any pros that could convince you to stay.

Adjusting to living with Michael full-time, however, proves to be the main challenge of your move. Just redecorating your room caused his face to turn a sickly shade of white, horrified that the once-pristine black and silver color scheme has been taken over by tapestries and fairy lights. It was especially painful for him to comply with your request to remove the large pentagram on one of the walls, but you suspect he did it because he doesn’t want to make you mad. He’s already aware of just how monumental a concession of living with him was, and he would rather not push his luck. Your new living arrangement, though, is going to be the only victory you give him if you have anything to say about it.

“No school for three months, then?” Michael had asked when you were hanging clothes up in your closet. 

“Thankfully.”

“So I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you since you won’t be darting in and out between classes.” His tone was all too hopeful, and you hid a smirk at the meaning that he wasn't doing a good job of hiding.

“Well yeah, when I’m not working.” You weren’t looking at him, but you knew that his jaw was clenched tightly.

“Why would you be working? You’re aware of how much money I have at my disposal; there’s no logical reason why you need to have a job.”

“How else am I going to pay you rent?” He breathed in harshly through his nose, and you buried your face is a shirt to keep from laughing.

“Excuse me? You--you don’t have to pay me rent, (Y/N), you’re my wife.”

“You’re letting me live with you, it’s the least I could do.”

“If,” Michael stopped, choosing his words carefully, “if that’s what you would like to do, then I suppose I cannot stop you.”

“Thank you!” you said cheerfully, going back to the task at hand while humming a song that had been stuck in your head.

It’s not like you’re that determined to keep paying rent now that you live with Michael. In fact, if this was any other person and not the Antichrist insisting that you don’t need to pay to live on their property, you would happily oblige. With Michael, though, things have to be made a little difficult for him. Ever since the contract negotiations during your first weekend at what you’ve come to refer to as Langdon Manor, you had remained adamant that nothing would change just because you were now bonded in unholy matrimony. For the most part, that has remained the case. It’s also just fun to see how mad you can make him before he needs to go be alone in his office, but that’s besides the point.

Nannying, although not glamorous work, pays better than any other job you’ve had. Getting to look after cute children is also a plus, and they keep you busy enough where there’s never a dull moment. The two kids that you nanny, sisters Maggie and Sarah, love going to the pool and playing make believe. They play so well together that you often find yourself just reading a book and keeping an eye on them while they decide to run a daycare or start a school. Easy work, even if the hours are sometimes less than ideal. Their parents, a doctor and a police officer, work odd hours and have a penchant for date nights on Fridays, which is often their only time off without the kids. It’s not an inconvenience to you; extra hours equal extra money, and the girls go to sleep early enough that you can just watch videos on your phone until they arrive home.

The only one who has a problem with your hours is Michael, of course. You’ve suspected since the house party three weeks ago that he’s been trying to figure out how to ask you out on another date, but obstacles have managed to shake up any plans he may have. He’s not the most subtle, asking you on every Wednesday what your plans are for Friday while trying too hard to look like he’s not invested in your answer. By this week, your third straight Friday date night shift, he’s over it. 

“But tomorrow you don’t work, right?” Michael asks from the speakerphone. Your phone is resting on the kitchen counter, the girls in the living room while you make a dinner of chicken and rice for everybody.

“Nope,” you say, leaning back to make sure the girls are still watching their movie instead of beating each other over the head. 

“We’re having a movie night tomorrow.”

The tone of finality in Michael’s voice makes you laugh. “A movie night? Michael, have you ever even seen a movie before?”

“Yes, (Y/N), I have seen a movie before.” You can almost hear how he’s rolling his eyes right now. “You can pick the movies, and I’ll worry about the snacks?”

“No. Knowing you, your snacks will be something like pickled eyeballs washed down with a tall glass of ice cold blood. I’ll be the one in charge of snacks.” You can’t resist slipping a joke in there, and Michael sighs heavily. 

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home?”

“Yep, bye.” You hang up the phone curtly when the oven beeps, more focused on pulling the chicken out than crafting a sincere goodbye.

Turning around to put the pan down so you can slice the chicken, it’s not at all surprising to see the girls sitting at the table and staring at you. The two love to eavesdrop, especially when it comes to people talking on the phone.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sarah asks, her blonde curls bouncing in her ponytails. 

“No, he’s not, and you shouldn’t be listening in on other people’s conversations.” It’s impossible to be serious, and a smile plays on your lips as you dish up three plates and put them on the table. 

Right as everybody starts to eat, Sarah gasps and bolts up from her chair. “I forgot Aunt Stephanie!” You look at Maggie for an answer as Sarah runs off, but the older girl just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do you have an aunt coming over? Your mom didn’t tell me anyone else was going to be here tonight,” you ask. 

“No, it’s a picture that Sarah keeps in her room, sometimes she likes to have it with her.” Sarah comes back as Maggie explains her sister’s actions, clutching a framed photograph to her chest. Setting it down next to her, you see the senior portrait of a smiling blonde girl staring back at you. Her hair is crimped in some places and straight in others, reminding you of the 90s, and she’s wearing classic goth makeup. 

“She’s pretty,” you compliment, smiling as Sarah digs in.

“She’s up in Heaven, so we never met her,” Sarah replies in that easygoing tone that all young children use to reveal information in.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly, not really sure how to respond.

“Dad hardly knew her, either,” Maggie retorts. “He was little when she was killed.”

“Your aunt was killed?”

Maggie nods, smirking since she knows something you don’t (ten year olds are going to be the death of you), “uh huh, she died in that school shooting, the one at Westfield High School?”

“Well, at least you get to hear some neat things about her from your family.”

The girls both nod and go back to eating their food, but you just stare down at your full plate, pushing the food around with your fork as your hands shake imperceptibly. Like a puzzle, the pieces all click together. You nanny for the Boggs family, the patriarch of which had a sister named Stephanie, who was killed in the Westfield High massacre. The massacre that was perpetrated by the unwilling sperm donor from which Michael sprung, Tate Langdon. Everybody knows about the infamous Westfield shooting in the way that everybody knows about Columbine or Sandy Hook. You just didn’t know that the family of one of the victims was now employing you.

It’s something that sticks with you long after the girls have gone to bed, and even as you drive home after their parents (the Boggs’, you remind yourself) arrive back from their date. Whether Tate was influenced by the Devil or not, he is still ultimately responsible for the choices that he made. This legacy, the dark thoughts and the murders and the horrible things, extends far beyond Michael. Tate may consider Michael to be the penultimate evil, one who he could never be associated with, but it’s true when they say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

Michael’s still awake when you get home, having gotten in the habit of waiting up for you since you still lived at your old apartment and he would wait for your text to let him know you had made it safely. He’s sitting in the main living room (of which there are three), reading a book and petting your cat, who’s curled up peacefully on his lap. You toss your shoes and bag in your room before sitting down next to him, picking up your now-disgruntled cat and cuddling her to your chest.

“What are you reading?” you ask him, not able to see the cover that’s obscured by his hands.

“One of those Harry Potter books you told me to read. I must say, I am enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.”

“Goblet of Fire, that’s a good one. I’m glad you like it.” 

Michael marks his place in the book, setting it down next to him before giving you his full attention. “How was your day at work?”

“It was...okay?” Michael frowns slightly, not pleased with that answer.

“Did something happen? Did the children finally act out with their parents gone?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just--something they said,” you trail off, picking the skin around your thumbnail instead.

“What did a ten-year-old and a six-year-old say to you that rattled you this much?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, especially when you’re looking at me with those eyes,” you mutter, looking up at him. “Their aunt, I guess, was killed in a school shooting. The Westfield High one?”

Michael looks at you seriously, your recollection of the girls’ words obviously catching him off-guard. “And that got you thinking--” “Not in a bad way or anything, you know I don’t blame you at all for Tate’s sins. It just...got me thinking, I guess.”

“About how much fate must hate us?” Michael laughs bitterly.

“Tate,” you ignore Michael’s last comment, too lost in your thoughts, “loves acting like he had nothing to do with you and that you two couldn’t be more different when, in reality, you’re more alike than he cares to admit. I mean, he shot up a goddamn high school and set his stepfather on fire years before you were born. It really should not have surprised him that he fathered the Antichrist, whether it was willingly or not.”

“I wouldn’t shoot high schoolers, that’s far too messy.”

“I know that, but what I’m trying to get at is that everything, in some sick and twisted way, all comes back to you. I can’t even go to work now without being reminded of you and the carnage that the Langdon name has wrought upon the world. The same name that I carry now too, I guess.” You laugh bitterly at your misfortune, knowing that you can never escape Michael wherever you go.

“You’re being too introspective for your own good tonight, (Y/N). You need to breathe, okay?” Michael takes your hands and forces you to focus on him, making you realize that you’re barely huffing out shaky breaths. “Like you said, you don’t blame me for Tate’s sins. While I have done bad things, they are all to serve a greater purpose. Tate--he was just a dumb kid who hated the world and wanted to kill people in an attempt to feel something.”

You stare at him, repeating Michael’s movements and taking deep breaths while trying to calm down. You’re not sure why this has freaked you out so much: maybe it’s because you’re married to the sire of this mass shooter, or it could be concerns that any future children that you may have with Michael (God forbid that ever happens) would carry a bit of that darkness in their souls.

“We’re having an impromptu movie night tonight,” Michael says suddenly.

“Why not wait until tomorrow?” Maybe it was a distraction tactic, but it certainly did its job. 

“You’re too worked up to sleep, and I worry about you being alone with these dark thoughts swirling in your mind. You need something to take your mind off of it.”

“But we don’t even have snacks.”

“Go check in the kitchen, the staff tends to overstock it with food I would never eat. I’ll pick the movie. Put on some clothes to watch a movie,” the thought of sweatpants calls your name at that, “and meet back here in ten?”

You nod, running your hands over your feverish cheeks before standing up and walking towards your room. As you throw on your favorite sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, you can’t stop thinking about your outburst. The knowledge that you were babysitting the nieces of one of Tate’s victims shouldn’t have messed you up like it did, and maybe it’s just you being overly paranoid. Whatever the reason, you’re more than eager to find some candy and popcorn and eat enough sugar to make your thoughts go numb. 

There’s plenty of candy hidden on one of the shelves of the staff pantry, and you leave an apologetic note explaining that there was an emergency and promising to restock tomorrow. The popcorn selections are endless, and you end up popping two bags when you can’t decide. Carrying the goodies back to the living room, you see that the lights are dimmed and there’s a nest of pillows and blankets on the couch. The movie’s already cued up on the television, and you smile at the familiar music playing through the speakers.

“Sorcerer’s Stone?” you ask, sitting down next to Michael and pulling a blanket over your lap.

“I’ve never seen the movie before, and since I already finished the book I want to see which one I like better,” Michael explains sheepishly, stealing some popcorn from you and pressing ‘play’ on the remote.

It’s easy to get lost in the magic of Hogwarts, even though Michael keeps making snide comments about how he doesn’t need a wand to do more impressive magic than that. You let them slide, not too bothered about it when you constantly point out differences between the book and the movie. You both finish the first movie strong, albeit with a lack of snacks, and eagerly pop in the second to continue the marathon. 

Throughout the course of the movie, you had inched closer to each other ever so slowly. Using the excuse of forgetting to move back after stealing a snack, or having to move in order to have an equal amount of blankets, results in the most awkward move you’ve ever seen someone pull. Michael, under the guise of shifting to get more comfortable, tries to sneakily slide his arm around your shoulders. You notice the ploy almost immediately, and smirk at him when he thinks he’s pulled it off.

“Really? What teen movies have you been watching lately?”

“You knew?” Michael asks, withdrawing his arm from where it’s sitting around your shoulders.

“Michael, that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Of course I knew.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks bright red as he looks back at the screen.

“Just because I called you out on it doesn’t mean that I’m not fine with it.” You’re not sure where this sudden streak of bravery came from, but you’re going to take it and run with it. Grabbing his hand, you place it in the previous position of being draped over your shoulders. Leaning into Michael’s side, your head rests on his chest as your eyes go back to the movie. “This good?”

“Yeah, this is--it’s fine,” Michael’s voice comes out at a higher pitch than normal, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

It’s a lot more difficult to continue watching the movie as the night wears on, and you find yourself more focused on just trying to keep your eyes open than on how Harry and his friends are going to figure out what’s petrifying the students. Michael can tell that you’re on the verge of sleep, nudging you gently every time you start to nod off. “I’m up,” you’ll always reply, “just resting my eyes for a sec.” It’s amusing, and he would send you to bed were you not so adamant that you’re completely awake.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls gently, your tired eyes flickering up to him. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that...well, do you think that you could ever, uh, like me?”

“I do like you, dumbass. Why else do you think I’m sitting here watching movies with you?”

“I know you like me as a friend, but I mean--could you ever see yourself thinking of me as something more?”

“Is this because of what I said earlier, about your legacy?”

“Yes and no. This is something that has been on my mind for quite some time.” You’re awake now, and you sit up and pull yourself out of his embrace.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” 

“I’d rather we discuss it now,” Michael says carefully, knowing that you’re starting to get stand-offish. “(Y/N), you’re very aware of my feelings for you and that I believe what my father has told me about the two of us. I just want to know--I deserve to know how you feel about me.”

“Do you even know how hard it was for me to trust you after you kidnapped me?” you ask, standing up and clicking the TV off. Michael stands up with you, making sure you don’t run off before he’s gotten some answers.

“I thought we were over that by now!”

“We are, but--”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that you’ve been in love with me from the moment you first saw me, and I don’t even know if I can let myself have romantic feelings for the fucking Antichrist!” The anger in Michael’s eyes is extinguished, replaced with a crushing sadness.

“You told me that you didn’t blame me for how I was born,” he says quietly. You bite your lip, realizing you just hit him in his weak spot.

“I don’t, Michael, but you’ve also done a lot of bad things, you’re doing bad things, and you’ll continue to do bad things.”

“I would never do those bad things to you. Everything I do is to benefit the plan that my father has.”

“But what if one day his plan changes and you have to kill me?” you shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect against the sudden chill in the air. “You can make all of the excuses you want, but at the end of the day you’re still the Devil’s son, murdering and plotting the end of the world.”

You should have stopped long before this, but the words just won’t stop flowing out of you now that you’ve spilled them. Michael runs his hand down his jaw, nodding slowly. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

He’s thrown you off, and you’re sure it’s obvious that he has. “What?” You’re expecting him to yell, throw things, and maybe slap you again. Instead, he’s eerily calm.

“I asked for you to be honest, and you were, so thank you.” He turns to leave, his movements stilting and robotic.

“Michael,” you reach for him, unsure of what you should do.

“Get some sleep, you’ve had a long day.” Michael smiles weakly at you, his hand resting on the door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod dumbly, mutely, unable to do anything but watch as he leaves. Suddenly, you’re entirely too aware of how he must have felt all the times he wounded you with only his words. It’s a bitter feeling, one that replaces the lingering sweet taste of candy with sour words you had spilled so recklessly. It’s a taste that won’t go away, long after brushing your teeth and falling asleep with the taste of salty tears on your tongue.

/////////////////////////

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[coinntoss]

Alright so this will be a bit rushed since I’m writing this on my break. Apologies in advance.

Okay so I only got to see bits and pieces of SDCCs SU panel thanks to whoever streamed it (I’m sorry, I don’t remember who it was and I can’t find the link anymore) because I just started my shift at work as it was going on. So a huge thanks to @su-nlt for providing a list of what happened/what was confirmed at the panel.

I’m loving some confirmation of things that were seen and speculated from the CYM and BotHaM specials. While White Pearl was originally Pink’s it wasn’t the other way around for CG Pearl. It’s also more or less confirmed that Bismuth and Lapis have no ill will towards each other over what happened during the war. My favorite thing to be confirmed was that Stevonnie is capable of fusing with other gems thanks to having a gem, and while Rebecca and the cast said there is no reason for them to fuse with another gem, their reactions to the question make it seem like it could actually be a possibility at one point (that, or at least proposed as an option).

So let’s jump into the trailer.

We start off with Steven and Amethyst being pulled in on a crane holding seemingly an injector part to an area that’s possibly where the barn used to be. I’m really curious to know what the symbol in the courtyard is and what this area is actually for. Is it an expansion of Beach City? Is it a civilization for the uncorrupted gems to live comfortably? Either way, they seem to be utilizing a mix of gem and human technology based on the injectior gems and the clock and remaining architecture.

In the time skip, it seems Steven has been spending the last two years visiting other planets, likely thanks to the superior technology of the leg ship. What exactly has he been doing? I’m not sure but it’s hinted that he has been helping a lot of the colonies adjust to a new way of life of not being under direct control of the Diamond Authority. There seems to be an Era 2 Peridot on this planet, along with some aquamarines. I have no way of knowing who the other gems are, but the bigger one may be a fusion? Just based on how much larger she is than the others.

Steven is wrapping up these missions and is ready to be back on earth, relaxing with friends and family.

When she appears. We still don’t have a name drop so exactly what type of gem she is, is still unclear. She has to be awfully powerful to be someone who can suddenly land on Earth after everything that has gone down during CYM to be considered such a serious threat. We do get some insight to her abilities however.

She stretchy.

So is this shapeshifting or an independent ability altogether? I’m going with the latter since there seems to be a theme in her stretching her limbs and being very rubber band-like in her attacks.

I love that she just—

Y E E T

It’s made very clear that this thing she totes along with her in her invasion is an injector drill. It looks more modern and advanced than the drills at the Prime Kindergarten. I love that it’s stylized as an hourglass to go along with the whole dealing with 41 hours until the destruction of all life on Earth.

So who is this new villain, exactly? We didn’t get a name drop. With the release date being just over a month and a half away, I have my doubts we’ll receive another trailer revealing anymore details, much less what her gem stone is. For once, I actually don’t have a theory on who she actually is. Is she a new/forgotten Diamond? She she the Morganite that used to own Rhodonites components? Someone completely different? I can’t say. But I do have a theory on her motive.

She’s here to kill Steven, and kill him specifically. She’s either One: a gem who has recently emerged or never got the memo and still sees Steven, or rather his gem as the face of the rebellion. This seems far less likely to me, though. That horse is long since dead. So the second option is: She’s a high ranking gem who sees the reformation of gem society as a threat to her status. She’s launched a direct, personal attack on the only gem who has ever shaken the entire gem hierarchy to its core and made a permanent change. For a gem of her status, what does it mean when she no longer has lower gems under her boot?

A few other points I want to make about the trailer before I’m done:

I’m not sure if this is lava with a pink hue or drill juice. Either way it’s a nice detail.

Look at Steven desperately trying to yank the drill out of the ground. He seems to be pulling his strength directly from his glowing gem, which may be a good look at just how far he has come with his powers and I’m excited to see what else he’s packing after two years.

Other than Pink Steven this might be the most angry and threatening we have seen Steven. He’s tired, desperate, and scared. Fighting is likely his only option at this point. This new enemy is out to actually end his life and that of all life on Earth. Not even White was seeking to do that. She just wanted to separate Steven from his gem.

On a lighter note: we’ve been shown a reformed Alexandrite AND Connie! She’s grown too of course but I’m happy she’s been keeping her hair short and that she’s still taller than Steven. And that smooch! I don’t know if it’s platonic or romantic but either way doesn’t matter to me I just think it’s great. I wanted to add pictures for that too but I forgot about image limit. Oh well.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. I just wanted to get all these thoughts out there before I started reading what everyone else had to say. Sorry this took so long! As I said, I’ve been at work during all of this. Please feel free to add your own thoughts to this! I’m excited to know what you all think.

[beckzorz]

Locked Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 1391 Prompt: 'I locked the keys in the car' + 'you're satan' with anyone you want ❤ Summary: You lock your keys in the car, and your ice cream is going to melt. Who can you call but Bucky? A/N: Happy weekend! Thanks to an anon for the prompt—hope you enjoy :3

“—and he’s always so damn buried in reading up on what happened that he keeps missing what’s going on now. I mean, he barely even knows who Beyoncé is.” You sigh and adjust your bag of groceries. “I did get him to finally listen to Lemonade, at least. But that’s about it,” you finish. You switch your phone to the other side and hold it to your ear with your shoulder as you dig in your pockets for your keys.

“So he still hasn’t gotten the memo?” Sharon asks.

“What memo?”

“That you want to jump his bones, silly.”

“Oh my god, Sharon, shut up!” You can’t help but laugh, despite the fact that you still haven’t found your keys. You bend to put down your grocery bag, but a reflection from inside your car gives you pause. “Oh shit. I locked the keys in the car.”

Sharon is quiet for a moment. “Where are you?”

“A couple blocks from my apartment. Why?”

“Your neighborhood isn’t exactly in the top ten best places to raise a kid in New York,” she says. “And it’s almost eleven.”

“Calm down, Sharon.” You roll your eyes and tighten your scarf around your neck. “The real problem is that it’s only thirty-four degrees out, and I bought ice cream. Let me think for a second.” You set your bag of groceries down and drum your mittened fingers on the roof of your car. The side street is quiet, with no one else in sight. A light breeze sends a dry leaf dancing along the grimy sidewalk.

“You know,” Sharon says, casually, “Bucky lives only like ten blocks away.”

“I know that,” you snap. You kick at the tire, annoyed. You’re well aware that Bucky lives closeby. More than that, you know he’s home. He’d messaged you earlier, asking for a restaurant recommendation. But you’re colleagues, not friends. Just because his best friend is dating Sharon doesn’t mean you’re ready to call him in the middle of the night.

Even if you’re well aware he won’t be sleeping.

“You can’t just stand outside forever,” Sharon says. “Besides, he can break into your car for you.”

“Fuck. I really regret not taking that crash course last month…”

“Just call Bucky,” Sharon says, laughing. “Anyway, Steve’s giving me the eye; I’m gonna go. Bye!”

She hangs up. You groan, and then you notice the trio of bulky strangers headed your way.

Oh, to hell with it. You pull up Bucky’s number, bite your lip, and press call. As you wait for him to pick up—do you even want him to pick up? You’re not sure—you shift your weight back and forth, trying to keep your blood flowing and your knees from shaking.

Sharon’s not wrong exactly, but ‘want to jump his bones’ doesn’t cover the depths of how you think about Bucky Barnes. Yes, he’s gorgeous, with perfect lips and eyes and hair and body, but he’s also whip-smart and clever, funny when he needs to be, and above all that kind. Even when you were essentially strangers, he’d offered to help carry a box, decipher a puzzling code, surprise Sharon on her birthday. And he’d gotten you a birthday gift last year too.

Bucky picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” His voice is low, confused.

“Bucky!” You quickly cough to conceal your delight at the sound of his voice. “Sorry to call so late, but… I locked my keys in my car. I totally get if you’re busy, but—”

“Where are you?”

“Around the corner from my place.”

“Be there in five.”

Click.

You gape at your phone. Five? Five minutes? Impossible. You set a timer and settle in to wait.

Nope—with three seconds left, Bucky skids to a stop in front of you. You’ve never seen someone look better in just a hoodie and jeans, but that’s Bucky for you.

“Hey,” he says. “I—”

Your phone beeps.

“Oh shit, sorry,” you say, blushing as you turn off your timer. “I was timing—well, nevermind. Thank you so much for coming, Bucky. I, um…”

“What, didn’t think I could make it in time?” He slants a grin your way as he peers inside your car, spotting your keys in a flash. “Huh.” He tries the car door handle. “Well, they are in fact locked in.”

You stare at him. “I told you that.”

“Well, you should call a locksmith in the morning.”

“What?” The wind picks up; you shiver and stuff your hands under your armpits. “I thought you were going to help me break into my car!”

“I mean, I could, but then the security system would be shot to hell.” He scratches the back of his head. “Besides, it’s practically freezing, and that takes time. I came to walk you back to my place. You, um, you can crash with me.”

Back to his place? You’ve never been…

Bucky’s watching you closely. There’s some pink in his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

To hell with it.

“Alright, then.” You grab your groceries, but before you can sling them over your shoulder Bucky pulls them out of your hands. “Hey!”

He sneaks a peek in your reusable bag as he hefts it over his own shoulder. “What, you think I was gonna let you carry this? What am I, a monster?” His smirk has a touch of sadness to it.

Unacceptable.

“No, you’re Satan,” you say sarcastically. “How dare you come down here, rescue me from myself, and carry my groceries? And what will the world say when I tell them I’m going to share my ice cream with you after all that?”

Bucky chuckles and bumps his shoulder against yours—lightly, thank goodness. “What flavor did you get?”

“It’s a surprise.” You smile at the sidewalk as you walk beside him, light dimming and brightening as you pass under street lamps. The quiet that falls between you is natural, not awkward like all the stony silences you’ve experienced in your years. The few times you’re bold enough to glance at Bucky, he catches on almost too quick for you to look away.

If he does catch you looking, he doesn’t mention it.

When you finally reach his apartment building, he lets you go in first. As you wait for the elevator to reach the top floor, you smile shyly his way. He smiles back, eyes crinkling. The elevator dings; the doors open.

“Thank you, Bucky. I appreciate all of this.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He holds the elevator open, but you’re frozen in place.

“Sweetheart?” you breathe.

Bucky’s face floods with color, and his eyes are anywhere but on you. “Uh—”

You rush at him, grab his face, and pull his mouth to yours. The groceries clatter to the floor. Bucky’s lips are soft; the hands suddenly gripping your waist are large and solid. A surge of desire shoots through you as he pulls you flush against him.

Then the elevator shuts with a ding.

You pull back in surprise, eyes popping open as you realize just what you’ve done. Bucky hasn’t moved; his eyes are still closed. Is he mad? Glad? Your heart hammers in your chest.

Bucky’s eyes open slowly. He bites his lower lip, his gaze flitting between your eyes and mouth. Tentatively, you smile.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

Your smile deepens, and you take his outstretched hand. “Hi.”

The elevator starts to go down. You lean against Bucky and laugh; he presses the button for his floor again, but the elevator is already on its course. Oh well. You wind your arms around Bucky’s waist and breathe him in. His back is more sculpted than Michelangelo’s David. You can’t wait to get your hands on the rest of him.

… Okay, so maybe you do want to jump his bones. Your cheeks flare with heat.

“What?” Bucky asks, voice low and eyes sparkling.

“To quote Sharon, I want to jump your bones,” you tell him.

“Well,” Bucky says. He licks his lips and lowers his mouth to beside your ear as the elevator stops back at the ground floor. His voice is low and delicious and just for you. “That can be arranged.”

There’s no one waiting to get on at the lobby. When the doors close again and the elevator starts to ascend, you let Bucky take you straight up to heaven.