#like i'll concede he should be getting more attention for sure

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

NFWMB (Nothing Fucks With My Baby)

Pairing: Reader x Venom

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: you get kidnapped, there's some cannon level violence, nothing to write home about <3

Genre: idk if I should really classify this as angst fr but the ending is fluffy!

Summary: Carnage returns, his mission remains the same; kill Venom. And he plans to use you to do it.

Based on this ask by @weebnotheree (thank you so much for the request, I know it took a while so I appreciate your patience, I hope you like it <3)

***

"Hey y/n!" Your coworker skirts over to your desk with curious excitement.

"Yes?" You glance up from your computer at her.

"Your boyfriend is a reporter isn't he?"

"Correct. Where is this going exactly?"

"Well do you think he'd be able to come cover the charity gala this weekend?" She asks.

"He doesn't really- cover this sort of thing? He'd need to get assigned to it. But I can check with him, he can ask his boss and maybe they'll send someone else down." You concede. It can't hurt, after all, you do need the exposure for the event anyway.

Hours later, after you've both gotten home from work and eaten dinner. You're winding down for the day with Eddie by watching a show together when you propose the question from your coworker.

"Eddie quick question." You say, not lifting your head from his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He's been tracing patterns against your leg for the past ten minutes.

"Do you think you could come cover the charity gala this weekend? My coworker Dani thought it'd be a good idea." You tell him.

"I don't usually write those sorts of pieces." He hums.

"I know I told her, but I also told her I'd ask anyway. It doesn't have to be you, if your boss sends someone else that's fine. We're just aiming to get more eyes on the event." You shrug.

"I'll talk to my boss. He'll probably send someone. Not me though."

"Yeah that's fine, I know these aren't your thing, you don't have to come." You say.

"Say what?" You feel him shift to look at you.

"I drag you to enough work functions. I'll let you skip out on this one." You pat his chest lightly.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Eddie snorts turning back to the TV.

"Technically I already did tell you twice." You chuckle.

"Smartass." He pinches your thigh.

"Always." You sit up just to wink at him.

The following day, you are accosted by Dani pretty much as soon as she walks into the office.

"Did you ask him?"

"Ask who, what Dani?" You ask though you know exactly what she's talking about. "Also have you forgotten that the proper way to start a conversation is with a greeting? What happened to hi? What happened to how are you?"

"Hi, how are you? Did you ask your boyfriend about covering the gala?" She says.

"Hi Dani, I'm doin' alright. How are you?" You ask her.

"Y/n!" She huffs.

"Yes Dani I asked. He said he'd talk to his boss. Knowing Eddie, someone will probably be at the gala. It's handled." You finally cave and give her the answers she came for.

"You're the best!" She tells you.

"I know, thanks." You chuckle. You shrug.

The day of the gala is chaos from the minute preparations start. It's not really anything that surprises you and you've been handling everything that comes your way with ease.

"Y/n!" Your coworker Wendy grabs your attention when you're sorting out something with one of the photographers.

"Yes Wendy?" You aks.

"The uh catering staff is here do you know where they're supposed to-"

"They just got here?! They were supposed to be here an hour ago! Who was on that? They should've been checking for- oh never mind! Their tables are over there on that wall and tell them to hurry Wen the event is literally starting." You sigh pointing her in the right direction. The event is just gaining momentum, doors opened about twenty minutes ago and aside from the catering situation that has just been taken care of, as far as you know, everything is precisely as it should be. At least you hope so since you did come here a couple of hours in advance to make sure things were ready. You aren't technically in charge of this event but you are naturally better at organizing chaos and these events tend to be a bit of a frenzy on the day no matter how prepared you are in advance.

Tonight is your company's annual charity gala. Every year the board votes on a cause to raise money for by hosting a huge party. This year's cause is a charity that supports kids getting involved in the arts. There are a bunch of art projects on display, some of which will be up for auction at the end of the evening, but the goal is to shmooze with the community members effectively enough that they want to support the charity. You spend most of these galas working optics; talking to reporters, setting up pictures, and just generally organizing things throughout the night. As part of the company's public relations department events like these are your specialty. Carefully curating the perception of everything that goes on here tonight with the help of the other members of the department here tonight.

You're pleased to say that a couple of hours in, the event is going off without a hitch. Once it's in full swing, you have your hands full giving statements to different press outlets and sending photographers to snap the board of directors with guests of the event. Just as you're preparing the host for his introductory speech, you notice a small crowd gathering by one of the large glass windows overlooking the city.

"What's going on over there?" The host frowns at you.

"I'm- not sure. Probably just some nightlife chaos got people's attention." You shrug but before you can walk up the stage there's a shout from a few of the guests followed by the sound of shattered glass as something crashes through that large window. The room erupts into chaos as red goop shoots out at people. It only takes you a couple of moments to realize the thing currently ruining your gala is Carnage. You didn't meet him or anything last time they faced off, but Eddie gave you enough of a description to come to that conclusion when you spot the bright red tentacles and eyes so like Venom's but different at the same time.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." You huff quietly from where you're crouched behind a curtain with the gala host.

"What is that thing?!" He hisses.

"Doesn't matter. Find the nearest exit and run like hell." You tell him.

"What?! You want me to go out there?! What if it sees me?" He shakes his head. You poke your head out just enough to see Carnage. Weirdly enough he just seems to be picking up people and dropping them on the ground again.

"You ever seen that thing before?" You ask.

"God no!"

"He's looking for something. Unless you think it's you, I'd suggest taking the risk before he starts getting snackish!"

"W-what?!"

"We know you're here! We did our RESEARCH!" The man beside you is practically shaking as Carnage's deep voice rings through the room.

"He's coming this way, you have to move now." You say.

"What about you?"

"He's more likely to notice two of us. I'll be out after you." You're so busy directing the guy you don't realize how close Carnage is to you all until the curtain you're behind is ripped off its bar.

"AHA! THERE YOU ARE!"

"GO! GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" You shout to the guy as Carnage reaches for- you. He's reaching for you, you realize only when one spindly spider-like appendage wraps around your waist.

"How noble of you. We weren't after him- but if you must be the hero-" Carnage easily reaches the scrambling host before he can get to the door and all you can do is shut your eyes tight when Carnage lifts him up. It's only when his screams stop suddenly and something warm drips onto your arm that you're sure is blood. You don't dare to check what Carnage has done, but if you had to guess, he bit his head off; much like Venom does when you or Eddie allows him to. Your eyes only shoot open when Carnage starts to move again, swinging back out the hole he came in through and taking you through the city. You're in the air for quite some time before eventually, Carnage drops you, rather gently for a kidnapper, on the ground inside a dusty building.

"Hello, little thing." Carnage says to you.

"I could have sworn Venom dealt with you already." You cross your arms.

"Almost. I was lucky to escape."

"Unfortunate for the rest of us." You muse.

"Rude!"

"Let me remind you that you did kidnap me so excuse me if I'm not kind." You roll your eyes. "I take it my role is to lure Venom to you? Right?"

"Correct. He cares for you. So he will come."

"Of course, he will. Though, disrupting my work event was an unnecessary scene just to lure him out to- where are we?"

"An old firehouse!"

"Wow you really are a baby." You scoff realizing he's chosen another location where loud noise is common.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing nothing. I presume you have a different host now right? That other guy, the serial killer, died the last time, didn't he?"

"I am bonded to his blood! I can regenerate!"

"I'm sorry- so you regenerated… an entire head for your last host?"

"Yes!"

"That is- very strange." You frown. "Still, this place doesn't hold sentimental value to Cletus so- how will they find you?"

"Oh just call them." Cletus makes an appearance, finally, and rolls his eyes as he makes his request.

"Call them? You want me to call them and lead them to where you plan to kill them?"

"Yes. Or I'll kill you."

"That would be stupid. Killing me won't get you what you want." You scoff.

"CARNAGE! YOU TOOK MY CHOCOLATE DROP! I'M GOING TO RIP YOU TO SHREDS!!"

"Guess we don't need to call him." Carnage says pushing you into the fire engine that's collecting dust in the unused building.

"WAS DYING ONCE NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!" Venom stomps towards Carnage.

"Father. I'm not that easy to get rid of!"

"EVIDENTLY!" Venom charges at Carnage and the two of them are quickly destroying the old brick firehouse you're occupying. From inside the fire truck you're in, it's hard to tell who's winning for most of the fight. It's all too quick and too fluid the way they're throwing each other around. By the time you've gotten a handle on what's going on between the duo, Carnage has Venom pinned to one of the walls that they haven't totally ruined already. Frantically you turn towards the control panel of the fire engine, you can't imagine it's still fully operational but there's a chance you can find some way to make noise with this thing. You need to give Venom the upper hand somehow.

"V!" You shout and cover your ears for only a moment before pressing as much of your weight as you can into the horn of the truck and hoping for the best. You can't explain the relief that you feel when that horrid loud noise fills the small space and Carnage screeches. You let up on the horn once he stumbles away from Venom, his attention on you now that you've gotten involved.

"You!" Carnage snarls. You lay into the horn again before he can get to you and the sound seems to disrupt him enough to almost completely separate him from Cletus. You let up when Eddie has crept up behind them and Venom takes over to fully rip Carnage from Cletus by force. You didn't think that was possible and it is extremely strange to watch. Venom grabs Cletus with an extra appendage and holds him far in the air as he eats the angry red goop that is Carnage.

"EVEN WORSE THE SECOND TIME." Venom grumbles and you can't help but giggle a little. The noise makes Venom wink at you before turning his attention to Cletus. "THIS TIME STAY DEAD!" Venom says before biting his head off, out of your line of sight. You come out of the fire truck just in time to catch him dropping the body.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Venom runs over to you and lifts you into his arms so you're eye level with him as he looks over you for injuries.

"I'm fine V. He didn't actually hurt me. You got here so quickly." You muse.

"EDDIE WAS WATCHING COVERAGE OF YOUR GALA." Venom explains.

"It was going so well until he crashed it." You pout. "You don't have any other errant children we should know about right Venom?"

"NO. NOT THAT I KNOW OF." Venom shrugs lowering you back to the ground.

"Good because this kidnapping thing is very inconvenient." You say. Eddie chooses that moment to reappear and he quickly wraps his arms around you.

"Y/n, baby, thank fuck you're okay. I am so sorry." He breathes out.

"You're sorry? What for?" You frown as you hug him back.

"If I had just come to the damn gala in the first place-" You pull back and hold Eddie's face in your hands to make sure he hears what you say next.

"No. It wouldn't have changed anything. In fact, it would actually have been worse I think. There were hundreds of people in that building and we were on one of the higher floors. The casualties if you had fought him there would have been so not worth it. This was the best outcome. I'm sure there were several injuries but I think there was only one death besides him so- don't apologize. Especially because there was no way you could've predicted him crashing my event. Don't blame yourself because other than a ruined charity gala and the inconveniences that come with a kidnapping, I've barely got some scrapes. You two did well." You tell him.

"We couldn't have done it without you. The fire horn was a great idea."

"Yeah well, you were going to die. And I didn't have any fire." You shrug. "We should get out of here though, I can't imagine it'll take much longer for authorities to get here in search of the red monster that crashed a charity event." You add.

"True. The party looked beautiful by the way. You know, before Carnage trashed it." Eddie says scooping you into his arms.

"Thank you baby." You kiss his cheek just before Venom appears again to take you all home.

"I WANT A KISS TOO! I DID ALL THE WORK."

"You can have as many kisses as you want V." You say kissing his cheek too as he walks out of the trashed fire station with you in his hold.

"I WANT ALL THE KISSES THEN!" He declares as he swings you both up into the air.

"Once we get home I'll kiss you til my lips fall off if you so wish my love." You giggle.

"NOT THAT MANY! IF THEY FALL OFF I WON'T GET ANY MORE IN THE FUTURE!"

"Okay okay. Reasonable amount of kisses, once we get home. Deal?"

"DEAL!" Venom says before taking off from building to building to get you home. There's no such thing as normal when your boyfriend is sharing his body with an alien you suppose, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

***

[gammija]

[CECIL]: "So, as we move into the final hours of the competition, vote! Whether it's for your favorite, local, Night Vale community radio host or some... pile of bones, don't let your voice go unheard.

Also... Well, this might be a little bit outside the rules, but you could even make a second account to show a little more support for whoever you think should win. You probably won't get caught. As City Council declared in a recent press release, "Voter fraud doesn't exist."

"There is no such thing as voter fraud," City Council said last Wednesday, their many mouths moving as one. "No one can vote more than once. We certainly can't. Ha, ha." Some of their feet shuffled. "We definitely did NOT commit voter fraud by using the recently developed cloning technology to make copies of ourselves, force them to vote for us, then bus them into the Whispering Forest where we threw them out. That. Never. Happened," they added emphatically.

Immediately after the press conference they disbanded the City Council's, 'Night Vale committee for Fair Elections', by eating them."

[A door creaks.]

[CECIL]: "Listeners, someone has just entered my studio.

Uhm, excuse me! You're not allowed to be in here!

It looks like it's a small man, with a smoothly bald head, and dark empty eyes...

Oh no. They're sockets. This must be him, this 'Snas' the skeleton. He's coming to defend his title...

Listeners, as I prepare myself for what will surely be a fight to the death, seeing who takes who out first, I take you... To the weather."

[CECIL]: "Welcome back. I know you're all dying to know whether I won the Tumblr sexyman poll, and if I defeated the small skeleton. Well...

I was all ready to fight, getting into a stance, when the skeleton held up his hands. He said that he didn't want to fight, and that he'd come here to concede and hand me the title.

I'll admit, I was a bit taken aback by this at first. Of course, I had to protest. Wouldn't that be unfair to the few people who voted for him, I asked?

But he explained that, since he already won last year, he wasn't really looking forward to all the attention and hassle from winning a second time. And seeing as it apparently meant a lot to me, he'd rather just let me win than miss his wedding.

Yeah, apparently he's about to be wed to someone named Komaeda in a few days? Good for him.

Dear listeners, after his heartfelt plee, I felt I had no choice but to accept the win.

Which means I am now, officially, Tumblr sexyman of 2023. Yay!

Stay tuned next for muffled sounds of celebration, overheard from a neighbour's house nearby.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

[chronicowboy]

Buck doesn't even question it when he pulls up to Eddie's house instead of his own apartment block. He has the go-ahead to return to work, but for some reason, the relieved joy he'd expected has been buried under a confusing mudslide of emotions that make his head hurt if he looks at them too closely.

He tells himself he's at Eddie's because he's returning the favour, paying him back for last year when Eddie had showed up on his doorstep with a six pack, a grin and his transfer back to the 118 paperwork.

Buck doesn't have a six pack, or a grin, or a vague date for his return because he hadn't even told Bobby about his cardiologist appointment today for fear of the news awaiting him.

But he knocks on Eddie's door anyway because he may be just Buck, but that's enough. Its always been enough at the Diaz house, and maybe that's what he should be appreciating after everything.

The smile Eddie gives him when the door cracks open is enough to ease most of the tightness in his chest. He remembers a similar smile two nights ago, the way it had blossomed so softly on Eddie's face, how it had lit up his eyes and rosied the apples of his cheeks.

Yeah, he's enough here.

"Dr Salazar told me to ask you how her diagnosis of repression was holding up," Buck says, pushing past Eddie, eager for the warmth of the living room. "She told me you'd know what that meant."

"You really need to learn to say hello," Eddie grumbles good-naturedly as Buck drops onto the couch with a blissful sigh. Buck cranes his head in time to watch Eddie's face do something complicated. "Wait, what'd she say?"

"She asked how her repression diagnosis was going," Buck sounds out slowly.

"Motherfucker," Eddie hisses to himself. Buck watches rapt as his cheeks fill with colour.

"Yeah, do I get to know what that means?"

Eddie meets his eyes, and Buck wonders if she was a bit too hasty in her dismissal of him because his heart does something worrying in his chest at the dizzying intensity of emotion on Eddie's face.

"Not yet," he murmurs. It sounds like a promise.

Buck swallows past the lump in his throat.

"Wait, you had an appointment today?" Eddie drops onto the coffee table in front of him, a beautiful concern simmering in his eyes. Buck flushes at the attention. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Buck nods, "I am more than okay. In fact, I'm so okay that I am free to return to work whenever I please."

"Okay..." Eddie squints at him. "Why do I feel like you're about to make our quitting the 118 score two-one?"

"I'm not quitting the 118," Buck sighs. "Not again."

"But?" Eddie prods gently.

"But," Buck drags a hand down his face, "I don't know if I'm quite ready to come back yet." He thinks he must be imagining the slight sag of Eddie's shoulders, can't help but wonder if its disappointment or relief if he wasn't imagining it.

"Its a big step after something like this," Eddie concedes.

"After your shoulder, you got cleared with Frank one day, and had a return to work date the next."

"Yeah, and we all remember how that turned out," Eddie snorts.

"Fair enough."

"Its natural to take a bit of time when you aren't ignoring absolutely every warning sign your body is sending you," Eddie tells him. "Bobby will hold your place for you, you know that. Hell, he'd hold it for a decade if he had to. And I might be a bit bummed without my partner around, but I'll live if its so he can take care of himself." Eddie's voice is unbearably soft in a way that makes Buck's skin crawl, its been doing that a lot around Eddie since he woke up. "Besides, I'm sure he'll be drinking my beer and crashing on my couch most nights anyway." Rolling his eyes, Buck huffs a laugh.

"It just feels weird, you know?" He shrugs a shoulder. "After my leg, I fought so hard to get back."

"Yeah, I remember," Eddie says dryly.

"Shut up." Buck shakes his head. "I fought so hard to come back and now I'm being told I can and I just..."

"It feels too easy?"

"Yeah."

"Buck, you're so used to fighting." Eddie shuffles a little closer, and Buck does his best not to flinch at the spark that jolts through him when their knees knock together. "For everything. Ever since you were a kid, you were fighting for everything everyone else just had handed to them. Its hard to shake off a lifelong habit." Eddie tilts his head to catch Buck's eye, he was unaware they'd wandered away from Eddie's determined face. "But last time was different. You know that. You were different."

And Buck knows what he means. That Buck seems so drastically different to the Buck he is now, whatever software update he's at. The Buck who tied his worth to firefighting, who had no identity outside of it, who felt like he was always one step away from being left behind.

But he's also not convinced he's all that different. Firefighting is still his life. He has maybe one or two friends outside of the 118 family. And, yes, he knows that they're a family now, knows that not one of them would leave him behind. The past week has been proof of that. But who is he outside of the firehouse?

"I don't think I really know who I am when I'm not fighting fires," Buck whispers to the carpet.

It feels a lot like a shock of lightning when Eddie uses his pointer finger to nudge Buck's chin up.

"You're Buck," Eddie nods, conviction dripping from him.

And that's enough?

"You're an amazing firefighter, yes," Eddie's hand is still on his chin. "But you're an even better brother to Maddie and Hen and Chim. You're an incredible uncle to an incredible niece. You're the best of friends. You're Christopher's..." Here, Eddie pauses. Buck's heart thumps. "You're Christopher's," Eddie says decisively. "But more than all of that, you're Buck. And maybe that's all you need to be."

Buck grits his teeth when the familiar sting of tears has him squeezing his eyes shut. He takes a few steadying breaths, the ones the lung specialist had taught him when he could finally keep his eyes open for more than ten minutes. With every expansion of his lungs, it feels like his heart grows a little bigger too.

The bravery hits him out of nowhere.

"To Maddie, Hen and Chim, huh?" he asks, meeting Eddie's eyes. "What am I to you, Eddie?"

"Not yet," Eddie says softly. "Not just yet."

And Buck thinks he doesn't mind waiting for this answer.

[bytheangell]

Love at First Dance

(Read on AO3) (Created for @malecdiscordserver's By The Angel Bingo!)

"What are you glaring at?"

Magnus looks over at the sound of Alexander's voice, shocked out of the focus he previously had on Lorenzo Rey, who he wasn't even sure he wanted at his wedding even after the change of heart and bit of redemption he earned himself.

"What?" Magnus asks, both to stall and in the hopes that, perhaps, they could simply change the subject. He shifts to focus himself fully on Alexander - on his husband. As it should be, honestly. He doesn't need to be worrying about anyone else today, least of all a warlock he barely likes and a Shadowhunter he barely knows.

"You look a little too upset for someone on their wedding day. You're going to give me a complex if you don't tell me what's on your mind," Alec says.

"If you must know," Magnus starts, turning his gaze back in the direction of Lorenzo and Andrew at a small table in the corner, laughing in that way you do when you're going to really impress someone over something he's sure barely warrants it, and- okay, he's getting bitter and judgmental again and he really needs to stop it.

"What am I looking at?" Alec asks, glancing around the room in the direction of Magnus' gaze. "I don't see- oh."

Magnus feels vindicated in the fact that Alexander's voice drops in confusion, brows furrowing and a small frown taking over his features. At least they're on the same page about this.

"They're flirting. What's that about?" Magnus asks.

"Yeah, I'll admit, I hardly thought Lorenzo would be Andrew's type," Alec says slowly.

"Andrew can do better," Magnus states simply.

"Magnus..." Alec starts carefully, in that tone that implies he's choosing his next words carefully. Magnus can already sense what's coming next.

"I'm just saying. One decent decision does not undo centuries of being a raging jackass," Magnus says, before Alexander gets a chance to defend Lorenzo.

"I know," Alec agrees. "And I'm not saying it does. But I am saying that Andrew doesn't have a history with Lorenzo. All he knows is the man who realized he made a mistake, and did whatever he could to fix it - including risking his life to go to Edom with a bunch of people he barely knew, putting his life in our hands."

Magnus made a 'humph' sound at that, but couldn't disagree.

"He helped me save your life, Magnus. At the very least, I owe him a chance to start fresh with someone. Isn't that what you got, with me?"

"You knew plenty about me," Magnus argued. "But," he conceded. "I see your point. And I suppose he's been... tolerable recently."

Alexander smiled at that.

"But I'm still saying that maybe cupid's arrow could use a new accuracy rune," Magnus added, half-under his breath but just loud enough for Alec to hear, barking out a laugh.

"Maybe you're right. I guess time will tell," Alec said, glancing back over to where Lorenzo was currently holding his hand out for Andrew to take before leading them both onto the dance floor.

"Perhaps we should join them on the dance floor," Alec suggested, reaching his own hand out to Magnus. "You know, just to keep a closer eye on things."

Magnus shook his head, taking his husband's hand in his own. "No, you're right. I'm staying out of it. Besides, I have more important things to focus my attention on."

Magnus leaned in to kiss Alexander, gentle and lingering several seconds before reluctantly pulling back. "I believe I owe my husband a dance."

[mariademetal]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ inertia fushiguro megumi / gn!reader ©mariademetal 2024

cw ... codependency, description of a stab wound but no actual stabbing/violence, situationship (😭), megs is an asshole, reader is a little pathetic icl, description of anxiety?? idk what else, lmk if i should add anything note ... OOC MEGUMI. this characterization is sooooo bad don't even come for me i made him soooo much crueler than he actually is but i've been in such an angsty mood i can't bring myself to care this is suchhhh a weird little oneshot but i wanted to write for megumi and had so many ideas and they just all kinda merged into this frankenstein freakazoid fic.... kinda despise it but still had fun writing it :p hope u like itttt word count ... 2.4k

The first law of motion: an object in motion stays in motion. For as long as you've known him, Megumi has been running from one thing or another. He likes it, you think— he likes the feeling of his lungs burning, he likes the feeling of waking up sore, he likes the feeling of pressing down onto his bruises and more than anything he likes it when you do it.

Likewise, for as long as you've known him, he's never slowed down to let you catch up. You don't think he's given anyone an inch in his life, and you can't help but think that it's okay, it's fine, because it's him.

You don't like his friends. You're kept away from them at school, tucked away in the corner they keep for the students without innate techniques, out of sight and out of mind. They're rowdy, they yell, they tug, and most importantly, they take up the attention that Megumi once solely focused on you. You're sure as hell they don't like you, either— you're not a part of their world, not really, and you have no doubt that the way you cling to Megumi whenever you all go out together, determined to make yourself as small as possible, hide behind Megumi until he saves you, makes them just as uncomfortable around you as you are around them.

You don't like his friends, they sure as shit don't adore you, but every time Megumi comes around and you're resolute that this time you're going to stay behind, get some alone time with him, you still end up walking out with him, hand in his, tail between your legs.

He just gives you that look. He doesn't even need to say anything— his lips purse, the corner of his lips quirk down, his eyebrows furrow, and the disappointment in his eyes is so palpable you think you can feel it burrowing under your skin. That's all it takes for your resolution to be all but reduced to dust.

When you concede, murmur a "Fine, I'll go," and reach for your coat, the disappointment on his face has disappeared and the faintest hint of a smile has replaced it. He rubs your arm while he leads you to your door and, just comfortable enough behind closed doors to show you the affection he thinks you deserve as a reward for doing what he wants. His hand feels more like a prong collar tugging at your neck, ready to choke you if you dare to turn tail.

It falls to your own hand while the two of you walk, and where you'd prefer to take your time on the way to everyone else, to prepare yourself for another evening of judgmental glances and keeping to yourself, to get just a few more minutes alone with Megumi before you're forced to share him again, but he moves quickly. Your feet hurt before long, and when you stop to take a break, he just lets go of your hand and keeps going.

Naturally, when you eventually meet up with Itadori and Kugisaki and the rest, he acts like he never wanted to see them at all, but you forced your hand— like he's the dog and you're the one pulling his leash, forcing him to socialize with the people you can't stand.

No one seems to believe him, but no one dares accuse him of anything but being a "..softie, deep down."

God, you wish. You wish there was even a single soft spot on his body. He's dipped his entire being in the river Styx, forged a soul from steel far too dense for jujutsu-less you to penetrate, and has never failed to remind you of it (and your own failures by extension). You wish he would give you the opportunity to massage his shoulders until the knots in his muscles could loosen, you wish you could wash his hair for him so it would finally lay flat, you wish he wouldn't train so much so the blisters his knuckle pads could have the opportunity to fade away. You wish more than anything he would just surrender, let you take care of him, and he knows this, so he taxes extra care to keep you just far enough away to make damn sure you don't, and just close enough to keep you from leaving him.

You need him. This is something you both know. It's never been in question. You've needed him since you were both little, to protect you from the world and the creatures you could both see but only he could fight against. And he needed you too, for a good, few years. He was too mean, too quick to snap at the unfamiliar to make any other friends, and you would've sooner died than give him the impression that he is anything other than the most important person in your life.

Then, he stopped needing you. He settled, trained, made friends. Found his purpose. Yet, he keeps you around— drags you over from the other side of campus just to relish in the way you wrap yourself around his arm while he talks with his friends, the same way you did when he'd send his dogs to kill all the cursed spirits that dared to scare you when you were little. He relishes in protecting you from a situation he has inflicted onto you. But he doesn't need you.

So, one day, you ask him why he bothers keeping you around.

"What're you talking about?" He huffs. He's busy sharpening your only knife after trying and failing to peel an apple for the two of you to share— he's always busy, but you've caught him with an injury while all his peers are healthy, so at least you have a moment alone with him.

"You know what I'm talking about," You insist with a pout, and he just looks back at you with a deadpan. "You don't have to see me if you don't go out of your way to. Gojo keeps us apart for that exact reason. Why do you?"

He's silent, for a while. Just long enough that you think he's opted to ignore you. Only then does he speak. "I'm not ignoring you. I just don't really know what you're getting at."

"I don't want to have to explain how I feel to you like you're five."

"Then don't."

You think it would hurt less if he took the knife he's sharpening and stuck it into your heart. Your eyes burn, and you swallow your saliva, purse your lips and clench your fists to keep yourself from crying. You think about what you'd do if he had opted to stab you instead— you picture yourself with the handle sticking out of your shirt, blood spilling out all around it, staining your shirt and your hands red, your heart beating even faster and harder to replace it. You'd take it out, you think, and rinse it off, then hand it back to him so he can keep his hands busy like you know he likes to while you bleed out on your bed behind him.

It's only when you sniffle, still desperate to hold your tears back, that Megumi finally looks back at you and realizes this is his cue to comfort you in the only awkward way he knows how to. He closes his eyes for a second, puts the knife down, and sits down beside you, stiff as a board. You shift your weight the second he does, leaning on his shoulder, but he doesn't lean against yours. It's not an apology, you doubt it's even intended as one, but you're so eager to forgive him that you still interpret it as one, and thus an invitation to elaborate on what he'd shut down just a minute before.

"You don't need me anymore," you say, and it's only after the words are already spoken that you realize Megumi would've preferred it if you omitted the word anymore altogether. You know him to prefer not to admit he needs water. "You have friends and you know I hate them. They understand you better than I do. They can keep up with you."

"You don't hate them," He says, and you know he's not delusional— just cruel. You wonder if he's always been this cruel, if he inherited it from his father, or if it's the world who made him cruel. You don't think you're cruel— maybe cruelty is necessary for sorcerers. "It's not about any of that. I'd never toss you aside for them. I can barely stand them."

You laugh at that, and Megumi makes a sour face. "You can barely stand them but you still drag me to see them."

"I don't drag you. I can't make you do anything," He sneers.

You know that if this turns into a fight, he'll win, so you raise your white flag before it has the opportunity to and curl into yourself, away from him. Only then does he reach out to touch you.

"Maybe you should leave," You whisper, and he looks like you've scalded him.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, and opens it again. "I'll come back later."

"Don't bother," you say, and you regret it the second you do. It isn't like you to be this petty, it isn't like you to cry as much as you've been crying lately, and you find that every time you speak, you find your own voice just a little bit more grating than the last. You say don't bother but you really don't mean it. You fight down an urge to correct yourself, beg him to stay, not to leave to begin with. You'll drop it. The two of you can lie together, he can fidget with your hands, and when he wants to sleep you can run your fingers through his hair.

You don't because you want to believe that what you said is hurting him just as much as what he said earlier hurt you, even though you know, deep down, that no matter what you say to him, you can't even scratch that steel shell that protects him.

He says your name sternly, but quietly, and you're ready to cry again. "What are you doing? What is this really about?"

"I don't know."

So, he leaves. You can still smell the faintest trace of him in the air, and once he's far enough away that you can't hear his footsteps anymore, you grab the knife he was sharpening and finish the job.

You love him, you think, and he doesn't love you. Or maybe you don't. You don't know. But you're certainly not friends, and you don't think you ever have been. You don't think you've had a friend your whole life. He's not your friend, but if he told you to jump, you'd ask how high.

He's always moving from one place to another. He wakes up and goes to class, then eats lunch with Gojo, then spars with Itadori, then trains with the second years and Kugisaki, then sees Ieiri to make sure he hasn't overexerted himself, then eats dinner with the first and second years, then finally comes to collect you so you can go out with him and the others.

On the other hand, you wake up, eat your breakfast alone, meet with your teacher, and rot in your room, thinking about if and when Megumi will show up. Megumi, Megumi, Megumi. You doubt he thinks about you once before he asks if he can bring you along to whatever plans his friends have already made.

How does he do it? How does he move so consistently, so perpetually, while the best you can do is nip at his heels? The idea of it exhausts you.

He does come back, eventually. After you've fallen asleep. You hear a knock on the door that wakes you, and you know it's him, so you do your best to wake yourself up and make yourself as presentable as you can before opening the door for him. You smile, wholesome and unassuming, perfect for forgiving for any prior transgressions. Then, as he takes you in, you take him in— tousled hair, messy uniform— and realize he's shown you just how capable he really is of leaving you behind.

So, like a hurt dog, you snarl and you bite. "I thought I told you not to bother."

"Stop being like this."

That's what he's reduced you to. A dog. Pavlov'd you into doing things you'd never do otherwise, feeding you with his rare affection and unconditional protection, hit you with his disappointed glances and harsh words.

"What else should I be like?"

He huffs and reaches over you to open your door wide enough to walk through. You don't stop him— even if you wanted to, how could you? You're confused. He makes a display out of just how much he doesn't need you, but still goes out of his way to burrow his way inside of your room.

You watch him from the back as he sets his bag on the floor and takes off his jacket. You can't stand to look at the way his hair is splayed out, so you look at his back, instead. His shoulder blades poke out from under his shirt and make circles in a way you find mesmerizing. Then, he slips off his shoes and steps forward. You follow, dutiful even at your most hurt.

Then, he faces you.

"Why don't you like them?" he asks.

"What's there to like?" You know what answer he wants, and when he just looks at you, waiting for it, rather than taking your bait, you throw yourself onto your bed. "They're all sorcerers," you say sorcerers like the word puts a bad taste in your mouth.

"So am I."

"Exactly."

Your bed dips just by where your legs hang off. You know exactly what face he's wearing, so you don't bother looking. "You don't have to be jealous, you know."

"What's to be jealous about?" You ask sarcastically, and you can feel his glare boring into the side of your face.

"They're my friends, but you're my..."

He struggles to find a word to describe you, just like you struggle to find one to describe him. You know exactly what you are to him, though.

"You're my favorite."

You look up towards him. He looks away. "Really?"

"Really."

He coughs into his fist. You fluster and dig your face into your sheets.

"I still don't like your friends," you mutter.

He snorts at the sound of your muffled voice. "You don't have to."

"And I think you're the only one who likes me."

"That's your own fault."

"I don't mind.”

[barefoot-inthewildestwinter]

Make your tea and your toast (part 1)

A/N: This is my first fic ever and also I am new to Criminal Minds as well! I'll work on this story for awhile and I will update warnings at the beginning of each chapter :) I hope to maybe start writing one-shots based on something like taylor swift songs!

Title: Make your tea and your toast

Summary: If he played his cards close to his chest, she never picked hers up. Emily's past slowly catches up to her and he realizes just how little he knows about her.

Word count: 3.7k

Ratings: Mature, eventually

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, SA, abortion, pregnancy and teen pregnancy, and violence.

January 2007

Nevada

He caught a glimpse of her in the rear-view mirror. Her chin was digging into the pale, bony wrist resting against the car door. She had rolled the window down, allowing rural air to fill the empty space. They were stopped at a light. She was staring straight ahead. Eyes fixed on the skyline and the moon glowing back onto them. Most of her hair was still tucked back in a distressed ponytail. Wild brown strands blew around her face, doing their best to cover her expressions. He spent a breath trying to decipher the faint wrinkles across her face. Her nose slightly scrunched, lips pressed together, brow unfurrowed. She didn’t appear sad, or mad, just… disappointed. A fair position to take, he would concede. They had let Frank go. They had handed him Jane. Maybe they would have found the school children on their own. Their safety had been used to justify his release, it had been the right call. He was sure of it, or at least he was sure enough. They had to let Frank go. He was certain she would challenge this if he brought it up. Not to argue that  it was the wrong call, but to question why it had been the right one, why it had to be the only choice. 

 It had been a silent drive, with Morgan tuned into the radio for updates on basketball games, occasionally commenting on the Bulls- a playful attempt to get a rise out of him. Prentiss had been nonverbal well before she climbed into the back seat. Passively nodding at the suggestion that the team head back to the hotel before venturing out for dinner. Sulking behind him closely and waiting for the side door to unlock, pulling the handle after every beep.  Though she was new to the team, she had always returned to her supportive, outgoing state fairly soon after a case, shelving the unfaltering, driven Agent Prentiss, FBI until the next call. It was unusual for her to not press them to pick a restaurant to meet at, or to not offer to buy them drinks at some bar, or to brush past Morgan and Reid to get into his SUV. He may have paid it more attention if her actions had been inconsistent with the group's energy. He didn’t see himself starting a conversation with either of them, and that was okay.

Morgan looked up from the console to paw at his phone. “Garcia, baby. Please tell me you are up to no good tonight.” On the other end, Garcia’s words were incoherent to him. Given the nature of their conversations in the office, he thinks that maybe he should count his blessings. “No, no. We’re almost back to the motel. We’re getting dinner later. Not my choice.” Staring at the road ahead, he catches snippets of Morgan’s conversation. “...Hotch and Prentiss. Reid went with Gideon in the other car. You know we couldn’t have Reid up in here killing the mood… Babygirl, you should just be glad that we are nowhere near Vegas.” He does hear Garcia comment on how lonely it is to never be there for the team dinners when they are away. “Alright, sugar, get to bed at a reasonable hour. Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell them. Goodnight, princess. I love you too.”

 Jack, he winced. When he got back to his room, he would have to call Jack and Haley. He eyed the clock. 7:48. It was past 9:30 for them. Jack would be asleep, and Haley may very well be too. That was probably for the best. He would leave another voicemail, a preemptive ‘Good morning,’ an apology for missing another ‘Goodnight,’ and a reminder to her to lock the doors before bed.  At least this way, the message would be uninterrupted by his wife’s frustration. Something he couldn’t fault her for, but he didn’t have the energy to apologize for tonight. 

He found trouble justifying his actions to Haley, particularly while trying to keep her and Jack far from this world. He did everything in his power to make sure that they would never have to see a frame of what he saw, and he prayed that they would never be pulled into a case. He hoped to rid the country of as much danger as possible so that they could live freely, without worry of things he could not help but picture any time they left the house. He also understood what his absence meant to Haley. How much she had to do on her own, not just with Jack. He had made sure to pick up the lion’s share of the work when he was home, cooking, cleaning, chores. He knew it wouldn’t always be enough. That’s why when she suggested that they have another baby, he was a little taken aback. He knows that he shouldn’t have been. Jack is over a year old now, Haley is 35, and he has loved her for almost two decades. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel strange about it. They surely couldn’t bring another child into their house and go back to fighting over his work. Her position wouldn’t change if they had two kids, and he’s not sure that he can give her what she needs. Not after this case. Besides, she had only brought it up twice since then, and it hadn’t taken them long to get pregnant with Jack. He tries to push the thought of Frank out of his mind, separating his home life from his current one.  

He finds his gaze drifting back to Prentiss in the mirror again. She’s still stuck on the same thought. This time he notices more of her. Her necklace, her eyelashes, her vest still on. That cannot be comfortable. He lets out a small smile. Her fingers lightly pressed a tune into the leather seat. As their SUV pulled into the hotel, Hotch found himself pleased by the trust that had been forged between Prentiss and himself since she had joined the team a few months ago. It wasn’t unusual, and it certainly wasn’t anything much, but it was progress. For a moment, he feels awful for his treatment of her during her first cases in the unit. He knows she caught tension from almost everyone on the team. Gideon fed off of his distrust, his claim that she had arrived in his office due to anything other than her merits. Morgan, suspicious of anyone joining the BAU, and Reid, following their example. Even JJ had feigned contempt for Prentiss for a week or so. Someone new, so soon after Elle’s departure, they had reason to take pause, but not to completely ice her out.  Really, he is grateful for her staying with the team after that. And she had been useful. More so than he expected her to be. She was fluent in over five languages. She was an excellent shot, a quick thinker, and her dedication to the case was unmatched. It was as if any personal hang ups or feelings were controlled by a switch that she could turn off in a blink. This didn’t stop her from being a constant source of support. She was always ready to  empathize with the team, the families, or the unsubs, like it was second nature to her. She was able to gain trust effortlessly. He’d like to believe that his trust took some effort. 

His amusement quickly shriveled when it met with the heaviness of the warm air. After separate car rides, Reid and Morgan immediately revived their bickering about dinner plans. By the time they finally compromise on a place, with encouragement from Hotch, the last shreds of comradery are taut.  Gideon will just go back to his room, he says, citing exhaustion. Hotch collects his takeout order while walking towards  the fire escape. Prentiss nods, “I’m just going to go back to my room, as well. Long day.” Reid frowns at this, but doesn’t say anything back. “Stay out of trouble boys.” She winks at him. It was at them really, but he feels it burn on his skin. 

He’s back in the driver’s seat when Morgan asks if there is something they can get to bring her back. Hotch catches her head shaking in the rear view mirror once more, watching her stumble off into the distance. He knows that she’s being withholding, but after the day they have had, he knows better than to probe that right now. 

Reid climbs into her empty seat in the back. “It smells weird in here.” He says, loudly taking deep breaths through his nose. Morgan turns to look at him, “It’s called perfume, Reid. If you ever got within six feet of a girl, you might know that, genius.” Morgan slides his thumb across his nose. Reid pouts in response, “Well, now I don’t want to go.” “Too late, you picked the restaurant, you don’t get to bail on us now.” They fight like children for miles. “I can still make both of you get out and walk.” That pacifies them for the rest of the ride.

Dinner was more pleasant than he predicted. It seemed that they all had needed some food in their system to treat hypoglycemic angst. Talking and laughing about nothing, teaching Reid to throw darts. Hotch couldn’t remember feeling so light after a case like this, even though it was momentary. On the way back, Morgan joins Reid in the back, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder and doze off. Oh, god, he thought. I already have two kids. They brought Gideon’s meal and some extra boxes to offer Prentiss. He parks the car, grabbing the takeout in one arm. Morgan startles awake, distancing himself before hopping out. “Want me to carry you?” He extends his hand to Reid, who takes offense and climbs out of the other side door. “Hey Hotch, are you doing bed checks tonight?” His laugh is sincere. “No, but Gideon will do a head count at 1.” He lets them go on ahead, saying their goodnights before they split off. “Garcia loves you!” He hears Morgan call down the veranda. Gideon takes his food with a brief thank you and a goodnight. Hotch can see the files strewn in the background, all of the lamps giving the room an amber hue.  “For Prentiss?” he points to the remaining boxes. Hotch nods. “Did she say anything to you?” Gideon says no, she had taken the stairs and hadn’t left her room since they got back, to his knowledge, but he wasn’t tracking her. “Everything okay with her?” He just sighs. “Is anything ever okay with us?” Knowing that Gideon would be wanting to get back to his paperwork now, he leaves quickly.

He passes a few doors before stopping at hers. He can hear her on the other side, footsteps pacing the length of the room. Without thinking, he grabs the handle.  He raises his hand to knock, catching the time on his wrist. 11:18. He hears the footsteps stop instantly and she slowly moves closer to the door. Realizing what he has done, he clears his throat. “Prentiss, it’s Hotch.” There’s a deep, shaky breath, and then the chain slides off. 

“You’d think a supervisory federal agent would know how to knock on a door without acting like a creep.” She moves into the doorway. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t … uh, I wasn’t thinking.” He stumbles across his sentence, scanning her appearance. She’d traded the vest and slacks for a pair of black athletic shorts and a well loved Yale sweatshirt. “We brought you back some food. I know you said you weren’t hungry, but it’s been a long day and I don’t recall you joining us for breakfast.” She looks up at him. She’s shorter without heels on, he thinks. “It’s just a salad and some fries. Morgan seemed to think that would be okay.” She beams back at him. Her face is bare, and yet her wide eyes are still decorated with long, thick lashes. She is smiling big, which causes his lips to concede a smirk. “Oh, this is great. Thank you.” The light catches the wet black hair clinging to her neck, revealing wet marks at the top of her sweater. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you be. Goodnight.” He goes to turn when he sees her shiver and fixate her gaze at his feet. He feels all of the concern he’s had for her all day rush to churn in his stomach. “Prentiss? I’m in the next room, if you need anything.” He pauses to make sure she detects the earnestness in his words. She looks back up at him, meeting his stare. “I know. Goodnight Hotch.” She closes the door behind him, leaving him alone in the cold air. When he falls back into his bed, it’s 11:30. This will definitely be a voicemail.

He keeps his message short and sweet. He’ll call them in the morning, before wheels up. It’s more of a pacifier for himself than a promise to them. The pacing continues in the distance, it becomes louder the more he concentrates on it. After a while, he finds it soothing enough to drift off to. 

Hotch is awake again when he hears the door slam. Someone outside scurries along the corridor until they reach his room. He sees her through the hole in the door. Her arms wrapped around herself, she bites a nail and then her lower lip. She’s trying to work up the strength to knock, to ask for him. 3:30. He sighs and  groggily throws his brown pullover on and opens the door to nothing but the chill. Confused, he shuts the door and tries to wander after her. 

“Prentiss. Prentiss?” It comes out as more of a hiss as he creeps along the walkway. “Prentiss?” He finds her sitting on the steps of the fire escape, her bare knees buried into her chest. He calls after her once more, making himself known. “Prentiss, it’s Hotch.” She looks up, nodding her nose to the empty space next to her. He understands and sits down. “Hey,” he offers. She doesn’t turn to face him. “We made the right call today. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we didn’t have a choice.”

 “But how can you know that?” She shoots back, regret pouring in immediately. Her next words sound shaky. “I know we got the children back, I know that.” Her head lifts out of her hands. “But Jane is a person. She’s a victim. She’s his victim, we literally handed her to him and let them ride off into the sunset.” Her voice strained. “I know.” “Anything that happens to her, anything that Frank does to anyone, is on us.” His hand grazes her thigh as he readjusts his leg.

“When I was a prosecutor, one of the worst feelings was when really bad people walked free because they received more compassion and leniency  from the system than their victims. When we fail, we fail victims. We give them no closure, no justice, we tell them that all of their suffering is unimportant. We give them reason to doubt the people that are supposed to help them.” Emily asks how long he practiced as a prosecutor. He replies, a couple of years, after law school. Mostly criminal cases, sexual assault, homicide, child abuse. He never felt like he was doing enough, he was always too late, it nearly destroyed him.

“Why do we fail them though? Sure, sometimes it’s inevitable. But we fail too often.” He is a bit surprised by the raw emotion in her rambling. “We can’t protect everyone, sometimes we fail to uncover the truth until it's too late.” He searches her eyes for hints of what specifically is eating at her. “Do you think it’s a failure due to inability or inconvenience?” He ponders her question for a moment. “What do you mean?” She laughs once. “I mean, if we see the truth and we find it to be inconvenient. We don’t like the way it looks, what stops us from just ignoring it altogether?” He shoots her a look that says, ‘We aren’t the bad guys.’ “Maybe not. But we just as well could be.” She shifts her weight, sitting up straighter.

“Just look at what happened in Chicago. A man was allowed to abuse and murder little boys for decades and no one batted an eye because ‘He was a pillar of the community, an outstanding man.’ And as if that wasn’t enough, they went after Derek with almost no thought. They saw what they wanted to and ignored what they didn’t. It didn’t matter who got hurt.” He places his hand on the middle of her back. Thumb on her spine, his fingers stay just below her shoulder blade. An awkward attempt to comfort her. She exhales deeply but doesn’t jerk away. He thinks back to a few weeks ago, when he had caught her looking out for Morgan on the trip home from Chicago. Giving him space from a calculated distance, bringing him tea and a new book for the plane, offering to buy him a drink when they got home. He didn’t think much of it then. Just Prentiss being Prentiss, offering comfort and exuding resilience to the team after a particularly brutal case. Now, he wonders if there was meaning behind her actions deeper than a desire to be accepted by them.

She’s staring, fixated on his lips now. He spots a paper cup clutched in her left hand. “It’s just water,” she says. “Not that I couldn’t use a drink right about now.” Her wide eyes pout playfully at him, make me a drink. She lifts the cup, tilting it towards him, he declines. Prentiss cracks a smile, turning her head to face the neon motel sign. “It’s past 4:00, did you get any rest?” She bites her lower lip again. “Yeah, some.” It’s a lie, he can hear the exhaustion in her throat. He glares at her. “Fine, no, not really. I usually don’t though.” He frowns, “When do you sleep?” Her answer baffles him. She tells him that if she sleeps, it’s from 2:00 to 5:00 am, but that she naps often on the jet. He lets out a breath but it comes out as a shaky laugh. “If?” He’s looking at her with pity. His hand is resting on the step behind her back now. His words spill out softly, “Oh, Emily. That’s no good.” As soon as he says it, awkwardness fills the air. He rarely says her first name alone, he hasn’t felt close enough to her to use it. He holds his breath waiting for her to say something. Thankfully for him, she brushes right past it, setting her hand on his knee. “Oh, believe me, I’m aware.” He doesn’t move, his focus centered on her face, composed and unfazed. “Prentiss, do you ever get nightmares?” 

“Don’t we all?” She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, revealing a pearl earring. “Occupational hazard.” In her periphery, she can see his face teem with concern. Through teeth, she forces her next words out. “All the time, sir. Sometimes even before I fall asleep.”

“Tonight?” he asks, lowering his voice to a whisper, she nods. “It’s okay to have them, you know. There’s nothing wrong with you. We see and think about things that no one should ever have to witness. We put ourselves in danger nearly every day. It would be concerning if it didn’t get to you.” Her grip on his knee tightens. “The important thing to know is that you’re not alone in this. You are safe tonight. I’m here, Morgan is here, Gideon and Reid are here.” She turns her face into her shoulder for a second and he swears he hears her sniffle. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, Hotch.” 

“I know that you are. I’m just saying that you don't have to be. Whether or not you believe me, you’re a member of this team, not a supporter.” The breeze splashes their skin. It feels nice, sobering them up. “I bet that you’re a really good dad, Hotch. That was nice. Are you going to read me a bedtime story now?” He fails to fend off the smirk from his face. “No, but I will walk you back to your room, wheels up in 90.” She groans as they rise, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. “This is a good look on you.” Her cheeks match the rosiness of her nose as she studies the lines on his face. “Well honestly, Hotch, I would have put money on you not owning a pair of sweats.”

She expects him to wait at the door, to make sure she hasn't locked herself out.  But to her surprise he comes in, watches as she slips her boots off and flings them across the room before falling onto the bed. When she's safely under a blanket, he turns out the light. He hears a muffled thank you followed by more tired ramblings as he’s drawn back to the moonlight. “Hotch?” His hand clutches the lock, “Yes?” “It’s okay if you call me Emily, anytime you want.”

Shutting the door, he smiles to himself. Talking to her had felt so easy, even so, he was still intrigued by her. Between his evening with Reid and Morgan and his twilight conversation with Prentiss, he found himself much lighter. Though they would all carry this loss with them until they crossed paths with Frank again, for now, he felt peace. Something he rarely let himself feel while at work. He really needed to go to bed. 

“Goodnight, Emily.”

[3mcwriting]

Any Fan's Dream, Part 20

Taglist: @secretly-sirens, @zeeader, @imdoingathingmom, @x-theolivia, @ainsley-official, @huntress-artemiss, @hoohoohope, @ourgoddessathena, @wiintaersoldier, @vine-enthusiast, @afraidofshrimp, @myfturn, @im-better-than-your-newborn, , @mjaudrey, @igotthisasajokeyetimstillhere, @starr60, @coldmermaidhologram, @daenerysluvrr, @viperchick47, @marvelwomen-arehot, @mynightandstars

So, recently this fic hasn't had much interaction, and I'm not sure why. One of you told me that it can be buggy and hard to reach, so I'm sorry abt that but if you ever wonder abt updates, I'm gonna start up dating every saturday. Just go to my masterlist, then to the afd masterlist and to the new chapter. Hopefully you're all able to find it now.

Any Fan's Dream Masterlist

Synopsis:

When you look around and see Avengers Tower in front of you and Peter Parker beside you, you wonder how the hell you managed to get into the MCU.

The quinjet landed, the atmosphere inside sobering up.

Everyone was checking their gear, ensuring they had everything they needed before they went into the bunker. 

"Is there anything else we should expect inside?" Steve asked you.

You shook your head, but stopped, remembering something. "Actually- he isn't planning on using the Winter Soldiers inside, he's going to kill them. Shit, I can't believe I forgot to tell you."

"Is there anything else?"

You racked your brain. "Well, he plans to lock you in the room and force you to watch the video of the Starks and Sergeant Barnes, but that's easy enough to avoid if you aren't all in one place."

"Okay." Steve nodded. "Thank you." He turned to the rest of the individuals gathered. "We'll be going in in two groups. 3 and 4."

"There's eight of us, though." Wanda pointed out. "Is somebody staying here?"

Your stomach dropped. 

He better not do what you thought he was going to.

"(y/n) hasn't had enough training for this," Steve stated. He looked at you. "I can't let you go out there. You just had a concussion and you don't have your Iron-Man suit. It isn't safe."

You had to take a moment to reign in your frustration. "It isn't safe for anybody out there. I should be able to go. Plus, I know what he's planning. None of you are tech people, I can help you." Your argument was all over the place, but your points were still valid.

Unfortunately, Steve had more valid points. 

He pulled you aside and spoke to you quietly. "You had less than a month of physical training, you were recently injured, you don't have any sort of equipment or protection, and this man wants to tear the Avengers apart. What do you think would happen if you got killed here?"

"My death wouldn't tear the Avengers apart." You almost scoffed, hating the fact that he had a point in terms of your combat prowess. "I'll stay close to you. I won't engage in fighting. But you have to let me help."

Steve thought about it, eventually coming to the conclusion that with a whole team of them against the one guy, you would probably be safer with them than outside in the quinjet by yourself.

"Fine." Steve conceded. "But you absolutely can't engage. When we start fighting, you get away, okay?"

You mulled it over. "Alright."

"Okay, new plan." Steve spoke up, catching the attention of the rest of the people. "Two groups of four. Wanda, Scott, Clint, and Sam, you're a group. Thor, Bucky, (y/n) and I will be a group. The goal of this is to make sure the team stays together. Make sure nobody gets hurt." Everyone could tell who in particular he was worried about getting hurt. "If you find Zemo, call it in."

~~

You looked at the different hallways, unsure of which way led where.

In the movies they never really focused much on this so you couldn't say you knew which way to go, but who could blame you? You never expected to somehow end up in the MCU so it wasn't like you had studied for it. You just had your memory to go off of, and as good as your memory was in remembering Marvel stuff, you hadn't managed to memorize every moment of every Marvel movie.

You just hoped that you had given them enough time to arrive before Zemo wound up killing all the other Winter Soldiers. After all, they were people like Bucky who had been brainwashed and tortured for decades, they didn't deserve the treatment they'd been subjected to. 

But now, there you were, unsure of which hallway to go down and simply following Bucky and Steve, Thor standing beside you while the two of you followed. 

You weren't stupid. You knew why Steve had told you to stay with Thor. Thor was strong enough to protect you rather easily if need be and Steve himself was too occupied to look out for you. You just wished you'd been able to have more training before this, at least then you would be able to pull your own weight in terms of self-defense. Instead, you were just brought along because the rest of the people there weren't exactly geniuses with technology.

Especially with the people in your group. 

Steve and Bucky weren't exactly caught up on current events, better yet, the technology. Thor wasn't even from Earth and was hopeless with tech.

You were tense, knowing that this was probably one of the most serious moments of your life. You felt doubt start to wiggle its way into your mind, but you pushed that wriggly worm down, instead focusing on how you had just compared doubt to a worm and wondering if your mind was just fucking weird. 

You refocused on the situation at hand, scolding yourself internally because this situation really didn't need you zoning out and getting lost in your mind. That was fine late at night when you were trying to fall asleep, but it could present a bit of a problem if fighting started and you were stuck thinking about doubt as a worm. Well, a wriggly worm to be specific, but-

No. Focus, (y/n).

You took a deep breath, looking around the rather ominous hallways the four of you kept turning down, wrinkling your nose at the smell. It was musty and dusty and you were worried you'd end up sneezing and give away where you were. That wouldn't be ideal.

Steve and Bucky climbed up a couple steps, you and Thor following right behind them.

In the movie, Bucky had led Steve and Tony to the large room that held the Winter Soldiers, so you assumed that was what was going to happen now. But you were concerned. In the movie Zemo had made a trap for them. With the plot changed, you didn't know if you had arrived early enough to stop Zemo before his trap was set and the Winter Soldiers were killed.

You arrived in the room and there they were.

It was dark, so dark that if the containers the people were kept in didn't have their own light, you would be blind to your surroundings. You took in a sharp breath, looking at the people sitting in those strange cells. You wanted nothing more than to run up to each of those cells and inspect the glass, ensure that there weren't any bullet holes and the people behind the glass weren't murdered in their inhumane confines.

But you knew you couldn't do that. That would be stupid. So you stayed behind Steve, looking at the cages and trying to discern if someone had indeed shot through them. Unfortunately, the lighting as bad as it was, you were going to have to get closer to actually tell.

As you moved closer, you felt your anticipation grow. From what you could see, none of the cells had any holes in them. 

You almost gasped, but restrained yourself. Unless you were missing something or your eyes weren't reliable, none of the Winter Soldiers had been killed. Sure, they all looked dead because of whatever cryo-freeze thing that Hydra put them in, but none of them had the execution style shot in their head.

Zemo hadn't yet shot them.

You'd arrived before he could do so. 

It wasn't a great time to do so, but you almost smiled. After all, that meant you had managed to change the plot enough that Steve and Bucky were able to arrive before Zemo could set up his plan. It also meant that these six lives hadn't been lost. 

You were already thinking about if you could convince T'Challa to take them back to Wakanda and get them the treatment Bucky was able to get there. With that, maybe those people would be able to escape Hydra's influence and finally be able to live for themselves.

"I was going to get rid of them before you arrived, but I suppose I can do that later." Helmut Zemo's voice crackled over the old intercom.

Steve and Bucky instantly went tense and battle-ready. Thor moved closer to you, ready to shield you from whatever was going to happen.

"Unfortunately," Zemo continued, "I didn't expect your arrival so soon. But as I said before, I can deal with that later."

"You killed innocent people to bring us here," Steve's voice held an undercurrent of anger you'd never heard in person before. "Why?"

"An unfortunate necessity," Zemo conceded, "I do apologize to you for any injuries you might've retained, (y/n)(l/n). The bombing was important to the plan, although the deaths are regrettable."

You almost said 'No problem' out of habit but managed to stop yourself from doing so because it was just a bit of a problem.

"Don't speak to her," Steve ordered. "You caused so much pain. For what?"

"I thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you." 

You knew why Zemo had done what he did, and while it was tragic, it didn't excuse bombing a building. 

"Again, my apologies, (y/n)(l/n). I never wanted to hurt any children."

You almost felt insulted by that but then realized it was probably best to just ignore the statement. There were, after all, more important things to worry about. Besides, you felt uneasy. Sure, you knew things were much better than in the movie but you had the horrible sense that something was going to go horrendously wrong. 

Your eyes swept the room, roving over the six empty glowing cells, the corners hidden by shadows, the-

Wait a fucking minute-

Empty cells?

Oh, fuck.

"Guys, the cell things are empty," you alerted the people with you. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuck where were they?

You flinched when the lights in the cells went out, darkness crashing down like a tidal wave, ready to pull you beneath and leave you never to be seen again.

"As I said before," Zemo's voice came over the intercom again, "I did not expect you all so soon. And unfortunately, the Iron-Man isn't here, which messes up another plan of mine. You really have thwarted a couple of my plans and it is quite annoying; but as you Americans say, 'the show must go on'."

"I know he said he was going to kill them, but I think he decided to give them one last go before he did." You tried to control your voice as you spoke, but it was rising as you got more nervous. You looked around uselessly, the darkness too thick for you to see anybody or anything. You felt the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up, every muscle in your body tensing as your nerves rose.

You reached out, knowing Thor was right beside you only a couple feet from you when the lights went out. "Thor, are you there?"

"I am right here, Lady (y/n)." You felt relief wash over you when you heard his voice. "Do not move, Lady (y/n), let me find you."

"Okay." Even with the comfort Thor brought you, every moment of silence in that pitch-black room made you more and more uneasy. 

You felt a hand reach out and grab your arm, almost giving you a heart attack.

"Lady (y/n), is that you?"

"Ye-" 

Your words were cut off, a hand covering your mouth while another one wrapped around your waist and pulled you backward. You tried to scream, but the hand over your mouth only muffled the noise. Remembering the training Natasha had taught you, you desperately tried to get out of the assaulter's grasp but to no avail. Your movements were too slow, too amateur to work on an assassin trained for decades. 

"Lady (y/n), where did you go?" Thor's voice held uncharacteristic urgency. "Lady (y/n)?"

"(y/n)!" Now Steve's voice was breaking through the silence, the cry of your name reaching your ears and while you wanted nothing more than to respond, you were left to try to scream, again only muffled noises. 

"I think I heard her," Bucky's voice popped up. "(y/n), try to make as much noise as possible."

You screamed, the noise still muffled but louder than before. The person holding you wrapped an arm around your throat, applying pressure slowly. You tried to claw at their arm, use your legs to knock them off balance, but nothing worked. They were too strong, stance too sturdy, and far too well trained for your efforts to do much more than annoy them. 

You clawed desperately at the arm as the person but more and more pressure on your throat. Although the arm was only choking you for mere seconds, it felt never-ending. Something was happening to you, your airway being closed off, you felt like you were...you couldn't- you couldn't....breathe...

~~

The lights in the cells turned back on, leaving Steve, Thor, and Bucky looking for you anxiously. Unfortunately, they weren't left with much time to search for you when six people came out of the shadows and decided to attack.

"WHERE IS LADY (Y/N)?" Thor thundered, voice rough thunder is loud. 

Steve was focused, desperately trying to keep the two assassins back but too distracted by looking for you to focus. He had let you come along with them, he had allowed this to happen. If you were dead....

No, you couldn't be dead. 

"YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHERE SHE IS? FINE, I HAVE NO NEED FOR YOU THEN." Slamming his hammer on the floor, Thor sent out shocks of electricity at the two people trying to attack him, knocking them unconscious. In quick succession, he managed to render the rest of the assassins unconscious as well. 

No longer occupied by trying to defend himself, Steve searched the room for you; Bucky and Thor followed his lead. 

They looked up as footsteps approached, running footsteps. 

Instantly on guard again, they all tensed, ready to fight the newcomers.

Wanda emerged, Scott behind her. A few moments later, Clint and Same came in, escorting a bound Helmut Zemo with them. 

Footsteps loud against the stone floor, Steve stormed over to the incapacitated man. "Where is she." His words a demand for answers, not a question.

"I told you I did not want the death of a child on my mind." Was all Zemo said. 

Wanda tilted her head. "He ordered one of the Winter Soldiers to knock her unconscious before the fighting began." She had read his mind, desperate to find out where her friend was.

Weak coughing was heard from one of the shadowy corners. "I...I'm over here."

[jazzsstash]

Bad Flux

Jazz woke up with his denta clamped shut and his servos locked to the side of his berth. He vented silently once, twice. Once he could pry his own servos off the berth, he checked his grappling cable, extending and retracting it. It was in one piece. It hadn't gone snap, recoiling hard enough to send him reeling backwards. A blue and red chassis hadn't tumbled down a cliff and gone crack-

He was going to need to check if he wanted to get any more recharge.

Jazz opened his room's vent with practiced motions, sliding neatly into it. A quick ping to Red Alert ensured that he wouldn't be mistaken for an intruder. He ignored the return ping's insistence that he should have filed a schedule in advance. Normally, he preferred the halls, but he wasn't up to performing right now. Red Alert was going to be checking the vent cameras no matter what Jazz replied with, he could figure that out for himself.

It wasn't exactly difficult to traverse the vents. They were sized for maintenance, making sure they could care for the Ark while she slept. Jazz's flexibility meant he was second only to minibots and cassettes when it came to working in the vents, and the top choice for any area that required a delicate servo or top level security clearance. He could navigate to Optimus's habsuite by vent without onlining his optics.

A quiet, fond exvent escaped him as he neared it. The suspiciously datapad-shaped glow at Optimus's desk indicated that he definitely wasn't going to be waking his Prime. He clattered the vent politely before dropping in. It wasn't polite to activate someone's combat protocols when they were supposed to be recharging, regardless of if they were actually doing so.

"Good evening, Jazz," Optimus greeted him as Jazz fixed the vent cover back into place behind himself. Jazz huffed softly at his tone. The mech acted like they were in the mess hall rather than Jazz catching him skipping recharge for… he crossed the room to crane his neck at the datapad.

"Are those resumes?" Jazz demanded, half indignant that he was learning about a potential new crew member via snooping. He was supposed to be one of the first mechs consulted about additions. "For what?"

Optimus's audials dipped sheepishly. "It has come to my attention that it may be prudent for us to bring on a doctor familiar with human physiology, given how close some humans are to our operations."

"By which ya mean Ratchet bitched about that he can't fix Sparkplug up if he an' Wheeljack get too creative," Jazz interpreted, settling one of his servoes on his waist.

"…perhaps," Optimus conceded, optics not meeting Jazz's.

Jazz shook his helm, venting lightly. "Prime, don't be doing this now. Ratchet and I'll need ta check it over anyway. Skippin' recharge'll have him on your aft the whole time, and you both hate when he has to be a hardaft about your health."

"And what are you doing here, then?" Optimus grumbled, hunching over the datapad.

Jazz looked away, pulling his EM field close to his body. He didn't make a sound. He didn't think that he could admit aloud that he'd had a bad recharge flux and run to Optimus like a newbuild to their mentor.

Optimus's attention immediately shifted, datapad switched off and set on the desk without a thought. "Jazz," he coaxed softly. "Come here."

Jazz hesitated. He was supposed to be the second, standing at Optimus's shoulder. Strong enough to back his every decision, not weak enough to need to hide behind him.

"Please?" Optimus's servo was stretched towards him, hopeful. His optics were bright, kind, and warm. Jazz couldn't help but overlay the image in front of him with the moment when Optimus had asked him - for a Prime, the mech hated giving orders - to be his second.

His ability to resist Optimus's honest kindness had not improved.

Jazz took it, and let Optimus tug them both into his berth. The hauler turned warframe, strong enough to haul Skyfire when they were both wheeled, applied only the gentlest pressure to guide them both into position. When Optimus was pleased with how they were settled, he was curled close enough to hear his friend's spark humming, but able to see the habsuite door. His servos were both free, and Optimus's own back was nestled against a solid wall.

Primus, he loved this mech.

"Recharge well, Jazz," Optimus rumbled gently. "All will be well."

Jazz believed him.

He sank into recharge in the safest position he knew of, and there were no more fluxes.

Available on AO3 here.

[lire-casander]

#10 having a fight with just looks

having a fight with just looks original prompt list here

Marjan is certainly not hitting it off with Mr. Harry-Potter-Is-My-Middle-Name. Carlos can see it; he's sure everyone in this damn restaurant can see it. The only ones visibly unaware of that fact are the guy sitting in front of them and Captain Oblivious — TK is obviously enjoying himself as he needs out with the guy whose name Carlos has already forgotten.

It's not that he wouldn't have enjoyed this conversation had the situation been different. But they're here for Marjan, and she understands next to nothing of what the man across the table is babbling about. Still, she hasn't played the popcorn card yet, which Carlos finds weird. She's visibly uncomfortable, although he would dare to say that not as awkward as she'd been with the jerk who told her she wasn't way past her prime.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning slightly into her during one of the guy's heated arguments about why Ron and Hermione were star-crossed lovers, "I can tell you're not having fun, Marj. Just say the word and we'll start Operation Extrication."

"I can't," she whispers back. She waves her hand discreetly toward TK. "He seems to be having so much fun."

"Well, we can set up a playdate for them," Carlos jokes. "Just know I have your back."

"Oh," the guy suddenly breathes out, interrupting his tirade. "I see you two cozy over there. I thought you said they were your brothers? Brothers-in-law?"

Carlos can feel TK tensing up by his side. He also doesn't particularly like what the other man is implying, and he definitely can see the turmoil in his fiancé's eyes.

"Brothers," he states simply at the same time as Marjan explains, "Brothers I love getting popcorn with."

"I don't think I—"

"I need to go to the toilet," Marjan adds, getting up. "If you'll excuse me."

And, just like that, she leaves them with Mr. Harry Potter Wannabe. TK fidgets uncomfortable beside Carlos, so much so that it makes him cringe. The uneasiness doesn't help with the heavy silence that's descended upon them.

Mr. Harry Potter Wannabe cleats his throat. "So, uh, you two close to Marjan?"

"Pretty much," TK deadpans, his voice teetering dangerously toward the icy tone Carlos knows he uses when someone angers him. "You could say we're brothers and sister. We're very protective of her."

"But you aren't actually related, are you?" the other man keeps going, unaware of the way TK's anger builds up.

"TK, you should go check on Marj," Carlos intervenes, squeezing TK’s hand to divert his attention to him. "It seems to me she's taking quite some time."

"No, we're not actually related," TK replies to the other man, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Carlos. "But that doesn't—"

"TK," Carlos says, a little more authoritative than he would have liked. But it serves its purpose, as TK finally looks up at him. Carlos tries to convey in one glance what he really wants — the Carlos Cow Eyes that his fiancé wishes to get trademarked forgotten in favor of the Officer Reyes Look.

He can see TK's inner turmoil; his fiancé looks back at him with determination, telling Carlos with just a look that he's not letting this go, that he's not allowing this man to disrespect them and Marjan in such a way. Carlos shakes his head almost imperceptibly, blinking in a way to let TK know that he agrees but they're better than a petty fight in a crowded restaurant.

The battle between them keeps going for a few seconds, Carlos relentlessly staring down at TK in an effort to keep him from making a mistake.

"I'll go check on Marj," TK finally concedes. "Could you please—"

"I'll take care of this," Carlos promises.

When TK leaves the table as well, Carlos stares down at Mr. Harry Potter Wannabe with what he knows is an evil smile. His inner self is already rubbing his hands in delight.

“Now,” he says slowly. “I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to grab your things and you’re going to apologize for having insulted Marjan in such a way.”

“I haven’t—”

“Oh, yes, yes, you have,” Carlos murmurs. “What were you looking for, exactly, when you even mentioned how cozy my sister in amrs and I were? I sure think it wasn’t chitchat. So, as I was saying, when Marj comes back you’re going to apologize and you’re going to leave. Don’t worry about the bill, we’ll cover it. Understood?”

The look in the guy’s eyes was of pure terror, but when Marjan came back with TK, he apologized profusely before stumbling his way out of the restaurant. Carlos had never seen Marjan more relieved in his life than when the guy left them to pay the bill and enjoy the rest of their afternoon doing something they all liked: being together.

[not-a-fever-dream]

I'll ALWAYS have a soft spot for these two. And this was such a wonderful read, Cass.

Here for reader just going, you know what I look hot in this so I'm just going to wear it. And here for Rooster showing up a bit early possibly too excited for this date.

“Okay. End him,” you hyped yourself barely above a whisper, pointing at yourself in the mirror. “Wait, no - don’t endhim. Make him really happy to see you,” you corrected yourself.

This made me laugh more than it should.

“You’re everything.”

UGH BRAD BRAD.

He laughed, standing back to his full height (so tall and handsome as hell) and took your hand.

Totally started singing to the so tall part.

“Nah, I just have a thing for you in heels.”

I FAINT. I'm living for romantic Bradley, though. I LOVE THIS.

“I want to make you really happy, sweet girl,” he breathed and kissed you, softly. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better this week. Thought I knew all I needed to know and now I kind of feel like I don’t know anything.”

“I want to know everything, baby,” he said firmly. “I need to know everything. What makes you smile, what’s your favourite smell, what turns you on? All of it.”

HE IS KILLING ME

You wanted to joke the answer to all those questions would probably be him, Bradley. You hummed, preferring to keep your trap shut. “I didn’t take you for a romantic, Rooster,” you declared.

“I don’t think I am a huge romantic,” he conceded. “I did want to put on a bit of a show for you, though. I want to impress you, make you feel special.”

I don't want to be a romantic for anyone else but you kind of makes my heart race

“You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You kind of gave me these puppy dog eyes every time I was around. You were a bit young for me though,” he reminded you. “What were you, 13, 14?”

“You were 17!” You wanted the ocean to drag you out and never be seen again. “I’m so embarrassed,” you laughed weakly.

“Don’t be. Feel vindicated!” He winked. “You’ve got me falling over myself for you now. You got what you wanted.”

THE CRUSH! And yes feel vindicated girly! YESSS

“I knew I was ready to do something to get your attention. It was good timing, I guess? But I just didn’t think… you were into me the way I was into you? And I’m still not sure you are… but I think you’re starting to believe that whatever this is between us is real.”

MY HEART. Getting to see these two fall in love is an absolute delight.

“Can I take it off?” he begged quietly. You nodded as he stood up to brush the shoulders of the dress away, the material slipping to the floor. “Jesus Christ,” Rooster’s mouth went dry as the dress you wore now pooled around your feet. Bathed in the lingerie, that frankly left absolutely nothing to the imagination, Rooster chewed his tongue, almost tasting blood. “I am so scared I’ll cum before I’m even in you,” he confessed, his hands pushing back your mussed hair and dragging you to him, fingers digging into your hips, the pressure of your body against his firm cock giving him a momentary respite.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

“If only you could get a commendation for that…” you managed. He laughed quietly.

Phew. Is it hot in here or just me?

“But I do want to - I want you,” you reassured him and he held back his smile. “Is our friendship over?” you asked suddenly.

“Well, yeah,” he laughed quietly. “I just ate you out and made you cum pretty hard, so there’s really no going back from here.”

You covered your mouth with a laugh. “Shut up, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

“This is entirely the time for jokes,” he corrected, his smile a little bit wild. “Don’t take this so seriously. We’re here for fun. A lot of fun,” he corrected himself. “Just relax,” he moved to sit up and sat on his knees before you. He gently took your face in his palms. “We got through the hardest part. From here on in, it’s all about us and how we enjoy ourselves, okay?” he kissed you. “You want to stop?”

THIS IS IT REALLY. Like yes, it's the start of something wonderful and fun!

You felt like you were levitating. You knew it’d be good, but Rooster Bradshaw’s body was made for you. His strength, his masculinity, his unwavering self-assurance that he wanted your first time together to be something you’d never dream of forgetting.

This is an image I won't be able to get out of my head

And that one percent call out! UGH I LOVE THIS

The Relationship Experience - four

three.

It was Friday.

Babies had been born, threenagers refused to sleep, and the world kept spinning but it was finally D-Day. Your first date with Rooster was approaching and you had no idea what was coming. Hard to say his last text didn’t exactly expel any confusion.

Rooster 🐓: This is super late notice, but I need you to wear something comfy tonight. I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be there at 7 x

Looking at the dress freshly steamed in the bathroom, you panicked. It certainly didn’t look like it fit the comfy bill, but it filled the ‘wine me, dine me, fuck me’ bill…

Keep reading

[sothischickshe]

ok, so ive been obsessed with the euro 2020 mascot, and he gets no love from tumblr. this is a crime.

haha well, im proud of you for being the change you want to see in the world. skillzy has a liiiiil too much of the uncanny valley for me though 😱

[greetings-and-salutations]

“Don’t You Forget About Me.”

Steve Harrington x Reader

Day 9 of the Stranger Things Summer Write-a-Thon!!!

Masterlist

(Gif not mine)

Requested? No

Summary: Steve worries graduation will change things. Even not knowing exactly what it is his future holds, he can’t see it without his girl…

Warnings: starred out swear words, talking about being apart for a long time, pouty Steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (a grade under him)

Won't you come see about me?

I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby…

“TELL ME YOUR TROUBLES AND DOUBTS, GIVING EVERYTHING INSIDE AND OUT AND-“

“Dear lord, please stop!”

Steve ignored (Y/n)’s giggly pleas, and continued on with his terrible sing-a-long.

“LOVE’S STRANGE, SO REAL IN THE DARK, THINK OF THE TENDER THINGS THAT WE WERE WORKING ON-“

“Steve!”

“Okay, okay…” He finally conceded, falling onto his back on the girls bed, and tilting his head to watch her spinning carelessly in her desk chair across the room.

After a long school day, the two had planned on doing their homework together at her place. But, as per usual, they’d only gotten so far before Steve’s mind had wandered to other things; that being, currently, that song from the new movie “the Breakfast Club” playing on the radio.

Don’t you forget about me…

He really should be studying. He would be graduating in a few months, but it was hard to concentrate when he knew that as soon as he got his diploma he’d be off to some stuffy college, and his (Y/n) would remain in Hawkins.

“You sure I can’t just flunk Ms. O’Donnell’s final exam and stay here with you for another year?” Steve asked, pouting like a sad little puppy when (Y/n) gave him a disapproving look.

“You know I wish you could. But we also knew this was coming.” She answered with a forlorn expression of her own. Steve outwardly groaned.

“I didn’t think it’d be so soon.” He complained, making the girl giggle a little at his over-dramatics.

“We’ve still got a few more months.” She pointed out, but Steve just couldn’t push the thoughts from his head.

“I just wish…” He trailed off, a light blush dusting his cheeks, as his mind wandered again, though this time with no ‘Simple Minds’ involved…

“What?” (Y/n) asked, pulling him from his daydream.

“Have you ever though about…” Steve began, hoping she wasn’t paying close enough attention to notice his red cheeks.“About the future?”

(Y/n)’s face scrunched up a little in confusion.

“You mean like after graduation?” She asked, clearly not understanding what he was getting at, which Steve couldn’t exactly blame her for. They’d never really spoken about things like this before.

“No like, after everything…” He sat up fully to look at her, trying to gauge her reaction as he continued. “I have. I’ve thought about it.”

“What have you thought about?” (Y/n) asked, moving from her chair to join him on the bed, their knees bumping slightly at their close proximity. Steve looked down at the touch with a small smile.

“You, mostly.” He revealed, earning a wide-eyed look from the girl. Had he said too much?

“Me?” She asked after a second, a disbelief in her tone that had Steve’s smile dropping into a little frown. Did she not think he would? Sure, he didn’t talk about it much, but Steve had always figured he’d made his intentions fairly clear when it came to where their relationship was going.

“Of course. I’m always thinking about you.” He assured, causing the girl to smile down at her lap with pink cheeks.

“So, what’s our future look like?” She asked after a moment, Steve grinning at the motivation to continue.

“I don’t know yet.” He admitted, before reaching over and grabbing (Y/n)’s hands in his tightly. “But what I do know is that you’re in it. He*l, you are it. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Now, Steve knew the underlying meaning of his words, but he hadn’t expected for the girl to read between the lines so quickly. But, with a squeeze of his hands, (Y/n) made to ease his worries, in the way only she could.

“Steve…” She began, the boy turning to look into her eyes as she spoke. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna go off to college, study things you’re passionate about, become whatever you wanna be, and then we’re gonna meet back right here, and it’ll be you and me against the world. And we can be happy and in love for the rest of our lives if that’s what you want.” Her tone hitched up at the end in question, but Steve didn’t even need to think about his answer.

“I want that so much.” He whispered, irrationally fearing if he spoke any louder he’d scare her away. But (Y/n) just smiled beautifully.

“Then don’t worry so much. We can handle anything. College’ll breeze by. And we’ll see each other when you come home to visit, and everything’s gonna be just fine.”

“Promise?” He asked, concern still evident in his tone, but it melted away as the girl smiled back at him.

“I promise.”

Steve’s worries of the future were still there, hanging out at the back of his mind. But, when (Y/n) looked at him the was she was now, he knew that they’d be okay. They could get through this. They could get through anything.

When you walk on by

And you call my name

When you walk on by

And you call my name…

Tag lists are open!!!

Tags: @electriclcvewp @kaqua @m-rae23 @yellenabelovaa @peachycupotea

[wanderinginksplot]

Riye (A Favor) - Alpha-17/f!Reader fic

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Third installment of my Alpha-17/fem!reader fic!

Word-Count: 3,100

Warnings: aggressive flirtation, Alpha is rude.

---

You carefully straightened the neckline of your shirt, eyes on the refresher mirror. It might be silly, but today marked a full month since you had come to Kamino, and you wanted to look your best.

Your outfit had survived the morning, despite a meeting with several Kaminoans who wanted updates on your progress. You had been able to deliver good news - that you were right on schedule - but a sense of doubt overshadowed any triumph you might have felt. The first deadline had been met, but the next one promised to step up the workload, and you were already feeling overwhelmed at the idea.

Still, you were determined to push the negativity out of your mind. You would figure out a better schedule to complete the work later. Today was a celebration.

The bad thing about taking more care with your appearance was that it attracted more attention than usual from the cadets. You had politely turned away two different groups of young men by the time Alpha was due to arrive in the cafeteria. Another cadet - alone, this time - was doing his best to keep from being dismissed as well.

"Was it raining when you came in, ma’am?" he asked, leaning over you. "I have flight drills after this and it gets even more dangerous in the rain."

You did your best not to smile at the obvious way he was hinting about being a pilot. "You know, I think it was raining the last time I was near a window," you told him, voice grave.

"Then I'm going to need some luck to survive," he said dramatically, flashing you a smile he clearly hoped would be charming. "I've heard a kiss from a beautiful woman is a good start. What do you think? It might help me survive the afternoon."

"I wouldn't count on it," a dark voice warned.

The cadet stood as straight as possible as Alpha approached. The captain brushed your new pilot friend aside with a twist of his armored shoulders and sat down. He proceeded to start eating, ignoring the cadet completely.

Any other cadet would have backed away, thankful that Alpha hadn't decided to throw them directly into the oceans of Kamino, but this one was more determined than most.

He winked at you from behind Alpha's head. "By the way, my name is-"

"She doesn't want to know your name," Alpha told him. "Get out of here before I decide that I want to know it."

"Very flattering, Captain," the cadet said cheekily. "But Jango's face isn't the one I want to wake up to, yeah?"

Alpha swallowed his mouthful of food and deliberately set his fork aside, standing slowly from the table. He drew up to his full height before turning around. He was taller than the cadet, forcing the younger man to look up.

"Now I'm extremely interested," Alpha said slowly, his slow and methodical voice dripping with menace. "What's your designation?"

Behind him, you winced. You hated how glaringly obvious it was that the Kaminoans considered these men products. Also, this cadet might die in front of you and that would almost certainly ruin your ability to eat in the cafeteria anymore.

"CT-7115," the cadet said with a grin.

"Ah, part of Zackra Trem's group." Alpha raised his comlink. "Trem."

"Alpha," a female voice returned immediately.

"I've got one of your pilot cadets here in the cafeteria. 7115."

"Broadside," Trem said, clearly recognizing the number. "He's one of my best, Alpha. Don't break him too badly."

"No promises," Alpha replied, turning slightly back toward Broadside. Since you were seated directly behind Alpha, you couldn't see his expression yourself, but it was enough to make Broadside's grin slip for the first time.

"I'll make you a deal," Trem offered. "I'll give him hell here and then send him back to you tonight. I'm sure he could help you demonstrate something unpleasant to your ARCs."

Alpha considered that for a long moment while Broadside shifted uncomfortably. Eventually, he conceded, "That works."

Trem laughed. "Do I even wanna know what he did to you?"

"Harassed an uninterested female."

The laughter emanating from the comlink's speakers cut off abruptly. "In that case, I think we should coordinate punishments. I'll be in touch, Captain."

The transmission cut off suddenly and Alpha looked at Broadside once more. "You had best get to your training, son."

Broadside, looking suddenly concerned, nodded and hurried away. “What was that?” you asked quietly when Alpha had sat down across from you once more.

“I told his superior officer about his behavior.”

“What more than that?” you pressed.

Alpha grinned suddenly, and it was half a snarl. “It just so happens that his superior officer is Zackra Trem. It’s not my story to tell, but she’s got more reason than most to hate that kind of osik behavior.”

You could very well guess the rest of that story. Your heart twisted for Trem, though you had never met her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nice, but she wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment,” Alpha told you, not unkindly. “Feel sorry for your little pilot. She’s a Weequay who ran with Mandalorians for the past few decades. Whatever she makes him do, it won’t be pleasant.”

You chuckled at that, trying not to actually feel sorry for Broadside. In the time you had been hanging around Alpha, most of the cadets had eased up a bit on flirting, but every now and then, someone crossed the line.

Alpha picked his fork up again and shot you an intense look. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Though your immediate instinct was to be embarrassed about being overdressed, even mildly, you rolled your eyes at him. “Anything looks like too much when everyone else wears uniforms all of the time. Remember that day I wore a necklace?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Alpha said, snorting. “A necklace. What are you, a Senator?”

“Your ideas of fancy clothing are extremely skewed, I hope you know that,” you told him, adjusting your collar again.

“Hazards of the job,” Alpha replied with a casual shrug as he returned his focus to his food. “Looks okay, though.”

You paused, staring openly at him. Had Alpha just complimented you? Surely not… The universe wouldn’t survive such unexpected behavior, not without signs that space was collapsing in on itself.

Alpha noticed you watching him and lifted an eyebrow in question while he chewed. You just shook your head and applied yourself to your own lunch, avoiding his curious eyes. Explaining your thought process there would be an intensive effort, especially if your goal was to keep him from being uncomfortable.

Fortunately, avoiding Alpha’s eyes let you notice the approaching cadet sooner than your companion did, and you had time to brace yourself before the young man - even younger than you were used to seeing - opened his mouth.

“Excuse me-”

“Kriff,” Alpha said loudly, dark brows crashing down over his eyes. “Go away, kid. I’ve already ruined one cadet’s day and I have no problem adding to the list. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“N-no, sir, of course not,” the cadet told him, nodding respectfully at you as he went on. “I wanted to talk to you. Is it true you served with General Kenobi?”

"What?" Alpha asked, sounding uncertain for the first time since you had met him. You quirked your brows, unsure of whether to be amused or concerned.

"General Kenobi," the cadet repeated. "And General Skywalker, too! I heard you went on a mission with both of them. What was it like?"

"Look, kid, I don't have time to answer all your questions about Jedi-"

"That's fine!" the cadet told him. "I already know everything there is to know about the Jedi. I want to know more about your experience, specifically."

The muscles in Alpha's jaw flexed and you quickly interrupted. "What's your name?"

"Dogma, ma'am," the cadet told you, making an apologetic face. "I know names are against regulations, but my batchers won't stop calling me that. My designation is CT-4287."

“Nice to meet you, Dogma,” you said politely.

Dogma's cheeks darkened and he gave a tight nod. "You too, ma'am."

"Stop flirting with the poor boy," Alpha chided and you gaped at the captain. So much for trying to help him.

"Dogma, I'm sure Captain Alpha would love to answer any question you have," you told the young cadet, grinning triumphantly at Alpha.

"Wait," Alpha ordered, catching at your wrist before you could stand up. His hand was ridiculously huge and you found yourself shackled by his gentle grip. "You haven't finished eating."

You grinned wider at him, slipping your wrist out from between his fingers. "I'll take it with me. Have fun, you two!"

Dogma gave a half-hearted wave while Alpha glared.

---

The rest of the afternoon was spent locked away in your office, working on the second major project you had to complete. Your concerns about the deadline were unfortunately proving correct. The icy grip of stress and fear were squeezing your heart, and you were honestly relieved when someone knocked on the door of your office.

“One moment!” you called to the unseen visitor, but they didn’t seem to hear you. Instead, they continued to pound on the door until you opened it. You were unsurprised to see Alpha on the other side, glowering down at you.

“You’re mean for a nat-born,” he grumbled, brushing you aside as he pushed into the office.

After letting the door slide closed once more, you followed him over to your desk and plopped down in your chair. Rather than sit in one of the chairs opposite you, Alpha leaned his hip against the side of your desk, much closer than you were comfortable with.

In a show of belligerence, you crossed your arms and lifted your chin as you replied, “Serves you right for being rude about my outfit.”

“I didn’t say anything bad about your clothes!” Alpha denied, befuddled.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t say anything nice about them, either,” you argued childishly, conveniently forgetting his half-compliment at lunch.

Alpha frowned. “You want me to… talk about clothing with you?”

Well. Put that way, it did sound a little silly. Of all of the things you were sure Alpha did well, deep discussions about fashion might be beyond him. Honestly, they might be beyond you, too. You sighed. “No, I don’t want you to talk about clothing with me, but I was trying to look nice today. I put a lot of effort into this.”

“I don’t understand why,” Alpha said. “You look… fine… every other day.”

“Fine,” you repeated dryly. “Thanks, I was going for fine.”

“I don’t understand what I did wrong.” You were able to hear the growing frustration in his voice. “What do you want me to do?”

“Maybe don’t act like I’m wearing a ballgown to work if I show up wearing a necklace!”

“What is a ballgown?”

You stared at Alpha, the simple question making your brain screech to a halt. It was like a chasm had opened between you, and it made you reconsider a few things. Since you had arrived on Kamino, you had treated the clone troopers as if they were people you might meet out in the galaxy, but that wasn’t exactly true. You still believed that they were people - of course you did - but you were only just coming to realize how different they were from anyone you had ever met. While the troopers shared their own experiences on Kamino and had been trained to be perfect soldiers by the time they shipped out, they were startlingly young by the standards of the rest of the galaxy.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” You fiddled with one of the many datapads littering your desk rather than meet Alpha’s intense gaze. “I am sorry for siccing Dogma on you, though.”

“You should be,” he growled. “He asked ten questions before I could shake him off. Ten!”

“Wow, that’s what? Five days worth of questions?” you teased.

“Five days for you,” Alpha told you seriously. “For anyone else, that’s more than I would ever answer.”

You were unreasonably touched by the reminder that Alpha let you learn things about him that no one else would ever know. Moved by a sudden surge of warmth for the ARC captain, you repeated your prior sentiment, but more fervently. “In that case, I honestly apologize for unleashing Dogma. If there’s anything I can do to make him back off, please let me know.”

Alpha’s stare was level and unwavering. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” you agreed immediately, not understanding what a wildly stupid idea that was. That was fine - you would learn… and it didn’t take long.

That night at dinner, Alpha came in and sat across from you, but instead of starting the meal in silence, he leaned across the table slightly to get your attention. Lowly, he asked, “Are you still willing to help me with Dogma?”

“Yes,” you agreed simply. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah. Flirt with me.”

You fought not to react visibly to that. Carefully keeping your face blank and your voice flat, you replied, “What.”

He leaned even closer, eyes lit with excitement. “I’ve been threatening and trying to alienate Dogma all day, but the only time he was uncomfortable was when you flirted with him.”

“I didn’t flirt with him!” you reminded him. “I just said it was nice to meet him.”

“Fine,” Alpha conceded. “We’ll just have to do better than that if we’re going to convince him to leave me alone.”

Abruptly feeling like this was the worst idea anyone had ever had, you tried to speak in your own defense. “Alpha, I don’t think this is a good idea-”

“You said you would help me,” he reminded firmly. “He’ll be here in a minute. I need your answer.”

Your heart was pounding, one of many warnings that this was a bad idea, but you nodded anyway. Alpha smiled - he actually smiled - and the expression looked menacing on his face. “Good.”

In a moment, he had circled the table to sit beside you, his huge frame making you feel ridiculously tiny in comparison. He wasn't wearing any armor at all now, and you could feel the heat of his skin through what little space there was between you.

You tried not to obviously tense as he spoke next to your ear. "There he is, get ready."

Impossibly, Alpha managed to get closer to you, tugging behind your knee slightly so that you were angled toward him. When he had finished posing you, Alpha’s large hand lifted to cradle your face. His fingers brushed over your cheekbone before trailing down to your jaw.

"My little neverd," he murmured to you, face filled with affection.

You didn't have to feign embarrassment at the warmth in his tone matched with the intense eye contact he was giving you. When you replied, you tried not to sound squeaky but only managed to sound shaky instead. "You know Mando'a is my weakness."

He laughed, a low chuckle that sent delicious chills running over your skin. “Why do you think I use it?”

“Alpha…” you chided, managing to sound mildly flirtatious.

“Come on, little one,” he urged you, voice velvet in a way you hadn’t known it could be. “Let’s go back to your- Ah, one moment, neverd. Dogma, sit down.”

You looked over to see Dogma standing at the other side of the table. You had never even noticed, your entire focus narrowed down to Alpha. Dogma looked as embarrassed as you felt. While you were focused on Dogma, Alpha’s arm snaked around you, pressing against your waist to pull you flush against his side. Your face flamed and Dogma glanced away.

“Sir, I- I’m sorry, I forgot I’m on duty tonight,” Dogma muttered, speaking so quickly it was difficult to understand him.

“Sorry to hear that, cadet,” Alpha replied gravely, flexing his fingers against your side. It made you push a little closer to him in reflex, the tip of your nose brushing the space under his jaw as you tried to look up at him. Alpha shivered, and you weren’t sure how much of the motion was acting. “Maybe later.”

Dogma gave an awkward nod and hurried off.

Alpha started laughing even before he let you go, his muscular chest shaking against your shoulder. After a moment that felt like it had stretched an hour, he pulled his arm back and slid away a bit. You immediately felt the loss of his closeness and suddenly you were horribly uncertain of what expression you were wearing. Just in case it said more than you wanted it to, you looked back at the entrance of the cafeteria.

“I feel bad,” you admitted.

"Don't," Alpha advised, looking toward the door as well. “He’ll be fine. He’s a good soldier, just a little…”

He trailed off, apparently content to let his thought stay incomplete. You glanced over to him with an eyebrow raised, but his eyes were fixed on the door. “You can see every access point in the room from here.”

“That is why I chose this spot,” you agreed.

“Switch with me tomorrow.”

“Not a chance,” you refused. “This is my spot.”

“Then I hope you like sitting next to me,” Alpha told you. Surprised, you laughed up at him and he met your eyes. “You know, I’ve never seen anyone blush on cue.”

“Hidden talent,” you explained vaguely. Alpha didn’t seem convinced, so you changed the subject. “What does neverd mean?”

“Civilian.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. “Civilian? That’s what you used as a term of endearment?”

Alpha blinked blankly at you. “What’s wrong with it? You are a civilian.”

“Yes, but,” you thought over it for a second, “-it’s not very romantic. Usually, people say things like ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart’.”

“How should I have known that?” Alpha asked.

It was the ballgown situation all over again, and more than you were willing to tackle that day. “Well, some warning before you want me to go undercover would be helpful.”

Alpha snorted. “How much warning do you need?”

You pretended to consider that for a moment. “Two business days, minimum.”

He frowned fiercely. “If you get two full days of warning, I expect more. I need you to show up in a disguise with three different accents ready.”

“Harsh terms,” you told him with a smile. “With those negotiation skills, you’d make a great senator."

Alpha gave you the darkest scowl you had ever seen him muster. “Watch it, neverd.”

Idly, you wondered if Alpha would protect you from himself, but the amused glimmer in his dark eyes told you it would be unnecessary.

---

A/N - Pretty sure Broadside is wildly OOC, my bad. Also, sorry for the weird image for this chapter. I didn't really want the text bubbles in there, but I needed to keep Alpha's sassy hip lean.

Taglist - @imabeautifulbutterfly @cagrame @mysticalturtleenthusiast @marvel-starwars-nerd @lackofhonor

[professorspork]

If you're accepting non-superhell prompts, I'd love to see a conversation between Nora and Emerald! I've been REALLY loving these microfics, I've subscribed to you on Ao3, I'll read whatever else you write

[Gahhh that’s so nice you’re so nice!! thanks for being patient on this one, finding my Nora took some doing]

It’s occurring to Emerald that she’s never had a close female friend before.

You say that like you’ve ever had any friends before, the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Mercury needles her, but she brushes it aside. Like—okay, yeah, she’ll concede the point when it comes to Cinder. In hindsight, whatever they’d had going on between them may have been... super intense... but it probably had never been friendship, in the usual definition. But she and Mercury were friends, no matter what the judgy little shitstain version of him who lives in her head has to say about it. They’d always gotten along. Told each other stuff. It’s not like there’s more to it than that, right?

It had always been like that. Been—instinctive somehow, with guys. Before Cinder, on the street, it was always the men who’d been easiest to manipulate; who would empty their pockets for a smile and a sob story. And then she and Merc had been two sides of the same coin for so long, and then... well, Hazel’d liked her enough to die for her, apparently. (Which—that’s a door that she keeps closed, thanks. She shuts it firmly again, now.) Oscar seems fond of her, in a sweet, uncomplicated sort of way that she really doesn’t know what to do with, seeing as he shares headspace with like a trillion year old man and the idea that anything to do with that kid could be “uncomplicated” is batshit. Ren vouched for her once, and then again, and now he keeps doing it, like it’s habit, like she should just be used to the fact that people are going to have her back, to ask her if she’s eaten, to turn to her with a raised eyebrow in conversation like her opinion would be constructive.

Anyway.

Now that she’s noticed the pattern, it seems like the kind of thing she should probably… work on, or whatever. And Nora seems like an obvious place for Emerald to start. They’ve been thrown in together a lot, lately, Emerald and Oscar expected to fill in the gaps of what’s left of the old JNPR by default. Not that they’ve ever really had a conversation about it—Emerald can’t think of the last time Nora said two words to her that weren’t combat warnings like “more Grimm coming” or “on your left,” but. That’s probably just because things have been tense. She remembers Nora being friendly, on the whole of it. Off-puttingly friendly, even, back at Beacon.

How hard could it be?

The answer, it turns out, is absurdly hard. Nora’s barely ever in the temporary barracks they’re all living out of, instead always checking on the refugees, going on supply runs over esoteric requests, volunteering for extra patrols. Emerald used to find that kind of dogged do-goodery gag-inducing, but now that she’s been the helping hand herself a few times, she’s starting to see the appeal. The way people look at you when you’ve been of service, it’s—nice. Really nice. But Nora works utterly thankless jobs, the kind most people don’t even notice, let alone appreciate. And when they have their insufferably long leadership meetings and they’re talking about distribution of resources or whatever, Nora’s a fierce debater—jumping in to advocate for the people from Mantle sometimes even before May can. As far as Emerald can tell, she does this stuff just because... she believes in it. Because it’s the right thing to do, and someone has to.

She can’t imagine what it would feel like, to have the attention of someone like that turned on her. She’s craved it from the wrong people for so long, but now that she has her pick of options... she’s letting herself actually want the right kind, for once. She thinks.

Which is all to say that largely through no fault of her own, Emerald unexpectedly finds herself sitting with a profound, fervent desire for Nora Valkyrie to think she’s cool.

She hates that.

-

Fighting with Nora is easy.

(—er. Alongside. Fighting alongside Nora is easy. Emerald’s done fighting with these people. Very done.)

It’s weird, because Emerald’s finding working with a full team to be a real adjustment. When battles get big enough to merit it, she’s used to keeping to the sidelines to use her Semblance for nefarious purposes, or, in a jam, used to having Mercury’s six—literally, because all the forward momentum from his feet-first style always left his back wide open. Figuring out where to put herself so that Oscar can use her shoulder as a fulcrum as he dodges, or trying to aim for the Grimm Ren isn’t already shooting (ugh)—it’s taking work.

But somehow, it’s not work for Nora. Nora seems to anticipate with perfect ease how Emerald will move or what she’ll be doing; Nora bobs and weaves around their ragtag little band with her war hammer like it’s breathing.

It doesn’t bother Emerald until it does, and she means to bring it up casually but there’s never a good time. So it just… stews, and stews, until she can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

Which means that instead of the earnest question she intends it to be, it comes out like this:

“Okay, seriously? It’s creepy how you do that.”

It’s just the two of them, plus the handful of dweeby Atlesian tech-types they’re escorting back from their foray installing some fancy hydro-filtration modules on the outskirts of the camp. And it’s not like Emerald had felt outmatched by the half-dozen Ravagers that had decided they looked like lunch—she can shoot Ravagers in her sleep, at this point—but still. The way Nora had moved around her, it was like they’d been fighting side by side for years.

Nora just cocks her head to the side. “Do what?” she asks, like she hadn’t just basically read Emerald’s mind in front of the water nerds.

Emerald does a complicated gesture with her hands, wrist over wrist, and then flicking two fingers—trying to evoke the way Nora had flipped over Emerald’s back and then kicked off, just trusting Emerald would reel her back in with a chain in midair before a Grimm could fly away with her sorry ass. “That.”

“Oh!” Nora laughs and rubs at the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing. I guess it’s just not a big deal for me? Like—I was there when Ren built StormFlower. The cables are newish, but we practiced so much back in Atlas… I dunno. It’s just reflex, when your weapons are so similar. Fighting with you, it’s almost like fighting with him. I don’t even have to think about it.”

Nora swallows, then, and makes a face Emerald can’t interpret—disappointed, maybe, or ashamed. Which: good. She probably should be, taking things for granted like that.

“Well—just—” Emerald’s not even sure what she wants to say. Ask, next time? Don’t? “You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your boyfriend, okay?”

The venom she puts behind the word is directed more at herself than Nora—frustrated, again, that she’s put herself in the position of wanting so desperately to be liked.

Pathetic.

Nora just nods, looking glum.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, cheeks pulling in a bitter smile. “You’d think I’d be able to keep that one straight, huh?”

She says it with such pointed irony that for a second Emerald wonders if she’d gotten it wrong somehow, but like—Nora and Ren are a thing, right? That’s—everyone knows that.

“Hey, what—?”

“Let’s just go,” Nora says, and Emerald automatically falls into line behind her.

They make the rest of the walk back in silence.

-

Sometimes at night, when she can’t sleep, Emerald likes to climb up to the roof of the barracks and look out over the refugee camp.

It’s—peaceful, is all. A good reminder of where she is; how far she’s come. The night sky in Vacuo has more stars than she’s ever seen, and being able to watch over all these people who have somehow become her responsibility… well.

A part of her will always be standing on the rooftop at Beacon, looking down on pure chaos as a queasy, frightened sensation twists in her gut and its noxious voice whispers you did this, you did this, you did this. What did you think was going to happen, you stupid little girl? You don’t get to feel sorry for it now.

But she does.

Weird how the only thing that’s helped is actually doing something about it.

She hears a scuffling noise over her shoulder, and she’s got Thief’s Respite drawn and ready before she can even really register what she’s heard. She relaxes when she sees it’s Nora at the other end of the barrels, unarmed and hands raised—a funny little smile on her face, like yeah, fair enough, I should have known better than to try and sneak up.

“Just me,” she says, unnecessarily.

Emerald holsters her guns. “Can I help you?” she asks, and—what is it about her voice, that makes sentences that would be nice if any other human said them come out straight-up hostile?

Nora shrugs, hands dropping to her sides. “I was hoping we could talk; I figured you’d come up here if I waited long enough.”

Well, see—what kind of lesson is she supposed to take from that? She’s been hoping for Nora to talk to her for weeks, and acting like a bitch is the thing that gets her what she wants? Good guys are supposed to know better.

And there’s the way she said it, too. Like everyone knows Emerald comes up here to brood; like it’s a big open secret. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in her stomach, makes her feel watched. Even now, even here, she can’t get a moment alone. Not really.

“What, so you’re spying on me now?”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “I have a pretty bad track record when it comes to losing people. Makes a girl want to put in a little hustle when it comes to keeping tabs on her friends.”

And Emerald would snark at that, or maybe apologize, or something, only—

Nora thinks they’re friends?

“Well, take a seat, I guess,” she mumbles, scooching to the side as though she needs to make room on the massive, empty roof.

Nora walks over and joins Emerald on the asphalt, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Seemingly unsure of where to start, she stares at her hands. Emerald stares too, but her eyes can’t help but wander—tracing the way scars, silvery in the moonlight, spiderweb up Nora’s bare wrists and forearms to fetter her shoulders, clavicle, neck. Like cracks in a pane of glass, right before it shatters.

(Only that’s not it at all, is it? It’s not a sign of weakness, but a warning of strength. I care this much, her scars announce to the word. You wanna try me?

Hazel’s arms always looked like that.)

Emerald doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure that whatever she’d say would be incredibly stupid.

Luckily, Nora has no such qualms, and opens with: “I really admire you, you know?”

Emerald stares, jaw slack, certain she’s heard wrong. “I—what?” She’d say something defensive, like yeah right or you don’t have to make fun of me, only Nora’s eyes are so wide and so guileless they don’t leave any room for argument.

“I mean it,” Nora adds. “I know we don’t know all that much about each other, but… here’s what I do know: I can’t remember a time I saw you without Mercury right behind. Just like me’n Ren. And the way you fought for Cinder…” Nora smiles a sad, private little smile. “You don’t fight like that unless it’s personal; unless someone means something to you. Just like me’n Ren. And now you’re here. All on your own. And you didn’t have to be. That’s—don’t you think that’s crazy brave? I sure do.”

Of course she fucking doesn’t. Crazy brave would have been walking away the first, tenth, hundredth time she had a flash of panic about what she was doing. Or, better yet, doing something about it. Crazy brave is taking thirty thousand volts to get to your friends; it’s flooding your veins with pure crystalline power and saying Go, I’m doing what Gretchen would have done, it’s—

She closes that door.

“It’s not like I really had a choice,” she sighs, dodging the question.

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Nora scoffs dismissively, tilting sideways to nudge Emerald with her shoulder.

And Emerald jolts, because—look, it’s not like no one touches her. They have to manhandle each other all the time in battle, and… and Oscar gives her high fives sometimes, which makes her embarrassingly pleased. But what Nora’s offering now, that kind of buddy-buddy casual contact…

… it’s been a while, is all.

“So, why did you want to talk to me?” Emerald asks, overwhelmed and suddenly desperate to find a way to get this conversation over with. She feels like she’s sprinted five miles; like she’s had the crap kicked out of her and she has to go somewhere to lick her wounds. Too much, too fast.

Nora laughs—a chuffing, cynical noise that doesn’t sound at all like her. “Looking for pointers? See, I’m trying this thing where I do things on my own, but I just—I suck at it. Like today; you saw. Even when I’m not with Ren, all I do is… is act exactly the same way I do when I’m with Ren. Like I literally don’t know how to exist without him, whether he’s actually there or not. And I know that’s not fair to anyone; I didn’t mean to treat you like—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “You’re not just some stand-in. It’s not you at all. I’m just—broken, or something. One trick pony.”

“No, hey—”

“But you figured it out,” she barrels on, which is good, because Emerald doesn’t actually have a clue what she would have said there. “You don’t have anyone and somehow you’re just, like—good to go!” Nora says it cheerily, like it’s a compliment, but has the grace to balk a little when she hears how it sounds. “…sorry. That’s—sorry.”

Emerald shrugs, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She feels like an idiot; building it up for weeks like spending time with Nora would solve all her problems when, surprise surprise, Nora’s just as fucked up as she is.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any hot tips,” she mutters into the crooks of her elbows. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Like—you want to know the really sad part? I was just following your lead.”

“My…?” Nora can’t even finish repeating it, which: Emerald can’t blame her. It’s so dumb. “Huh?”

“Come on. You know.”

“I don’t,” Nora says, voice thick with exhaustion. Like she’s sick of herself. “Ask anyone—I’m not the brains of the operation.”

Hearing Nora talk about herself that way makes Emerald’s chest feel tight; like her ribs have locked in place so her lungs can’t expand. She doesn’t know how to explain it; not without sounding like a starry-eyed fangirl or a moron with a crush and that’s not what this—it’s only that—

She chooses to start a different way.

“You wanna know why I switched sides? Like, really why?”

Nora softens, and reaches out to touch the back of Emerald’s left hand, where it dangles over her knee. “Sure,” she says, but Emerald barely hears it; it’s taking all of her concentration not to clench her fist or pull away in response.

“I overheard Oscar—or, Ozpin, I guess, I don’t know—talking to Hazel about Salem, about her goals. And… listen. No one joins under Salem because they’re trying to kill the world, okay? I mean, no one but Tyrian, anyway. We were all just trying to… find ways to get by. And when Cinder found me, she—” Emerald swallows, hard. This cuts too deep, too close. It’s not something she can just say. “I wasn’t trying to be some big villain, or something. I was just—looking out for the people who were looking out for me. And why wouldn’t I? No one else ever seemed to think I was worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Nora cuts in, quiet but vehement. “Everyone is.”

“See, the worst part is that you mean that when you say it,” Emerald grumbles, scrubbing at her face until smears of color kaleidoscope behind her closed eyes. “I figured people like you didn’t exist, and then Cinder and Merc were glad to prove me right, and—I let them. You know? And maybe if I’d just held out a little longer…”

“You’re not the only one here who’s ashamed of her past. Harriet tried to blow up Mantle, like, a month ago.”

“That’s not—forget that. I’m talking about you. Nora.” It’s the first time she’s ever said her name like that—addressing her, in conversation. It feels… astonishingly intimate, for so small a thing. Emerald powers past it. “Every day, I see you do something ridiculous, like double back on a patrol because you forgot you promised some kid a candy bar, or something, and that—matters. To me. It’s so stupid, but it’s not, because… argh! I want—it’s—” She tries to get her mouth to form the words, that’s the kind of person I want to be, but they stop in her throat.

Still, Nora seems to get the message. Her eyes seem suspiciously shiny for a moment—but when she blinks, it’s gone. “I… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emerald grumbles. Saying it like she means it: seriously. Don’t mention it.

“I understand what you mean, though. For years, the only person who looked out for me was Ren. And if he’d said…” Nora trails off, then, cocking her head to the side as she works through something. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just. I remembered something. I was about to say that if Ren told me the only way for us to get by was a life of crime, or something, I would’ve taken his word for it, but—the opposite happened. We decided to enroll at Beacon. And that wasn’t his idea; it was mine. I always wanted to be a Huntress. To… to be the one strong enough to help people, instead of always needing the help. He wasn’t sure if we would make it, but I was. We were together, right? How could we lose?” She chuckles, a little, shaking her head at herself. “Get a load of that. He followed me.”

They smile at each other, then. Like they’ve figured out something profound. Maybe Nora has; Emerald hopes so.

“I’m glad you’re here, Emerald,” Nora says, and—there it is again. The frisson of electricity that comes with being referred to by name.

Of course, then Emerald ruins it by blurting out:

“Of course you are, all your other friends are dead.”

Which—“Fuck!” she sputters, because she didn’t mean to say that. What is wrong with her? “Sorry! Sorry.”

Nora only grins at her, feral and incisive. “Yeah, well. Yours are evil, so. Pick your poison. At least I’m proud of mine.”

Touché.

“Still glad I’m here?” Emerald jeers, because her first instinct is still to press on the bruise to see how much it hurts.

Nora laughs, and gets to her feet. “Believe it or not, yes. If putting your foot in your mouth was all it took to get booted from Hero Club, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.” She reaches down to offer Emerald a hand; Emerald takes it, letting Nora pull her to standing. “Now go and get some rest, huh? None of us can ever sleep when you’re up here thinking so loud.”

“That an order?”

“Advice. Friends give it, from time to time.”

And—yeah. Maybe they do. 

[teyvattherapist]

Once you write for Baal, I'll request her with Mona and Kazuha with the god of fate.

Like the usual

I also added Thoma per your other inquiry!

tags: m!reader/Baal, m!reader/Mona, m!reader/Kazuha, m!reader/Thoma, God!Reader, Khaenri'ah spoilers, Inazuma archon quest spoilers, just spoilers in general.

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

Khaenri’ah wouldn’t have had any survivors if it hadn’t been for a particular man that seemed unfazed by the battlefield the once prosperous nation of humanity became. Neither Khaenri’ahn nor from Celestia, simply an outlander. Despite showing great fighting prowess and strategic skill, Khaenri’ah had still fallen under the watchful gaze of the man. Of course, this was just a legend, a small rumour only known by the most curious of historians or academics. And even then, it’s debated. With the legacy of Khaenri’ah long gone, all that was left was anecdotal evidence.

Baal

-Divinity, humanity, both pale in comparison to eternity. You were nothing more than something in her way. Much like the rest of Khaenri’ah as a whole. To her you were nothing more than inferior. And she didn’t stop to take the time to investigate like Morax had nor did she take the time to recognise the marks of stars like Barbatos.

-Her ideals quickly shattered when she realised Divine Punishment means nothing when faced by another of her status. A divine being capable of braving the lightning’s glow. Too prideful to admit her defeat she proved to be quite a thorn in your side during the war. But even one whose ideal is closest unto Heaven cannot compete with the one who controlled Fate.

-Baal has all but forgotten the faraway God, too focused on her own ideals, too focused on herself in the present day to remember such an aimless point in time. In a closed off nation tucked away on the sea, talk of your presence in Teyvat went unheard by the Raiden Shogun.

The 100th vision hunt decree ceremony was commemorative. The Goddess turned to face the crowd of onlookers, violet eyes narrowing at an almost familiar face standing towards the back. You lifted your head to her, flashing the Shogun a smile before pulling the notebook from the black and gold cloak. Almost too quickly her attention turned back to the man kneeling at the foot of the statue. Her 100th vision.

Baal lifted her hand, summoning the pyro vision to her and despite the blond’s attempts at keeping his vision they were futile as it soared through the air towards the Goddess. You almost dropped your pen when Aether pushed by you, using his newfound electro abilities as a boost to snatch the vision. An interesting but not surprising turn of events that was scrawled into the notebook.

You watched as she brought her blade up to strike an unconscious Aether. The taller blond managed to get his binds off, throwing the polearm that she then deflected. The blowback caused Aether and Paimon to go flying backwards into the blond. As they ran off she gave the order to seize them under the decree, turning back to look up at the statue. That was your cue to leave, the work had been done for now.

When Baal turned to look back at the crowd she got the glimpse of that cloak that seemed to come back to haunt her departing from the crowd.

Mona

-Ah the great astrologist Mona. One who believes fate cannot be changed nor reversed, merely accepted. How funny an outlook. Though you’d never tell her that, she is for all that she’s worth, a wonderful astrologist. But that was the thing with mortal magicians, even they could get things such as fate wrong.

-She tried only once to glimpse into the mysterious stranger’s destiny. But when one has no destiny, what does she see? The threads of fate themselves have barred her vision into him. To her he is an uncertain piece in what should be absolute certainty.

-This however just makes her curious to know more. She thinks she’s being sneaky as she follows you around to try and garner more information. But Mondstadt isn’t all that big and her hat is very telling.

You narrowed your eyes at the telltale sign of somebody watching you, you lifted your head to look around but there were no more stares than the usual ones that came with being a stranger in a small nation. You did notice, however, a very familiar witch occupying herself with the fruit stand. Could she even afford that? Probably not. You bowed your head to Flora, tucking the windwheel aster behind your ear as you made off.

Mona put the apple back, waiting a few moments before she followed you down the cobblestone path. This was the problem with magicians in every world, always far too curious for their own good. You turned a corner to try and get her off your tail, you had far too much work to do to deal with her nosing around. She was smart, though. You had to give her that as you pressed your back against the wall of the alleyway, waiting for her to go by.

“I just have a question!” Mona popped her head into the alleyway, figures you wouldn’t be able to escape her. Mona looked around before stepping into the alleyway. “You are not from this world and sand clouds my vision every time I try to view your true nature. I am merely intrigued by this turn of events.” She put her hands on her hips, green eyes trying to discern something about you. She was certainly blunt, at least she knew what she wanted at the end of the day.

Her stare was intense as she tried to see through you, but whenever she looked too hard she found herself attempting to shake off invisible strings. You merely offered her a smile, what’s the point in lying to somebody you may not ever see again? “I’m a record keeper of sorts. You have impressive skill, Mona.” The compliment had her smirking, praise would be her undoing. But it at least changed the subject. What a fascinating woman.

Kazuha

-Unsurprisingly or perhaps surprisingly you met him while he fled from the Raiden Shogun’s forces. As in he ran directly into you and nearly dropped the dead vision he was still clutching in his hand. Interesting isn’t it? What a simple change of cloak can do to conceal one’s identity. Always intervening whether or not you should, that seemed to be the staple when it came to Teyvat.

-You did not spend much time with Kazuha beyond that. His path was his to walk and you would not meddle further. Though you knew that he knew, somebody as observant as he would be able to tell, wouldn’t he?

-That was a while ago though. Now you once more found yourself face to face with Kaedehara Kazuha. Or well, less face to face and more in the same area.

“I hope you can afford all these mercs!” Beidou called as she and her crew rushed into battle against the Shogun’s forces. Far enough away to not involve yourself, but close enough to listen to the resulting conversations. You jotted things down, whatever seemed important in the moment, minor details you may forget, a rough draft, if one will.

Kazuha lifted his head after greeting Gorou, eyes scanning the rocks jutting out of the nearby sea on the beach that had become a location of endless bloodshed. And for a moment, he faltered, red eyes widening before narrowing. He should have expected this. You always seemed to be where big things happened. “Kazuha, watch out!” Beidou warned and Kazuha snapped out of it, returning to the battle.

The rain began to start and you safely tucked your notebook away as you watched the rest of the battle. Ultimately Sara called back her forces when Kokomi showed up, the Shogun’s army quickly retreating from the bloody battlefield to rethink their strategy. You held your hand up, rain soaking through your glove. The battlefield cleared itself of most soldiers, Gorou, Beidou, Kazuha, two soldiers, and Aether remained to talk to one another.

Kazuha turned, looking over his shoulder and back at the sea around him. He wondered if you’d come, help like you had helped him back then. He lifted a bandaged hand, no doubt the same hand you had once given him bandages to cover the injury from clasping a dying vision. In turn you gave him a wave. All these people whose lives you have impacted in some way or another. Small things here and there. You wondered how much he knew of your deeds.

Thoma

“State your business here!”

“Oh- he’s a friend! He’s with us.” Aether interrupted the teahouse lady before she could say anything else. The woman huffed but conceded, allowing you to move past her and towards Aether and the taller blond from the ceremony. The teahouse door was opened and you stepped inside with them, pulling your notebook out to take notes. “Thoma, Ayaka this is… Well he doesn’t have a name.” Aether turned his head to look at you and you merely shrugged.

“You may refer to me as the Recordkeeper. Ha, that’s kind of like the Doctor.. I’ll have to write that down.” You make a note in the front of your notebook. Ayaka, Thoma, and Paimon look confused but Aether understood the reference. At least. “I’m merely here to listen. Pretend I’m not here, yes?” And with reassurance from your traveler friend, they did just that. You noted their plans, their ideals, where they’d go. It was all fascinating. A resistance against a God. The last time that happened…

You shook the thoughts, that was then, this is now. You cannot get involved again. Ayaka stood to leave, saying her goodbyes. Aether was gone next, a promise to meet again. That left you with Thoma. “Are you sure you don’t have a name? I feel a job title shouldn’t be a name.” He joked, leaning on his elbows as he watched you write into your notebook. Your pen stopped against the pages, the edge of the D growing thicker. “At least, I think that’s your job, right?”

You looked up from your book, setting the pen down against the pages. He was curious to say the least, despite everything that happened earlier. “I suppose it is my job, yes. I keep records. And I’m known by many names Fate Weaver, the Recordkeeper, God of Fate, I believe I’ve also been referred to as the God of Time once.. That’d be incorrect though.” For a moment something unrecognisable passes through his green eyes before his smile is back on his face.

“How about we call you (Name)? That way you don’t have to admit what and who you really are everywhere you go.”

“(Name)? Hm.. Very well.”

[karahalloway]

Thanksgiving - Part 2

Fandom: TRR - (Un)Common Attraction universe

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series: Thanksgiving

Synopsis: Harper and Drake fly to Bozeman, MT to spend their first Thanksgiving together with Harper's family.

Word count: 5,300

Warnings: M (swearing, angst, fluff)

A/N: So... This was supposed to be a one-shot, that turned into a two-parter that will now end up being a three-part mini series 🙈 I tried to squeeze the rest of the story into this follow-up post, but it there is just too much left to cover, so I will be writing an unplanned third part to wrap this fic up. As before, many of the situations referenced in this fic are based on real life. You can find a more general Author’s Notes in Part 1 and some more specific notes at the end of this instalment.

Something’s off.

What, I can’t quite determine, caught as I am halfway between waking and dreaming... But as I slowly float towards consciousness, I become increasingly certain that something is... if not exactly wrong, but not quite right either.

Then it comes to me.

I’m cold.

Which can mean only one thing...

Opening my eyes, I find the other side of the bed conspicuously empty.

I frown.

Where is Drake?

A rustle of clothing from behind me catches my attention. Pushing myself up, I see that my wayward human radiator is in the process of pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

"What time is it?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes as I reach for the switch of the My Little Pony bedside light.

"Early," he informs me. "Go back to sleep."

"Where... are you going?" I ask around a yawn.

"For a run," he replies, pulling some socks from his suitcase.

I open a disbelieving eye mid-stretch. "On Thanksgiving morning?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Because if last night was any indication of what today has in store for us, then I need to get some cardio in. Otherwise—"

"You're worried you'll get fat?"

"No," he scoffs, reaching into his suitcase for a hoodie. "But I want to work down yesterday's calories before piling on round two. Plus we spent the whole of yesterday sitting, so—"

"You're worried you'll get fat," I surmise with a smirk.

"Hey. This..." he declares, indicating his ridged abs, "...doesn't just happen by itself. It takes dedication and discipline."

"Which is very much appreciated," I assure him as he yanks the hoodie down. "But, surely you can take one day off?"

"Yeah, probably," he acknowledges. "But, I've been up for about an hour already because of the jetlag. So, may as well make use of the extra time. I should be back before y'all get up."

"Okay," I concede, pulling the blanket up my chest to ward off the morning chill, given that I’m still naked after last night's impromptu lovemaking. "Just watch out for moose."

"Moose?"

"Yeah. They sometimes wander into the neighbourhood, especially around dawn and dusk. And when it's dark, you basically don't see them until you're right on top of one."

He flashes me a sceptical look as he roots around his backpack. "Aren't they just like... big deer?"

"Yeah. But with one major difference."

He quirks a wry brow as he locates his headphones. "They have bigger antlers?"

"They will charge you if they think you're a threat. Especially if you happen upon a mother with a calf."

He mulls this over for a second before nodding. "Right. Stay clear of the big ass, murderous elk. Anything else?"

"You probably want to take my keys."

"I was planning on climbing out your window, actually..."

I throw the pillow at him.

He snatches it out of the air and flings it back at me in one smooth motion.

"You are way too awake for whatever time it is..." I grumble, catching the pillow just before it hit my face.

"Told ya," he smirks, grabbing a pair of trainers from his bag. "I've been up for an hour already. Where are your keys?"

"In my bag..." After a moment's contemplation, I add, "Which is still on the bench by the front door."

"Yeah, I remember," he nods, stepping over to drop a kiss in my hair. "I'll be back in a bit."

I grab his hand to give it a squeeze. "Just be careful. Not all the roads have sidewalks."

"I will," he assures me, tightening his fingers around mine. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

He leans in to press a soft kiss against my lips before flicking the bedside light off and making his way quietly out of the room.

I flop back onto my pillow.

But, as groggy as I am feeling after jetting across eight time zones, falling asleep again without Drake's warm and comforting presence next to me is proving to be difficult.

So, after the third failed attempt of trying to roll over to get comfy, I throw the blankets back and step onto the cold hardwood floor.

Since I never made it to the bathroom yesterday, I decide to take advantage of the fact that my brothers are still snoring soundly and there would be no line up for the shower. Flicking on the bedside lamp again, I pad over to my suitcase to grab my toiletry bag before filching the shirt that Drake had worn yesterday to wear as a makeshift dressing gown on the off chance that I end up bumping into someone in the hallway.

I make a quick pit stop at the linen closet to grab a towel for myself and Drake — as he'll no doubt want a shower when he gets back from his run — before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door.

Tapping the light-switch on (as well as the underfloor heating), I pull a face when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I must've drooled into my hair or something, because one side is sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, while the other side looks like it had been run over by a steam iron, falling down my shoulder in flat, lifeless strands.

Dropping my toiletry bag onto the vanity — that is littered with an entire Walgreen's-worth of men's grooming products courtesy of my brothers, who still live at home — I turn the shower on and begin pulling out the items I need while I wait for the water to warm up.

After waiting a minute or two, I test the water before stepping into the shower and pulling the door closed. I sigh contentedly as the hot spray hits my body, feeling it start to warm my bones. I'd forgotten how cold the house got before the furnace kicked on in the mornings.

Opening my eyes, I glance at the shower door, half-expecting Drake to be standing there, in the process of pulling it back, but all I see is the increasingly hazy outline of the bathroom as the steam from the shower fogs the glass over.

He really had been serious about going for a run then...

I shake my head wryly.

I’m never going to be one of those people who would willingly to forego sleep on a cold morning in order to subject themselves to a workout before the sun was even up... unless that workout happened to be a bout of lazy, morning sex, followed by breakfast in bed.

But, that's why Drake has a body to rival that of Chris Evans' Captain America, while I — even though able to pull off a bikini and low-cut dresses — am never going to be able to squeeze myself into a skin-tight bodysuit à la Black Widow.

I finish off my ablutions and step out onto the now warm bathmat, happy that my parents had opted for this luxurious upgrade when they'd reno'd all the bathrooms a few years back. Wrapping one of the towels around myself, I step over to the vanity and begin pulling out the toiletries I'd need. I apply some moisturiser and some basic make-up before giving my hair a vigorous towel dry and styling it into loose waves.

Satisfied with my appearance, I head back to my room to get dressed. Since we'll be spending most of the morning prepping for dinner, I opt for a loose-fitting plaid shirt and yoga pants, some thick socks and my fuzzy Ugg boots. I also pull on a snuggly, knitted cardigan for good measure.

Stepping out onto the hallway again, I hear the sound of clattering dishes rise up the landing.

Nana’s up early too, by the sounds of it...

My grandmother always makes us a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages and her famous pancakes on Thanksgiving morning, so we can get through all the cooking without needing to stop for lunch.

I feel my mouth start to water at the mere thought of it all.

"Morning, Nana," I greet as I step into the kitchen.

The cracked egg she's holding goes flying, sending the sticky whites and yolk everywhere. "Good Lord, Harper!" she exclaims, clutching her chest. "You gave me a right fright!"

"Sorry..." I apologise. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"What are you doing up so early? It's barely gone 5am..."

"Jetlag," I inform her, opening up one of the cupboards. If I’m going to make it through dinner and the game today, I’m going to need some caffeine, so I don’t end up crashing out at 6pm.

Nana nods in understanding as she salvages what egg innards she can from the counter to scoop into her mixing bowl. "Your beau still sleeping, though?"

I shake my head as I extract the jar containing the coffee. "No. He's been up even longer."

"Where is he, then? Did he not want to join us?"

"He will," I assure her, measuring some ground beans out into the bottom of the stovetop coffee maker that my parents still insisted on using over a coffee pod machine, or even a drip coffee maker. "Once he gets back from his run."

"He went for a run?" gasps Nana, as if the very concept was offensive. "On Thanksgiving morning?"

"That's what I said," I reply ruefully, filling the coffee maker up with water and setting it on the gas stovetop. "But he wanted to go, so..."

Nana beats the eggs into the rest of pancake batter thoughtfully. "Must really like running, then."

"Yeah," I agree, leaning against the counter. "He's weird like that. Do you need help with anything? Seeing as I'm up and all?"

"You start warming up the gridle. Batter's almost done."

Working in tandem, Nana and I make quick work of throwing together the usual Thanksgiving breakfast for eight people, catching up on each other’s lives as we bustle around the kitchen.

"You're up early, Harp," greets Brody, strolling into the kitchen and making a beeline for the coffee. "Bed's not as comfy as in that fancy Palace of yours?"

"We don't live at the Palace," I remind him, noting the manila folder under his arm. "Are you heading out?"

"Yeah..." he mutters, pouring himself a large mug of coffee and dumping a couple of packets of sweetener and some creamer into it. "Need to drop some paperwork off for one of the detectives I work with."

"On Thanksgiving morning?" I ask sceptically.

Brody shrugs. "He pulled the short straw when they were dolling out the shit shifts... Sorry, Nana."

She waves a hand dismissively. "You're a grown man, Brody. You can talk how you want. Don't you want a bite to eat before you go?"

He shakes his head. "I'll eat when I get back."

Nana tuts disapprovingly. "At least take one pancake."

Brody drains his coffee. "Alright. Thanks, Nana." He holds up the pancake in salute as he makes towards the door.

"Thank your sister," she corrects him. "She's the one who cooked them!"

"Thnkth, sthith!" he calls around a mouthful as he pulls on his boots.

"You made the batter, though," I remind her, taking a sip of my own coffee.

"That's the easy part," winks Nana, giving me a pat.

"Whatcha doin' up before the sun, sis?" asks Tyler, sauntering into the kitchen. "That like... never happens!"

"Helping Nana make breakfast," I inform him over the rim of my cup. "You're welcome..."

"Appreciated. But, don't think that this..." he jerks a thumb at the food decking the dining table, "is gonna get you outta potato peeling du— Ow!"

"You may want to rethink that statement, buster," Nana informs him archly, hefting her wooden spatula meaningfully. "Seeing as you didn't crawl your lazy butt outta of bed until after you could smell the bacon!"

Tyler rubs the back of his head bashfully. "Fine... I'll do the potatoes... Again..."

"Hey, Nana!" greets Justin, appearing as well. "Harp. T. Where's everyone else?"

"Brody had a work errand, and Drake's gone for a run," I inform him. "No idea about Mom and Dad."

"What's he runnin'?" asks Nana. "A marathon? Shouldn't he've been back by now?"

"Probably..." I admit, glancing at the clock on oven.

6:28 am.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

He's been gone over ninety minutes – almost twice as long as he usually goes for – and I hadn't even noticed! What if he got lost...? Or tripped over something in the dark? Or run over? Ohmygod! What if he'd tried to call me for help?

I smash my coffee mug down onto the counter, probably cracking it in the process, before shoving my brothers out of the way to get to my phone that was still in my bag on the bench. Ripping the zip open, I shove my hand into the bag, desperately searching for my phone.

I lay hands on the cool plastic, just as the door yawns open.

"Oh, thank God!" I gasp, dropping my phone.

"Whoa...!" Drake exclaims, staggering back as I throw myself at him. "Easy there, girl."

"Are you okay?" I demand, pulling back to look him up and down.

"Yeah, I'm f—"

"Where the hell where you?!"

He quirks a brow at me. "Out for a run?"

"For an hour and a half?"

His brows furrow. "I wasn't gone that long... Was I?"

"It's six thirty!" I almost shout. "Where did you go? To Billings and back?"

He's still frowning at me in confusion. "That can't be right..."

"Well, it sure as hell is!" I declare, falling against him again as I feel hot tears of relief stream down my face. "When Nana told me the time, I nearly lost it, thinking you'd gotten lost... or hurt... or..."

He wraps his arms around me. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to be out for so long. But, I had to take a detour on the way back..."

"Detour?" I ask, snapping my gaze up to his. "Why? What happened?"

"Ran into a goddamn moose."

My eyes widen. "You what?!"

"You didn't tell me that they smelled bad enough to gag a maggot."

"Yeah, they do stin—" I suddenly feel the blood ice over in my veins. "Wait. How close did you get!"

He does some quick mental math. "Three... maybe four feet?"

I stare at him in disbelief before I feel the palm of my hand connect with his chest. "Did. You. Not. Listen... To anything I said?!"

"Hey! Hey!" he protests, trying to fend off the blow that accompanied each word. "Cool it, girl! I'm fine."

"How?" I demand. "How are you fine? You should be knocked out! Or dead!"

"It was a bit surprised to see me, I'll admit, but after I talked to it for a bit, it seemed t—"

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. "You did what?!"

"I talked to it," he repeats, as if it was perfectly normal to engage a thousand-pound wild animal in conversation. "Until it calmed down."

My jaw moves up and down soundlessly before I manage to spit out, "It's not a horse!"

"So?" he shrugs nonchalantly. "It worked. It went back to stuffing its face and I backed up ‘round the corner."

Words fail me as I stare at him open-mouthed. The nerve of this guy...

"Is... everything okay?"

The sound of Mom's voice from behind me rouses me from my stunned stupor.

Glancing behind me, I see my entire family (minus Brody, of course) staring at Drake and me with various expressions ranging from nosy curiosity through to troubled concern.

"There was an awful lot of shouting..." she adds, flicking her eyes between the two of us.

"Sorry..." I mutter, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Drake just freaked me out a bit."

"A bit?" asks Justin sceptically. "Try a lot!"

"Okay," I concede with a huff. "He freaked me out a helluva lot."

"How did I freak you out?" Drake protests.

"You ran into a moose!"

There is a collective intake of breath from behind me.

"I didn't plan on it!" Drake points out. "Like you said, they're impossible to see in the dark."

"But, where did you go?" deplores Mom.

"He went for a run," Tyler informs her.

"On Thanksgiving morning?" she gasps.

Drake groans. "Sweet Jesus... She sounds exactly like you."

Laughter bubbles up from my family.

"We havin' a porch party I don't know about?" asks Brody, appearing behind Drake.

"Very much an unplanned one," I tell him as I step out of the doorway.

"Come on, son," declares Dad. "Let's get you in the house. After a wild encounter like that, you probably want some coffee."

"Wild encounter?" queries Brody, shutting the door behind him. "What the heck happened?"

"And breakfast!" adds Nana. "Need to feed the poor boy up after all that time he spent running around in the cold."

"I'll fill you in later..." I tell him with a roll my eyes.

"Actually," says Drake, pulling his sneakers off. "It's surprisingly mild... and humid out there. I thought it was supposed to be like Hoff up here in the winter."

"That's what all you southerners think," scoffs Justin. "But that only applies to the Midwest."

"We've had three dumps of snow already," adds Tyler. "But the Chinook's melted it all."

"Chinook?" asks Drake.

"It's a warm wind that comes in off the Pacific," I tell him. "Means we're not stuck in a deep freeze all winter."

"Sit, sit!" commands Nana. "Or it'll all go cold."

"Y'all start," advises Drake. "I'm just gonna run upstairs and get changed."

"Oh, don't worry about that, honey!" declares Mom, shoving him into a seat. "We raised three boys who used to stink the house out after hockey and football practice!"

"Gee, thanks, Mom," grumbles Justin.

"Not to mention after spending the day down at the Harrolds' place during the summer!" I add, pulling a chair out. "You always came back smelling like a stable!"

"It's what happens when you spend the day shovelling shit..." point out Tyler.

"And rolling around in it," grins Brody, punching his younger brother in the arm.

Tyler's eyes narrow. "You friggin' pushed me into it!"

"Hey," retorts Brody, holding his hands up innocently. "Not my fault you tripped over your own shovel."

"Okay, that's enough," chides Dad, seeing that an argument was about to erupt between my brothers. "We have a lot to get through today, so let's start eating."

We all dig into the feast of bacon, eggs, sausages and Nana's chocolate chip and cinnamon pancakes.

"So, I'm guessing these are the pancakes that you're willing to die for?" notes Drake as he spears two with his fork from the pile.

"Yup!" I confirm with a grin, drizzling my own bacon-topped tower with maple syrup. "And so will you, once you've tried them!"

He spoons some eggs into his plate with a chuckle. "You sound damn sure of yourself."

I slant him a glance as I cut into the stack. "You doubting my honest review, or my Nana's recipe?"

"Neither. But I can count on one hand all the food I've ever had that I'd be willing to lay down my life for. So, it's quite the high benchmark to hit." He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully for a moment. "That said... You’re right. These are pretty special."

"Told ya," I smirk, lifting my own slice of pancake to my mouth. "Nana's pancakes are the best."

"Even after all the fancy food you got to eat at the Palace?" queries Mom.

"Especially after all the fancy food we were forced to eat at the Palace," I correct.

Dad frowns. "Don't you normally have to pay an arm and a leg for that kind of grub?"

"Yeah," nods Drake. "But you can only eat so much caviar and amuse bouche before you start craving real food."

"Nothing beats homemade food cooked with love," declares Nana sagely.

"So, if Palace grub's a pass, what other food's made it into your top five?" asks Justin.

"Dad's secret recipe BBQ sauce, for one," replies Drake. "I'd give anything to have that again."

I look up at him sympathetically. "He never showed you how to make it?"

He shakes his head sadly. "Didn't get around to it. And he didn't think to write it down anywhere, so..."

I feel my heart constrict as I reach out to lay a comforting hand in his knee. "I'm sorry..."

"It's fine," he mutters stoically, flashing me a wan half-smile. "I'll get it right one day."

"Have you tried adding whiskey?" asks Justin around a mouthful. "All the best BBQ sauces have booze in them..."

"Yeah, I've—"

"And you're definitely using apple cider vinegar, instead of plain white vinegar?" pipes up Tyler.

"Yup."

I raise a brow at my brother. "Since when do you know the difference between the two?"

"Since that time I dated a trainee chef and she showed me how—"

"Nobody wants to know what the two of you did in the kitchen!" declares Brody loudly. "And anyway... Barbecue sauces are all about the spices. You tried cumin?"

"Yeah."

"Celery?"

Drake nods.

"Cilantro?"

I stare at Brody in disbelief. Since when did he know so much about the nuances of BBQ sauce?!

"What about cinnamon?" chimes in Nana.

Drake's brows furrow. "Cinnamon?"

"Of course!" she affirms. "I put cinnamon in everything! It's got a bit of sweet... it's got a bit of spice... It's my go-to secret ingredient."

Drake takes a moment to digest this. "No. I haven't..."

"Might be what you're missing, then," she winks, tapping the side of her nose conspiratorially.

"Yeah... Maybe," he muses thoughtfully. "Thank you, ma'am. Will definitely give it a try."

"Oh, there's no need to be so formal," she declares with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You're basically family already."

"Even so," smiles Drake. "My parents always told me that a little bit of respect can get you a long way."

"Try telling that to these three..." grumbles Dad.

"Hey! We got manners!" objects Justin.

"Yeah..." mutters Dad. "When it suits you... or you want something."

Laughter echoes around the table as we polish up breakfast.

"Right," declares Dad, popping his glasses onto his nose once we've cleared the table and sat back down again. "Task assignments."

"I want Harper for the apple pie," announces Nana.

Dad nods as he jots this down on his notepad. "Leigh and I will manage the turkey, the stuffing and the gravy. That leaves chopping firewood..."

"I'll do that," declares Brody.

"...vegetables..."

"Dibs!" cries Tyler.

"Hey!" objects Justin. "I was on potato duty last year!"

"And I had it two years in a row before that!" retorts Tyler.

"I can do it," offers Drake.

Everyone's eyes swivel disbelievingly onto him.

"You...want to do the potatoes?" asks Tyler.

"Sure. Why not?" shrugs Drake. "I mean... it's just peeling and chopping, right? Or am I missing something?"

"The sheer volume you have to get through!" exclaims Justin.

Drake raises a quizzical brow at me.

"There's eight of us," I tell him. "And we eat a lot of mash."

"That ain't a problem."

"Are you sure, honey?" asks Mom. "You can help with something else if you'd—"

"No!" cry Tyler and Justin simultaneously.

"I mean..." adds Tyler sheepishly. "He offered..."

"And confirmed his choice!" adds Justin.

Dad glances at Drake questioningly. "You sure, son?"

"Yessir."

"Okay, Drake's down for potatoes," declares Dad, before turning to face Justin and Tyler. "But once the two of you are done with the vegetables, you're gonna help him, y'hear?"

"Dammit..." mutters Tyler under his breath as he slumps back into his chair to the accompaniment of Justin's groan of disappointment.

"Oh, man up, you two!" huffs Nana. "It's just a sack of potatoes! And with three of you working, you'll have it done in no time!"

"Might even have time to go out and play some ball before dinner if you're quick," says Mom.

"Right," announces Dad, clapping his hands together by way of emphasis. "Let's hustle!"

As everyone shuffles off to start on their designated tasks, Drake pulls me off to the side. "I'm just gonna run upstairs and get changed."

"Okay," I reply, dropping a kiss on his cheek. "There's a towel on the bed for you."

"Thanks, Gale."

"Hey!" shouts Tyler. "Where d'you think you're going, Mr I-Want-To-Do-The-Potatoes?"

"Don't worry," chuckles Drake. "I'll be back in five."

"You better be!" warns Justin, appearing with the sack of potatoes from the garage. "Potatoes don't peel themselves, y'know!"

"Who used the oven last?" queries Mom as Drake disappears upstairs.

"You?" replies Dad, pulling the turkey from the freezer. "Why?"

"It's flashing me."

I try and fail to suppress a snort as I step towards the pantry to grab the apples for the pie. "I'm pretty sure it's not..."

"Then how do you explain this?" she deplores, waving her hand at the display.

"Lemme see..." sighs Dad, pulling his glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt again before proceeding to press random buttons on the control panel and opening and shutting the door. "Hmm... It's not turning on, is it?"

"What's wrong with it?" asks Justin, glancing over Dad's shoulder.

"No idea..." he grumbles.

"It was working fine yesterday," says Mom, peering at the controls accusingly.

"Yeah, but it's not working now, is it?" huffs Dad. "I think we'll need to call someone."

"On Thanksgiving morning?" scoffs Nana, elbows-deep in pie crust. "Hah! Good luck being able to reach anyone who can fix an oven!"

"There won't be a Thanksgiving if the oven's not fixed!" Dad reminds her, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he strides off to make some calls.

"Could always do a barbecue..." muses Tyler.

"Yeah..." I snort. "Have fun roasting a full turkey on the grill!"

"You'd obviously chop it up first..."

"It's still frozen!"

"Is... everything okay?" asks Drake, reappearing dressed in faded Wranglers and a new forest green plaid shirt that I wanted to instantly tear off him.

"Mom broke the oven," Justin advises.

"It wasn't me!" she protests.

"You used it last," Tyler reminds her.

"So?"

"So... it means you broke it," Justin declares.

"Oh, leave your poor mother alone!" orders Nana. "These things happen."

"Not on Thanksgiving!" cries Mom. "When Drake and Harper are here!"

"Do you know what's wrong?" Drake asks in a whisper as my family continue throwing stressy barbs at each other.

"It won't turn on," I tell him.

"Is it showing some kind of error code?"

"Mom said it was flashing at her... So, maybe?"

"Mind if I take a look?" asks Drake, loud enough for Mom and my brothers to hear.

"Can you fix it?" asks Mom hopefully.

"What are you?" scoffs Tyler. "An oven whisperer? Ow!"

"He's trying to help!" Nana chastises him, dipping her mixing spoon back into the bowl. "Unlike you..."

"It's no good..." huffs Dad, stepping back into the kitchen. "All the calls are going straight to voicemail..."

"Told you," preens Nana, buttering a pie dish with vindicatory smugness.

"What are we going to do!" cries Mom, grabbing Dad by the front panels of his shirt.

Dad sighs. "Guess we'll just have t—"

"Fixed it."

Stunned silence falls onto the kitchen as everyone's gaze snaps onto Drake.

"Just needed a self-clean," he declares, straightening himself up. "Should be ready to go in a—"

"You angel!" cries Mom, throwing herself at him like he was the Messiah.

Drake staggers back in shocked surprise, but manages to keep his footing as Mom envelopes him in a relived hug.

"You saved Thanksgiving!" she gushes, pulling back to cup Drake's face reverently in her hands.

"Yeah..." smiles Dad. "Guess we do owe you one, son."

A rare flush rises up Drake's neck. "Honestly... it's—"

"Don't think this gets you out of potato duty!" warns Tyler, jabbing a half-peeled carrot at him.

"Jesus Christ, T!" I snap, throwing a handful of apple skins at him. "Chillax about the damn potatoes already!"

"Yeah, seriously, dude," mutters Justin, elbowing him in the ribs. "Anyone would think you've got some kind of weird potato paranoia..."

"It's not a paranoia!"

"Just a really bizarre obsession..." declares Brody, stepping into the kitchen to flick his brother in the back of the head with his finger.

Tyler whirls around in aggravation. “Can everyone stop hitting me!"

"You done with the logs already?" queries Dad, unwrapping the turkey from the packaging, studiously ignoring Tyler.

"About halfway," Brody replies, grabbing a glass from the cabinets and filling it up with water. "It's damn hot out there..."

"And it will only get hotter," declares Nana, rolling her pastry out onto the countertop. "Supposed to get up to 60 degrees by the afternoon."

"So much for all the snow you warned me about," mutters Drake with an accusatory glance in my direction. "Might as well be in Texas right now."

"Oh, it's coming!" Brody assures him, depositing his empty glass in the sink. "We'll be snowed in come nightfall."

Drake raises a sceptical brow as he resumes peeling. “If you say so…”

“We know so,” confirms Nana with a wink.

The rest of the morning passes quickly as we all hunker down on the chores. And by lunchtime, the turkey's roasting happily away, the potatoes and vegetables are soaking in bowls of water, and Nana and I have assembled three apple pies ready to shove into oven as soon as the turkey comes out.

"You kids go take a break," advises Mom. "Dad and I will keep an eye on the turkey."

"Just be back in about an hour to square everything away," adds Dad. "So we can finish eating before the game kicks off."

"You want to go outside and throw the football around for a bit?" I ask Drake as I wash my hands in the sink.

"Will you be on the sidelines cheering?" he drawls, snaking his hands around my waist.

I quirk a brow at him as I reach for the dishcloth to dry my hands. "Do I look like a stuck-up cheerleader to you?"

"Admittedly not in this getup..." His fingers slide around the waistband of my leggings. "You don't have a short skirt upstairs, do you?"

I smack his hand. "Dream on, cowboy. I'm not dressing up as a cheerleader to play football."

His hands still. "You're playing as well?"

I look up at him with a smirk. "Damn right, I am!"

"Thought you weren't into football."

"Just because I don't watch it obsessively-compulsively like you and Brody, doesn't mean I don't like playing it. I've got a mean throw, I'll have you know..."

I feel his stubble brush against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "You never fail to surprise, girl."

"One of the many things you love about me, I'm sure," I smile, turning around to loop my arms around his neck.

"It does keep things interesting..." he admits, mocha eyes boring into mine as he slides his hands surreptitiously underneath the bottom of my shirt.

"Quit distracting him, Harp!" calls Justin, striding past with the football. "It's game time!"

"We don't know which team he's on yet!" quips Tyler. "Maybe she should keep distracting him."

"Or motivating him," I add with a knowing grin. "Works both ways, y'know."

"Don't I know it..." murmurs Drake, dropping his hands reluctantly.

"You know I like to keep you on your toes, cowboy," I purr, dropping a kiss on his cheek. "Just gonna grab some sneakers and I'll be out in a minute."

"Sure I can't convince you to grab that skirt as well?" he asks in a low voice. "Seeing as it's basically tropical outside..."

"You two coming or what?" hollers Brody, poking his head around the corner.

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see," I tell Drake with a wink as I move towards the stairs.

Thanksgiving continues in Part 3!

A/N: So, to answer your inevitable questions/comments...😅

(i) The moose. Yes, moose can sometimes be sighted in Bozeman and they are friggin’ dangerous (and smelly). I think I read something somewhere that moose actually kill more people per year than bears. More specifically, Drake’s moose encounter is based on something that happened to my husband a few weeks ago, pretty much exactly as I described it (Yes, my husband’s brain works in slightly strange ways...) The length of time that Drake was gone for references the fact that my husband came home saying that he had no idea how long he actually stood staring at the moose for.

(ii) Weather. It’s all true. You do get randomly warm weather brought in by the Chinook wind that can warm the temperature up significantly throughout the autumn/winter. Also, the massive temperature swing that I describe happened to us when we went to Minnesota for Thanksgiving - the temperature went up to about 15 degrees C (about 60 degrees F) - we were literally outside playing basketball in shorts and t-shirts, but by the evening, there was several inches of snow on the ground.

(iii) The oven. This literally happened the first time my husband and I (we were just dating back then) went to the US for Thanksgiving. We all wake up on Thanksgiving morning and the oven’s busted. In that real life scenario, a technician did come around to look at the oven, and he found that (like in the fic) it just needed a self-clean. So, disaster narrowly averted. But this was priceless for me, so I had to include a slightly modified version in this fic 🤣

(iv) Potatoes. This is based on any meal with my side of the family where we have potatoes. Someone inevitably ends up peeling a shed load of them!

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