#like seriously the only thing I asked for was to have avocado egg rolls on my birthday

[emometalhead]

This is the most upset I've ever been about my birthday. I love my birthday. It's one of my favorite days of the year. I always look forward to it. This year has been so wrong though. Everyone keeps trying to tell me how important this birthday is. So I tried to make plans with my friends even though they've been kind of sucky friends lately. Still, seeing my friends is a birthday tradition and I miss them. Everyone had a lame excuse for why they couldn't make it (I gave them a full month notice. I know where they work. They could've requested the day off if they really wanted to come.) or they just straight up didn't respond. My family keeps trying to switch around the days that we are celebrating. No, I don't want to get pizza from the place that I don't even like on my birthday. We agreed to go to one of my favorite restaurants on my birthday, but now apparently that's too much work. I've had multiple people suggest alternate plans and then back track. I'm just so tired. I've never cried like this about my birthday before. Honestly if no one had suggested anything, I would've been fine just staying home and not doing anything special. Everyone just had to set all of these expectations about how important this specific birthday is, and then no one could commit to actually trying to help me have a nice birthday. This sucks a lot.

[lunapwrites]

So, I have been kind of Going Through It this month, and I need to scream about it briefly because if I don't I will explode.

General content warning I suppose for health-related stuff and a LOT of discussions about food. Not ED-related.

I'm not going to get into specifics (if you know you will know) but I have an autoimmune disease that has been in remission since... fuck, like... 2015? So I've literally had EIGHT YEARS of smooth sailing. Until this month.

It could have been triggered by one of several things: stress, diet, maybe even the smoke from Canada (which is very possible given the whole immune response bit.) Or it could have just been my time to have a bad time. But either way, I have spent the last couple weeks in the "finding out" phase of the "what the fuck can I eat that won't make me feel like I want to die" game.

It has been extremely trying.

I'm currently on a modified low-FODMAP diet - both less and more restricted bc I can't eat half the shit on it, but also FODMAPs aren't necessarily the trigger - there's just a lot of overlap. Most of what I've been able to successfully tolerate for the last few weeks has been white bread, white rice, eggs, unsweetened applesauce, bananas, and avocado. None of it seasoned. Green and white teas have been mostly OK too.

I don't know if I can really stress enough how fucking miserable this is.

Like seriously I had to sit through a dinner with my in laws where the only actual safe thing for me to eat was kaiser rolls so I ended up sitting there in a small amount of pain for the rest of the evening because I wanted to see if there was ANYTHING I could get away with. I had a plate of brownies in front of me that I literally COULD NOT TOUCH, not because I'm trying to watch my weight, but because I'm trying to be able to walk back to the car under my own power. And it wasn't my in-laws' fault, because they had no idea I'm in the middle of a fucking medical event when they cooked the food, and it's not my partner's fault bc he asked me what I could eat before we even left and I said, honestly, that I had no idea, and let's just play it by ear. (Like an idiot!)

Anyway. I feel like I'm just being whiny about this but like. Cooking was hard enough with how bad my ADHD is, and I was just getting into a rhythm with these meal kits I was trying out, and they are GOOD and I have BEEN ENJOYING THEM but I literally just tried to start eating the occasional salad and my body responded by bleeding internally, and the only thing I can do right now is to just stop actually enjoying food. Which, considering I fucking love food - it's my love language, I find legitimate joy in sharing meals, I even write it into every goddamn fic I've ever written - it is quite possibly one of the most devastating things that could have happened to me. To have this one little thing I found joy in not just be taken away from me, but actively cause me intense pain. And not only that, but to have the solution be something that makes a thing I was already struggling with a million times harder.

This fucking sucks, and I am angry. And also really fucking sad.

It also doesn't help that I have an extremely high chance of developing essential tremors as I get older, which will make things like art and feeding myself next to impossible over time, so like. Really. Really doing a lot to give me things to look forward to in the back half of my life. Thanks, body.

[selfpositiveundertale]

Another update, hopefully less bleak than the last one.

So on Wednesday I broke down in front of my chiropractor telling him what's going on with me. I apologized for breaking down and he said it's okay, he knows that blood sugar dropping can make a person very emotional. He was surprised to hear that I'd had a green smoothie consisting of whey protein powder, a cup of mixed greens, a ripe banana, and a cup of oat milk immediately before coming to the appointment and not even an hour later I already felt famished like I hadn't had anything all day, but he suggested that getting more fats in my diet might help me hold onto my food longer and keep my blood sugar at a reasonable level longer, so I should be consuming more butter, nut butters, avocado, coconut oil, etc. Putting peanut butter or avocado in my green smoothies, having avocado on whole grain toast like the millennial I am, and I think I'll go back to the special way I was making coffee a while back that involved heavy cream and MCT oil powder. I'll post how I do that in a separate post. I also mentioned to him that I was seriously considering purchasing liver and bones from the butcher shop to get more protein and iron in my system, and he approved of that idea as well.

After my husband picked me up from my appointment, we got food from our favorite local Chinese restaurant, and the orange chicken, fried rice, egg roll, and crab rangoon actually lasted longer in my system and kept me stable longer than anything else I'd had in the last week or two. Lots of fat in all that Chinese food. It was great. The chef seemed to have gotten a little enthusiastic with the spiciness of the orange chicken but I definitely wasn't complaining.

The next day I made a green smoothie and added a couple of tablespoons of peanut butter and that did help it to stay in my system a little longer, but it didn't have enough sugar since I only had half a banana to put in it.

So I'm thinking when we go grocery shopping this weekend, I'll get extra bananas, maybe apples, avocados, some whole grain bread, two jars of peanut butter, and heavy cream along with our usual items. And when we go to the butcher shop I'll see how much liver costs, I already know bones are sold at a reasonable price, and I'll ask the butcher if he can recommend how best to cook the liver, and if I can put it in the slow cooker.

I did more googling and found that low blood sugar isn't uncommon in people who have fibromyalgia, so I'll send my rheumatologist a message and ask about that.

Things are looking less hopeless, and it looks like I have some solutions almost within reach. Just have to make the grocery trip tomorrow.

Right now I feel my blood sugar dropping, so I think I'll go try to make something to eat. I had a bowl of greens loaded with butter, garlic, and salt pork earlier and it was very good and lasted a while but now I need more food. Might cook some more greens and see if I can make some mashed potatoes as well because I might need carbs. Might even cook the rest of the bacon we got from the butcher shop last week since I'm sure it needs to be cooked asap. Hopefully I can stand up long enough to cook. I'm in a lot of pain rn that's going to make being on my feet difficult.

Wish me luck, and stay determined.

Also @ the person who replied to my last update: thank you so much for your kind words. I needed that. ❤️❤️❤️

[themovieblogonline]

My Blue Beetle "Reaction" - DC's Newest Hero SOARS

Alright, let's talk about my "Blue Beetle Reaction." Yep, you heard it right! DC's bringing a fresh face to the big screen with the debut of our newest superhero, Jaime Reyes, aka Blue Beetle. Directed by Ángel Manuel Soto and starring the talented Xolo Maridueña, this flick's got everything you need: aliens, tech, and, of course, an epic suit of armor. Well, there’s not like any police. Seriously, this movie is making us question why there aren't any police around when stuff hits the fan. https://youtu.be/P0GbEVtXfGQ So, what's the deal, you ask? Well, recent college grad Jaime Reyes rolls back to his hometown full of dreams, only to find things aren't quite the same. But fate has other plans when he stumbles upon an ancient alien relic, the Scarab, which decides, "Hey, you're the chosen one." Cue the super-suit transformation and bam! We've got ourselves a new superhero in town. So, grab your avocado toast, charge up your Air Pods, and let's break down every pixelated punch of "Blue Beetle." The Good First off, this movie pleasantly surprised me. It's like when you order a small coffee, and they give you a large by mistake—it's that good. DC, take notes because "Blue Beetle" is the hero we've been waiting for this year. This easily takes the gold for DC Studios releases this year. Seriously, I was not expecting to be this impressed. The Cast Xolo Maridueña, our new Blue Beetle, is a breath of fresh air and he nails it as Jaime Reyes. He's like the Tom Holland of the DC universe—totally fine, entertaining, and just a tad bit adorable. Jaime Reyes' family? Hilarious! Jaime's quirky family had me in tears. Plus, the superhero bee show? Sign me up! I'd binge-watch that any day. Nana and Uncle Rudy had me laughing out loud for real! Well, most of the time because Uncle Rudy could be quite annoying in large doses. And that story arc with his dad? That storyline hit me right in the feels. Like For real for real. The tear emoji almost made an appearance. I laughed, I cried, and I almost spat out my soda. Trust me; this family's got some comedy gold. And, oh boy, did it get real when Jaime's dad passed away and he talked to his dad on the ancestral plane? Yeah, it hit close to home for anyone who's ever lost someone. Sniff My emotions were all over the place. The Costume Blue Beetle's getup was fly, and that transformation scene was low-key giving me "Venom" vibes. Loved it! Tek Kord and Kord Industries: mad props for delving into the deep cuts of Blue Beetle's legacy. This history lesson was pure gold. The pacing was on point! This movie didn't leave me checking my phone or yawning like "Shazam 2" The villain wasn't your average mirror bad guy. His backstory was epic—child soldier turned villain? A nod to OMAC? Yeah, that's the stuff. Can we talk about the CGI? Seriously, after some recent CGI failures, I'm giving a standing ovation for this solid work. And those video game nods? FF7, you stole the show, but the gamer in me appreciated all the Easter eggs. The Bad Now, let's get into "The Bad." First up, where are the police? Seriously, in a world with explosions, gunfire, and buildings crumbling, not a single cop in sight. Maybe they're all on vacation? And Jaime, buddy, why do you have to be so gullible? The bad guys want to hurt you, and you're out there trying to negotiate like it's a schoolyard squabble. Jaime's got the brains but needs some street smarts. Who talks their way out of danger when a villain is on your tail? Seriously, where's your Spidey sense? Lastly, let's talk about superhero origin stories. Look, I get it, some people need them but can we switch things up a bit? We've seen our fair share, and it's time for a change. Overall Why didn't they promote "Blue Beetle" more? It's better than a straight-to-HBO Max release, that's for sure. This movie deserves billboards, TV commercials, and maybe even a blimp with "Watch Blue Beetle" on it. If you've endured "The Flash" recently, consider this film your refreshing palate cleanser. It's like a polished Spider-Man movie but with its unique Latino charm. So, grab your friends, your sidekicks, or just fly solo, and head to the theater. "Blue Beetle" is the hidden gem you didn't know you needed. Oh, and if you've seen it already, drop your thoughts in the comments. And of course, like, subscribe, and hit that notification bell for more movie magic. Until next time, stay geeky, stay groovy, and stay at the movies! Peace out, heroes! Read the full article

[hughjidiot]

Jelly Beans, A Sashannarcy Oneshot

So I’ve written a number of Sashannarcy oneshots that I’ve posted over on AO3 and figured it was about time I start sharing them here as well. So here’s the first oneshot, in which Sasha brings some special candy to spice up the girls’ weekly game night

---

“BeanBoozled?”

 Anne blinked in confusion as she beheld the colorful box Sasha was holding up. She and Sasha sat on the couch in the living room of the apartment they shared with Marcy, who at the moment was searching through the board game cabinet for a suitable game for their weekly game night.

 “Picked it up while I was out running errands today,” Sasha said. “Thought it could be a fun way to spice up game night.”

 “How are jelly beans gonna make game night more interesting?” Anne asked with a furrowed brow.

 Sasha grinned and gave the box a shake, the candy contents rattling within. “Ah, but these are no ordinary jelly beans. There are ten colors, but twenty possible flavors. Each color can be something really good, or really  really bad, and the only way to tell is to pop one in your mouth and hope for the best. Take a look.”

 Sasha passed the box to Anne. Her eyes widened as she beheld the flavors on the back. “Birthday cake or dirty dishwater? Coconut or spoiled milk? Peach or  barf!? Jeez, it’s like Russian Roulette with candy!”

 “Nah, at least with Russian Roulette the odds are five-to-one in your favor,” Marcy said as she walked over to the couch, a huge stack of boxes in her hands. “With those it’s more like a coin flip. Heads you get a delicious bean, tails you get one that’ll make you wanna die.”

 “Exactly,” Sasha said with a smirk and a mischievous glint in her eye. “What do you say, girls? Wanna raise the stakes this week?”

 “Sounds potentially disgusting and humiliating,” Marcy said, setting the board games on the table and taking a seat on the couch next to Anne. She grinned. “I’m in.”

 “Me too,” Anne said, smiling and handing the box back to Sasha. “What did you have in mind?”

 Sasha  hmmm’ed  as she looked over the games Marcy was offering. “We need a simple game. Let’s see here...  Clue,  no…  Cards Against Humanity, Settlers of Catan, Boss Monster…  no, no, nope… Ah, perfect!  Would You Rather.”

 Sasha opened up the game in question, took out a stack of cards and began shuffling them as she continued speaking. “So here’s what I’m thinking: we each take turns drawing a card and asking an either/or question for the other two to answer. Anyone who picks the less popular option has to eat a random bean out of the box. Sound good?”

 Anne and Marcy nodded. Sasha set the deck of cards down and drew the top one. “Cool, I’ll start us off then. Anne, Marcy, would you rather… punch a pilgrim or eat an avocado?”

 Anne sputtered out a laugh. “What kind of question is  that?”

 “That’s just the game,” Marcy said with a shrug. “Some of the choices have logic to them, others are just completely random. I think I’d rather eat an avocado, they’re loaded with nutrients and can be used to make guacamole.”

 “Avocado it is,” Sasha said. “Anne?”

 Anne pursed her lips. “Well from what I remember from history class, the Pilgrims  were kind of dicks… But I think I’ll go with the avocado too.”

 “And those are your final answers?” Sasha asked her girlfriends. Anne and Marcy nodded. “Well congratulations! According to the card fifty-nine percent of people agree with you.”

 Marcy and Anne high-fived. Sasha discarded the card and Anne reached for the deck to draw her own card.

 “Okay Marcy, Sasha, would you rather… have no teeth or have no tongue?”

 “Oof, that’s a tough one,” Sasha said. “Either one of those would make eating a pain in the ass.”

 Marcy rubbed her chin. “I think I’d rather have no teeth. ‘Cause at least if you have a tongue you could still taste stuff.”

 “But how would you chew with no teeth so you don’t choke and die?” Sasha asked.

 “Well that’s what blenders are for. Plus no tongue means you can’t  talk either.”

 “Oh, that’s a good point. Yeah, I’ll go with no teeth too.”

 Anne nodded, discarding her card. “You and sixty-three percent of people. Congrats girls, no one gets to try the beans yet. You’re up Marbles.”

 Marcy drew a card. “Sash, Anne, would you rather… sing everything you say or dance all your movements?”

 “Sing everything,” Sasha said with a proud smirk. “After all,  I’m a heart-stomper~! Stompin’ on hearts~!”

 Anne and Marcy laughed. “Oh man I haven’t thought about our old garage band in  years,” Marcy said. “We should break out the instruments one of these days, for old time’s sake.”

 “Yeah but it’s been so long we probably suck,” Anne said. “Dancing was always more my thing, so that’s what I’m going with.”

 “Ooh, first time two of us have picked different options,” Marcy said. She reached down for the BeanBoozled box. “Those are your final answers?” The other two girls nodded. “And the jelly bean goes to… Anne!”

 “Aw, for real?” Anne asked as Sasha pumped a fist in the air. Marcy nodded and showed the text on the card: fifty-six percent of people would rather sing as opposed to forty-four who’d rather dance. “Damn it. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…”

 On the back of the box was a circle of the ten jelly beans with a built-in spinner. She gave the spinner a flick and watched it slow until it settled on brown. “Okay that’s… chocolate pudding or canned dog food? Oh boy.”

 Anne picked through the box of candies, pulling out a single brown bean. She held the candy up between her thumb and forefinger, gulping audibly. “Well. Here we go…”

 Marcy and Sasha watched with great interest as Anne plopped the candy in her mouth. She slowly chewed… and a smile graced her face.

 “Oh thank God, it’s chocolate pudding!” She said, swallowing.

 “Aw, well that’s no fun,” Sasha said with an exaggerated pout. “You were supposed to get a gross one so me and Marcy could laugh at your misfortune.”

 “Hey, the night’s still young,” Anne said. “Don’t forget  you could also end up with a gross bean, Sasha.”

 “Well not this time, ‘cause it’s my turn to ask the question.” Sasha drew the next card of the deck. “Would you rather… be dangled over the edge of the cliff or forced to speak in public?”

 “Dangled off a cliff,” Marcy said instantly.

 “Really, Mar-Mar?” Anne asked flatly.

 “You girls  know how I am about public speaking! Why do you think I did most of the work during our group projects back in school and left the actual presentations to you two?”

 “Yeah, but we’re talking about public speaking vs. being dangled off a cliff!”

 “It doesn’t say anywhere that you actually get dropped!”

 Anne rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll still go with public speaking.”

 “You and seventy-eight percent of people,” Sasha said. “Sorry Marcy, but the price of not having to speak in public is a gross jelly bean.”

 “Totally worth it,” Marcy said defiantly. She picked up the box and flicked the spinner. “And I get… toasted marshmallow or stink bug.”

 She plucked a brown-and-white bean from the box and plopped it in her mouth. She slowly chewed, and her neutral expression slowly morphed into disgust.

 “Oh. Oh that doesn’t taste good,” she said. Her jaw moved again and she gagged, hand going to her mouth. “Oh that’s really not good!”

 Anne tried to cover her giggle with a closed fist. “I don’t think she got the toasted marshmallow,” she said to Sasha, who openly laughed and slapped her knee. Marcy hunched over, face contorting.

 “Ugh, it tastes like how stink bugs smell,” Marcy said with a grimace. “That  sucked .”

 “Could’ve avoided it if you just did a little public speaking,” Sasha said in a sing-song voice.

 “Bite me, Sash,” Marcy grumbled. “Let’s see how you like it when  you get one of those beans. Draw a card, Anna-Banana.”

 Anne nodded and did so. “Would you rather own a mini horse or own a regular horse?”

 “Ooh, I’d love a mini horse,” Sasha said with a smile. “They can actually be kept as house pets, right?”

 “Yeah, but they still require a lot of upkeep,” Marcy pointed out. “If you’re gonna have a horse, it might as well be a full-sized one you can actually ride. I’d rather have a regular horse.”

 “Well I’ve got good news Marcy, so would fifty-nine percent of people.” Anne said. Sasha crossed her arms with a  hmph as Marcy smirked. 

 “Go ahead, take a bean Sasha,” Marcy said, holding the box out and giving it a taunting rattle.

 “Fine, I will,” Sasha said haughtily. She accepted the box and spun the spinner. “And I got… buttered popcorn or rotten egg.”

 Sasha quickly fished a yellow-and-white spotted jelly bean out of the box and quickly popped it in her mouth, face full of determination. Seconds passed as she chewed, Anne and Marcy watching her expression closely.

 Finally, Sasha smirked.

 “Buttered popcorn it is!” She said triumphantly. “Once again Sasha Waybright comes out on top.”

 “Seriously?” Marcy plopped back on the couch, crossing her arms and letting out a frustrated exhale. “I can’t believe I’m the only person who didn’t get a good bean yet!”

 “Cheer up Marbles, I’m sure you’ll get a tasty bean at some point,” Anne said. “Now draw the next card, this is getting good!”

 ---

 “Green,” Marcy said. It was a few questions later and she’d picked another lower option, choosing to only have access to games online along with thirty-three percent of people, compared to sixty-seven percent who’d rather have access to only Youtube. The spinner had given her a light-green bean to sample. “That’s juicy pear or  booger?  Oh jeez…”

 She picked a green jelly bean from the box and popped it in her mouth, chewing tentatively. She retched, cheeks turning as green as the candy she just ate.

 “Oh God it’s booger,” she said with a retch, to Anne and Sasha’s shared amusement. “ Blech, plech!  Oh that’s foul!”

 “Okay, so you got two bad ones in a row,” Anne said between giggles. “I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time.”

 ---

 “More people would rather drink tea than coffee, are you for real?!” Marcy asked, incredulous.

 “Well coffee  is an acquired taste, and there’s like a million different varieties of tea,” Anne pointed out, having picked the tea option to the question Sasha had given.

 “Yeah but… coffee!”

 “We get it Marcy, you love your bean water,” Sasha said. “But you still picked the lesser option, so it’s jelly bean time.”

 Marcy gave the spinner a twirl and grimaced. “Strawberry banana smoothie or dead fish?! Oh this isn’t gonna be fun.”

 She dug through the box until she found a lightly-colored orange bean with red speckles. With a heavy sigh she tossed it in her mouth, and her face contorted in disgust almost instantly.

 “Dead -  ack, hack - fish!” She said between gags. Anne looked like she was caught between sympathy and amusement, while Sasha was openly laughing.

 “Man Marcy, those beans really hate you,” Sasha said, wiping a tear from her eye.

 ---

 “Oh goodie, I got another one wrong,” Marcy said with a too-wide smile. “Silly me for thinking more people would rather die by drowning in a tsunami than throw themselves in lava.” 

 She let out a short, desperate laugh as she grabbed the box of jelly beans. “You know what? That’s fine, it’s fine. So what if three of three beans have tasted like garbage? One of them is bound to be good sooner or later. I mean if you flip a coin enough times, it’s bound to come up heads at some point. That’s just the law of averages, yeah.”

 “Uh, I think that’s the gambler’s fallacy,” Sasha pointed out with a raised brow.

 “Shut up and let me have hope, Sasha.” Marcy spun the spinner and giggled again. “Oh good, it’s peach or barf. That’s fine, that’s totally fine. Nothing to worry about, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

 She plucked another jelly bean out of the box, this one a darker orange with red flecks. She kept giggling, one of her eyes twitching.

 “You sure you’re okay, Marcy?” Anne asked, concerned.

 “I’m just  peachy , Anne!” Marcy said, far too brightly. “Peachy like I’m sure this jelly bean will be!”

 She stuffed in her mouth, chewing quickly. The smile remained frozen on her face even as her eyes began to water.

 “Aaaand it’s barf because  why not?!”  Marcy doubled over, hacking and coughing. “Oh God it’s on the sides of my tongue!”

 Anne gave Marcy a comforting pat on the back. Sasha just shook her head with a chuckle.

 “Okay, maybe we should give BeanBoozled a rest before Marcy keels over,” she said. “It was funny at first, but now it’s just getting sad.”

 “No no, I’m fine,” Marcy insisted even as she kept gagging. “I can get a good bean at some point, I know I can!”

 Anne and Sasha exchanged uncertain glances as Marcy grabbed the next card, it being her turn to read the question. “Okay, would you -  blech - rather be a Jedi master or an elite Saiyan?”

 “Ooh, I’d rather be a Saiyan,” Anne said instantly. “I love Dragon Ball!”

 “Well I guess I’ll be a Jedi,” Sasha said with a shrug. “At least I’ve actually seen Star Wars. I’ve only seen like a handful of Dragon Ball episodes.”

 “Well sixty-eight percent of people agree with you, Sasha,” Marcy said. “Sorry Anne, looks like it’s your turn for a bean.”

 Anne nodded and spun the box’s spinner with a swift finger flick. Around and around it spun until it landed on blue. “That’s berry blue or toothpaste.”

 “Aw man, you got an easy one,” Marcy said with a pout as Anne picked a blue jelly bean out of the box. “Toothpaste doesn’t even taste that bad.”

 Anne looked to Marcy as she plopped the bean in her mouth. Marcy, who’d been unfortunate enough to get four terrible-tasting jelly beans in a row. She smiled as an idea formed in her brain.

 “Hey Mar-Mar,” Anne said, voice slightly muffled with her mouth full.

 Marcy looked up, and didn’t even have time to react before Anne pulled her in for a surprise kiss. Marcy’s face lit up as she felt Anne’s tongue push past her lips, too stunned by the audacity to offer any sort of resistance. Anne pulled away after a few seconds, and Marcy felt a familiar lump in her mouth.

 “Oh my God!” Sasha laughed, a splash of red on her own cheeks as she brought a closed fist to her mouth. “Did you really just…? You  didn’t! ”

 “Yeah, I totally did,” Anne said proudly, blushing herself. “Well Marcy? What’s the verdict?”

 Marcy’s face was burning as she slowly chewed, a pleasant taste spreading across her taste buds. “Berry…”

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Eight

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Eight

Once the sun rose, Adrien gave up on getting any more fitful sleep and rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day.

Plagg grumbled groggily at being disturbed, but, instead of resettling and drifting off again like he would have done back in the day, Plagg relocated to Adrien’s hair, doing a little circle before curling up to resume his slumber atop Adrien’s head.

Adrien smiled fondly at his kwami as he took care not to jostle Plagg too much.

Plagg had definitely been more clingy since their reunion. It used to be that Plagg would go off exploring on his own or stay behind in Adrien’s room or bag while Adrien showered or ate dinner or attended class or practiced fencing.

Over the past few days, Plagg hadn’t let Adrien out of his sight. He’d even gone so far as to follow Adrien from one room to the next in the small flat, even when Adrien just went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

It was reassuring in a way. It warmed Adrien’s heart and really drove home how much Plagg cared.

“Marc’s probably still here, so you’ll have to hide when we go out into the main room,” Adrien cautioned as he went to his closet and picked out clothes for the day.

Plagg hummed disinterestedly but obediently phased into Adrien’s left shoulder to hide when they exited Adrien’s bedroom.

 There was no sign of life in the apartment, so Adrien quietly brushed his teeth and combed his hair before heading to the kitchen. He took inventory of their supplies, made a shopping list in the notes app of his phone, and then left a note on the counter informing Luka and Marc that he had gone to the store.

When he got back, the flat was still silent and devoid of movement, so he took up residence in the kitchen. He snacked on the mediocre croissant that he’d picked up at the store and missed Marinette more and more by the second as he prepared big batches of three different kinds of soup.

Adrien figured that they could have some of the soup now and freeze the rest in individual portions for later, if and when they were feeling too drained to cook. He reasoned that it would be good to have something healthy and nutritious on hand if Adrien were ever out and Luka needed something quick and easy to eat.

Marc emerged from Luka’s room a little after eleven o’clock and sheepishly greeted Adrien.

“Looks like you’re being industrious already. It smells like an Indian restaurant in here, and it’s got my mouth watering,” Marc chuckled.

Adrien blushed, using his wrist to sweep a few stray hairs back out of his face. “I’m glad you approve. I know my cooking can be a little fragrant, but I’ve always loved ethnic food. Cumin and coriander are two of my favourite things, and Luka’s liked the dishes I’ve made so far, so…”

He shifted nervously, feeling a little awkward and out of place.

“I just want to be helpful,” Adrien hastened to explain. “I feel really anxious when I’m sitting around being useless.”

Marc crossed the living room into the kitchen and rested a reassuring hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You are far from useless. Don’t ever think that about yourself, Adrien.”

Adrien gave him a tentative smile, not sure whether he believed Marc was right. “Thank you. …How’s Luka doing?”

Marc winced, pulling away to rock back on his heels. “He’s…been better. He’ll live, though. I’m going to get him out of bed and up and dressed.”

Adrien nodded, turning again to the pot on the stove and pointedly avoiding Marc’s gaze. “I’m so sorry. I should have done a better job looking out for him last night. I said I was going to watch him until you got there, but…I guess I didn’t realize I’d let him have too much.”

Marc’s hand was back on Adrien’s shoulder in an instant, giving it a bolstering squeeze. “Adrien, no. Seriously. That wasn’t your fault, so please don’t blame yourself.”

Timidly, Adrien met Marc’s gaze. “You’re not mad at me?”

Marc shook his head, giving Adrien a tired smile. “Listen, Kid. Luka…”

He took a deep breath and slowly sighed it out, shaking his head. “Luka has problems. Maybe you’ve noticed, but he puts all of his energy into taking care of other people and never bothers to take care of himself. He’s been imploding for a couple months now, but this is just the culmination of years of unhealthy behavior and putting himself last.”

Adrien cringed, recognizing what Marc was describing because Luka had been that way for as long as Adrien had known him, but having Marc spell it out like that put it in a new light.

“You can’t make him care about himself, and you can’t make his problems your own responsibility,” Marc explained gently. “Try to save someone from drowning, and they might pull you down with them. All you can do is throw them a life raft and try to tow them in. You get what I’m saying?”

Adrien’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as he tried to absorb Marc’s words.

Hesitantly, he nodded. “I think I understand what you’re getting at.”

Marc smiled and gave Adrien’s shoulder a pat. “You’re a good person with a big heart, and I know it can be hard to say no when someone asks you for something, but you have to know your own limits. If it ever gets to be too much for you to handle, please call me or Jacob or Josie. You don’t have to go it alone to be useful or pay Luka back for giving you a place to stay or anything like that. Okay?”

A grateful smile slowly stretched across Adrien’s lips, and he nodded again, more certain this time. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good,” Marc affirmed, giving Adrien’s arm a pat before stepping back and making to return to Luka’s room. “Well, I’m going to go get Luka up. Happy cooking.”

“I can start on breakfast, if you’d like,” Adrien volunteered, sensing an opportunity to be helpful. “Do you have any food sensitivities? I was reading up on good hangover foods. Do you want me to make some coffee?”

Marc blinked, surprised, before bursting out into a hardy laugh. “You’re wonderful. Thank you so much Adrien. That would actually help out a lot. Coffee would be fantastic, and I eat anything so long as it’s not green pepper or olives.”

Marc gave a shudder at the mere mention of the foods.

“Got it,” Adrien confirmed with a chuckle. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes and then start so that it’s not cold by the time you’re ready for it.”

 “I am so sorry for anything and everything I said or did last night,” Luka blurted out, hanging his head as he took a seat at the island.

Adrien waved away Luka’s apology. “You’re fine. I promise you didn’t do anything embarrassing, so don’t worry about it.”

Luka was about to protest and apologize again, but Adrien cut him off. “How are you feeling?”

Luka grimaced. “Like a freight train ran over my skull. I guess it serves me right for drinking so much. I swear I’m not normally like this.”

Marc focused his attention on his coffee and kindly refrained from calling Luka out for stretching the truth.

Adrien, mercifully, didn’t press the issue either. “Here.”

He set an egg, spinach, tomato, bacon, and avocado sandwich down in front of Luka.

“I looked into hangover cures a little this morning, and the internet said that this should help you feel better.”

He next fetched a cup of coffee, a glass of water, and some pain killers.

“The articles I read said you should make sure to hydrate too, so hopefully something here helps.” Adrien finished with a tentative smile, still feeling uneasy and desperate to be useful even after Marc’s pep talks.

Luka’s bloodshot eyes filled with warmth and gratitude as he gazed at Adrien.

“Thank you, Angel. You’re amazing,” he breathed, humbled by Adrien’s thoughtfulness and the amount of care Adrien had put into the meal.

Adrien perked up at the praise, and a bit of the edge came off his anxiety at this affirmation of his worth.

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help,” he insisted.

“Luka’s lucky to have you,” Marc added approvingly, nodding towards his own breakfast sandwich. “And it’s a huge relief to know that I don’t have to worry about Luc eating anymore. You make some delicious, nutritious food, Adrien.”

A pleased blush spread across Adrien’s cheeks as he took a seat and started in on his own meal. “Thanks, Marc. Like I said, I’m really happy to be helpful.”

As breakfast wound down, Marc turned to Luka. “I need to head home. Are you going to be okay?”

Luka started to nod but stopped when it made him feel dizzy. “Yes. Thanks, Marc. I really appreciate you, and I’m sorry that that happened.” He lowered his voice to shamefully add, “again”.

Marc rolled his eyes and gently tussled Luka’s hair. “You’re good. You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Luka frowned. “Yes, but—”

“—No buts,” Marc tsked, getting to his feet and ghosting a quick kiss against Luka’s temple. “I’ll text to check on you later. Take care, all right?”

Marc turned to Adrien and raised a hand in parting. “I’ll see you Tuesday for practice. Thanks for everything, Adrien. Just text if you need anything, okay?”

Adrien nodded, waving back as Marc made his way to the door. “Thank you, Marc.”

Suddenly, the flat was awkwardly quiet.

“…He’s not the Marc you dated before, is he?” it suddenly occurred to Adrien to ask.

He wasn’t sure why he abruptly felt threatened by Marc, but he did. He was jealous of the way Luka trusted Marc implicitly while Adrien was kept at a bit of a distance. Adrien wanted to be able to take care of Luka the way Marc did.

Adrien understood what Marc had said about Luka wanting Adrien to respect him and think he was cool and not see him as a mess, but…Adrien couldn’t help but long for Luka to rely on Adrien. Adrien wanted to be trusted like that.

Luka winced. “No. The Marc I dated was a different Marc. Our Marc is straight, and he’s only had eyes for his wife Wakana for a little over a decade now.”

“Oh. Okay. Just wondering,” Adrien explained, trying to shrug it off like an inconsequential whim as he set about cleaning up from that morning’s cooking binge.

“The only person in the band I’ve dated is Jacob—a youthful folly of mine,” Luka attempted to excuse himself. “A lapse of judgment.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I remember you talking about him when we were teenagers. You slept with him.”

Luka crumpled, his ears starting to glow red.

“You only sleep with people you’re in love with,” Adrien pressed, finding a strange pleasure in making Luka squirm.

“What is love but an extended lapse of judgment?” Luka muttered.

“You don’t actually believe that.” Adrien sniffed indignantly. “You told me once that being in love lifted you to a higher plane of existence.”

“I say a lot of dumb things when I’m in love,” Luka grumbled into his coffee.

“I thought it was beautiful,” Adrien hummed softly. “Sixteen-year-old Adrien swooned when you said things like that.”

Luka choked, spraying coffee onto the counter. “Seriously?”

Adrien peeked back over his shoulder with an impish grin. “Mmhm. You were my biromantic awakening. I thought everything you said was so cool and wise and suave.”

“And now you know better,” Luka chuckled darkly, sopping up the coffee splatter with his napkin as he internally mourned the missed opportunity to sweep Adrien off of his feet.

“Not necessarily.” Adrien smiled as he grabbed a damp cloth and helped with the cleanup.

Luka quirked an eyebrow. “How could you possibly still think I was suave or cool or wise after seeing me last night?”

Adrien shrugged. “After all this time, you’re still the you I remember from back then. You haven’t changed much…and you saved me last week by taking me in. That buys you a lot of grace with me, so I’m willing to overlook last night’s indiscretion and give you a pass.”

Luka winced, squeezing his coffee mug reflexively as he bowed his head. “Thank you, Adrien. Again, I’m really sorry that you had to see that.”

Adrien leaned across the island to tip Luka’s chin up.

“No apologies needed.”

Luka’s eyes widened as his gaze flicked back and forth between Adrien’s eyes and mouth.

Adrien pulled back with a soft smile. “I know you’ve been suffering since The Breakup, so I’m proud of you for keeping it together all week while I’ve been here. You’re doing a good job, Luka.”

Luka dropped his gaze once more. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

“You’re biased, so my opinion is the only one that counts,” Adrien announced, going back to rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.

Luka chuckled and drained his coffee mug. “I’m not the only biased party here. At some point in time, you actually thought I was suave.”

Luka got up, disposed of his trash, and came over to the sink to rinse his plate and cup.

With some trepidation, Adrien turned to look at Luka. “I still think you’re suave. Like when you told me the other day that I deserved to have nice things and that I deserved things I didn’t necessarily need just because I wanted them and when you bought me my Chat Noir the Third plushie so that I’d have a reminder that I was loved.” He swallowed and reiterated, “I still think you’re amazing, Luka.”

Fighting down a rampant blush, Luka stepped in and pulled Adrien into a hug.

He couldn’t be sure if Adrien was just projecting onto Luka because Luka had given him a home and food and luxuries Adrien had been denied the past four years, so Luka didn’t want to read into what Adrien had said. He didn’t want to get himself hurt by allowing himself to misinterpret Adrien’s feelings.

“God, you’re so sweet,” Luka sighed into Adrien’s hair. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Adrien replied simply, like it was obvious.

Adrien pulled back and looked up, finally asking the question that had been bothering him since the previous night: “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Luka’s mouth dropped open. “What? No. P5, why would you think I was mad at you?”

Adrien went back to the dishes, shaking his head. “I just…last night you said that I was going to hurt you. It was kind of confusing. You didn’t seem mad. You seemed more sad than anything, and you kept telling me you loved me, but…I’m sorry. It just bothered me.”

He looked searchingly at Luka. “Do you have any idea why you would have said that I was going to hurt you?”

Luka scrubbed at his face with his hands, mentally kicking himself while simultaneously thanking his lucky stars that Papillon and akumatization were a thing of the past because he was so mortified in that moment that he’d surely register as a target.

“I am so sorry, Adrien,” Luka replied through the spaces between his fingers. “I was drunk. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I promise you I didn’t mean it, and I’m not mad at you. I probably thought I was talking to someone else. I’m really sorry.”

He held his breath and hoped that Adrien bought it because Luka couldn’t bring himself to admit what he had told his other bandmates about his doomed feelings for Adrien and Adrien’s impending relationship with Marinette once they were reunited.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “…So…you’re not mad?”

Luka dropped his hands from his face and shook his head. “Adrien, you’ve been an absolute blessing. Why would I be mad at you?”

Adrien pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either,” Luka assured. “…So…are we okay?”

“…Yeah,” Adrien decided. “Yeah, I think we are.”

“Good,” Luka sighed in relief, feeling like he’d avoided an apocalyptic catastrophe.

“…So…what happened with you and Jacob?” Adrien easily slid back into their former topic of conversation. “You were in love with him, and then…? What? You two seem cool now. Like, not awkward or anything.”

Luka shrugged, grabbing a plate and rinsing it off before handing it to Adrien to put in the dishwasher.

He didn’t exactly relish discussing his love life with Adrien, but it was better than having to explain his drunken indiscretions of the night before.

“Nothing really happened with me and Jacob. We were young teenagers in love…and then we weren’t anymore. We grew up a little, started wanting different things, grew apart… It was a mutual breakup. We decided we still cared about each other and wanted to stay friends, but it wasn’t working romantically anymore,” Luka explained with a shrug. “It happens.”

Adrien nodded, happy to finally understand the dynamic between Jacob and Luka. It had been one thing when Jacob was just a name casually mentioned in Luka’s stories, but now that Jacob had a face to go along with the name, it felt different, and Adrien was glad to be able to fit Luka and Jacob’s relationship into a clearly defined box.

“Have you kissed him since you guys broke up?” Adrien inquired, continuing to air his morbid curiosity while they were on the subject of Luka’s love life.

Luka groaned. “A handful of times? Not recently.”

“How about Josie? Have you kissed her?” Adrien pushed his luck.

Luka exploded in laughter but quickly got it under wraps when it made his head feel like it was exploding. “Josie is aggressively lesbian. She would be insulted you even asked.”

“She’d forgive me, though,” Adrien snickered. “She likes me.”

“She does,” Luka confirmed with an affectionate smile. “…Do I get to ask you questions about your love life now?”

“I don’t have a love life,” Adrien snorted. “I have no updates to report since the last time I whined at you about how my love life was nonexistent four years ago.”

“Have you ever kissed Nino?” Luka asked with a smirk.

Adrien’s entire epidermis lit up like a Roman candle, and he pointedly avoided Luka’s eyes.

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she��s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you���ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine....

Dominant Erik sees his ex gf at a party/ Dominant Erik and his soft ex gf he lost by being a fuck boi keeps taunting him about how much he can’t have this anymore since she has a new man. Erik is jealous and he has to remind her who Daddy really is

Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT. Dom & Sub play. Voyeurism. Edging. Nasty talk. Jealousy.

“Y/N, get the croissants so you can make those bomb-ass breakfast sandwiches.”

“Which ones? The big ones or the small ones?”

“The big ones.”

Y/N crouches down in a squat to grab four big croissants for her and her roommate, Ivory, to have. She was famous for making the best breakfast sandwiches. Y/N grew up in a southern home with two parents who have their own catering business. She learned to cook at the age of 6, bringing a stool over to the stove, making breakfast and lunch for her younger siblings. Now, her Cali friends can’t shut up about how great of a cook she is. Her friend from UCLA, Tommie, is having a pool party/ tattoo party at her place this evening and she asked Y/N if she could cook some dishes. She didn’t have to worry about the grilled items. Y/N was asked to make curry chicken, barbecued ribs, seafood salad, and potato salad. She already whipped up the salads yesterday so all she had to do was cook the marinated chicken and ribs so they would be fresh and ready to devour.

“I need to get my ass out of this market. If I stay in here I’ll end up spending more money and we still have to pay off the rest of the new furniture set.”

“We have enough saved, let’s splurge,” Ivory spoke while grabbing some junk food.

“The money we have saved is for emergencies, Ivory, like if our cars start fucking up? If some big weather crisis happens and we have to stock up on food for a while?”

“Girl lets live life and stop worrying about money all the damn time. You’ll be graduating next year with your Master's degree.”

Y/N chuckles, “that’s next year though. Did you get the avocados?”

Ivory held up a bag filled with them, “You know I couldn’t forget. We eat these with everything.”

“True,” Y/N stood up, pulling a wedgey from between her ass cheeks.

“One more thing,” Ivory pulled up the list of groceries from her notes in her phone, “Cookies and cream ice cream.”

“And extra Oreos because they don’t put enough in there for me,” Y/N walked to the cart, heading back down the aisle. She spotted the cookies, grabbing two packs of double-stuffed Oreos. Y/N and Ivory made a right outside of the aisle, heading towards the frozen section to grab their tub of ice cream. Ivory was currently texting away with a grin on her face, almost bumping into an Indian couple with their child. Y/N knew she was texting the group chat that included Tommie and herself because her phone kept vibrating in her Louis Vuitton purse sitting in the cart.

“Tommie wants to know if you are bringing your new boo?”

“Terrence? Yeah, I’m bringing him,” Y/N looked up at the signs above the frozen aisles to make sure she was heading towards the correct one.

“Ah, ice cream,” She made a left, Ivory following slowly behind her.

“She also wanted me to let you know that Erik is coming so be prepared.”

“Erik who?” Y/N says while bending over to grab some ice cream. Ivory held the door to the freezer open for her.

“Your ex-boyfriend?”

“All I know is a nigga named Erik who is a fuck boi. The biggest fuck boi ever,” Y/N places the ice cream in the cart, “Ready to checkout?”

Ivory purses her lips, “How long have y’all been broken up? Still ain’t over it?”

“For about...eight months now. Eight months of peace and no drama. He’s irrelevant to me. Every time I hear the name Erik I wanna fight somebody and I’m not the fighting type.”

“Does Terrence know about him?”

Y/N glares at Ivory, “No. why? Should I have mentioned him? I didn’t think I needed to.”

Ivory didn’t say another word until they made it to the car. All things were purchased and bagged up. Y/N opened the trunk with a push of a button, bringing the cart over so she could pass the bags to Ivory. Once the trunk was loaded, Y/N walked the cart to place it with the others. She made her way back, Ivory driving this time since Y/N drove to the market.

“I RATHER BE YOUR B.I.T.C.H CAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU GON’ CALL ME WHEN I’M TRIPPING ANYWAY!” Y/N jammed to Megan Thee Stallion’s song that played from Ivory’s iTunes. She grinds her hips in her seat, thick ass and thighs moving, windows rolled down making her top knot curly bun frizzy, and snapping her fingers.

“Aye, you know you can’t control me, baby, you need a real one in your life them bitches ain’t gon’ give it to you right!” Y/N stuck her tongue out.

“Bitch, who you singing to? Soft Boi Terrence or Fuck Boi Erik?”

“Neither, I’m just singing, girl. Why I gotta be singing to a nigga?” Y/N turned down the music.

“Because, bitch, I peep what you’ve been doing on the GRAM.”

“What have I been doing Ivory?” Y/N asked defensively.

“My girl ain’t so sweet anymore,” Ivory raises both of her brows, “The captions under your pictures? The music you post in your stories? Who are you tryna piss off?”

“I know this ain’t about Erik ain’t shit ass,” Y/N argues while talking with her hands, long acrylic nails swaying like she was ghetto fabulous, “Cuz if it is you can cut this shit out real quick.”

“Let me give you an example,” Ivory clears her throat, “You wish this was still your pussy, HUH?”

“Girl, that’s a quote from a song,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, how about, Fuck Boys played out, let’s treat these niggas how they treat us. Y/N, I’m not the only one who’s noticed, girl. And you didn’t unfollow Erik on Instagram. You want him to see all your posts so he can get jealous and miss what he can’t have that’s what you’re doing.”

“What’s wrong with that though?” Y/N shrugs, “He crept around with other bitches, so what’s wrong with me letting him know that he will never find another girl like me? I want him to feel it. Terrence might be soft and sweet but he treats me with respect. Erik just wanted to get his dick wet. He didn’t take what we had seriously, Ivory. I don’t care how fine or how big that nigga dick is he fucked up.”

“OKAY. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just don’t want you to dwell on him. Then, that means he won, right?”

“I don’t want him to win,” Y/N spoke with a pout of her lips, “I want him to remember what he lost, that’s all. I want him to watch me glow up on his big-headed ass.”

“Girl...we both know Erik. We know how he had you running behind him. If that nigga said get on your knees for Daddy, what you gon’ do? GET ON YOUR KNEES!”

“Nah,” Y/N folds her arms over her hefty chest, “Nope. He doesn’t have that power over me anymore-“

“I remember the stories, Y/N. How he taught you to be the best freak. Girl, you can’t just throw that away.”

“Who’s side are you on?” Y/N spoke with rage.

“Nobody’s side. I just know you still have feelings for him, that’s all. Don’t do Terrence like that. He’s just a filler, we both know this.”

“I really like Terrence. He’s the man I should be with, not Erik. My mama warned me about men like Erik. They sweet talk you, fuck you good, then break your heart and move on to the next bitch. She said it with those exact words. I always told myself I would never get with a dude like Erik and here my dumb ass go skipping to a dick appointment and coming out bow-legged.”

Ivory was in a fit of laughter wheezing and clutching her aching belly. Y/N turned the music back up, shaking her head at the fact that she even had to talk about him again. She wanted Erik and everything he did to her out of her mind. It took a while for Y/N to forget the good times. The nights where they laid up under eachother, talking about everything under the sun. The way he kissed her. How hungry he was for her each time he saw her. How he made her body react to him. Made her cum from dick for the first time. Turned her over to the BDSM lifestyle, becoming his 24/7 slut. It was fun, exhilarating, risky, sexy, wild, passionate, but then she found out he has multiple bitches calling him Daddy and submitting to him. That was the last draw. She cut ties with him and he acted like he didn’t give a fuck.

“So I won’t give a fuck,” Y/N held her head high, “I’m gonna enjoy being petty.”

“You’re grown,” Ivory ended it, turning into their apartment complex.

————————-

The Splash party/ Tattoo party will start around 6 PM and would end whenever. Tommie, the host and Y/N’s Instagram Model friend, was currently on the phone with the moon bounce crew about when they would arrive. Ivory and Y/N were in the kitchen taking the shells off of the boiled eggs. The dank smell of weed filtered into the kitchen from out back while Ivory and Y/N continued with the eggs. They had so many to do. Terrence was out back helping Tommie’s boyfriend, DJ, blow up the floaties and other pool accessories. Most of the hot food was in the oven on low heat. The grill master, another friend of theirs, Bryson, was seasoning the meat outside so he could start the grilling process. Y/N didn’t have on her bikini like Ivory and Tommie did. Y/N has a lime green bikini packed away in a holographic tote bag. She had on a pair of elastic waistband pink velvet shorts and a cropped airbrushed T-shirt that read Spoil Me.

“Is that my nigga Erik?!” DJ yells.

Y/N didn’t react, she didn’t flinch or jump to look at him. She continued scooping the yoke out of the middle of the boiled egg whites.

“So, you’re the drink plug then? Where’s the rest of the liquor?”

“In the truck.”

His voice. She hadn’t heard it in about seven months. She forgot how raspy and alluring it was. Now, she was remembering the way he used to talk to her. Instruct her to sit on his dick or suck his dick with no hands.

“We may need to make one more run. You know Tommie’s friends with everybody,” Erik laughs.

That laugh was infectious. Y/N licks her lips, picking up another egg to cut into.

“Who’s here already?” Erik asked.

“Bryson, Ivory, Y/N, and her boyfriend Terrance.”

“Oh, for real? Let me go say wassup.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened. She wondered how her hair looked slicked back in a bun or how thick she looked in her velvet shorts. All thoughts she wished she didn’t have but couldn’t help. Ivory was too busy singing to Ari Lennox that played from her phone to pay attention to Y/N. Footsteps finally settled in the kitchen. Y/N looked up through her lashes, staring at her ex. Erik Stevens. He put on more muscle. Skin a deeper brown from the sun. Dreads in his hair now and not that kinky fro she remembered him having. Orange swim trunks on and a half-buttoned white linen shirt that showed off gold chains hanging from his neck. He was carrying a box filled with dark liquor.

“Sup?” He spoke to both Ivory and Y/N. Y/N didn’t speak.

“Hey, Erik,” Ivory waves to him with a knife in her hand, “How have you been?”

“Pretty good, how about you?”

“Same me, what did you bring for us?” Ivory peered her big brown eyes into his box, “Hennessy, Long Island, D’usse! good choices.”

“More coming too,” Erik smiles. His eyes looking past Ivory’s braided hair to stare at Y/N, “Hey, Pinky.”

He actually called her that. Her hair wasn’t even pink anymore. She went back to her natural dark brown. He said that shit to piss her off.

“Damn, rude ass,” Erik kissed his teeth, “Where you want these at, DJ?”

“Come on, let me show you.”

—————————-

“Erik, this is Terrence, Y/N’s boyfriend.”

Terrence was taller than Erik and slender. Skin a hickory brown, silky waves in his jet black hair, full lips and sepia eyes. His chest and arms were covered in tattoos. He has on black and grey striped trunks with no shirt. His body was wet from being in the pool to place the pool lights and floaties.

“Hey, man,” Terrence shook Erik’s hand with his wet one, “Oh, snap!” Terrence pulls a bottle of Hennessy from Erik’s liquor box, “Can we open this now?”

“I don’t care, it’s for everybody,” Erik walks away, sitting the box down on an empty table next to ice buckets that DJ told him was the bar.

“Where do I know you from?” Terrence asked while following Erik to the drink table.

“I’m well known. I’m a party promoter and I own my own night club-“

“OH YEAH. That’s where I know you from. I follow you on Instagram. I’ve been to a few of your parties. Your shit be jumping off, bruh.”

“Thanks.” Erik started taking the bottles out of the box.

“I also know that you and Y/N used to fuck with each other.”

A smile crept up Erik’s lips, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And let me just say this now before I walk away. Don’t think about speaking to her. She’s with me now. Clearly, she left your ass for a reason. She didn’t tell me exactly who her ex was but she did say he was a cheating ass bitch. Stay away from her, aight?”

“Step off, nigga, before I make you,” Erik’s eyes were dark and menacing. Y/N failed to mention that Erik was dangerous. Killer dangerous, “She ain’t mention how I kill niggas for a living too? Don’t end up on my list tryna defend your bitch. I had her, I know how she feels. Still nice and tight? Still gotta lay the towels down under her big ol’ ass because she squirts too much? Did she mention how I call her Pinky because her hair used to be hot pink and how she sucked on the dick real good?”

Terrence simply scowled at Erik. He looked like he wanted to bust Erik’s head open with one of those liquor bottles but not once did he make a move to correct Erik or hit him. Erik smirks before grabbing the Hennessy bottle from Terence, opening it, and drinking from it in his face. Erik wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes unblinking and murderous.

“Nothing to say? What happened to the tough guy? I like a challenge-“

“Just stay away from her, she doesn’t need you, she got me-“

“Are you insecure, homie? For you to approach me like this right off the back lets me know that you’re afraid I may take her away.”

“I’m not tryna ruin Tommie’s party, homie-“

“Nah, you feel insecure. If you know me then you must know how I get down. Pinky ain’t mention how she used to be my little slut? If I make you my little slut that means you’re still mine.”

“Y’all Aight?!” DJ yells over at Terrence and Erik from the pool, “Y’all niggas ain’t about to fight over Y/N are y’all?”

“NAH,” Erik yells, clapping Terrence on the back, “Just getting to know Terrence more. Decent guy.”

Erik walked away, bumping Terrence’s shoulder so hard he stumbled. Terrence braces himself on the table before looking back at Erik with fury. Once again, Terrence didn’t do shit.

“You know,” Erik takes off his checkered Vans before putting his feet in the water, “Y/N really needs to find a nigga with some backbone next time.”

“What did you say?” DJ asks with a shake of his long dreads, “Did you threaten that nigga, Kill?”

“Nah, he tried to threaten me though. Ain’t work. How long him and Pinky been dealing with each other?”

“Probably for five months. They met through me. Terrence came with me to a house party and next thing I know he and Y/N hitting it off. They exchanged numbers and been down for each other ever since.”

“That shit won’t last,” Erik took a swig of Hennessy, “she still talks about me?”

“No, Erik. That girl doesn’t mention your name, ever.”

“She still thinking about me with all those shady captions she posts on Instagram. She turned into a real gangsta on a nigga,” Erik chuckles, “I know it ain’t because of him.”

“E, DONT act a fool, bruh.”

“She shouldn’t have come. She should have stayed her fine ass home then.”

—————————

Y/N was standing in Tommie’s master bathroom tying the strings to her bikini thong. She grabs her phone from the sink to take a boomerang of her in the bikini for her Instagram story. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but Y/N was intentionally stalling in the bathroom. Other guests already began to pour in and eat the food. The music from the DJ at the pool could be heard all the way in the bathroom, Roddy Rich- The Box playing. Terrence was probably already drunk by the pool since he couldn’t keep a drink out of his hand. Ivory was probably scouting the crowd full of men for someone to potentially take with her back to the apartment later. And Erik...

“Stop thinking about him.” Y/N spoke to herself in the mirror. She sighs, grabbing her matching lime green kimono to put around herself. Y/N headed out of the bathroom, walking down the hall and descending the steps towards the party. The house was empty, everyone out in Tommie’s big yard partying. When Y/N arrived, she smiled wide. This was like a 90’s pool party. Women dancing and walking around in tiny bikinis. Men dunking chicks in the pool or carrying them on their shoulders in the water. Towels laid out in the grass, people sitting on them with plates of food in their hands while others sat on chairs with their knees together to hold their plates of food. Moon bounce in full effect too. Tommie even has a slip n’ slide.

“Baby!” Terrence came over to Y/N with his arms out and an annoyed expression on his face, “Where have you been for the past hour? Sleeping?”

“No, getting dressed,” Y/N bats her lashes innocently, “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

“Nah, that nigga over there is just irritating me.”

Y/N gave Terrence a perplexed look, “What nigga?”

“Your ex.”

Y/N looked up in time to see Erik surrounded by a group of half-naked women in the pool. They all splashed him, Erik picking one of them up to toss back into the pool. The other who tried to splash him was resting on a flamingo floaty. Erik flips the floaty over, the girl shrieking as she went underwater.

“How did you find out?” Y/N turned her eyes back on Terrence.

“Found a picture of you and him on his Instagram at a party he promoted for.”

Y/N looks away, a guilty expression on her face.

“Why did you hide that from me?”

“You wanna do this right now, Terrence?” Y/N folded her arms, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t cause a scene.

“Just answer the question, he’s gonna be here a while and I have to see his ugly mug until we leave. And Pinky? What’s up with that-“

“WHAT?!” Y/N raised her voice.

“He told me he called you Pinky because you used to have hot pink hair-“

“This conversation is over, Terrence. I didn’t come here to talk about my ex I came here to have fun- AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Y/N was being tossed into the pool. She didn’t have time to prepare herself as the chlorine water burned in her nose. Her hands splashed frantically before she went under again. Gaining her footing, Y/N broke the water surface, coughing with her eyes squeezed shut. Snickering and shouts surrounded her. Y/N finally opens her reddish eyes, staring up at a laughing Erik with his wet muscular body standing over her on the pool edge.

“NEED SOME HELP OUT OF THERE?” He teased.

Y/N was about to charge him until she saw the straps to her bikini top floating in front of her. She screamed, causing more people to laugh. Tommie and a few other girls came over while Y/N held the front of her bikini top tightly so it wouldn’t float away.

“SERIOUSLY, BRUH?!” Terrence was ready to attack Erik but Erik’s friends held him off, trying to calm him down.

“All jokes, Terrence. Y/N is used to it. Falls for the shit every time. Ain’t that right, Pinky?”

Y/N was embarrassed. Finally secured, she swam to the pool ladder, climbing out of it while glaring at Erik with vengeance. Her hair was out of its bun, wet curly hair smoothing down her back. The kimono she wore was currently floating in the pool and her ears were filled with water. She rushed away and back into the house, a finger in her ear swishing around to help get the water out. Y/N almost slips on the tile of the kitchen floor when she made it back inside.

“UGHHHHHH.” She groaned loudly.

“Baby, you Aight? Here,” Terrence held out her fluffy SpongeBob beach towel for her, “I know you’re cold.”

“Thanks, DICK,” Y/N snatched the towel.

“Why the attitude towards me?” Terrence spoke offensively.

“Because I have a feeling you said something to Erik. You knew he was coming, didn’t you? You had an entire speech waiting for him when he arrived? Now, he’s provoked and he will do whatever it takes to piss you and me off. So THANK YOU!!!! I am SO GRATEFUL!”

“Chill out with all of that. Yeah, I did approach him. I told him to keep his focus on everything and everyone else besides you-“

“Why though? You scared he’s gonna come back into my life? That’s a wack nigga move on your end,” Y/N wraps the towel around her waist, “I’m gonna go clear my head. Why don’t you go back out there and stir up some more shit.”

“Y/N!” Terrence yelled out as her back turned. She stomped through the living room, spotting a bottle of Tequila, grabbing it, and walking upstairs to Tommie’s room.

————————

Y/N was sitting on Tommie’s balcony, staring down at the party with a gloomy expression. Erik was down there partying with his third plate of food in his hand. Ivory was in the pool playing shoulder wars, better known as chicken fight with one of Tommie’s model friends. Bryson was sweating bullets at the grill and Tommie and DJ sat on the pool edge with drinks in their hands. Y/N couldn’t spot Terrence. She didn’t care honestly. Y/N was burning through that bottle of Tequila. She could feel the earth rocking beneath her and her mind drifting in and out like a tide. Y/N stares with blurry eyes at the bottle in her hand. It was almost gone. She rolls her eyes, capping the rest before throwing the bottle on the balcony couch that Tommie has. Y/N stood on wobbly legs, bracing herself on the glass sliding doors before entering the house. She needed to eat but she didn’t want to walk back out there.

Y/N picks up her phone from Tommie’s canopy bed, ready to dial for Tommie but before she could, her phone was buzzing in her hand from an incoming call. She didn’t bother to see who it was, answering the phone anyway.

“He-hello?”

“You tore up already, ma?”

That voice almost made her sober.

“Why the FUCK do you still have my number?”

“Because I can. Where you at?”

“FUCK. YOU.” Y/N spoke with a slurred voice.

“Just tell me where you are so I can come to the rescue like always.”

“No, Fuck Boy, I’d rather lay in my own vomit than be near you for another fucking second you piece of shit.”

“Damn, I really turned you into a Lil’ savage, huh?”

“Erik...I am hanging up.”

Y/N ended the call.

“Sup, Pinky?”

Y/N felt like her body was moving in slow motion. She looked towards the entrance to Tommie’s bedroom. There, in his orange trunks, bare feet and shirtless was Erik himself. He has a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Y/N asked while blinking up at Erik. She felt like her head was spinning.

“Because...I know you still like it. You gon’ always be Pinky to me...my Pinky. Ain’t gon’ never change.”

“What do you think is going to happen for you? You think because you bring me food and water I’m gonna get down on my knees for you? I’m not your submissive anymore, Erik.”

“I’m not here to argue with you I’m here to sober you up, here,” Erik places the plate filled with a burnt hotdog, some cucumber salad, and deviled eggs, “I figured this would be the perfect food to soak up that alcohol. I saw you throwing that bottle back like it was water.”

Y/N didn’t say thank you but she did accept the food. She was starving. Erik sat on the other side of the bed, watching her eat like she was his favorite movie. She ate quickly, burping and all. Y/N grabs the water from the bed, uncapping it before gulping that water down in a rush. She felt better even though she was still tipsy. Her head didn’t spin like before and she could stand with a better center of gravity on her two feet.

“You ain’t gotta thank me. I know your pride won’t let you. You’re welcome anyway.”

“You can go now.” Y/N got up from Tommie’s bed, walking to the bathroom to rinse her mouth out with Listerine.

“I like it up here more,” Erik follows her, his eyes watching her ass sway, “We can catch up and shit.”

“Catch up? Boy-“

“I’m a grown-ass man, Y/N.” Erik cuts her off quickly.

“Fuck Boy’s are little boys to me,” Y/N rolls her eyes at Erik in the mirror, “Now, why don’t you make yourself scarce and leave me the fuck alone, yeah?”

Erik had a glint in his eyes that Y/N would usually flench at but this time she didn’t give a fuck.

“What? I’m being too bratty for you? You want to punish me?” Y/N let out a short suppressed laugh, “Please.”

“Keep talking, watch what I do next.”

“Nothing!” Y/N swished the Listerine around her mouth thoroughly before spitting it out. “You don’t get to tame me again. I’m gonna go to the party, swim, freak dance with all this ass on my boyfriend, and spend time with my friends. You do you, and I’ll do me, okay?”

Y/N rinses out the Listerine cap, twisting it back on the bottle, then walking back to the bedroom. Erik walked out behind her slowly, his hands clenched in fists and his nostrils flared. Y/N ignored him completely, reaching out to grab her phone only to see it vibrating with an incoming call.

“Ah, that’s my man right now,” Y/N picks up the phone to answer it, “Hey, baby,” Y/N looked over at Erik and he was green with envy, “I’m better. I just took a little nap. You know how I can be when I’m tired.”

Erik’s covetous expression didn’t go unnoticed. Y/N got onto the bed slowly, feet swinging behind her while she twirled a piece of her curly hair, putting on a sweet and honeyed voice. She was playing with him. The little minx.

“I’ll be down, Daddy...Mhm, I’m so sorry I was so pissed with you earlier. I just get so angry sometimes...Mhm, I just need some sex that’s all.”

“Y/N...put the phone down, now,” Erik warned her with a quiet rough tone. He steps a little closer.

Y/N rolled over onto her back, “I promise, I’ll be a good girl,” Y/N giggles, “Yes, fuck Erik, I’m your new good girl-“

“Y/N. Do it now before I tear that ass up, girl, I’m not playing with you.” Erik tries to grab her phone but Y/N backs away on her knees, getting out the canopy bed.

“Yes, Daddy, you’re my new Daddy, fuck Erik-“

Her phone was snatched from her hand and placed in his trunks. Y/N shoves Erik away aggressively. That was the wrong move. Erik picked Y/N up, covering her mouth to muffle her screams, walking towards one of Tommie’s bedroom closets since she had two of them, opening it, then stepping inside. He sat her down, finding the light switch in the closet. Erik looks down at Y/N, her chest rising and falling with deep gasping breaths, body backing away into a corner. Erik didn’t blink. He didn’t even speak. His body was pressed firmly against hers, trapping her in the corner. Y/N could only look at either his eyes or his chest. His skin smelled like chlorine and Shea butter.

“Done playing with me?” He spoke finally, “Cuz I didn’t find that shit funny.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Y/N teased, “Jealous that I have a new Daddy to fuck and not you?”

“More like pissed the FUCK off. You had your little rebellious fun for these eight months. Now, I gotta properly get in that ass. Like I said...you done playing with me?”

“No,” Y/N smiles, “You need to hurry up with your I’m still Daddy speech I got a date with my man at the pool-“

“Oh, I’m done talking. You know...talking doesn’t seem to work for you anymore since you turned into a Lil’ savage on a nigga. I gotta use action...”

“Erik, move,” Y/N bumps past him, turning the doorknob only for it to be locked. Confused, Y/N jiggled the knob and twisted it with more force, her upper arm burning from her muscles being worked out. Pausing, Y/N looked from side to side nervously, her hand still on that brass doorknob. Now, she was screaming, practically yanking Tommie’s doorknob. Erik brings a hand around to cover her mouth, pulling her further into the closet, forcefully placing her back against the wall. Y/N still wanted to scream even though Erik’s hand was pressed over her lips. She bites down on one of his fingers, thinking that would help her but it only pissed Erik off more.

“Shut the fuck up with all that noise,” Erik whispered angrily into her ear, “Yelling like a fucking child. SHUT UP.”

“Mmmm!” She tries to speak. Erik’s face was dangerously close to hers.

“Couldn’t get out?” She blinked up into his onyx eyes, “couldn’t escape? How does it feel that you are locked inside of a closet with me right now, Hmm? My Pinky scared?” Erik removes his hand from her mouth, Y/N shaking with fear, “Yell Terrence name. I want you to yell as loud as you can.”

“WHAT-“ she was cut off with a hand around her throat.

“Do. It.” He spoke with a warning before letting her neck go, standing back with his large biceps and triceps crossed over his chest.

Y/N clears her throat but her voice cracked, “TERRENCE?!!”

“Mm-mm. Louder than that.”

“TERRENCE!!!!!!”

Nothing. He was toying with her. Making her yell his name like he would come to the rescue. He was reminding her that she was trapped and the loud music and partying from outside muffled her yells. Y/N was vanquished. Vanquished by the one man she despised.

“Say, Terrence, help me! Help me please!” Erik smirks deviously.

“T-TERRENCE! HE-HELP ME! PLEASE HE-HELP ME!” She felt like an idiot.

Erik presses his ear to the door, “Hmm, no sign of him. I wonder why?” He asked with faux curiosity.

“Because he’s outside, and it’s loud, Erik,” Y/N glares at him.

“Exactly. Good girl...that’s my baby,” Erik jiggles the doorknob, “I peeped that Tommie locks the closet form the outside. No wonder, look at the shit she has in here,” Y/N entertained Erik, looking around on the shelves and the floor. Nothing but boxes filled with home movies, a folded up camcorder, sex toys for men and women, a blow-up doll deflated in the corner, and BDSM toys.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I introduced the homie DJ to this? I’m the one that suggested he spice up sex with Tommie by making her his little slut. It seems like it worked. Don’t you agree Lil’ mama?”

Y/N didn’t respond. She was having flashbacks to how her closet used to look. Exactly like this minus the blow-up doll. Erik purchased her own collection so he wouldn’t have to bring his own from his place. The movies and the camcorder really struck a nerve. All the movies they made, especially Erik’s favorite that involved her first time as his sub, 

Daddy! oh! Daddy! I can’t believe I’m cumming!

Daddy, it’s so big in my little bad girl pussy!

MMM! Yes, Daddy! I’m a little slut! I’m your nasty little slut!

I love sucking your fat dick, Daddy...

It played in her mind. All the sex. All the role play. She couldn’t wipe it out. It was as if someone opened her brain to re-file all her memories of her Daddy, her Sir. To her disappointment, Y/N could feel her pussy growing warm and wet.

“Now, what smart shit do you have to say now?”

“N-nothing,” Y/N slid down the wall and to the floor, “I don’t have anything to say.”

“I know you don’t. Cuz you know if you keep talking I’m gonna pop that ass real good, right?”

Y/N glares at Erik, “Yes.”

“Terrence just let you walk all over him, doesn’t he? That nigga ain’t Daddy don’t make his head swell with false promises, Pinky.”

“STOP calling me that. My hair isn’t even pink anymore. And I’m not your little porn star-“

“You still are. You wanna see something?”

“See WHAT?” Y/N glanced at Erik’s trunks.

“See what will make you remember how much of a porn star you really are for me.”

“I-No, Erik, I don’t,” Y/N’s eyes disobeyed her by looking at his crotch again.

“You do, and you will,” Erik didn’t need to do much, he simply takes his thumbs, hooking them in the waistband of his trunks, and pulling them down so they could cascade around his ankles. His dick was moist from his wet trunks but it still hung heavy like Y/N remembered. Still just as thick and beautiful. Terrence has a little dick compared to Erik’s. That was the dick that made her cum multiple times in one session. That was the dick she would wake up to in her mouth or wait for on her knees at her door when he said he was about to pull up. The dick she would gladly go limp for. The dick that turned her into the best slut. Her Daddy’s dick.

“This is what you still do to me. Still don’t want it?” Erik moves his hips making his dick bounce and twirl.

“Uh-huh,” Y/N spoke with an unsure voice.

“Speak into the mic, Pinky,” Erik jokes, laughing and making Y/N suck her teeth. Erik moves closer to her, his moisturized dick hitting her in the cheek. Y/N reaches out to slap it away but it was like an iron rod; rigid and stiff. Her clit jumped and her pussy squeezed around nothing.

“Go ahead, take all that anger and frustration towards me out on this fat dick.” Y/N could hear him jerking his dick, “Stop playing and suck Daddy’s dick.”

“Fuck,” Y/N whimpers, “I’m so fucking mad at you! I can’t believe I wanna suck your dick right now!”

“I can,” Erik taps his dick on her lip, “Let’s go, mamas.”

“Terrence...he’s-“

“Oh yeah,” Erik crouched down to grab his trunks, pulling out Y/N’s phone, “FaceTime him so he can watch you suck on this dick.”

“ERIK! Nooooo,” Y/N pleaded, “No, I don’t wanna do that to him-“

“I DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT NIGGA,” Erik shoves her phone in her face, “Call that wack nigga right now, or I will.”

“Please,” She was on her knees, eyes watering, “Please, pleaseeeeee I don’t want him to know-“

“Then you’re not Pinky no more. The Pinky I remember used to suck my dick under the table at the restaurant or at the club in VIP. That’s the Pinky I remember. He messed you up, girl,” Erik presses her phone against her cheek, “Call him right now, hear me, girl?”

“UGH, OKAYYYYYYY!” Y/N snatched her phone away, earning her hair getting pulled

“Fuck is wrong with you?!!! I am so disappointed,” He had a mug on his face that scared Y/N, “I got something for you...wait till his face pop up...watch.”

Y/N’s teary eyes looked down at the FaceTime call. It rang twice before Terrence popped up, drunk with another drink in his hand. He was currently waiting to get a tattoo done since the tattoo man and his crew showed up.

“Hey, baby! I thought you said you were coming down?! The tattoo man here! I’m thinking about getting your name.”

“Oh, he’s a quick one,” Erik joked.

“Who is that? And why are you crying, love?”

Y/N’s lip trembled while Erik softly ran his fingers through her hair.

“Are you in a closet? What the fuck is going on with you?” Terrence looked like he was coming to his senses.

“B-Baby, I-I’m sorry. Just break up with me, okay? I-I’m about to do something very bad and-“

“Erik pulls her hair with a warning.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Y/N turned towards Erik on her knees, making sure Terrence could see what she was doing. Her hand wraps around Erik’s girthy meat, shuddering breaths escaping her mouth before her lips pulled him in snugly. She instantly remembered the taste. She hadn’t sucked a dick this big in months so she wasn’t used to the filling her mouth received. Erik could be seen smiling smugly down into the phone while his balls dangled and Y/N’s tight plump lips went back and forth over his dick.

“Y/N!!!!!!!! What the fuck?!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!!!! You cheating ass bitch!!!!” Terrence gawked at her while she sucked, looking from that phone with her pretty mocha eyes shining with tears and up to stare at Erik. She felt so guilty but having Erik’s dick in her mouth again brought back the good times when she used to suck on her Daddy.

“YEAH! WE ARE DONE! hoe ass bitch.”

He ended the FaceTime.

“Good girl,” Erik fucked her mouth, “That’s my good girl, my good little slut.”

Y/N sucked him while he gave her the dick.

“Now, who is the cheater? You just FaceTimed your boyfriend while sucking your ex’s dick. Shame on you,” Erik made Y/N gag, “On your knees in the closet while sucking me. So nasty, baby, yes, such a slut. Aren’t you a slut?”

Y/N nods her head.

“Good girl, who’s a slut?”

“Me-”

“And who’s slut are you?”

Erik pulls his dick from Y/N’s mouth, “Your slut.”

“Mhm, and who do you answer to?”

“Y-you, Daddy,” Y/N’s eyes were puffy, nose running, mouth drooling.

“Exactly. Now suck my fucking dick like you’re supposed to, slut.”

Y/N went back to pleasing Erik, sucking on him to make up for the lost time. She had to show him that she still had the title for the best dick sucker. Like she didn’t go on a hiatus, her jaws went tight and her throat became a never-ending fuck hole for Erik’s thick slab of meat.

“Why don’t you grab my nuts and play with those too. Don’t leave them hanging, baby. Take all of me.”

Y/N obeyed his command, grabbing Erik’s fat sack with her hands. She massages them, her lips on the tip of his dick now trying to ring him dry.

“That’s it, get it, mamas, yesssss, Mhm, just like before, uh-huh,” Erik’s eyes fluttered, “Fuck, you know how to please me. It was fate having you here. Now, ain’t no running away from me.”

“Mmm-“

“You’re here to stay. Fucking leave me again if you want.”

Y/N could feel Erik’s dick swelling in her mouth. Her plump lips felt sore from stretching them around his dick. 

“Suck that dick for Daddy, a true dick sucker, dump all this cum in your mouth, and you better swallow.”

“mmmm,” Y/N blinked her eyes up at him. She couldn’t do much but mumble.

“Goddamn, what a mouth on you, I trained you so well to deep throat big dicks and you can take the whole damn thing, Daddy loves to fuck your pretty little mouth-”

When Y/N smiled at him with a mouth full of dick Erik erupted in her mouth and Y/N’s pussy got so wet it was dripping on the carpet in the closet. Her submissive throat happily swallowed all of his cum. 

“Slut,” Erik smiled at her.

Y/N pops her mouth off, wiping her chin with the back of her had while trying to catch her breath. There was no going back, she already did what she said she wouldn’t do. Y/N could see Ivory now pointing a finger at her while laughing hysterically. She was on her knees for Erik just like she said she would be. 

“Stand up!” Erik startled her with his booming voice, “Put your leg up on that shelf, let me see that Lil sexy pussy that I haven’t had in months-”

“It’s your own fault, Daddy-”

WHACK!

Erik struck Y/N’s ass painfully before cuffing it so hard his nails sank into her skin. 

“Keep talking back. Keep running your fucking mouth,” WHACK! “Put that goddamn leg up like I said.”

Y/N brought her leg up to one of Tommie’s shelves, adjusting her balance.

“Pull that juicy cheek open so I can see my meal.”

Y/N pulls her left cheek open, revealing her wet, creamy pussy to Erik’s hungry eyes and drooling mouth. 

“Fuck yes. Need some pussy on my tongue like yesterday.”

Erik got down on his knees in the cramped closet, helping Y/N by holding her cheeks wider before his entire mouth gave Y/N one big kiss with a whole lot of tongue and suction. 

“Feed me,” Erik commands, Y/N opening her legs further for Erik to devour her pussy. She moaned sharply, gasps escaping her mouth in a desperate rhythm. His tongue dragged from her tight hole all the way up to her clit. Air was forced from her lungs in agonized gasps. Over and over he dragged his tongue along her engorged folds. Her thighs shook and she could feel her foot slipping from the shelf. Erik held her thigh up further so he could lap her kitty and give it sweet kisses. She could feel herself beginning to squirt because of a little of the clear liquid dripping from her. Erik tasted that, taking his tongue to roll over her clit before he brought his lips together to suck.

“Uhhhhh! Uuuuuuuh!” Y/N sucked in a quick breath, ready to explode but Erik stops. 

Y/N grabs the back of Erik’s head, bringing him closer to her pussy, “Daddy-”

“Don’t fucking touch me before I spank you again. You don’t deserve to cum in Daddy’s mouth. No matter how much I want that sweet pussy in my mouth I gotta discipline you.”

“Pleaseeeee,” Y/N wanted to cry. She was so close. Her cum was about to glaze his fucking face. 

“Nah, fix your bikini and pick up your phone to call Tommie so she can come open this closet.”

“Erik,” Y/N tried to sweet-talk him but he was busy pulling up his trunks. She rolls her eyes, Picking up her phone from the floor, unlocking it, and dialing Tommie’s number. It rang four times and she didn’t answer.

“She’s not answering, see,” Y/N shows Erik her phone. He looked at it nonchalantly.

“Dial it again that girl stays having her phone in her hand-”

“You can finish eating my pussy for me,” Y/N bends over as far as she could go, spreading her cheeks, showing Erik that sad little pussy that needed to be licked up, “See, Daddy? Daddy, please?”

“Get the fuck up.” Erik pulled her up by her arm, “Now dial her fucking number like I said.”

Y/N whimpers, stomping her foot, dialing Tommie again and hoping she wouldn't pick up. To Y/N’s disappointment, Tommie picks up, her voice loudly speaking into the phone because of the music.

“Y/N?! WHERE ARE YOU? TERRENCE STORMED OUT OF HERE.”

“Tommie! can you come to your room, please?!!! I’m locked in your closet!”

“WHAT? WHY?-”

“Just hurry, please??!!!!”

“AIGHT HERE I COME.”

The line ended.

Y/N looked over at a fully clothed Erik, spotting his wet beard and lower lip.

“Uh, Daddy,” Y/N pointed to his chin, “You still have my pussy juices on your face.”

“I know,” Erik looks her up and down,” I'm gon’ keep it there too-”

Tommie opened the door, hazel eyes growing wide and mouth hanging open.

“Oh! this what you were doing, huh?!” She laughs, “Y'all are wild! no wonder why Terrence left ready to cry!”

Y/N stormed out of the bedroom.

“Erik,” Tommie scolded, “Don’t fuck with my girl like that-”

“Mind your business, Tommie,” Erik playfully mushed Tommie before leaving the bedroom as well.

_________________

Y/N relaxed on a floaty in the pool, staring up at the starry sky. She didn’t care that the people around her splashed water or bumped into the floaty. She needed to reflect on what she just did. Erik was currently in the house getting a tattoo of a scorpion with the year 1986 on the back of his left arm. His session would probably take another hour. Y/N wanted to get a tattoo of a crescent moon on the side of her left breast but she felt that if she sat in there near Erik, she would act like even more of a brat. He didn’t deserve to deprive her, she deserved to deprive him. He cheated on her for some other bitch. He should be begging her but Y/N didn’t have it in her to do it. She wanted Erik to control her. 

“Sup, ma?”

Y/N looks down in the pool, her eyes connecting with a guy who looked Ethiopian, thick coily hair wet and dripping onto his forehead. He has full lips with facial hair that didn’t connect, eyes a cinnamon color and a skin smooth and caramel.

“Hello,” Y/N spoke dryly.

“Can I keep you company? I know your man stormed out of here crying about you. You really pissed him off, huh?”

“Do you need anything?” Y/N asked with annoyance.

“Your number if that’s cool,” He tried to put on a smooth voice but it didn’t work, “You look so gloomy with your pretty self.”

“How about you get me a drink,” Y/N needed one.

“I can do that.”

“What’s your name?”

“Aman,” He held out his hand to her, “You?”

“Y/N.” She shook his wet hand.

____________________________

“All finished, bro.”

Erik looked at his tattoo in the mirror that was given to him. He was a great tattoo artist. Erik paid him extra, thanking him again after getting it covered up with ointment, before walking away to let the next person have a turn. He needed to get more liquor before the good shit was gone. Heading back outside, Erik spots a group of people huddled around the pool lounge area, shouting and laughing. He walks over and the closer he got, he notices Y/N standing up, removing her swimsuit top, big beautiful, hefty breasts with large chocolate areolas and nipples free for everyone to see. She had everyone gawking at her before she took off running around the pool, breasts rebounding and swaying. She ran past Erik, almost slipping, before making it back to the group that cheered her on like she won a contest. She immediately picked up her bikini top, Tommie tying it back in place for her. Erik crushed the red solo cup in his hand, the ice falling out and landing on his bare toes. He tossed the cup down, squaring his shoulders before walking up to the group. All the dudes over there were looking at her savagely, dicks probably hard as a cement block in their wet trunks. One dude in particular that Erik recognized to be Aman was whispering in her ear, probably telling her how much he would love to suck on those big ass titties all night long; like a damn baby.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!” Ivory spoke with shock, “Okay, your turn Aman.”

Y/N turned to him, Her legs awfully close and her lips just as close as she whispered in his ear, “Truth or Dare.”

“Dare,” Aman spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. Erik crossed his arms over his chest, eyes low and predatory. 

“I dare you to...take a shot off me!”

“Teh, easy.”

Y/N giggled drunkenly, “Let’s see then.”

Someone passed Aman a shot of tequila while Y/N laid back over his lap. Ivory sprinkled some sugar around her navel and squeezed a bit of lemon juice. Aman poured some of the tequila between Y/N’s breasts, watching it drip down. He quickly traced the wet trail with his tongue before licking around her navel to get all the sugar, dipping his tongue in her belly button to get the lemon juice. Everybody shouted, cheering Aman on while Y/N giggled. Erik saw red. He bumped roughly past a few people before pulling Y/N off of Aman, throwing her over his shoulder. Everyone watched stunned as Erik spanked Y/N.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!!!!!!!” Erik barked out in a gruff tone with clenched teeth, “You really enjoy pissing me off I can see that now! WHY ARE YOU LETTING SOME NIGGA LICK ALL OVER YOU-”

“Because I can!” Y/N slaps his back, “Get your hands off me, you don’t own me. Go find that bitch you cheated on me with and fuck her!”

“Let’s go,” Erik heard enough. He stormed away, Y/N kicking and screaming over his shoulder. 

Inside, Erik damn near ran up the stairs with her, finding a guest bedroom, tossing her on the bed, and slamming the door shut. Y/N got off the bed, falling to the floor because she was a little drunk. She laughs, flat out hysterical like a hyena. 

“Get the fuck up,” Erik spoke while shaking his head, “Can’t even hold your damn liquor-”

“Fuck you, yes I can, dumb-dumb,” Y/N got up, stretching out on the bed, “You just ruined my night yet again. I was having fun.”

“Thanks to you, Aman gotta die,” Erik walked over to Y/N slowly, “And as for you, I gotta punish you.”

“You already punished me. You owe me an apology,” Y/N sat up, “Apologize to me for cheating on me. Get on your knees and say how much of a sorry piece of shit you are.”

“Y/N,” Erik pinches the bridge of his nose, “Aight, look...I am sorry. I am so so so so fucking sorry for cheating on you like that and not giving a fuck. I truly apologize. If you wanna hit me, fucking hit me. Do what you gotta do, ma, but I’m not going nowhere. I promise you that. I miss you. You got me hot right now but I miss everything about you, girl. Come on, hit me. After this, you won’t get another chance, baby girl.”

Y/N looked at Erik like he has two heads and four legs.

“Did you hear me?! come on,” Erik held his arms out, “Hit me.”

Y/N got off the bed, walking over towards Erik timidly. She stood before him, looking up at him with low eyes, frizzy curly hair, and no balance what so ever. Erik still has his arms out, ready to take whatever Y/N dished out.

“Y/N-”

SLAP!

Erik’s jaw felt like it disconnected from his face. Y/N put a lot of force into that hit. She gasps, covering her mouth before giggling. 

“Girl-”

SLAP!

She breathed a breath of relief.

“That felt...so good,” Y/N beamed up at him, “Gosh, you don’t know how much I wanted to do that.”

Y/N could see her handprints on Erik’s face. He just looked at her while rubbing his left cheek, a smile slowly creeping up.

“You got hands, girl.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“I deserved that,” Erik looks down at Y/N’s breasts, “But you dead wrong for showing your titties.”

“It was fun. I’ve never done that before,” Her eyes went down to stare at his crotch that was indeed tented in the front. Those hits turned him on.

“Consider that your last time,” Erik grabs his jaw to flex it before he presses his chest against hers, moving her back towards the bed, “Now take this bikini top off so I can titty fuck you until I bust on your chin.”

Y/N lays back on the bed, removing her bikini top, her heavy titties spilling out. She squeezes them together before twirling her nipples. Erik stood between her legs, pulling his trunks down and stepping out of them. His thick veiny dick stood at attention and bounced up and down as he got onto the bed to straddle her waist. Y/N grabs Erik’s dick, looking up at him with low eyes while he spits on his dick multiple times. Y/N rubbed it in, bringing his dick between her breasts before squeezing it with her copious flesh. Erik started moving his hips, his spit covered dick making squelching noises like he was in Y/N’s pussy.

“That chin is a good place for me to nut on, right, baby girl?”

“Umph, yes. Uhh, my pussy just jumped at that.��

“Good girl,” Erik grunts, “Lick the tip of my dick.”

Y/N flicks her tongue on Erik’s dick while he increased the speed of his hips, Y/N’s body moving back and forth across the bed.

“Fucking sexy,” Erik squeezed her tits more, “Fuck, these big ass titties so tight on my dick.”

“Daddy, please fuck my titties, please cum on my face,” Y/N leans forward to suck on the tip of his dick, “Yes, please, Daddy!”

Erik spits some more, His movements more erratic. Y/N held her mouth open with her tongue hanging out so the tip of Erik’s dick could rub against it. 

“Titties feel so soft and good, girl,” Erik moans, “You like it when Daddy titty fuck you, baby?”

“Yes!” 

“Hmph, fuck!” Erik’s creamy and warm cum landed on Y/N’s chin and lips. Her head came forward, nose a target now and a little on her eyelashes on the left side. She couldn’t believe how much cum came out. 

“goddayum!” Erik removed his dick from between her breasts, grabbing it at the base to slap her nipples with it.

“Can I feel your dick in my pussy now?” Y/N turned around, Arching her back deeply, “I want my pussy fucked so bad right now-”

“Oh, you want a proper workout, huh?” Erik crawled behind her, smacking her clit with his dick, “Thick as fuck. You want me all in that phat silky pussy?”

“Umph, Yes!” Y/N pops her pussy back on Erik’s dick, “Daddy give it to me-”

“Bounce that ass back on me,” Erik thrust forward inside of her, shallow grunts escaping his mouth. He really missed how tight and wet she is, “Fuck this fat dick-”

“Like this, Daddy?” Y/N sat up on her elbows to look back at him with her cum stained face, “Right fucking there, ahhhhhhh,” Y/N threw that ass back knowing Erik would catch it, “Right here...right here...get it good, fuck, Daddy.”

“Nah, you better fuck this dick. Move that phat butt,” Erik was still on his knees watching Y/N fuck him. She spread her legs, bringing one knee to her chest, grabbing the sheets, and went to town on his fat pipe. She used all the power she has to fuck him herself. sweating and sucking air through her teeth, Y/N could feel herself squirting. Erik’s dick slips out, Y/N’s hips still moving as her pussy steadily poured until it did nothing but drip. 

“All this thickness is killing me,” Erik slaps her ass while sliding his dick back inside, “Mmm, mmm, yummy.”

Y/N could feel every stroke because she was super wet. Erik showed her no mercy on her pussy. All he wanted to do to Y/N was beat it up. He arched her again, Y/N letting out unsteady breaths.

“You feel where I’m at?” He was deep in her belly.

“In my fucking stomach, ugh,” Y/N could feel her pussy creaming all over his dick, “This is what I want. I want to be a wet mess for Daddy.”

“You knew Daddy needed this sexy pussy to fuck and fill with all this dick and cum over and over. That ass... damnnnnn,” Erik swats her ass while hammering her pussy, “Good bitch, give Daddy that pussy! Good girl, get that dick!”

short little spurts of air escaped Y/N’s lungs as she cums on Erik's dick. She couldn’t breathe. Panting and gasping, Y/N could feel Erik reach around to grab her neck with his nose in her hair. Y/N held onto his arm around her neck while Erik battered her sugar walls. Her mouth fell open, Erik’s fingers sliding inside. Y/N wasn’t in her body anymore, not even when Erik slowed it down to purposefully give her sharp and quick thrusts before stopping. Each surprise thrust made Y/N suck in a panting breath. Erik’s fat dick got even fatter, her pussy lips spreading to accommodate his rapid growth. She felt his lips sucking on her jaw, her pussy like a waterfall. 

“F-Fuckkkkkkk, oh my God, fuckkkkk, ugh, yeah, mhm,” Erik still stroked while he nuts inside of her, Take it...take it...” He whispered, “Fucking take it like I said.”

Y/N licked between Erik’s fingers, her eyes rolled back. 

“Good girl, give Daddy that pussy, bitch...let Daddy get in that pussy, slut...enjoy that dick.” Erik’s dick was squashed between her walls while he spoke in a subdued voice in her ear. Y/N melted around him, “You love letting Daddy fuck your pussy...you love having a dick in you...you be feeling so good, right?”

“Umph,” Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. That squirt made her pussy extra sensitive. Erik would not stop fucking her pussy. Her hand went back to push at his hips, Erik responding by pushing his hips in further. 

“Fuck, Daddy, you got me so weak.”

“Just cum one more time for me. You already made a big ass mess might as well give me more,” Erik spoke quietly in Y/N’s ear. 

“Fuckkkk,” Y/N’s head fell forward, “Yessssss.” She gave him one final messy release before falling flat on her belly. Erik’s dick slips out, his eyes watching all his nut fall out to add to the big puddle Y/N already made.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91​ @fish-outta-watah​ @eyeknowmywrites​ @crowngold​ @njadakillthiscookie​ @blktinkerbell​ @luvanxi​ @sheisexcellent1​ @chocolatedippedinhoney​ @brandithecrystalgem​ @dababydababydababydababy​ @soulfulbeauty19​ @btitannaaa​ @sunkissedebony97​ @youngblackndgifted​ @harleycativy​ @rbhp​ @theesotericqueen​ @thee-germanpeach​ @thadelightfulone​ @palmstreesallday​ @skylahb​ @bakaris-shorty​ @nizzle-mo​ @truglori​ @queenflaws​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @theegoldenchild​ @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade​ @nickidub718​ @vikkidc​ @thehomierobbstark​ @rent-emspoons​ @abluesforlyssa​ @fd-writes​ @chasingsunlight​ @sickaddiktions​ @munteanhore​ @xo-goldengirl​ @tiava143​ @33kiara​ @honeytoffee​ @asiasblackworld727​ @momobaby227​ @informalmelancholy​ @soulshinechronicles​ @hearteyes-for-killmonger​ @goddessofthundathighs​

[ceealaina]

Title: Time May Change Me Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Time Travel (to the past) Ship: Stony Rating: E Major Tags: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame, Endgame Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Summary: A slight shift in timing during the time heist mission leaves Tony and Steve trapped in 1970. Stuck together while they try and work out a new plan, they instead start to see each other in a whole new light. Word Count: 13,609

It started to go wrong the way these things usually did for them — the second they split up. (You’d think by now they would have learned.)

Tony’s timing (hah, how fitting that time was working against them) had been off by seconds. He was just about to cut into the appropriate container, grab the Tesseract and get the hell out of dodge when he’d been interrupted. It probably could have been worse. At least he hadn’t been cut red -- or blue -- handed. But he was caught so off guard by being met with fucking Howard of all people that he hadn’t been able to find an excuse to stay, walking his father out and making bullshit conversation and feeling his heart sink deeper with every step further he took from the Tesseract. 

Steve hadn’t fared much better. He had, initially, gotten his hands on the Pym particles. But, distracted by a glimpse of Peggy, of seeing first hand the life she’d lived without him, he had hesitated a moment too long before leaving. He thought he’d made it out. He was outside and had signalled to Tony -- who was talking to his father, no way that was a good idea -- and was just waiting for him to join him when he heard shouts. Steve had to make a quick get away after that, leaving Tony to extricate himself as quickly and unsuspiciously as possible, and hope they’d manage to find each other again. Steve got away, but somehow the Pym Particles were lost in the process. Because that just seemed to be how their day was going. 

Tony found Steve a couple hours later, sitting forlornly on a bench in some little park. He’d abandoned most of his borrowed uniform in an attempt at disguise, leaving him in a white t-shirt and a pair of alarmingly high-waisted bell bottom pants that he’d gotten from god knew where. There were a few birds scattered by his feet and Tony resisted the urge to make a crack about old men feeding pigeons in the park as he flopped down onto the bench beside him. 

“Cheer up, Cap,” he told him, giving him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad.” 

Steve lifted his head to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best. “Not so bad?” he repeated. “Tony, I lost the Pym Particles.” 

“And I didn’t get the Tesseract.” 

“Oh, great, things are going to be just fine then.” 

“Wow. Sarcasm is not a good look on you, Rogers.” 

“I’m not in the mood, Tony. We’re trapped here, and apparently we don’t even have the thing we came for. It’s over, we lost.”

“Well... Not exactly.” At Steve’ confused stare, Tony gave a half shrug. “The good news is, we technically have all the time in the world. Once we get the particles, we can go right back to where we were when we left.” 

“We still have to get the particles,” Steve pointed out, but there was something almost resembling hope on his face. “And the Tesseract. And they’ll have stepped up security, if they think there was a breach.” 

“Yup,” Tony admitted. “And since bouncing in as Captain America Iron Man could probably result in some catastrophically timeline-altering bullshit, we’re probably going to have to play the long game.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Steve asked. “It’s 1970, and we didn’t exactly come prepared. You technically haven’t even been born yet; I don’t think your driver’s license is going to fly. We’ve got no IDs, no money, and no place to stay -- SHIELD's list of safehouses isn’t going to cut it right now. How are we playing the long game?” 

Tony gave him a crooked grin. “I’m gonna tell you something, and I really need you to not judge me over this, Cap.” 

“Oh, this should be good.” 

“So back when I was thirteen and in my last years of high school, I was young, and bored, and…”

“A pain in the ass?” Steve supplied.

“Precocious.” Tony gave him a dirty look. “Point being, I may have run some scams, started selling fake IDs… Pre technology era, it was surprisingly easy, actually. Which probably doesn’t say much for the security of our country, but works out well for our purposes.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You want to run scams selling IDs?”

“Well, the IDs would be for us, but basically… Yeah, at least until we get ourselves situated. Unless you got a better idea? I mean, stripping usually pays under the table. Not sure how prominent male strippers were in 1970, but I’m sure you could fetch a pretty penny with that ass.” 

Steve gave a long, pained sigh. “Nope. ID scams it is.” 

THREE MONTHS LATER 

Steve padded down the hall and into the avocado green kitchen that never failed to make his soul cry a little. Tony was already there, sitting at the kitchen table with a legal pad and a mechanical pencil, muttering to himself as he sketched out equations that Steve couldn’t even begin to process. Steve arched an eyebrow at him, beelining for the coffee pot; Tony’s bad habits were starting to rub off on him. 

“You get any sleep last night?” 

Tony waved his free hand in a so-so gesture before scribbling a few more numbers and looking up to give Steve a slightly crooked grin. “Couple hours.” He made a show of looking Steve up and down, and even though he should have been used to it by now, Steve felt a shiver run up his spine. “Cute shorts, Cap.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, shifting to tug at the super short hemline for the umpteenth time. “It’s July, Tony. It’s 90 degrees out there. And apparently this is what the 1970s have to offer for running shorts.” 

Tony leaned back in the chair, balancing it on the back two legs. “Hey, I’m not complaining.” He gave him a wink. “Seriously, Steve. You look good.” 

Instead of answering, Steve turned to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs. Since they’d been stuck here, there had been a million little things that Steve had barely even noticed in the future that he missed terribly now, and currently his Super Special Super Soldier Protein Bars (Tony’d had them patented in 2013) were topping the list. He was sure someone, somewhere would have Thoughts on his shifting priorities and how they reflected the Decline Of America, but energy bars were infinitely preferable to having to mix raw eggs into his orange juice, and there was no way around it. He had to pinch his nose as he knocked the drink back, trying to swallow as quickly as he could, but it didn’t do anything to mask the texture.

The sentiment was apparently shared by Tony, who made a face as he watched Steve3. “I could probably reverse engineer some kind of protein bar that meets your super soldier needs,” he offered. 

Steve gave him a fond smile. “I’ve had worse,” he told him, which was true, but not by much. “And I don’t think I’d trust your cooking. Anyway, I think I’d rather you reverse engineer a way for us to get the Tesseract.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony frowned back down at his legal pad and aggressively scratched out a few numbers. “I’m working on it.” 

Steve arched his eyebrows at him. “And I’m going for a run.” 

Tony waved him off, but as Steve headed back into the hall, he heard him call, “Bye, Cap! Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave!” 

As he started his regular run through the winding streets of small town Jersey (ew), Steve’s mind started to wander the way it always did when he worked out -- even if he had to hold himself back to keep from attracting unwanted attention. And, the way it seemed to be doing more and more lately, as his worries took a backseat, his mind drifted to Tony instead. 

Steve couldn’t say exactly when things had changed between them. It had been the same as usual, at first, the two of them poking and prodding at each other. Steve respected Tony, always had after New York, and he was pretty sure Tony felt the same way about him. But they also knew how to push each other’s buttons, and didn’t seem to be able to stop doing it.

As the spring had dragged on, and their plans to get back into Fort LeHigh went exactly nowhere, and frustrations grew, Steve had expected things to get even worse between them. But instead the exact opposite had happened. Maybe it was the fact that he had a kid now, maybe it was the fact that it felt like the whole world was against them right now, nothing going right, and they were the only ones who had each other’s back. But Tony was different now, and Steve had a feeling that he probably was too. 

They had talked about it, once, after yet another tossed out plan. Tony had admitted how much this was weighing on him, how scared he was that this would fail, how many people were counting on them -- Morgan most of all. And then, in a voice that broke Steve’s heart, Tony had admitted that making the effort to get along with Steve made him feel a little bit better about failing to get them out of there. Steve had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, that coming to 1970 may have been Tony’s idea, but that he’d also been right about it being their only chance. But he knew Tony enough to know that that guilt wasn’t going to stop no matter what Steve said. So he made the effort to be kinder to Tony in turn. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being an effort and just became their relationship. They still teased and prodded at each other, but instead of antagonism, it was all fondness, Tony looking delighted every time he’d get a smile out of Steve. They argued too, sometimes, because they were still them, but the arguments were fewer and farther between, and more often than not they’d just fizzle out entirely until they could come back to it later and have an actual conversation instead. 

The team was his family, he loved and trusted them with every ounce of his body. But the little house he shared with Tony was starting to feel like home in a way that he hadn’t found since 1942. Steve knew he shouldn’t be getting too comfortable, that he was probably getting too complacent about their lack of progress. But it was easy to take heart in the fact that they’d be able to return to the same point in time. And he was enjoying the familiarity of their little life here. Tony had gotten a job at a local garage, kept making jokes Steve didn’t quite understand about how he was an actual mechanic now, and Steve had managed to pick up some freelance work drawing cartoons for the local paper. On the mornings when Tony hadn’t stayed up all night, Steve would start the coffee pot, making sure there was a fresh mug waiting for him when he dragged himself out of bed for his shift. And in turn, Tony would prepare dinner, because apparently cooking was a thing he’d learned in the past five years, more often than not making Steve’s favourites. They just knew each other now, things easy and familiar. Steve had expected to be bored, to be slowly going crazy with all the sitting around and waiting. But instead it was almost pleasant, like he’d been able to press the pause button on his life for one damn second. 

Apparently Steve Rogers was the domestic type, who knew? 

And then, of course, there were the other ways that Steve was starting to know Tony. Over the past few weeks, Tony’s teasing ogling had turned a little less… Teasing. Several times now, Steve had caught Tony staring at him when he thought Steve wasn’t looking, his gaze soft and heated and wanting in a way that made Steve squirm. And his comments on Steve’s body had an edge to them, a bit of truth to the words that hadn’t been there before. 

And, well, the house wasn’t big. Steve wasn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t heard Tony jerk off on multiple occasions, that he hadn’t strained his ears to listen for the whisper of his name on Tony’s lips, that he hadn’t then jerked himself off with a little more noise than he would normally, picturing Tony do the same. Maybe it was just the fact that it was only the two of them here together, but Steve couldn’t escape feeling that there was something building between them. 

***

The day had ended up being scorchingly hot, and Tony had picked up an extra shift at the garage, so Steve had cooked dinner. He’d never really bothered to learn to cook properly -- Tony liked to joke that his taste buds had been so ruined by Depression era food that not even the serum could save them -- but he could manage a few staples. He’d burned the first attempt at cheeseburgers, but the second set were better, and all the chaos was worth it when Tony shuffled into the kitchen, looking exhausted, only to inhale deeply and then positively beam. 

“Steve,” he declared, still in his mechanic’s coveralls as he slumped into one of the kitchen chairs with a cold beer in his hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I love you.” 

It was fully dark by the time they finished their meal. The windows and the kitchen door were wide open in the hopes of catching a breeze, and the sounds of the crickets outside filtered through the house. The heat hadn’t dissipated at all with the disappearance of the sun, giving everything a hazy, dreamy feel. Tony had unzipped the top half of his coveralls, leaving them hanging around his waist with only a threadbare white muscle shirt covering his chest. Steve kept having to look away but couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from drifting right back. Those coveralls were his number one weakness right now; he’d had multiple filthy fantasies about peeling Tony out of them. 

“Fuck, it’s hot,” Tony muttered, knocking back the last of his beer. His legs were spread on the chair, posture loose and easy, and Steve watched his throat bob as he swallowed. 

“You could go and change,” Steve pointed out, even as his dick screamed at him to shut up, that was the last thing he wanted. 

Tony sighed. “Yeah, but then I’d have to move,” he complained, offering Steve a grin. “Anyway, it’s my turn to do the dishes,” he added, not seeming to care that he’d just negated his last point entirely. 

“No, hey. You've had a long day,” Steve said. “I’ll do them.”

Tony hummed, considering. “You wash and I’ll dry?” 

“Done deal.”

Washing the dishes with Tony was one of his favourite chores, and tonight was no exception. They alternated between companionable silence as they worked, broken only by the gentle splash of water as Steve rinsed another dish, and easy chatter, nohing of importance, just dumb jokes and mindless anecdotes. 

“So then,” Tony concluded, giving a glass a half-assed swipe with his dishcloth and putting it away mostly wet. Steve thought about calling him on it, but didn’t. “It turned out that he’d somehow wired the radio to the headlights? And every time they came on, the radio would turn off. That’s why it wouldn’t work at night.” 

It wasn’t even that funny of a story, but Tony’s laughter was contagious. Steve turned to smile at him, and something in his chest caught. Tony was grinning, face lit up with humor and a hint of anticipation as he stared back at Steve. He had a lock of hair falling over his forehead, curling in the hot summer air, and he was still wearing those damn coveralls, biceps on display. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Steve let the dishcloth slip into the sink and curled a soapy wet hand around the back of Tony’s neck. He had a brief moment to notice Tony’s tiny shiver at the water on his skin, and then Steve leaned in and kissed him. Tony’s lips were warm and soft and slightly parted, practically inviting Steve to deepen the kiss, to suck gently on his upper lip. Tony made a soft noise in response, barely more than a huff of air, and all of a sudden Steve realized what he was doing. 

With a start he pulled back, almost immediately missing the touch of Tony’s skin beneath his fingers. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” he burst out, staring at the floor and pressing his fingers gingerly to his own lips, like he could hide what he’d done. “I don’t know what that was. It’s just the heat, and, and… You…” 

Stomach twisting with nerves, Steve chanced a glance up at Tony, expecting him to be upset, or angry, or even hurt for some reason. But instead Tony was just staring back at him with a soft, pleased smile on his lips. “It’s okay, Steve.” 

And sure, he probably just meant that he was forgiving Steve’s lapse of judgement, Steve knew that. But he could also be giving Steve permission, and so he leaned in, kissing him again. And when Tony didn’t shove him away, only sighed against his mouth and pressed his palms against Steve’s abs through his tight, white-t-shirt, Steve deepened it once more, pressing his tongue past Tony’s lips to taste him. His hands shifted to grip at Tony’s hips, thumbs sliding over the bare skin where his shirt didn’t quite touch his coveralls, and he was only half-aware of turning them until he had Tony pressed back against the counter, Steve looming over him and holding him in place. 

They were both breathing hard by the time he pulled back again, and Steve couldn’t stop staring at Tony. His hair was more mussed now, though neither of them had touched it, little strands curling around his neck and ears. His lips were red and swollen, eyes dark and heavy, and he was still giving Steve that soft smile. He tilted his head a little, squinting like he was trying to read him, and then he grinned. 

“Close the door, Steve.” 

Steve blinked at him, wondering if he was somehow so horny for it that a little kissing had completely fried his brain. “What?” 

Tony laughed softly, the sound sending something warm and pleasant furling through Steve’s stomach -- though that may have been helped by the way that Tony slid his hands up Steve’s chest, dragging over his tight nipples in the process, and fiddled with the collar of his shirt. 

“Shut the kitchen door, Steve. So we can go to bed.” 

Steve nodded, a little dazed, and reluctantly let go of Tony’s hips. He didn’t know if Tony meant to go to bed because if they’d reached this point it was time to call it a night, or to go to bed, but he moved over to the kitchen door. He could feel Tony watching him with every step, his gaze heavy on his back and setting Steve’s nerves into hyperdrive. He shut the door firmly, the click of the lock seeming thunderous in the weighted silence of the room. Swallowing thickly he turned back to Tony. 

“So, uh…” His voice sounded strange to his own ears and he trailed off, not sure what he even wanted to ask. Tony seemed to know though, giving Steve an amused smile. He held out his hand toward him. 

“Come on, handsome.” 

Steve moved back across the room, and curled his fingers around Tony’s. There were calluses on Tony’s hand, dragging against his own smooth skin, and Steve shivered at the sensation. There was a soft huff of laughter from Tony and then he was tugging gently on Steve’s arm, leading him down the hall toward their bedrooms. It felt hopelessly domestic, and something that had nothing to do with sex tugged at his heart. They didn’t speak, not even when they reached Tony’s bedroom door. Tony didn’t hesitate, his hand still clasped around Steve’s as he pulled him inside, and Steve was helpless to do anything but keep following. 

Tony led him over to the side of the bed, angling himself to face Steve as he sat down beside him. Steve’s breath caught as Tony locked eyes with him, running his hand lightly over his chest before he curled his hand in the cotton of his t-shirt, tugging at him gently until they were kissing again. Steve let himself melt into it, hyper-aware of every point of contact between them as heat flooded through his body. Steve let his hand slide over Tony’s ribs and the two of them tipped back against the mattress until they were lying side by side, sharing kisses so sweet they almost ached. One of Tony’s hands came up, running through Steve’s hair, and he shuddered against him, pulling back to look at Tony with heavy eyes. 

“Tony, what…” Steve tightened his hand against Tony’s waist, not wanting him to pull away. “What are we doing?” 

Tony huffed out another soft laugh, shifting closer until his chest was pressed to Steve’s. “I think that’s kind of obvious, Cap,” he told him, voice low and rough. 

Steve whined softly, his hand clenching against Tony’s side before he forced himself to loosen his grip. “What… What about Pepper?” he asked, because he couldn’t not. 

But Tony just smiled, unperturbed. “Don’t worry about it. We have an understanding,” he told him vaguely before pressing in closer. Steve could feel their lips brush against each other, unbearably intimate. “Just relax, Steve,” Tony hummed. “I want this. I think you want this too, right?” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rasping over the word. Tony beamed. 

“Then don’t worry about anything else.” 

Tony kissed him again, soft and slow, and Steve let himself sink into it, everything that wasn’t Tony’s lips on his fading from his mind. Tony shifted against him, pushing himself up on one elbow so he could press Steve onto his back, leaning over him. He moved his hand up under Steve’s t-shirt, and Steve gasped a little, abs flexing at the touch of his cool fingers. Tony grinned against his mouth, tugging at his lower lip. 

“There we go,” he hummed. “God Steve, you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?” He pushed at the fabric, movements getting a little sloppy. “Come on, gorgeous. Let me see you.” 

Steve felt hot all over, could feel his cheeks flushing red. He pushed himself up far enough to haul his t-shirt off over his head. 

“Oh yeah,” Tony breathed. “There we go.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his fond smile. “You know, you have seen me shirtless before,” he pointed out. “This morning, even.” 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, but he sounded distracted, eyes locked somewhere around Steve’s nipples. “But it’s different now.” 

Steve arched an eyebrow, peering down his chest skeptically. “I didn’t run that hard,” he told him, voice teasing. 

Tony shook his head. “You’re not different. It’s just… Knowing I actually get to touch you, get to have you?” He visibly shuddered at the thought, and the idea of Tony wanting him that much sent something hot and squirmy rolling through Steve’s body.

“Tony, fuck,” he muttered, hips rolling up as he yanked Tony back down on top of him. Tony made a startled noise that shifted to groan as he ended up with Steve’s cock pressing into his hip.

“God,” he breathed, breath hot on Steve’s skin. He dragged his teeth over the tendon in his neck. “The things I wanna do to you.” 

“Please,” Steve moaned, sliding his hand down Tony’s back to squeeze at his ass through the coveralls. “Whatever you want, anything.” 

Tony grinned into his neck. “Whatever I want, huh? Never thought I’d hear those words coming from you, Cap.” 

Steve opened his mouth to offer some kind of retort, but bit out a string of curses instead as Tony’s thumb found his left nipple, rubbing over the pert flesh. Tony was barely touching him, just flicks of his fingers and teasing little brushes of skin on skin, but every point of contact was setting Steve on fire, feeling like it was on the cusp of too much. He let his eyes fall shut, hands clenching periodically over Tony’s ass and side as his cock throbbed in his shorts. 

“Tony, god, please. I want…” 

“What?” Tony asked, and his voice was thick and rough. Steve opened his eyes again to see Tony staring down at him hungrily, biting down hard on his lower lip. “What do you want Steve?” 

“Please,” he whined, dragging his hand back up to Tony’s hips to hold him in place while he rocked his hips up against him. “Wanna… Touch. Please.” 

He could feel the hot air of Tony’s breath as he laughed against his neck, and then he slid lower down Steve’s waist, sucking the nipple he’d already been teasing into his mouth. Steve didn’t even try to hold back his shout as Tony bit down on the tender skin. His body arched up into the touch, nearly unseating Tony entirely. 

“Christ,” Tony muttered. “You’re so fucking sensitive.” 

Steve whined as Tony’s warm heat left his body, but when he opened his eyes in protest, Tony was grinning at him as he stripped off his tank top. Steve let his eyes drag hungrily down Tony’s chest, noted the way he flushed a little in response, and then scrambled to arch his hips and kick his shorts off down his hips. Tony was doing the same with his coveralls, and distantly Steve felt a little disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to peel him out of them himself. But then his cock was springing free, resting hot and hard against his belly, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from curling his hand around it, groaning in relief. 

It took him a minute to realize that Tony had stopped undressing, staring at Steve’s cock with heavy eyes and his lips parted. “Holy shit, Steve,” he ground out. Then he was kicking off the last of his clothes and moving to lean over Steve again, covering his hand with his. Steve gasped at the sensation -- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone else touching him, and this was Tony -- and his cock grew heavier in their shared grip. “Fuck, Steve.” Tony bit down on his earlobe, hard, tightening his grip around him. “You gotta let me taste you, honey, please.” 

There was suddenly nothing that Steve wanted more and he whined a little desperately, catching Tony’s lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss before Tony moved down his body, kissing sporadically over Steve’s chest as he went. 

From the first flick of Tony’s tongue against the head of his cock, Steve was lost. He rolled his head back, knowing if he tried to look at Tony now he’d last all of five seconds. He panted up at the ceiling instead, body thrumming and over sensitive. The hot summer air was giving everything a dreamy, dazed feel, not quite real, and he gave himself over to the sensation, losing sight of time and what was happening, but hyperconscious of how good he felt, the way his skin lit up everywhere that Tony touched him. His mouth was hot and wet, swallowing around Steve over and over again, until he couldn’t focus on anything else. 

Steve had no idea how much longer it had been when he felt his balls draw up tight, his orgasm suddenly right there. He gave a ragged moan, patting clumsily at Tony’s shoulder. 

“Tony,” he mumbled, and he hadn’t thought he’d been screaming, but his voice sure sounded like it. “Gonna…” 

But Tony didn’t pull off, just swallowed him deeper. Wondering if maybe he hadn’t understood, Steve dragged his eyes open only to look down and find Tony staring back at him intensely. There was a look in his eyes like making Steve feel good was the greatest thing he had ever accomplished, and Steve couldn’t hold on any longer. Clenching his fingers in the sheets hard enough to ache, Steve spilled down Tony’s throat, cursing when that only made Tony swallow harder around him. 

When he’d finished, Steve collapsed flat on his back on the mattress, body limp and ears ringing. For a long moment he was only aware of his own breathing, his heart racing in his ears. And then he felt Tony shifting against him, opened his eyes to see Tony on his knees beside him, jerking off frantically. He was running his mouth again, but Steve couldn’t seem to focus on what he was saying, only catching bits here and there as Tony rambled about how gorgeous he was, how hot that had been, how he couldn’t wait to do it again, and again, and again. Steve couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the sight of Tony’s cock moving through his fist. He was thicker than Steve had expected, the tip wet as it poked between his fingers over and over again. He wanted to touch him, taste him, but he could seem to find the energy to do much more than reach up, mirroring Tony’s earlier movements and curling his hand over Tony’s, feeling the rhythm of him jerking himself off. 

Tony’s eyes snapped to his, his face looking almost comically startled, and then he was making a strangled noise before he came across Steve’s chest. It seemed to go on forever and then he was collapsing onto his side, not quite touching Steve but close enough that he could feel the heat from his skin anyway. It was like second nature for Steve to shift his arm, stroking his fingers feather light up and down Tony’s back. 

He drifted for awhile, everything still having that hazy, unreal feel. At some point he’d been aware of the mattress shifting, Tony getting up only to return a few moments later, giving them both a cursory wipe down with a damp cloth. Distantly Steve had thought that maybe he should get up, return to his own room, that maybe Tony wouldn’t want him actually sleeping beside him. But before he could make a move, Tony had tossed the cloth in the direction of the bathroom and flopped down beside him again, this time slinging an arm across Steve’s waist. His skin was hot and sticky, but Steve couldn’t bear the thought of getting him to move.

He must have slept, because suddenly he was awake again, aware of the crickets chirping outside the open bedroom window and Tony breathing into his neck. His breathing was steady and even, but somehow Steve knew he was awake anyway. He wondered what he was thinking of, if he was just riding the high of an amazing orgasm, or if he was thinking of home, of his family. That made Steve think of Pepper again, wondering what exactly ‘an understanding’ meant, and he felt guilt twist low in his stomach. 

“Tony?” 

“Hmm?” Tony’s voice was soft but alert, and Steve drew in a deep breath. 

“What’s your ‘understanding’ with Pepper? Did you, I mean… You didn’t just say that so we’d keep going, did you?” 

Tony made a disgruntled noise and pushed himself up with the arm not draped over Steve. He stared down at him, eyes slightly narrowed, although he didn’t actually look offended. “What, you think I was so thirsty for it that I lied so you wouldn’t stop me from cheating on my wife?”

Steve winced; put like that, it sounded really bad. “Well, no. And I don’t know if you noticed, but I wasn’t exactly putting much effort into stopping you, I just…” He trailed off, giving him an awkward, helpless shrug. Tony blinked at him a moment longer and then flopped back down on the mattress, fingers drawing idle patterns over Steve’s abs. The silence dragged out between them and Steve was just about to do something to break it when Tony spoke, the words mumbled against Steve’s shoulder. 

“Pepper and I aren’t actually together anymore.” 

Steve blinked. “Oh,” he said, a little dazed. He didn’t know what he had been thinking, but that was the last thing he had expected. “Oh shit, Tony. I’m sorry.” He felt his heart sink. “Was it… Was it because you came back? To help us with the whole time travel thing, I mean?” 

“What? No! God no, nothing like that! Pepper was actually the one pushing me to do it. No, we, uh... actually... haven’t been like that for awhile.” 

He sighed, flopping onto his back and slinging an arm across his eyes. Steve immediately missed the weight of his arm across his middle, but he curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck instead and waited patiently for him to figure out what he wanted to say. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “After I came back from… From space, things were different. It wasn’t anything she did. It probably wasn’t even anything I did, it was just… Different. Whatever we had wasn’t there anymore. She knew it too. But then she told me she was pregnant, had been before that squid-faced fuck arrived even. And I…” Tony pulled his hand away and rolled his head so he could look over at Steve. “I don’t know, Steve. For the first time since we lost, I remembered what hope felt like again.” He smiled, completely different from how he had smiled at Steve earlier, but just as warm. “She wasn’t even born yet, but Morgan was already saving my life. I wanted that baby more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life.” He snorted, his smile going uneven. “Even my dad’s approval,” he added, and Steve winced but Tony’s eyes were dancing. “So Pep and I talked and talked and talked and talked, and eventually we decided… Fuck it. We may not have been in love anymore, but we still love each other. We’re always gonna love each. And with all the shit we’ve been through together, we figured we could totally platonically coparent a baby.” He shrugged. “It’s been working out pretty fantastic, actually, but uh… Yeah. We haven’t been together in like five years so… You’re off the hook.” 

“Oh.” Steve nodded. “That’s good.” He knew he should have felt better knowing this and he did. But he also felt weirdly bad about it. He thought every day about what had happened when Thanos’s minions had arrived in New York, replaying it all over and over. This felt like just one more thing that he could have stopped, like maybe if he’d just been there they could have ended it before Tony ever went into space, and maybe Tony and Pepper would still be together. 

He didn’t say any of this out loud, of course, but Tony seemed to know something was up anyway. His eyes narrowed a bit before he rolled back onto his side, hand resting comfortably on Steve’s stomach like it belonged there. “Hey. Whatever you’re thinking? Stop. This really is for the best, I’m not lying. We still love each other, and it’s working really well this way. Honestly, I’m not sure what would have happened if we tried to do this as a marriage, but I don’t think it would have ended well. And anyway, the past is the past Steve. There’s no point in worrying about it because we can’t go back and change it.” 

Steve gave him a look. “We’re living in 1970, Tony.”

“Okay, but we’re not changing the past, we’re just… Borrowing from it. Well, if you ignore the idea that we’re making minute changes in time just by our ongoing existence here, and that the longer we stay the further those ripples will travel. But we’re not actively trying to change the past, and anyway, all of that should be negated when we eventually return the stones to their original point, so…” He waved his hand, giving Steve a sheepish smile. “Point being, I think we both did things we regret. Going over and over them isn’t going to help anything. Just gotta… Stop thinking about it and move on.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, combing his fingers absently through Tony’s hair; it was oddly soothing. “I don’t think I can,” he admitted quietly. He gave a short laugh. “Tactical mind. I keep running through scenarios in my head. All the things I could have done differently, all the ways it could have played out instead… I can’t stop it.” 

Tony lifted his head to stare at him, eyes wide and horrified. “Still?” he demanded. “You’ve been carrying that around for the last five years? Jesus, Steve.” He shook his head, blowing out a long breath. “Okay, well. I know I can’t make that stop for you, but I can promise you that even if we can’t change the past, we are going to make up for it. We’re going to fix this, Steve. You and me, together.” 

Steve nodded, curling his arm tighter around Tony’s back as something in him eased a little. “Together,” he repeated quietly. 

***

Steve woke up the next morning alone in Tony’s bed. The air filtering through the window was already hot and humid, promising another sticky day. For a brief moment he was a little disappointed that he hadn’t woken up with Tony beside him, but he could smell bacon and coffee drifting down the hall from the kitchen, so he slid out of bed, hauling on the boxers that he’d left on the floor and padded down the hall to the kitchen. 

Like most mornings, Tony was working at the kitchen table, but he looked up as Steve came in and his expression went a little dazed as he took in Steve’s barely dressed state. “Uhh.” Tony made a punched out noise before he seemed to get himself under control, offering Steve a broad grin. 

“Morning, Cap,” he said, voice sounding a little raspy like… Well, like he’d been sucking cock. Between that and his obvious appreciation of his body, Steve felt his dick twitch in his shorts. He shifted a little, giving Tony a bright smile in return. 

“Hi Tony,” he said, moving over to the coffee pot. He could feel Tony’s eyes on him as he poured the mug and when he turned back around it took a minute for Tony’s eyes to drag back up from he’d been staring at his ass. Steve couldn’t help his pleased little grin as he sat across from Tony at the table. “Any progress?” he asked, nodding at the legal pad covered in Tony’s weird shorthand.

Tony shrugged, but he didn’t even glance at the paper, eyes trained on Steve. “Same as usual,” he told him, taking another swallow of coffee. “Surprisingly hard to hack a security system that hasn’t been automated yet. And they’ve really stepped up their shit.” He eyed Steve, tilting his head a little. “You going for your run this morning?” 

Steve shrugged, glancing down at his mostly naked state and grinning ruefully. “I mean, I might put on a few more clothes first, but yeah, probably…” He eyed Tony, who was ogling him again. “Why?” he asked, voice a little lower. 

Tony slunk a little lower in his seat, eyes going dark as they locked with Steve’s. “I don’t have to go to the garage until a little later this morning, since I worked late yesterday and everything.” He grinned then, eyebrows waggling. “Wanna do a different kind of cardio this morning?” 

They didn’t actually make it to the bedroom this time, only getting as far as the kitschy sunken living room before Tony got his hand in Steve’s boxers and the two of them collapsed to the ground in an uncoordinated heap. Tony jerked him off right there, whispering filthy things into his ear until he came. Steve had barely caught his breath before he was shoving Tony onto his back so he could return the favor. 

Afterward, they both lay splayed out on their backs, panting up at the ceiling. Steve hummed, vaguely aware of Tony squirming around beside him. “I never noticed that crack on the ceiling,” he said. “Should have asked for a discount from the realtor.” Tony giggled, right in his ear, and Steve realized that all the squirming had been so he could move closer to Steve, pressing up against his side despite the heat and slinging a leg over his hip. 

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we get trapped forty years in the past and have to buy a house together,” Tony promised, giving a contented little sigh against Steve’s neck. It was strangely comforting having him close like that, leaving Steve feeling settled. He curled his arm around Tony, rubbing over the bare skin at his hip. 

“It this… A thing now?” he asked. 

There was a long moment of quiet from Tony before he answered, like he was choosing his words carefully. “It’s… Whatever you need it to be, Steve,” he settled on at last. Steve wasn’t entirely sure where that left them, but for now he would take it.

***

Tony whistled to himself as he rooted around in the engine of the Dodge Challenger, in a ridiculously pleasant mood. He was genuinely enjoying working as a mechanic; it was good hands-on work, helping to keep his brain calm, but there was a simplicity to the older engines that he had always preferred. There was a reason he’d kept so many classics in his own garage. It was more than that too though. Since he and Steve had started sleeping together, things felt brighter somehow. The urgency that had been plaguing him since they had fucked up their first time heist, the sense of panic that he had been trying to hide, it had all faded. He was still worried, of course, still working on a new plan, but it didn’t feel so hopeless now. Between the two of them, he knew they’d get it done. 

Tony had moved to grab a wrench from the workbench when Joe wandered out of the office, leaning against the doorway. “Barbecue and beers at my place Saturday night. All the fellas are coming. You in?”

“Oh.” Tony couldn’t help his grin. He still wasn’t entirely used to his coworkers seeming to just like him, not wanting anything from him because, as far as they knew, he didn’t have anything to offer. “Yeah, sounds great!”  

He turned back to the car, but Joe didn’t move away. Tony could feel his eyes on him, and he turned back, eyebrows arched expectantly. 

“You know…” Joe hesitated another moment. “My brother never married. His roommate comes with him to family dinners and for Christmas. Charlie’s a great guy, and he and my brother have a really nice life. No one here would give you grief if your… roommate came along for a drink, is all I’m saying.” 

Tony blinked, not quite sure what to do with that. “Oh. Uh, thanks. I will… Let Steve know.” 

Joe gave him a warm smile then, followed by a quick pat on the back before he headed back into the office without another word. Tony turned back to the car, utterly nonplussed. 

“Steve’s not my boyfriend,” he grumbled at the engine, but even as he said the words, his stomach twisted a little and a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Pepper yelled, ‘liar!’ He blinked down at the mechanics beneath him, thought of how they ate dinner together every night, how long they could spend talking and laughing together, the animosity left over from the last few years faded entirely. How the sex they had could just as often be considered, well, love making, as much as he hated that particular phrase. Tony felt something catch in his chest. “Oh shit, is Steve my boyfriend?” 

When he laid it all out like that, like an equation to be solved, it definitely sounded like a relationship. But even bigger, when he focused on Steve’s face, really pictured his smile and his laugh, he felt something in his belly go warm and soft. He didn’t know how he had missed it before, but it was the same feeling he used to have when he thought of Pepper, and Rhodey before that. Tony groaned, sinking forward against the edge of the car. 

“Oh god,” he muttered. “I’m in love with Steve Rogers.” 

The rest of his shift passed in a blur, Tony caught off guard and a little overwhelmed. The thing was, when he really stopped and thought about it, these feelings weren’t exactly new. In fact, he had a feeling that even while he’d been completely in love with Pepper, and even when he and Steve had been at their absolute worst, there’d been a part of Tony still a little in love with Steve. The way they’d worked so intuitively together, even when they were at odds, the way they’d be so in sync over the weirdest things… there’d always been a spark there. And now alone together, able to talk, and relax, and really take the time to understand each other, he supposed it made sense that that spark would grow into something real. 

When he finally wandered in the front door, mind still a bit of a wreck, Steve was standing in the kitchen, cooking them dinner, which looked like it consisted of panned fried hamburgers and… Tomato soup, for some reason. He must have heard the door, but he didn’t look up, humming to himself as the meat sizzled in the frying pan. His hips were swinging a little in rhythm to whatever song he had playing in his head, and his shoulders were loose and relaxed, carrying exactly none of the tension that Tony typically associated with Steve. The whole scene was hopelessly domestic, and Tony wanted nothing more than to step up behind Steve, wrap his arms around his waist and kiss the back of his neck, just to see the squirmy little ticklish shoulder shrug that he would get in response. He was totally gone for the man. 

“Aw, fuck,” Tony muttered to himself. 

Steve did look up at that, looking over at Tony with a bright smile. “Hey Tony.” 

“Hey honey, I’m home,” he answered automatically, getting a chuckle out of Steve before he frowned at Tony a little. 

“Hey, you all right? You’re looking a little stressed.” 

Tony waved him off, stripping off the top of his coveralls and noting the way Steve’s eyes went dark at the sight -- it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Steve had a thing for this particular look. “Just a long day,” he reassured him, hopping up on the counter beside Steve. He made a grab for some of the cooked burger and got his hand swatted with the spatula for his trouble. “Wow, domestic abuse,” he deadpanned. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “What a drama queen,” he retorted, equally dry. “They’re almost done, just a few more minutes. Then we can sit down, and you can tell me allll about your long day.” He looked back up to give Tony a lecherous look. “Or not, and we can just skip to the part where I make you feel better,” he offered, waggling his eyebrows and looking pleased when Tony snorted.

Tony was quiet a moment, watching Steve’s hands manipulate the food. “Hey, Steve?” he said finally. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Shoot.” 

Tony fluttered his eyelashes at him, not wanting it to come across too seriously, in case he was reading everything all wrong. “Are you my boyfriend?” he sing-songed.

Steve choked on his own spit, coughing for a minute, but when he’d caught his breath back he was grinning like an absolute idiot. “I mean, I guess, sure,” he offered. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him; he knew Steve well enough to know that the flush on his neck said otherwise. 

“Okay, I’ve maybe thought about it once or twice,” he admitted sheepishly. “We can be, uh… Boyfriends, if you want. Like you said, this is whatever we want it to be. I know these are weird circumstances, but if we want to, we can call it boyfriends for now.” 

For just an instant Tony felt his smile freeze on his face, but he masked it quickly, leaning forward to give Steve a sloppy kiss on the cheek before he could read the look in his eyes. “In that case, boyfriend, call me when dinner’s ready. I’m just gonna wash up.” 

He slipped off the counter and headed down the hall for the bathroom, adding an extra wiggle to his walk to make Steve laugh. But once he hit the bathroom, he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it with a sigh. Boyfriends for now pretty much said it all. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. These were wild circumstances. There was nothing wrong with Steve wanting to take a bit of comfort where he could find it. And if Tony had been hoping for something more, that could stay between him and the bathroom walls. 

***

They didn’t talk about it again, at least not in so many words, but they talked about everything else under the sun and that was somehow even better. Steve loved sex with Tony, really truly did. Just a look from the other man could set him shivering, heat spiking up and down his spine. Tony seemed to take special delight in finding all the ways he could make Steve fall apart, surprising him over and over again. Steve had all but given up his own bedroom, spending his nights with Tony instead and they’d spend hours lying there sometimes, Steve splayed out and feeling like he was slowly going out of his mind as Tony kissed and touched and teased every square inch of his body. 

But afterwards, when Steve had come more times than he’d thought possible, when Tony’d had his fill and would slide off Steve to stretch out beside him instead, for Steve that was almost better than the sex. They’d talk well into the early hours of the morning. Steve had told Tony how desperately lonely he’d been for the past five years, how nothing he’d done seemed to ease that ache inside him. Tony talked about Morgan, how completely he missed her, telling story after story about how brilliant she was already, putting him to shame, but also how creative and sweet and kind. He’d sound awed when he talked about her, which had led to confessions about how his own father had been. Steve had been horrified, hands tightening around Tony like he could somehow make up for it. And then next night, when he told Tony how proud he was of him for letting the bullshit die with Howard, that even from the brief interaction he’d witnessed, he could tell Tony was an amazing father, Tony hadn’t bothered to hide the way he’d choked up a little. 

Nothing was off the table (except, perhaps, their exact feelings for each other, but neither of them brought it up so it was fine), the darkness, and the heat, and the fact that they were the only two here who could understand their situation making it easy for secrets to spill out. Maybe it was just the fact that they were caught in a bit of a limbo, that deep down Steve knew that nothing they did here would really matter once they got back to their proper point in time. But his time with Tony was easing something inside him that he hadn’t even realized was aching, was making him feel whole again. He wanted to get back, to make things right, of course he did. He just also couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t mind being stuck here with Tony just a little longer. 

They slowly settled into even more of a routine than they’d had before. They ate dinner together every night, talked about their day before they’d slink off to bed together. Some nights they wouldn’t even do anything, just sprawl out on the bed, touching despite the heat until they drifted off to sleep. They went grocery shopping together once a week, and one day Tony came home with a second hand badminton net that he’d found somewhere. Steve had never played badminton, but they set the net up anyway, and Tony had showed him how to play. There were more barbecues, with the guys from Tony’s work, mostly, but there were a couple for the paper that Steve worked at too. Nobody seemed to look askance at Steve bringing along his roommate. Maybe it was just an extension of fighting side-by-side for so long, but having Tony with him here just felt right in some kind of visceral way that Steve couldn’t put a name to but that he loved anyway. 

***

Steve was once again going over the Fort LeHigh plans that they had managed to cobble together, when the front door slammed open. “STEVE!” Tony hollered at the top of his lungs. 

“I’m right here,” Steve answered, turning to meet Tony as he heard him rush up the hall. “What’s wrong?” 

But even as he asked, Tony came into view, an enormous smile on his face, and it was pretty clear that there was nothing at all wrong. 

“What?” he asked again, because there still had to be a reason that Tony was home hours early, grinning like an idiot. 

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Tony told him. “Do you know what tonight is?” he added, even though he knew perfectly well that Steve didn’t. “Planet of the Apes comes out. In theatres!” 

Steve blinked at him. “Is that all?” 

“Is that all?” Tony repeated incredulously. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” 

Steve cracked then, laughing. “Tony, you’ve seen that movie more than a hundred times. Which I know because you’ve made me watch it a hundred times.” 

“Yeah, but this is different,” Tony insisted. “It’ll be in theatres, Steve.”

“You’ve done that before, too,” Steve pointed out. “Remember? That 45th anniversary theatre showing or whatever? I distinctly recall you and Colonel Rhodes talking about it.” 

Tony just shook his head. “It’s different,” he said again, making a face at Steve. “Just hurry up and get dressed, you damn dirty ape.” He waggled his eyebrows, making a show of staring at Steve’s bare chest; he hadn’t bothered getting redressed after his run. “I’m taking you out.” 

And really, Steve was helpless to resist that thrilled look on Tony’s face. And even though he had to pinch Tony several times to keep him from whispering the lines along with the characters, it was a very enjoyable evening. They’d sat at the back of the theatre, Tony claiming it was because Steve would block the view for whatever poor asshole got stuck sitting behind them, but halfway through the movie, when their shared popcorn was gone, he curled his greasy fingers with Steve’s, rested their joined hands on Steve’s knee, and snuggled into him a little, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder. He could smell the faint, pleasant scent of Tony’s shampoo, and couldn’t resist turning his head a little to press his face against the soft curls of his hair. He pressed a soft kiss against Tony’s scalp and in return received a soft little content sigh from Tony. 

Abruptly Steve realized that, for all the activities they’d done together, they hadn’t been on an actual proper date before -- and that’s what this was, whatever Tony’s original intentions had been in dragging him out. 

Settling a little more comfortably against Tony’s side, Steve decided that was something he was going to fix immediately. 

So the next morning, after Tony had made their customary Saturday morning pancakes, and they were sitting around the kitchen table, pleasantly full and content, Steve curled his hand around Tony’s. “So listen,” he said, doing his best to ignore the way Tony gave his hand a heated look before glancing up to meet his eyes. “I’ve been thinking, and we’re under a lot of stress, with working and trying to find a way out of here and everything.” Admittedly, it wasn’t his best excuse; the stress was real, but he felt a step removed from it, and was pretty sure Tony did too. Even from a purely business perspective (if you could consider the Avengers a business), this had definitely become the easiest mission he’d ever been on. Tony seemed to agree, giving him a mildly skeptical look but gesturing for him to continue. “So I was thinking that it probably wouldn’t hurt for us to plan to take a break regularly,” he said, feeling his cheeks starting to glow. “And I had a really fun time last night, so I was wondering if you’d let me take you out tonight? Repay the favour?” he added, all in a rush. 

Tony tilted his head at him, curiously, and then he was beaming bright and wide. “Steve. Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Steve shrugged, but he was helpless not to return Tony’s brilliant smile. “I mean, I guess?” 

And just like that, Saturday night date night was born. 

Steve knew he shouldn’t get too complacent, that getting used to this was only going to end in heartbreak. Tony had said this was whatever they needed it be, just whatever it took to get them through. The implication was pretty clear that once they got back home -- and they would, eventually, Steve had to believe that or else what were they even doing anymore -- things would go back to something like normal. He probably wasn’t doing himself any favors, giving himself this glimpse of what they could really have. But he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going to be able to forget it either way, so he figured he might as well enjoy it now. 

***

Tony actually happened to think vegetables were delicious. But there was something about the very specific look of consternation that Steve would get every time he found another box of poptarts or gummy candies or whatever hidden in the cart that Tony couldn’t get enough of. He was feeling punchy today for some reason, snickering to himself with everything he managed to slide into without Steve noticing. There was a good chance that Steve was just humoring him, since Tony couldn’t imagine anyone actually sneaking something past the man, but then again he’d worked with the STRIKE team for almost a full year without realizing they were literal Nazis, so who knew? Either way, he was having a stupid amount of fun with it. 

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned as he realized that under the loaves of bread and packages of pasta, Tony had managed to fill the entire bottom of the cart with bags of jumbo marshmallows. “You are literally five years old,” he added. 

Tony just shrugged, giving Steve a sugar sweet smile, and Steve fought back his own laughter. 

“Make you a deal,” he offered. “You can keep three bags of marshmallows if you stop adding in everything else you see.”  

“Oooh.” Tony eyed him; he didn’t actually care about the sweets, but tormenting Steve was its own brand of delightful, especially now, when Steve took it as the gentle teasing it was meant to be, didn’t get his back up about it. “Throw in some chocolate and graham crackers, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Steve stared blankly back at him. “What do you need graham crackers and chocolate for?” 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony hissed. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know what s’mores are?” 

Steve didn’t even last a full second before he was breaking, snickering to himself. “You’re so gullible sometimes. I may not have ever had them, but I do know what a s’more is, Tony.” 

Tony frowned, tilting his head before shaking. “Okay, nope, I give. I can’t tell -- are you telling the truth, or are you still fucking with me?” 

“The… Truth?” 

“You’ve really, honestly never had a s’more before? How is that even possible??” 

Steve gave him a fond eye roll, even as he added the extra ingredients to the cart. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I wasn’t ever actually a boy scout. There weren’t any camping trips in 1930s Brooklyn. Where do you think I would have melted the marshmallows? On the heater? Admittedly, I spent a lot of time in the woods during the war. But that wasn’t exactly a romp with campfires and ghost stories, what with the whole hiding from the Nazis and Hydra thing.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Tony muttered. “But after that? You’ve really never had s’mores since? With the team or something? Nat seems like she’d enjoy a good s’more.” 

Steve just shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. Never had ‘em.” 

“Well, that changes tonight, Rogers. We’re having a bonfire.” 

Tony had added three packs of hot dogs to the cart -- Steve would eat them, he knew -- and after they got home, relegated him to the kitchen while he got everything set up in the yard. Steve had looked skeptical, but when Tony finally called him out to where he had a bonfire burning brightly and a blanket spread out on the ground (because some of us have minor grass allergies, Steven), he looked impressed. 

“Wow. Tony, this is… Really nice.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he grumbled, offsetting his complaint by wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and kissing him on the cheek. 

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, holding Tony against him a moment longer when he started to pull away. “You just… Don’t really seem like the camping type,” he added tactfully. 

Tony snorted. “I’ve camped! … Once… Okay, a camper I am not. But Rhodey and I used to have bonfires on the beach when we were at MIT, and I was the designated fire starter. And when I was a kid, Jarvis used to let me help set up the fireplaces in the old house. I don’t know why, that was one of my favourite things.” He hummed, quiet and contemplative for a moment, and then pulled away to grab a package of hot dogs, slamming them into Steve’s chest. “Now grab a stick, Rogers, and start roasting.” 

They sat out there for hours, cooking, and talking, and laughing. The sun had faded and the stars had come out long before Tony pulled out the s’mores ingredients, the two of them getting in a sticky mess as they squashed together the sweet treats. 

“So?” Tony asked when they were full and satiated and sitting back on the blanket. He arched an eyebrow at Steve. “What’s the s’more verdict, Captain Handsome?” 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, I think they’re kind of overrated. I prefer the marshmallows alone,” he told him, popping one of said marshmallows, unroasted, into his mouth. 

Tony blinked at him. “Overrated?” he repeated incredulously. Then he saw the way that Steve was grinning at him, lips twitching up in a smirk. “You are such a troll,” he grumbled. “I’ll show you overrated.” Without any further warning, he launched himself at Steve, feeling a little gratified at the almost inaudible grunt that Steve made as he took his weight. He knew Steve could take him easily, especially when he didn’t even have an Iron Man suit, but Steve pretended otherwise for a minute, letting Tony knock him back as the two of them rolled around on the blanket and then into the grass, each trying to get the upper hand. 

It didn’t take long before their movements shifted, less wrestling, more sliding up against each other with purpose. Tony could feel his cock thickening in his pants, sparks of pleasure going through him every time Steve’s hand would slide over his skin just right. He shifted a leg, getting it between Steve’s knees, and when he pressed up he could feel Steve hot and hard against him, the feeling made better by the sharp, needy little gasp that he made in response. They ended up with Tony spread out on top of Steve, the two of them rubbing off against each other as they shifted and rolled in the grass, stifling their noises against each other’s skin so the neighbours wouldn’t hear. Tony had his hand shoved down Steve’s pants, jerking him off with quick, sharp motions, and his face buried in Steve’s neck. He could smell wood smoke in his hair, and when he pulled back a little, he could see the starlight reflected in his eyes before they clenched shut as Steve came over his hand. Steve lay there for a moment, panting, and Tony took a moment to look him over in the dim light from the fire before Steve pulled himself back into awareness to roll Tony over onto his back and pay him back in kind. 

It was up there with some of Tony’s best memories.

He should have known it wouldn’t last. 

***

They were at the grocery store again, goofing off and being idiots, probably laughing too loud, when all of a sudden Steve froze, going pale. Before Tony could ask him what was wrong, he was grabbing Tony’s arm and dragging him around the corner and down an aisle, leaving their half-filled cart abandoned in front of the cereal. 

“Steve, what?” Tony finally managed to hiss as Steve pulled him past the baking supplies and then zig-zagged ridiculously through the produce section. He half expected Yakety Sax to start playing over the loudspeaker.

“I just… I saw someone I recognized. Like from the forties recognized,” Steve answered vaguely, aiming for the front door. 

“Do you think they’d recognize you?” Tony asked a little stupidly, although his behaviour made the answer pretty obvious.

“Uh, yeahhhh,” Steve answered anyway. “I think so.” 

They made it out of the building without being caught though, Steve looking over his shoulder as they headed down the street. He made Tony cross the road, turning down a side street they wouldn’t normally take, and he was just breathing a sigh of relief when they rounded the corner and were met with Peggy, standing there waiting for them with a furious expression on her face. 

For a long moment everything went almost comically still, Peggy and Steve standing frozen, staring at each other, Tony looking back and forth between them in a mild state of shock. Then the anger seemed to fade out of Peggy all at once, shoulders sagging a little as she took a half step forward, making an abortive gesture like she was going to touch Steve’s chest before she remembered herself. 

“It is you,” she breathed. 

Steve opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he had the chance he was interrupted by Tony, still staring at Peggy with wide eyes. “Aunt Peggy?!” he blurted out, because he knew Peggy had cofounded SHIELD, and he knew she had worked with his Dad, he just somehow hadn’t expected her to be here, looking almost exactly as he remembered her from when she’d come visit when he was growing up. She used to spend hours sitting with him, listening patiently as he explained the workings of all his machines and inventions. She’d always encouraged him, and he found himself getting choked up seeing her now.

And then he glanced over at Steve, saw the look on his face as he stared back at her, and Tony felt his heart sink a little.  

Peggy had turned sharp eyes on Tony at his outburst, looking him over, but now she looked back to Steve and without hesitation poked him square in the chest. “Explain,” she told him. “How are you possibly here? And why is this man who looks exactly like Maria Stark calling me ‘aunt?’”

Tony would never fully understand how, but somehow Steve managed to convince Peggy to come back to their place. And then he sat her down, and told her everything. How he’d been found in the ice, how the avengers had formed, about Tony being her ‘nephew’ and also Iron Man, and then about Thanos, how they’d lost everything and were doing everything in their power to make up for it now. 

The one thing he didn’t mention, Tony couldn’t help noticing, was the relationship they’d developed over the last few months. 

Peggy took it far better than Tony would have expected. Although, he supposed, if she’d helped found SHIELD, she’d probably been dealing with far crazier shit than this for years. 

“So if I’m to understand correctly, you two are from the future. And you,” she turned to Tony here, “Are my godson. And you used Hank Pym’s… science experiment to figure out time travel and come back here and get that cube that Howard found in the ocean. To save the world.” She drew in a long breath as Tony and Steve both nodded, waiting for her to process the information. “God, Hank is going to be impossible to live with when he finds out,” she muttered. She drew in a deep breath, smoothing down her hair -- a move Tony remembered from when she’d try to keep her cool with Howard when he was a kid -- and then looked back over at Steve. “I take it you two are responsible for the breach a couple months back?” She didn’t wait for their confirmation, the question rhetorical. “Well, I suppose once again it’s up to me to clean up your messes, eh Captain?” 

The smile she gave Steve was a little dry, but fond and familiar in a way that made jealousy twist low in Tony’s stomach. But even worse was the way Steve smiled back at her, sheepish and full of so much history and love that it almost ached to see. For a moment Tony felt like he had disappeared from the room entirely, the two of them only having eyes for each other. Somehow Tony managed to act normal as Steve and Peggy made plans for when and where they’d meet and how they’d stay in contact, even though it felt like he was losing a little more of Steve with every word that passed between the two of them. And when Peggy had left, and Steve turned to him with the broadest grin Tony had ever seen, still looked awed and dazed and delighted in the wake of her presence, the smile Tony gave him in return was almost genuine. He waited until Steve had left the the kitchen, wandering down the hall for something, before he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and whispered a very quiet, very heartfelt, “Fuck,” into the empty room. 

***

Tony wanted to go home. More than anything in the world he wanted to see Morgan again, missing his little girl a constant pit in the bottom of his stomach, even in his happiest moments. But being here with Steve was easy in a way his life had never been before, no stressors, no superheroing, no being recognized on the street… No end of the world barreling toward them faster than they could stop it. Now that they were close to going home, he couldn’t seem to appreciate the last few days they had here together, just he and Steve alone. They still talked, and fooled around, and did all the things they’d been doing before, but the time was passing in a blur. It didn’t help that Steve had been distracted since they’d found Peggy; more than once Tony had caught him staring into space with a soppy smile on his face. There was a growing feeling creeping through his stomach that he might be making the return trip solo. 

And then he was out of time entirely, the two of them meeting Peggy in some back alley for the hand off. It had, she assured them, gone off without a hitch, but that wasn’t a surprise. Peggy had always been strong and brilliant, confident and capable. On some level it probably should have been weird that he was jealous of his aunt, but mostly Tony was just resigned to the fact that this was it. Peggy and Steve were staring at each other again, couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, and Tony felt like his heart was somewhere around his ankles. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let you two… Chat,” he mumbled, uncharacteristically awkward as he took the two briefcases that Peggy had brought and headed for the main road, forcing himself not to look back at them. 

In a weird twist of deja vu, he ended up sitting on the same bench where he’d found Steve on that first day, after everything had gone tits up. He sat there, staring off into space and thinking of a million things at once, and it hadn’t been a full half hour before a shadow passed over him and then Steve took a seat on the bench beside him, their thighs not quite touching. 

Steve was staring forward, maybe trying to figure out what Tony was looking at but he hadn’t spoken, so Tony didn’t either. Eventually, though, he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, clearing his throat. 

“You, uh… You don’t have to come back with me, Steve,” Tony told him, giving him an out. He felt Steve snap his gaze to him, heard him make a strangled sort of noise, but he narrowed his focus to a tree in the distance and kept going. “If you’re finally happy… We can do it without you. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. I know you’ve already sacrificed a lot, more than anyone ever should have to, really. You can be selfish, for once.” 

He turned to face Steve then, because he really didn’t want Steve to stay, but he needed him to know that he truly meant the words he was saying. He had fallen in love with Steve, and because of that he couldn’t bear to stand in his way. 

Steve was staring straight again, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his thighs, hands clasped together between his knees. He blew out a long breath, and Tony tensed, bracing himself. 

“You’re right. I am selfish, Tony. I’m real fucking selfish.” 

Tony bit down hard on his bottom lip; expecting it didn’t make it hurt any less. But then Steve was turning to face him, a shy, hopeful smile on his face offset by the determination in his eyes. 

“And no way in hell am I giving this up. Giving you up.” 

For a moment Tony was actually rendered speechless. “You… what?” 

Steve shrugged. “I’m in love with you, Tony. It’s as simple as that. And I know you said this was whatever we needed it to be, and maybe that means you don’t have the same kind of feelings, but --,”

“God no, are you kidding?” Tony burst out before he could even stop himself. “I was already half in love with you when I said that, and it’s just gotten... more since. I just… I know that extreme situations aren’t the most conducive to long-term relationships, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured, so…” 

He trailed off helplessly and Steve chanced a quick look around before darting in to kiss him. It was quick, because it was still a public place in 1970, but full of love despite that. When he pulled back, Tony shifted his hand to curl over top of Steve’s, squeezing tight. 

“What… What about Peggy?” 

Steve’s eyes were dancing. “What about her? She’s married, Tony, happily so. I just… I wanted to see first hand that she was okay, and she is, more than. She’s moved on, and… And so have I.” He grinned then. “She did tell me I was an idiot though, if I didn’t say anything to you because she’d never seen two people more obviously pining for each other. And uh, then she threatened that if I didn’t treat her godson right she’d be bringing me a wealth of pain.”

“Oh,” Tony said faintly, but he was laughing then too. “Well alright then.” He leaned in to give Steve one more quick kiss. “I love you, Steve,” he told him, because it seemed important that he say the actual words. “Now let’s go home and save the world. Again.” 

THREE DAYS LATER

Tony snapped back to consciousness all at once with a sharp gasp, blinking his eyes open. The first thing his gaze focused on was Pepper and Rhodey, standing at the foot of his bed with watery, relieved smiles, Pepper holding Morgan in her arms.

“Daddy!” she shrieked. “You’re up!” She started wriggling frantically, attempting to leap onto the bed and making Pepper wince. 

“Morgan, sweetie, remember how we talked about how you have to be careful with Daddy for a bit?” 

“I don’t know.” And that was Steve’s voice, sounding gruff, but when Tony snapped his head up to see him leaning against the doorway, he was beaming brightly and looking just a little smug. “I think he can take it.” 

After solemn promises from Morgan that she would be careful, Pepper finally set her down and Morgan scrambled up on the bed beside him. With strength that he knew he shouldn’t have had, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight enough that Morgan protested a little. She smelled fresh and clean and like her apple honey shampoo, and it was quite possibly the best thing that Tony had ever smelled. God, he had missed her so much. 

Morgan settled onto the bed beside him, telling him stories about everything he’d missed the past few days, everything she’d been doing with Uncle Happy. Tony did his best to follow along in his shell-shocked state, because the last thing he remembered was snapping his fingers, all of the infinity stones in his hand, and he was pretty sure that meant he wasn’t supposed to be here now. 

Eventually it was decided that Tony should get some rest, and so with a final, clinging hug from Morgan, Pepper escorted her gently off the bed. Her hands shook a little as she closed them around Tony’s, leaning in close to place a soft kiss against his cheek. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered softly, a slight tremor in her voice. 

They headed for the door but Rhodey lingered a second longer to lean in and give Tony a hug. “Gotta stop doing this to me, man,” he told him, and Tony could hear the tears in his voice, felt his own throat close up as he hugged Rhodey as tight as he could manage. 

“I know,” he mumbled, burying his face against his neck. “I’m sorry.” 

Rhodey pulled back just a little, enough so he could meet his eyes and give him a pointed look. “And sometime soon,” he added, “You are going to sit down and tell me exactly what the hell happened between you and Rogers while you were getting the Tesseract.” 

Then he was moving away, leading Pepper and Morgan out the door with a hand on the small of Pepper’s back. Steve had moved out of the way to let them pass into the hall, but once they were gone he moved back into the room, coming to sit on the side of Tony’s bed now that it was just the two of them. For a long moment they just stared at each other and then Tony shook his head. 

“Steve… What did you do?” 

Steve shrugged, feigning casual. “Funny thing about spending so much time together. I knew exactly what you were planning with the stones. So I just stepped in and… Helped.” 

Tony stared back at him incredulously, still half feeling like he was dreaming. “Right,” he said, voice a little faint. “Okay. And we’re alive and healthy and whole… How?” 

“Uh, Carol brought a special something from somewhere. I didn’t catch the details; I was pretty fucked up for a bit too. But…” He gave Tony his best innocent, hopeful smile. “As you can see it did the trick.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. Then he was lunging forward, practically crawling into Steve’s lap in his haste to kiss him. Steve took his weight easily, pulling Tony the rest of the way toward him as he wrapped his arms around his back, mumbling soothing words and stroking a hand over Tony’s spine. “You absolute idiot,” Tony gasped, allowing himself the comfort as he buried his face in Steve’s neck. “You could have been killed too. What the fuck were you thinking?” 

Steve huffed out a laugh, but his voice was rough and thick when he spoke. “I thought I told you, Tony. I’m real fucking selfish.” He pulled Tony back so he could see his face, see how absolutely serious he was. “No way in hell am I giving you up.”

@tonystarkbingo @not-close-to-straight

[demigodsanswer]

Once Upon a Pointe - Chapter 6

Story Summery:

“Annabeth, you’re with Percy,’ Chiron said. Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. Percy felt like every opportunity to dance with her was a privilege. Just don’t forget the choreography, Percy thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux. Don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her.”

Percy is soloist with the ballet company, and he is offered one chance to dance with Annabeth, one of their star principals. If he nails the choreography, he might just earn a chance to dance with her. And, if he’s really lucky, he might get a date out of it as well.

Chapter Title: Vision

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning

Notes: I am in no way finished bringing attention to issues of race, religion, and cultural appropriation in Rick Riordan’s books & in the fandom. Do not misinterpret me posting an update as a desire to move forward. 

Katheryn Morgan (soloist with the Miami City Ballet) has recently uploaded an interview with the dancer and author of "A Final Bow for Yellowface" Phil Chan, where they discuss race in ballet. Please consider checking it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYw2pLn9CAg

Percy woke up to the soft February sun beaming in his face through Annabeth’s large bedroom window. When he opened his eyes, squinting in the sunlight, he saw that she had already gotten up. He rolled over to check his phone – 8:30 a.m.

They both had today and the next day off before the show as other casts ran their dress rehearsals. Usually he spent his days off wandering the city, catching up on TV, or hanging out with Grover once his boring and normal nine-to-five job at a nonprofit ended. But those days off didn’t usually start in Annabeth Chase’s bed – in face, none of them ever had. He hoped that maybe they’d end up spending the day together.

Or maybe she’d ask him to leave as soon as he left the bed.

He stayed there for another moment, trying to think of the perfect “spend the day with me” line, but he came up blank. He’d just have to wing it.

He opened the door and stepped into the living room. Annabeth was standing in the kitchen over a frying pan, still in her pajamas (now rumpled from a night of sleep), and her blonde hair was up in a high ponytail, the ends tangled together.

She looked up and smiled at him. Percy’s heart raced, fuck, he thought, she’s gorgeous. Before he could say anything to her, though, she told him: “You drool when you sleep.”

Percy flushed, a hand going up to his mouth to wipe away any trace of drool that might still be there. She laughed at him, and he smiled.

She turned back to the frying pan. “I’m making eggs. I hope that’s okay.”

“Eggs are great,” he said. “I thought you didn’t cook.”

She shrugged. “I told you, I’m not completely incompetent. I can scramble an egg reasonably well.” She said, dishing out the servings onto two plates.

Percy took a seat at the table. “Have you been up long?” He asked.

“No, ‘bout half an hour.” She said. “Coffee?” She offered.

He nodded, and she put a mug down in front of him, and then his plate of eggs and avocado toast.

She sat down at the other end of the table.

“Thanks,” Percy said, about to dig in.

He piled some eggs on top of his toast and took a bite. They were good, although he would struggle to find an adult who couldn’t make a decent scrambled egg. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Better,” she said. “A lot better. Thanks for listening to me and for staying the night.”

Percy smiled. “Of course, any time.” He realized what he said and felt his ears get hot. “Anyway …” he tried to think of literally anything else to say, but nothing came to mind. Annabeth saved him, though.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Annabeth asked.

It took a moment for Percy to register what she had said. He was preoccupied by the casual way she sat at the other edge of the table, sunlight bouncing off her curls, as if they sat together like this every day.

Finally, though, he remembered she’d asked him a question. “No, not really.” He told her.

“Do you want to hang out downtown for a little while?” She asked.

Percy smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”

Percy stood in front of Annabeth bathroom mirror, which had fogged up with steam from his shower. She had showered before him and was getting ready in her bedroom.

He leaned forward and drew a smiley face on her mirror for her to discover the next time she showered.

He dressed quickly, only having the same sweatpants and tee shirt from the night before, but it would have to do.

Annabeth was waiting on her couch for him to get ready. She was dressed in a light pink sweater and light jeans with her hair braided over her shoulder.

“Ready to go?” She asked.

Percy nodded. They grabbed their jackets and headed out the door.

~*~*~

They walked down the avenue to Washington Square Park, stopping on the way to indulge in some hot chocolates. It was just starting to get a little warmer – they daily temperature tended to hang out in the forties during the day, rather than what Percy called ‘face hurting temperatures.’

Still, he wished it was a little warmer so they could sit on a bench or the grass for a while and just relax in the Spring sun. But the cold sun of the end of February would have to do.

It did come with its perks, Percy realized, when a cold wind blew, prompting Annabeth to instinctively move closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest for a moment as the breeze blew by. When it was over, they parted, neither blushing or uncomfortable.

Sure, he was usually physically close to her, but stage intimacy was far less erotic than many people assumed. On stage or during rehearsal, both were sweaty, trying not to breath too hard, and mostly worrying about their own steps and safety and the safety of their partner.

A gentle closeness so far removed from the studio, though, felt deeply intimate. He almost reached down to hold her hand, but she had it in her jacket pocket. He left his hand by his side in case she had the same thought, but she never reached for it.

When they reached the arch, Annabeth paused in front of it. “You know, if I hadn’t joined the company, I would have gone to school for architecture.”

“Really?” Percy asked, looking at her.

She nodded. “I guess I kind of am or was at least.” She said. “I was part time at NYU for a few years, but between being a principal, and planning a wedding, then calling off the wedding, and everything that came after that, I haven’t taken a class in almost …” she paused, “almost two years, I guess.”

“Why architecture?” Percy asked.

She shrugged. “Aesthetics, partly. I really enjoy aesthetic, design, and flow. Obviously, I do, or I wouldn’t be a dancer. But buildings can have all of those things too, just not in the same way.” She sipped her hot chocolate. “It’s also the opposite of dance. Buildings are static, and they’re so permanent.”

Percy nodded. The fleeting nature of ballet loomed over all of them. Most men could go until thirty-five at least, and a lot of women made it to forty, if not longer. But one bad injury could end a career in an instant.

“Do you want to be an architect when you retire?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s a hard career to start at forty. Knowing myself I’ll end up teaching or choreographing. I don’t think I could ever really leave it behind, you know?”

“You could design theaters.” He suggested.

She smiled at him like she had had the thought before. “Yeah, I could.” Her hand dropped out of her pocket and rested near his, but he didn’t feel courageous enough to take it. “What about you?” She asked.

“Oh, I have no idea.” Percy said. “I barely graduate high school.” He admitted. “College is not my speed, so I’ll probably linger in the ballet world as long as they’ll have me.”

She bumped him with her shoulder. “Come on, you have no ideas?” He shook his head. “Wildest dream? If a genie showed up right now and told you he’d give you your dream career, what would it be?”

“Well,” Percy said, “if I’m wishing for stuff, I’d just wish to be able to dance forever.”

“Alright that’s on me,” Annabeth said, laughing, “I set the bar too low.” She took his hand, and his breath caught. “Seriously, I won’t judge you.”

It was a hard question to answer. Percy had spent a lot of time in his training thinking about what he’d do if he didn’t get a company contract when his training ended. Teaching was one option, but he didn’t know if he’d like doing that if his own dreams had fallen through. With his poor grades, he always figured he’d just get a retail or restaurant job and try and work his way through management and dance on the weekends.

But if today were the day that he had to stop dancing …

“I guess I’d teach,” he admitted, “but I don’t know if I’d want to teach at the academy.”

“Why not?” She asked. They started walking out of the park and towards the street, wandering aimlessly through the West Village.

He had never really wanted to teach at the academy, he realized. Sure, the prospect of training a new group of kids who would go on to join City Ballet, Miami, Royal Ballet, Ballet West, and all the other big companies was exciting, but he was lucky to have had that education at all. So many things had to go right in his life to even make it into their ranks – a good ballet teacher off the bat, scholarship money, his mom marrying a man who had a savings account and cared about her son. Without any of those things, Percy wouldn’t have a career.

“I was on my own at the academy,” he said, “one of the only kids who started late and didn’t have great training before that. Most other kids were,” like you, he though, but he didn’t say it, “born lucky. They had exposure to ballet young, good training, and they never had to worry about how they were going to pay for things. I had to worry about that all the time. And I was still luckier than most.” He said. “Just think about how many talented kids there are just on my block alone that will never get my chance.” He looked ahead towards the street. The West Village had once a bohemian shithole, but (thanks in no small part to NYU), it had been gentrified into one of the most expensive areas in the city. “I guess if I could do anything I’d just try and help those kids. Don’t know how I’d do it, but that’s what I’d really like to do.” He told her. “I know it’s crazy.”

She stopped walking and pulled him to the side of the path, getting out of every one’s way.

“It’s not crazy.” She said.

For a moment on the edge of the sidewalk, hugging the wall of some coffee shop, neither of them moved. She looked at him, tilting her head up just slightly to look him in the eye. When she licked her lips slightly, Percy’s heart almost exploded, sure that she was going to lean in. But instead she broke the tension, turning back to the middle of the sidewalk to keep forward, dropping his hand.

“At least,” she said, not looking at him, “not as crazy as wanting to pivot to architecture.”

He jogged to catch up with her. “That’s not crazy either. Besides, if I know you at all, I know nothing will stop you from getting what you want.”

She smiled, looking down at the sidewalk as she walked forward. “Nothing stops you either as far as I can tell.”

“I am notoriously scrappy.” He said, pulling a laugh out her, which dissolved any remain uncomfortable tension while taking away any remaining hope of a kiss.

~*~*~

When they finally got too cold to stand walking around any longer, they ducked into a dimly lit pub.

“Do you ever just wish you had a job where you didn’t have to worry so much about what you ate and drank?” Annabeth asked him. They did eat a lot, of course. They both probably ate more than the average person, they just also had to eat way healthier than the average person.

“Pretty much every day.” Percy said. “Every time a season ends, I just crush a cheeseburger, first thing.”

Annabeth had been to the pub before, and guided Percy through some good options on the menu.

Their conversation stayed light – childhood stories, embarrassing moments, favorite TV shows. When Annabeth started to ramble about architecture being a universal language for people, and how The Hunchback of Notre Dame is actually all about the building, and how the novel saved the church, Percy couldn’t stop smiling. Her gaze was distant, but her eyes were bright. Percy was delighted to see her so happy.

When the check came, Annabeth grabbed it off the table before Percy could even reach for it.

“Absolutely not,” Annabeth said when Percy reached across the table. “You’ve done so much for me the last few days, buying you lunch is the least I can do.”

Percy didn’t protest anymore, instead just choosing to thank her for the meal. He hoped it wasn’t the last one they got to share together.

~*~*~

As the afternoon went on and the sun started to set, Percy realized he needed to go home. He didn’t want to leave Annabeth, but he also didn’t want to be wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours.

“I can come back if you need anything, or if Luke comes around,” he said as they headed towards the subway.

Annabeth shook her head. “I should be fine. I think I’m going to call Piper or Silena and talk some things out with them.” You can talk to me, Percy wanted to insist. But he knew she was closer with them than with him, no matter what he wanted to be true.

“Call me if you need anything,” he told her. She nodded and promised she would.

They stood at the top of the subway stairs, doing their best to stay out of everyone else’s way, but that was almost impossible to do when you were standing still on New York City sidewalk.

“Percy,” she said looking up at him, “thank you. Seriously, thank you for everything.” She pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to hold her even closer. Her hair smelled like lemons.

“Anytime,” he told her. He pressed a gentle kiss into the top of her head; if she noticed or minded, she didn’t show any sign of it.

Annabeth pulled away after a little too long (not that Percy minded) and smiled at him. “Get home safe,” she said, before turning to head towards her apartment.

~*~*~

Percy rested his head back against the subway window, grateful for a seat on his way back up town, trying to remember the way Annabeth’s hair smelled, and the ways her eyes lit up when she was excited.

He hoped that they stayed close when they weren’t dancing together anymore. The have to, he figured. They were friends now, not just coworkers or dance partners.

He knew from experience that performances come and go too quickly – a month of rehearsal just for four shows? It was almost unfair. Lee’s husband, a Broadway actor, had once complained about his eight shows a week schedule at a company party. Eight Sleeping Beauty’s a week was probably physically impossible, but Percy did sometimes miss doing six or eight ballets a week as an apprentice or corps member. He certainly wouldn’t pass up one or two extra performances of Sleeping Beauty if he had the chance. He wanted to hold onto it for just a little bit longer.  

~*~*~

The next morning, Percy woke up feeling like he was an astronaut on the moon, hearing the air leave his spacesuit, but he could not find the leak. He didn’t remember his dream, but his heart was beating hard and fast. He performed tomorrow, he remembered. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t do anything to calm his anxiety. Throughout his morning routine, of breakfast, palates, and stretching, he felt like he was the vice president of anxiety, and the president was nowhere to be found.

He had fleeting moments of confidence as a dancer – moments where he was sure he was good, that he was going to succeed, moments where, if he closed his eyes, he could swear that he was flying not just jumping. But mostly he would bag on himself for things he couldn’t do or didn’t do well. Those fleeing moments of confidence could be diminished by any small error.

He had to succeed. Part of it was vindictive – people had always underestimated him. But most of it felt like debt. His mother had sacrificed so much just to get him to dance practice and to keep him enrolled at the school. If he never made principal …

When he was eleven and his YMCA teacher told Sally that he should be in more advanced classes, Sally asked him if he wanted to continue ballet. Just say no, he had told himself, knowing that there was no way his mom could pay for all the lessons he’d need. It would hurt less to stop dancing at eleven than to make it all the way to fourteen or fifteen only to give it up then.

He had spent as much time in dance classes dancing as he spent worrying that at some point the rug would be pulled out from under him, and he’d lose it all. That there would be a point where he just couldn’t continue. He already spent most of his training playing catch-up with people who had been dancing since they could stand, and he always feared his career being stunted on the other side.

But when he was eleven, and he told his mom he wanted to stop dancing, he had called him on his lie. “If you want to do it, we will do what we have to do,” she told him. That meant he had to switch to public school and work jobs to pay for summer intensives and after-school classes. Even with all that, and his scholarships, it was Paul that made any of it possible. He’d gotten lucky; finally, some of that luck that seemed to grace some of the worst people finally trickled down to him and his mom. She had married a man with a savings account and love of the arts. He had no problem helping them pay for his summer intensives or his academy tuition.

He thought his meeting with Chiron at the end of his last year in the school. The year before, he had been encouraged to try out for other companies but told that an apprenticeship wasn’t out of the picture. When he got back to his apartment, he tried not to tell his mom, to keep it a secret and to work as hard as he could the next year to earn his spot.

He’d cried as soon as he saw her though; guilt and disappointment cut through his stomach and chest like a knife. Sally had tried to assure him that he wasn’t a failure, but that didn’t change any of his thinking on the issue.

When Nutcracker season came, and Percy wasn’t offered an apprenticeship, he figured that it truly was over. He had almost gotten to a point where he thought his entire dance career was over, until Lupa Lopez had called him back about his audition, and offered him a spot at Miami. His mom had let him have a glass of Champaign to celebrate.  

Chiron was less enthusiastic than his mother had been. When Percy told him the good news, he kept a straight face and asked, “Have you signed anything yet?”

“No.”

“Good, don’t.”

He was called into the office two days later. “Lupa and I have the same eye for dancers,” he said. “She’s taken some of my best away from me. So, it wasn’t surprising to hear that she was interested in you joining her company. She must see the same things in you that I see.”

Percy’s eyes went wide.

“You’re talented, Percy,” Chiron continued, “and disciplined,” that was the first time a teacher had said that about him, he realized. Chiron handed Percy a stack of a few papers. “And you should stay with City Ballet.”

It took Percy a moment to realize what he was looking at. His dyslexia only acted up when he got stressed. Finally, he deciphered it. “Wait … is this for real?” He was holding an apprentice contract with his name on it.

“Sorry for making you go on all of those auditions,” Chiron said.

Percy hadn’t even waited to get home to tell his mom. Instead, he found a quiet stairwell where he could tell her and cry with her. He thought she was going to break his ribs with how tightly she hugged him when he got home. “I’m just so happy,” she said, “that you don’t have to move to Miami.”

He was tired of barely succeeding – barely making it into the academy, barely getting an apprenticeship, barely getting leading roles. He wondered for a moment if she had these fleeing moments of confidence met quickly by self-doubt, before he remembered their last Diamonds rehearsal. Percy was terrified when she had stopped dancing, and he became more worried when he saw the frantic look in her eyes. She had broken, he realized; she had hit a level of doubt and pain that you can’t easily pull yourself out of.

He didn’t, Percy realized, have the luxury of breaking, though. If he left, there was no guarantee that his spot would be there when he came back. He could only bend.

Annabeth couldn’t break either. Percy could end up stagnant if the shows didn’t go well. If Annabeth broke again, though, her career could be over.

They both had to bend and bend far. Four shows, Percy realized, four shows to get it right. Just don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her. He told himself. And if you forget the choreography, just make it up.    

Luke had left a principal male spot open that Chiron still hadn’t filled. In a fleeting moment of confidence, Percy told himself You’re the perfect fit.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, but he couldn’t see what was at the bottom. He was safe as long as he stayed on land. If he jumped, he could die, or he could land safely in the water. There wasn’t another way forward.

[hockeybabestars]

New Year, Same Us - Auston Matthews - Ten

a/n: guys, we’ve come to the end. apologies for not going on schedule with this chapter, i had break and then i was back at school studying for finals. i hope that you guys enoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! this is the longest story i’ve wrote that i’ve actually finished so i’m proud of it! i’m gonna finish up my winter prompts (and maybe write a few more for funsies) and then im going to focus on stories i have in progress/ coming up! thank you for sticking with this story ! last but not least check out my wattpad for a bonus/alternate scene from this story!! same username : hockeybabestars

April 14, 2019 : Epilogue 

“Babe?” Auston yelled from our room.

“What?” I popped the toast out of the toaster and mashed up some avocado on top, doing so with a little pep in my step. It just felt like a good morning. It was decently early, and the open concept windows of our apartment helped me wake up a little better as I put on my favorite playlist. The giddy smile that hadn’t left my face since we got together was still on full display.

“Come backkkk.” He whined. I was almost like I could picture him plopping down onto messy white sheets and groaning in annoyance- oh wait I can actually hear that.

“No you come here!” I smile knowing that he will. He can’t say no, so I wait. There was a pause and then I hear the padding of his feet as he comes into the kitchen where I’m making breakfast. His t-shirt falls to my mid thigh but rises up higher as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind. He nuzzled his face into my neck and I squirm a little as it tickles, especially with his scruff of a mustache.

“Good morning.” He plants kisses across the exposed skin on my collar bone as I turn to face him, properly greeting my boyfriend.

I kissed his lips, lingering a little before replying, “glad to see you’re up.”

“Yeah well we both could’ve been back in bed just saying.” He playfully shrugs and I laugh, “your loss.” He goes to the fridge pulling out some orange juice as he pours us a glass and I make some scrambled eggs. It was peaceful, being with him like this. Things weren’t really all that different, except now we got to kiss each other and sleep in the same bed.

“I’m not really missing out.” I joke.

“Oh really?” He smirked, sitting down at the island and I could already sense the competitive nature coming out in him as I finished making breakfast.

“What?” I grinned.

“Get over here and I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

“Bring it on Matthews.” I sauntered over to him, teasing him as he placed his hands on my hips and looked up at me, “go ahead, show me what I’m missing.”

He yanked me down into his lap and I yelped as he peppered light kisses all over my face and neck while simultaneously tickling my waist. I giggled and leaned away, “stop!” I laugh, “seriously stop before we topple over- eek!” The bar stools were anything but steady as we swayed over it. “You secretly love it.” he said as we caught our breaths. And I did, secretly love this, the lazy mornings with him, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I only smiled as I went to grab the eggs and toast I made before he interrupted the productive groove I was in. 

I set our plates down but before I took a bite I gave him one last kiss, just because I could. And it’s so good, so sweet, so right, I’m still not used to it. The butterflies were alight in my stomach as I pull away and sit down before he looks at me funny. 

“What?” I asked finally taking a bite of my avo toast.

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

“Don’t be cheesy Aus.” But the blush on my face probably gives me away. And maybe the slight smile too.

He sticks his tongue out at me and I laugh at his childish nature. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” I stick my tongue out too. 

He hums in acknowledgement, and kisses me on the cheek this time before muttering a “thanks for breakfast” and digging in.

-

It was weird at first, to say the least. When Mitch invited a couple of us to have a bonfire at his parents house I really didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t at least half the team and their significant others that’s for sure. 

The fire was blazing as I zipped up my coat, going to find Auston in one of those adirondack chairs talking to Freddie in an identical one next to him. He smiled as I walked up and sat down in his lap facing Freddie. Freddie just grinned and I could feel Aus looking at me and whatever they were talking about before I got there seemed to cease. 

“What?” I looked at him and he was already smiling, his gaze glancing down to my lips. “Nothing.” He leaned in and gave me a sweet peck. 

“I always knew you guys would end up together.” Freddie stated. He let a little half smile grace his features.

“You did? Cause I didn’t.” I grinned. Auston swatted my hand lightly and then let his hand rest on my upper thigh.

“You two were so obvious before you both even realized that you had feelings for each other. I’m just glad you put yourselves out of your misery.” He gave the two of us a side smile, “or at least everyone else out of theirs.” We both had a chuckle at that.

“It wasn’t that obvious.” I tried playing it off but apparently Kappy caught wind of our conversation as he was passing and decided to invite himself in. “Yes it was.”

“Kap!” I whined, turning my mouth into a pout.

“Oh you weren’t too crazy.” He leaned up against Fred’s chair and gave Auston a little point, “I was talking about him.”

“Oh shut it.” He laughed and wrapped my arms around him and hugged him to me tighter. “You had a wittle crush?” I taunted, laughing as he tried to shake his head no and Kappy and Freddie were shaking theirs violently yes.

“(Y/N/N) the last month before New Years was the worst! He was all, ‘I wonder what (Y/N) will think about my outfit, I wonder what she’ll think of my goal, I should call her, when is she gonna call me?’ Blah blah blah.” Kap rolled his eyes and I looked at Auston to see his face was a little flushed.

“Alright detective we get the picture.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go find some stuff to make s’mores.” 

“Kappy wait!” I called and he turned around raising a brow. “What was that bet you and Willy made at the bar that one time? Christmas I think?” 

He laughed and gave me a little ‘tsk‘ , “I told you (Y/N/N)!” He crosses his heart and my eyes were already rolling, “I know, I know!” And we simultaneously said “leafs honor.”

Auston looked at me confused but I just patted him on the shoulder, “I know as much as you do dude.” And he snorted at that.

“It’s cute ya know.” I continued, running my fingers through his hair, twirling the ends, “That you care that much. I never knew these things so it’s nice to hear.” An easy smile fell on my lips as those brown eyes looked into mine. 

He leaned in and gave me another kiss on the lips, and just as I was about to pull away he pulled me back tighter and I smiled against his lips. “Get a room you too!” Mitch yelled.

“Are you sure it’s okay in your parents house?” Auston chirped back and I burst into a fit of giggles along with everyone else at the look on Mitch's face. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Your childhood bedroom have a lock on it?” He smirked and elbowed him maybe a little too hard on that one. “Auston!” Although the laughter ricocheted around the backyard.

“Baby ow!”

“That didn’t hurt, and that’s weird!!”

“I’m only teasing.” But the smirk was there all the same.

“Sure you are.” Steph laughed.

It was nice having everyone gathered so close. It felt like a home away from home, but I knew I had already found mine long before we came to Toronto. It took forever but the build ended up being worth it in the end. No matter where we go, or how far along we get on our journey, we’re always going to be the same us.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Morning Routine - Chris Wagner (nsfw)

Summary: Chris and the reader come up with a new routine to make their mornings even better. NSFW.

Words: 1603

“I fell asleep to his heartbeats last night. It was the best music ever.”

The effect he had on my sleep never stopped to amaze me. Lying next to him seemed to put me to sleep in a few minutes but whenever he was away, and I was alone it took me at least an hour to fall asleep and yet I would still wake up from time to time during the night. Waking up beside him in the mornings made me feel at peace and relaxed and I don’t have a single worry in my mind. But when I had to wake up in an empty bed, I’d start almost every morning with a grumpy mood and not quite relaxed. Most mornings when he was home he was up early and gone to morning skates or to the gym. Mornings like this one where I could wake up before him knowing he wouldn’t leave any time soon, the days he had off were what I longed for and always cherished when they happened. I wanted him in the bluntest ways possible. I wanted to wake up with him and fall asleep with his arms tightly wrapped around my body, so tightly that it was hard to breathe sometimes but I enjoyed it anyway. I wanted to go on walks around the city and eat home-cooked food for dinner. And living a domestic life with his was truly enough for me and I didn’t need anything else.

I rolled over and curled up to his side for a few moments and I smiled at him although he was asleep. Soft snores were coming out his slightly opened mouth, looked unbothered and not even my moves disturbed his sleep. He took every chance he got to sleep when he had a day off. I pressed a soft kiss on his jaw and slowly slid out of the bed. Goosebumps appeared on my body as soon I stepped on the cold floor and I quickly put in Chris’ hoodie he wore yesterday to warm up and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the two us.

I was about to make myself some coffee when two strong hands wrapped around my body which caught me off guard and made me jump a little from the scare. Chris buried his face in my neck and kissed it.

“I went to bed last night thinking I would wake up and get some cuddles on my day off and instead the bed is empty and I’m alone,” he said. His voice was raspy and still a bit sleepy and he talked slowly and quietly. It sent shivers down my spine.

“You’re complaining now but I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you eat the toasts with avocado, prosciutto, tomatoes, and poached eggs and after you take just one sip of the freshly brewed coffee I made,” I smiled and continued preparing the breakfast with Chris’ still standing behind me, holding me close to his body with his eyes closed and a smile on his face.

“No offense baby, I’m sure it’ll be delicious, but I’d still prefer the cuddles.” He chuckled.

“We have all day Chris,” I laughed.

Chris sat down on the bar chair by the kitchen island and watched me cook. He did it whenever I was cooking but I never got used to it and felt nervous when he was watching me for too long. I blushed and chuckled randomly from the nervousness. Two years of a relationship yet I was still shy around him. I caught him take a few pictures of me, again nothing unusual and it bothered me as much as the staring but I found it cute although he usually took all pictures from the worst angles and I ended up deleting them from his phone when he wasn’t looking. I knew what mornings like this meant to him, they probably meant to him more than to me because he only rarely got an actual day off without practices and workouts. And it was my priority to make those days as good as possible so he could enjoy them fully and put all the stress away at least for a few hours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice was now back to normal, his cheeks were slightly pink but his hair remained messy.

“Chris, stop it, please. I can’t focus when you’re staring at me.” I said seriously and focused on finishing the breakfast trying to ignore him still staring at me. “I thought we could invite the boys for dinner sometime this week. It’s been a while since we all hang out together.” I suggested as I finished the last roast and joined Chris by the kitchen island.

“I’ll ask them tomorrow and I’ll let you know,” he smiled. “Pasta actually complained a few days ago that we haven’t hung out in a while. Rebecca’s visiting him so we could invite everyone.” I nodded and took the first bite of the toast I made secretly smiling to myself from the satisfaction that they came out really good. “Love, this stuff is delicious,” he said with a full mouth and kept biting more and more.

“Still craving the cuddles or will you admit that the breakfast was better?” I teased him when we both finished breakfast.

“No,” he answered and got up from his seat, took me into his arms and carried me back to our bedroom, gently putting me down on my place and shortly after that he was lying curled up next to me under the comfy blanket. “This is much better.” He whispered to my ear and kissed my cheek. I smiled, fully enjoying every second of being wrapped in his arms.

I kissed his jaw and started playing with hair like I always did whenever we were cuddling. He was smiling, happily snuggling in closer to me and resting his on my breast which was his favorite spot and I couldn’t complain about a single thing.

“This needs to go,” Chris mumbled against my skin as he slowly started taking my shirt off. I raised my eyebrows at him playfully but let him continue as I didn’t want him to stop in any way. He started kissing my breast and then he slowly went up to my neck and jaw, his teeth occasionally brushed against my sensitive skin and his kisses left a little love bites behind.

I pulled him closer to my face and started kissing him passionately. My hands were running up and down his back, gently scratching them which made him moan quietly in between the kisses. I pulled his boxers down which left him completely naked on the top of my almost undressed body. He then moved down to my thighs kissing them before he pulled down my shorts together with the panties and then he paused for a moment to take a good look at my naked body.

He brushed his fingers in between my legs before he slid two fingers inside me causing me to grab the sheets and moan loudly from the surprise, his tongue teasing me making me crave for more. His face then moved up to my face again kissing me deeply while his fingers kept going faster and faster with each thrust. I was scratching his back carelessly, loudly moaning under his touch and the pleasure he was giving me.

“Oh my god, Chris!” I screamed out as I felt myself getting closer to orgasm, my legs were shaking uncontrollably with the sensation. Chris kept going for a bit longer before he pulled away from me causing to whimper. He smiled at me mischievously and then he kissed me deeply once again to make up for what he just did and skillfully got me on the top of him without breaking the kiss. He grabbed my hips to pull me closer to his face and he slammed into me without a warning, wasting no time with waiting for me to adjust a little. I started moaning immediately.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, thrusting faster and deeper, his fingers were in my hair and he occasionally opened his eyes to look at me but never for too long as the pleasure kept taking over us and it was impossible to control ourselves for longer than a few seconds.

“Chris!” I moan digging my fingers into his bare chest trying to get some support for my trampling body.

“I’m gonna cum soon baby,” he moaned back and pulled me closer to him to kiss me quickly.

A few moments later we found ourselves screaming each other’s name as we finally reached our climax at almost the same time. I stayed on the top of him breathing heavily, trying to come back to my senses. Chris seemed to be doing the same thing. He then pulled me down, positioned me on my side and he wrapped his hands around my body holding me in His loving arms, stroking my hand and softly kissing the top of my head.

“Now that was definitely better than the breakfast,” he breathed out against my head and we both chuckled.

“Looks like everything’s better than the breakfast I made for you,” I answered teasingly. “But I agree. It was amazing.”

“We should do this more often. It’d be a nice morning routine to have.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I nodded, agreeing with his idea. “I love you.”

“I love you too baby,” he mumbled and then he closed his eyes, cuddling up closer to me and tracing circles on my hand.

[dadsandmugs]

The Top 5 Recipes Our Family Loves & How To Make Them

Every family has them. Those mouth watering at the mere mention recipes. Those beautiful meals that take you right back to childhood, the ones that remind you of Christmas, or helped you get through a tough time. Food has always been a place we run to when times are tough. The thing we most worry about when hosting parties. The center piece of our most memorable vacations.

Over the years I’ve learned the best meals don’t have the most ingredients! They have a few high quality ingredients. When you’re cooking make sure you use the highest quality you can afford. Whether it’s your turn to cook dinner tonight, or you’re looking for a new family holiday tradition, we hope this list of our family’s favorites hits the spot for you like it does for us!

1. Bazagna

Ok, so this is our version of Lasagna. My daughter called it Bazagna when she was little, no matter how many times we tried to correct it, so now we all do. Simple and crazy good! No matter how tempting DO NOT USE bottled sauce. The sauce below is simple and way to good to sub. It really does make all the difference.

Ingredients:

2lb ground beef

Oven ready lasagna pasta

1 large can of crushed tomatoes

Fresh parmesan (brick)

Goat cheese (crumble or brick)

Basil (fresh leaf)

Garlic cloves

1 Bag Shredded mozzarella 

Chives (optional for presentation)

Steps:

Cook 2 lb ground beef over medium high heat until the fat and water is absorbed. Set aside

Turn heat down to medium. Pour 2-3 glugs of Extra Virgin Olive Oil into the already hot pan. Add the diced garlic. Pour in the large can of crushed tomatoes. Cook until thick. Add fresh basil and salt to taste.

Mix in cooked ground beef. Congrats, the sauce is finished.

Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees

Coat the bottom of an oven safe pan with sauce, then add one layer of oven ready lasagna pasta, one layer of sauce, one layer of fresh parmesan, and nobs of goat cheese. Repeat until pan is full. Finish with 2 lbs of mozzarella. (If you don’t like goat cheese you can sub Ricotta, cream cheese, or cottage cheese.

Cook in oven for 30 minutes, or until the cheese is nice and golden brown. Let it rest for about 10-15 minutes. Serve.

2. Chicken Fried Rice

Healthy, Fast, & Easy to make in bulk. Everyone loves it! You can make it as complicated as you want, but I don’t. I keep it simple and basic.

Ingredients: 

2lb chicken thighs

Calrose rice (Jasmine is also amazing.)

Frozen bag of carrots & peas

Eggs

Sesame oil

Soy sauce

Shrimp (if you’re feeling fancy)

Steps:

Cook rice according to instructions

While rice is cooking, heat 2-3 glugs of olive or avocado oil in a wok (or skillet) to medium high. Cook chicken thighs fully, set aside to cool, then dice.

Add the frozen veggies to the pan, when fully cooked make a hole in the middle of the pan and scramble 6 eggs. 

Add the diced chicken and rice, pour 2-3 teaspoons of sesame oil, and soy sauce to taste.

Done! Air fry some egg rolls or pan stickers for the side! Pure joy.

3. Cheese & Berry Crepes

Our absolute favorite Christmas tradition. I only make them at Christmas to keep it special. I will admit it’s hard. Sometimes the kids get me and ask for them on their birthday. It’s the only breakfast my kids wait to open presents for. Seriously! Try them out and you’ll understand why.

Ingredients:

Flour

Milk (regular or plant)

Eggs

Butter

Cream Cheese

White Chocolate Pudding Mix (French Vanilla also a good option)

Fresh Mixed Berries (Your choice, but do not use frozen)

Honey

Lemon

Whipped Cream

Steps:

In a large bowl whisk 1 cup flour, 1 cup milk, and 1 egg. This is your crepe batter.

Make pudding mix according to instructions, then add half a block of cream cheese. This is your filling

In a large bowl mix your berries, juice of one lemon, and a generous pour of honey. This is your topping.

Heat a small nob of butter in a pan at medium low heat. Add the crepe batter to the center covering only half the pan, then swirl the pan until a very thin layer covers the whole surface. When the top of the batter is no longer wet, flip the pan on to a plate and repeat.

Spread a layer of filling on the lighter colored side of the crepe, fold in half, then fold in half again, creating a triangle. Top with berries, whipped cream, and if you’re feeling fancy grate lemon zest on top. 

I hope these make your Christmas mornings as happy as ours!

4. Chili Con Carne With Crispy Potatoes

The most versatile meal on the planet! You can eat chili with burgers, hot dogs, rice, potatoes, pasta, add cheese and it becomes a dip! Change the meat from beef to pork and it becomes a whole new experience, use turkey and you can claim it’s some type of fitness meal! LOL! It does everything! Most of all when it’s cold outside it hugs your soul! My favorite is a combo of beef and bacon with crispy potatoes! I just drooled on the keyboard. Gross.

Ingredients:

2lbs ground beef

1 pack of finely chopped bacon

2 cans red beans (any type of beans work)

1 small can tomato paste

Chili powder (the darker the color the more rich the taste)

Crushed garlic cloves

Finely diced Sweet onion

Gold Potatoes

Shredded Cheddar

Sour Cream

Cilantro

Steps:

In a pot fully cook finely chopped bacon on medium high heat, strain then set aside.

Cook ground beef on medium high heat until fat and water is absorbed. Make sure you constantly move it around and break it up. We want the beef to be as small as possible. No nasty dry chunks.

Add bacon, onion, garlic, a generous amount of Chili powder, and tomato paste. Cook until tomato paste is fully dissolved into meat.

Add beans and enough water to fully cover mixture. Let it cook down for about an hour at medium low heat stirring occasionally.

While the chili is cooking pre heat the oven to 425 degrees and cut up your gold potatoes. Put them into a mixing bowl. Pour in a generous amount of olive oil then season with salt. Mix until evenly coated then pour on to a bake sheet and bake for 45 minutes or until golden brown.

Pour the Chili onto the potatoes then top with cheese, sour cream, and cilantro! So freakin’ good! Especially when it’s cold and raining. Double the recipe to have a solid amount of left overs.

5. Cacio e Pepe

A delicious ancient Roman recipe. I learned how to make this from Stanley Tucci’s book Taste. Instantly became a family favorite! After this you will never buy boxed Mac’ N Cheese or bottled Alfredo sauce ever again. The most insanely easy dish for those nights you really don’t feel like cooking.

Ingredients: 

1lb spaghetti (sub any pasta)

Block of parmesan (sub any cheese, as long as its not pre shredded)

Black Pepper

(Optional: We often add breaded chicken with a squeeze of lemon on top)

Steps:

Boil the pasta al dente in salted water. (Minus 1 minute from the directions on the box.) 

Save 1 coffee mug of the pasta water then strain

Add 2 large handfuls of freshly grated cheese, 2 pinches of black pepper, and your mug of pasta water. Stir & Serve.

For the kids Mac n Cheese I’ll add a couple nobs of butter, swap parmesan for medium cheddar, and leave out the pepper.  Don’t use pre-shredded cheese. The anti caking agents in it make for a sub par dish. Simple & fast! From start to finish maybe 10 minutes! Definitely my kids favorite!

Well, there you go! Our family’s top 5 ridiculously delicious recipes! Try them out! Let us know what you think, and check out our other content for helpful reviews, tutorials, and must haves!

Photo Credit:

All the recipes above are our family's. But, Im not the greatest photographer. I'm getting better. Here's where i got the photos I swiped. However, all of these sites have amazing recipes. Check them out!

Lasagna: Inpiredtaste

Chicken Fried Rice: Healthyfitnessmeals

Chili:  Brian Kavanagh | The Sophisticated Caveman

Crepes: Diethood

Cacio e Pepe: Nonnabox

[seeookjin]

Thirty things about me

i was tagged[?] by @minhoswhitehair, been meaning to do this for awhile.

Nickname: A friend would call me Eleeza/Elerza and I don’t know why. He was weird.

Zodiac: gemini

Height: I tell people I’m 5′2″ lol

Age: 24

Time: 11:53pm

Favourite band / Artist: definitely n.flying at this point

Song stuck in my head: Shoot Out by Monsta X

Last film I watched: Crazy Rich Asians, I could count Hocus Pocus but I didn’t really watch it.

Other blogs: 5secondsofasian

Do I get asks?: no, i’m lonely :(

Why I chose this username: mostly cause i’d just gotten into bts and jin was bias i think.

Following: 48

Amount of sleep I get: a solid 8 lol

Lucky numbers: don’t really have one, 2?

What I’m wearing: dark gray american eagle hoodie, adidas shorts

Dream Job: assistant manager to idols or something lol, photographer, translator, idk lol

Favorite food: salmon avocado rolls, pineapple buns, egg tarts

Instruments: a little violin lol

Sports: badminton is the only sport that i know and like lol

Hair: black (like my soul)

Eyes: brown

Most iconic song: what does this even mean?

Languages: english, cantonese, some mandarin, spanish, a little russian, french for that one time i went to paris, learning korean.

Random Fact: i once walked 18 miles for a pokemon game.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: a Lana Del Ray music video [according to buzzfeed], starry night, pink bubblegum, a large bonfire, saturday morning on the subway?

Favorite songs: SF9 - Jungle Game, Now or Never, Easy Love; N.Flying - Shameless, Knock Knock, Awesome, Basket, Bittersweet…basically everything; F4 - For You; GOT7 - 1:31AM, Let Me, Thank You, Magnetic Girl; BTS - Answer: Love Myself, Euphoria; CNBlue - Loner, Cinderella. 

tagging anyone and everyone! seriously! do it and tag me so i can see and we can learn about each other!^^

[jphagger]

Cross Country Trip Entry #3

On Thursday I woke up from the stale air of the canopy and a thin film of sweat from the hot surroundings. My side was apparently the eastern end of the Walmart parking lot, and a hand to the canvas confirmed it by the heat. The roof was cool from the evaporating dew and Jeffrey lay awake next to me browsing the internet on his phone. We packed up our small camp quicker than the morning prior and headed to Cuyahoga Valley National park.

Jeffrey looked up a few trails on the way over and we decided on a waterfall hike that was 8 miles long and promised views of three different falls. We had a quick breakfast of frosted mini wheats and packed a pair of granola bars each, somewhat stoked at the idea of being out on the trail before 10AM. 

The hike was interesting, winding through unmarked trails along a river and delivering on the promise of waterfalls, though it was made slightly less serene than a similar New York scene by the emanating, inescapable sounds of Interstate 80 the whole way. We passed a “ski slope” that couldn’t have been more than 300 feet of downhill and cracked quite a few “what’s there to do in Ohio? Nothing.” jokes. These were later confirmed by a handful of people that happen to be from Ohio without much prompting. 

After our first hike, which was assisted by a very nice park ranger that provided us with paper trail maps, we drove to another section of the park called The Ledges for lunch. Jeffrey boiled 4 perfect hardboiled eggs and we threw together an avocado, bean, egg, and Rotel spicy tomato salad with toast. Road food thus far has been both healthy and delicious. 

I was enjoying the sunny day and the quiet rustling of the wind through the trees when an inconspicuous black SUV pulled into the shady spot next to our truck and idled for a few minutes. After a few more minutes of idling and then two levels of fan blowing stepped-up noise I decided to politely ask the driver if they would mind opening their windows rather than using the A/C. Jeffrey was worried (and so was I, really) that I wouldn’t handle the situation properly, but after a bit of thought I approached him and we had a very pleasant conversation. 

We sat for a few more minutes and I jotted down some of the key points of the day for later before embarking on the short Ledges hike. It turned out to be more beautiful than I had expected from the pictures posted in the trail reviews. We certainly are spoiled in that regard- being able to look at reviews for hiking trails... Along the way we scrambled on rocks and looked at the cool sandstone pockets in the boulders.

An older couple was walking in front of us and as we passed them we made small talk. The man ended up being from the Stony Brook area and they were on a trip visiting three more national parks out of their current 42. We talked about Acadia and traveling through Utah and they recommended parks to see; the woman said her favorite so far was actually Acadia. At the overlook part of the trail I found it amusing that they seemed just as unimpressed as we were by the fairly normal landscape view of green trees and high tension wires coupled, of course, by Interstate music. 

We meandered back to the car and started the drive to Brendan’s house in Michigan, stopping almost as quickly at the sight of a climbing gym and outdoor store pair on the route. The gear in stock was beautiful, but also highly priced so I stuck with just getting a chalk refill and some nice conversation with the cashier. 

On the highway Jeffrey browsed the internet for a while and kept us awake with good music. An hour or so in I suggested that we look for odd jobs on Craigslist, sort of as a longshot but also semi seriously. Jeffrey found an Ad by a man named Greg. He was in search of a pair of “street teamers” to promote his new movie, which sported a picture of a crazy looking man dangling two knives, the title Hectic Knife and the description “a crazy new meta comedy parody of comic book movies... all of ‘em!” Jeffrey responded that we were a pair of hip millennials travelling cross country, and that our experience posting “Lost dog” posters and interacting with people along our travels surely qualified us to advertise for his event. 

He never texted back.

Further down the road, after a few similar responses, including one to a man looking for furniture to be moved, we focused back on the music. Jeffrey requested that I ask Katie, one of our mutual friends from back home, what that song was with “Peaches” in the title. She didn’t respond quickly enough, so we spent the next hour listening to every song on spotify with the word peaches in it. 

At Brendan’s house we were greeted by a familiar warm smile and highly infectious laughter. Brendan told us about his job and introduced us to the other interns living in the apartment and we loosely discussed our plans for the next day. Jeffrey received a text back from the guy looking for moving help on craigslist, and we were very excited until the request of a 7AM meeting time. 

We went to sleep fairly early with the 5:45 AM alarm looming in our minds and woke up feeling refreshed and nervously curious about this curious person promising $40 to move furniture. On the drive over we discussed a few things including how much money to leave in our wallets should we be held at gunpoint, how much we were willing to give before going down with the ship (i.e the truck and bikes) and whether or not I had theft insurance on the bikes. The situation came to a climax when a white truck rolled up to the storage unit place we had been told to meet at and a man got out. He was more of a kid, really. At 19, Henry runs his own antique furniture business in Alabama and was genuinely looking for a pair of people to help him move and reorganize the pieces he had collected up in Michigan. It turns out we had been the only people to answer his add as a pair ( I had pushed Jeffrey about this- he wanted to answer for just himself the scoundrel!) and we worked for two hours, getting everything cleaned and reorganized back in his storage unit. Good on his word, Henry gave us our payment and said to let us know if we decide to come back through Alabama on the way back east. You can check out his website at magiccityfinds.com 

We headed back to Brendan’s apartment in no rush, and stopped at AAA to grab some maps of the local area and for the rest of the trip. The receptionist gave us tips about the local nightlife and I took a few maps. Later on, while looking at the maps I noticed a $5.95 price tag on each one... hopefully they’re free for members! Our next stop was home depot to get a spare trailer lock key made and for some scrap wood to use as a shim for the trailer spare holder. The spare was originally under the tongue of the trailer, but all the bumpy roads have been taking a toll on it with small clearance. The wood was easy; Ben helped me out by cutting up a few pieces of spare 2x6′s but the key line was long so we opted for a locksmith after getting groceries. Michael at the grocery store reminded me of Father’s day, so happy Father’s day Dad! Without you there’s no way we would be on the road doing this trip. 

The locksmith was very nice, and after looking at our key and lock for a minute or so and informing us that it was a cheap import and there was no way he could make a key he gave us a free inexpensive padlock. We chatted about motocross for a few minutes and he gave a few tips about local areas to check out before we headed on our way back to Brendan’s. 

At Brendan’s we both enjoyed long hot showers and I had a frosty beverage. Michigan is the first place there seems to be dry apple cider available in stores and it is infinitely more enjoyable than the fake sweetness of standard Angry Orchard and the like. The early morning work had us both pretty sleepy, and it was time to nap for an hour or so. 

There had been limited parking the night before, so we’d pushed a concrete parking barrier out of the way and did a bit of sketchy parking halfway under a carport and half in a patch of grass. We were notified quite effectively by way of a large neon green sticker on my windshield that our parking job was not in fact acceptable, and that my truck would be towed the following day at noon if not moved. 

As I was scraping the stubborn remnants of sticker stickiness off of the windshield a maintenance worker from Brendan’s apartment complex profusely apologized for having to put it there and very nicely told us where we could park to avoid any issues. 

Brendan rolled back into town around 4PM and the three of us decided to have nachos and head to the lake for the evening sunset. Jeffrey semi-pressured us into swimming in the lake, which turned out to be very fun. It was about 2 feet deep for as far out as I dared to go, and we would have kept going if our stuff wasn’t sitting by it’s own on the shore. 

We took the long way home and hung out with a few of Brendan’s coworkers before turning in for the night in the truck. 

[peterjonesparker]

hello! i’ve briefly come up for air so that i could fill one prompt and write this! i’m sorry i’ve kinda fallen off the deep end but college is hard, yo. anyway, i hope you enjoy! don’t take this too seriously haha. have this fic in which mj accidentally gives peter a coupon book for sexual favors.

tagging: my wife @spideychelle-romanogers, a gem with a seasonal blog name @spookychelleblessup, the always hilarious @suplosers, someone i need to say hello to again @bellamywarriorblake, and i can’t remember if she wanted me to tag her in things but i’ll do it anyway because i love her @aqhrodites. if you asked me to tag you and i’ve forgotten, please let me know! i’ll actually make a list instead of me just being like oh wait i needed to do this!

this coupon is good for… (ao3 link)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

A List of Things Michelle Only Found Out About Peter After They Became Friends:

He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks properly. (Michelle’s had to show him several times and he’s still helpless.)

Peter isn’t the most well-read. He spends most of his time reading comics, graphic novels, books for class, books about physics, and books that in some way help him build tech for the spidey suit. (Michelle has thrown several books at his head. She’s seen a bookmark in one, so she’ll take what she can get.)

Perhaps most egregious, Peter Parker is, without a doubt, single-handedly, the best gift giver. And it’s infuriating.

See, the thing about being friends with someone who’s great at giving gifts is that you just suck at it. Michelle can spend hours thinking up something to get Peter for his birthday or Christmas or graduation and it will be like getting a rock compared to anything Peter gives her. A signed copy of her favorite book, an exclusive interview with Steve Rogers, a year-long subscription to a sock of the month club.

Michelle manages to get Peter this vintage comic book she happened upon once at an antique store and that was the greatest gift she got him. It wasn’t even a comic he’d read. But he still smiled and gasped and thanked her. Even though it was a really lame present. Michelle is determined to do better.

Yet, despite her sincerest desire to give Peter a good present to finally make up for the years and years of lame presents she’s given him, Michelle always forgets to plan. Which is how she ends up frantically looking through a Hallmark store on a Thursday night at eight pm, searching for a present to give Peter for his birthday tomorrow.

It’s sad, really. But she was busy! Classes have her swamped and it was her midterm week. She feels guilty, though. Because Peter also made her lunch for the entire week and packed it with a note telling her she’d do great. Which is why she wanted to make it up to him with a great present! But here she is, looking at sad, pseudo-edgy journal booklets.

She finally settles on a coupon book she sees offhand. She looks through it and it’s got lots of household chores, which Peter absolutely abhors doing so at least he’ll have use for them. (Peter is, on all accounts, a fantastic roommate. But his tolerance for basic household upkeep leaves something to be desired. She’s had to pick up the spider-man suit from the floor more times than she’d care to admit.) She grabs the red one as a joke (Spider-man!) and purchases it, hoping that the party she has planned for him tomorrow will at least make up for this lame gift.

Michelle makes him breakfast the next morning before his eleven am class. Chicken crumble and scrambled eggs over avocado toast. She also makes him coffee because she saw his light on at two thirty am when she went to use the restroom. He’s sleepy, but he thanks her, kissing her hair lightly on his way to the bar stool. They chat and eat before both of them leave for class. On her way out the door, she reminds him to be back by seven for her surprise.

Michelle thinks it’s very likely he knows it’s a party, but what he doesn’t know is that Tony is coming. It’s been a long time since Peter has seen him and, while she and Tony don’t always see eye-to-eye about everything, she’s excited that Peter will get to see him.

So, when seven pm rolls around and everyone’s waiting eagerly in their apartment, Michelle is, admittedly, a lot excited. May baked a beautiful cake. (Well, May’s girlfriend baked a beautiful cake. May isn’t the most adept baker. Or cook. But everyone really likes Shana and her cooking.) Ned’s flown in because it’s Peter’s twenty first. So did Liz. (Tony may have paid for their tickets, but he doesn’t really want that information spreading around. Doesn’t need anyone asking him to buy them plane tickets whenever they please.) Then the door lock starts rattling and everyone quiets, scrambling to hide.

As soon as Peter opens the door, everyone jumps and screams. “Surprise!”

Peter laughs. “You guys!” He’s smiling brightly in that dopey way he does, and Michelle feels her heart swell and her face heat up. So, she might be a little bit in love with Peter Parker. It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. We can just ignore it.

Tony walks over to Peter, and Peter chokes a bit. The two hug and it’s heartwarming. But then Ned is rushing over and tackling Peter and there’s laughter and smiling again. Michelle is happy that Peter is happy. So she lets Peter make his way around the party, talking to everyone and catching up. She’s content to stay on the sidelines, making sure everyone is happy. Most importantly, Peter.

But Tony Stark finds her halfway through the night. “Michelle, yes?” She nods her head, sipping from the specialty IPA that May brought. (If there’s one thing May does know, it’s beer.) “Thanks for doing this for him. For bringing me.” He looks down, smiling a bit. “He’s told me you don’t always think so highly of me. So, I appreciate you inviting me anyway.”

She doesn’t know how to respond. For one, she wants to punch Peter because she’d told Peter that, not Tony Stark. There’s no point in denying. So: “You mean a lot to Peter. You should get to be here, too.”

He smiles at her, nodding his head lightly. He taps his hand against his thigh and starts to walk away. He pauses for a moment, turns around, and says, as if he can’t decide if he should, “You mean the world to him. Please tell me you know that?”

She’s a bit stunned. She just nods and he seems to accept that because he walks away. She scans the room until she spots Peter. He’s in the middle of what appears to be an animated story because his arms are flying everywhere and he’s laughing and Ned and Liz are laughing into their hands and shaking their heads. Michelle has never loved him more.

She stares long enough that he finally looks at her. He gives her a crooked smile and her heart flutters. He waves her over, but she shakes her head and shoos him so he’ll go back into the conversation. He rolls his eyes and goes back to listening to Liz’s story.

The rest of the party is fairly lowkey. She catches up with Cindy, chats with May, talks to a few people from Peter’s lab. By around ten thirty, people start trickling out. Some people are going to other parties. Some are going home. By the time the last person leaves, there are cups and plates scattered all throughout the apartment for Peter and MJ to clean. (Most likely in the morning, if she’s being honest.)

He hugs her tightly. “Thank you, MJ. I had a great time.”

“I’m glad.” She chuckles, squeezing him a bit before pushing him away. She walks over to her backpack to grab her lame excuse of a gift. “I have a gift, but don’t get too excited.”

He smiles warmly, grabbing the paper bag wrapped book from her hands. When he opens the gift, he smiles and thanks her. He’s sincere and he likes the gift and he’s entirely too nice. She smiles and laughs a bit when he starts to look through the booklet. “You can redeem the coupons whenever.”

He looks at her warily and takes a large gulp. He appears to pale with each new coupon he reads and she’s honestly so confused. “I can redeem any of these coupons?”

She laughs, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “That’s the idea, dork.”

He closes the book and stares at her for a few moments. He manages, “So you’ll do any of these coupons?”

“Yes, Peter.” She chuckles, a bit exasperated. The concept really shouldn’t be this hard to grasp. She shakes her head and continues, “Just give me a little warning and yeah, of course. Any coupon.” She checks her watch and sighs. “On that note, let’s clean up tomorrow. Maybe you can redeem one of your coupons.”

Peter chokes and she looks at him quizzically. But she just shakes her head and walks to her room. She didn’t realize Peter would be so shook that she was offering to do his chores. She knew he didn’t like doing them, but honestly.

Surprisingly, however, Peter doesn’t use any of the coupons the next day. He just helps her clean and eyes her warily. Which, fine, if he doesn’t want to use her coupons, that’s on him. She won’t do his chores, then. She’s not upset that maybe he didn’t actually like the gift even though he seemed so excited about it. She’s not mad. She knows it was a silly gift. It’s all fine.

Until a Thursday night two weeks later when Peter is doing the dishes, which is his least favorite chore and Michelle knows that was one of the coupons, Michelle can’t take it. She snaps. Gently. “You know, if you don’t want to use the coupons, you can just throw them away or give them back.”

“What?” He whips around, mouth agape. “MJ, I-I, what-”

“You haven’t used any.” She pouts. She hates that she can never get him gifts he enjoys. “I can try to get you something else?”

“No!” He says a bit too quickly, taking a deep breath. “I mean.” He gulps. “Sorry. I just, got a little nervous about them.”

“Why?” MJ tilts her head, looking at him confused. “Peter, honestly, just use the coupons. Don’t worry about me. I gave them to you for a reason.” He’s far too noble.

“Just,” he holds up a hand, jumping a bit where he stands. “Give me one second and I’ll go get one.” So, Michelle waits. She walks over to the sink because she figures he’ll have her do the dishes. But, a few moments later, he comes running back with the whole booklet, flipping through. “Honestly, I’m still a little surprised so I’m not sure which one to use.”

She laughs. “Just choose the one you’d like to use, Parker. It’s not that hard.”

He gives her a meaningful look. “You’d be surprised.” He thumbs through the booklet. “You baffle me, honestly.” Then he blushes furiously and looks up at her, warily. “You’re sure about these coupons?”

“Yes, Peter!” She laughs, exasperated as she huffs a bit. He rips one of the coupons from the booklet and hands it to her nervously. She shakes her head but when she reads the coupon she does a double take. Oh. Oh. She’s gone and fucked it all up.

This coupon is good for a twenty minute make out session.

She fucking…why can’t she read? She glances at the booklet on the table and it’s decidedly…not a household chores coupon booklet. It’s got a couple on the front and lips and it’s titled Sexy Favors for Couples. Why is Peter’s costume the color of desire?

Now she gets his nerves. Why he was so confused. She’d be too. And her immediate thought is that she should tell him she made a mistake and she’s sorry and she’ll get him a new gift. But then she remembers that he, well, he wanted to use this coupon. He wants to make out with her for twenty minutes.

“Just to be sure,” she says quietly before finally meeting his eye again. “You want to use this coupon? Like, you don’t have to use it because I got you the gift.”

“Trust me.” He huffs. “I want to use it.” She doesn’t need any other go ahead so she rushes over to him and wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him forward so that their lips are locked.

It’s frantic and most likely reckless and a bad decision. But Michelle’s wanted to kiss Peter for the better part of five years now and God forbid she give up the opportunity now. Even if it’s not in the context she was hoping for. Even if she doesn’t know if Peter feels for her the way she feels for him. At least she can have this one thing.

She allows Peter to nudge her to their couch and they tumble on top of it. She opens her legs to cradle him between them and he moves his lips down to her neck. She gasps when he bites lightly, moving one hand from his back to his head so she can use his hair as an anchor. Her head is angled back so he can have easy access, and boy does he take advantage. He nips and sucks and laves, and MJ is in heaven.

But this is supposed to be for him. It was her gift to him. So, she flips them over as smoothly as she can (which isn’t all that smooth, but Peter still seems pleasantly surprised) and leans down to kiss him on the lips, filthy as she can. She even rolls her hips a little bit, which manages to make Peter gasp, so she’s pretty proud. She tries that one trick she learned from Harry in high school, and Peter loves it.

All in all, it’s a pretty successful make-out session. Especially given the fact that Michelle hasn’t made out with anyone in well over a year. (You can try to get her to admit it’s because of her feelings for Peter, but you’ll fail.) She doesn’t keep track, but she’s pretty sure they’ve been making out for more than twenty minutes. Not that either is complaining. But then MJ feels Peter’s excitement against her thigh and she figures that’s her cue to stop.

Peter’s face is slightly pink and he’s gasping for breath when she pulls away. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch and letting out a gentle and awed, “fuck.”

MJ laughs, kissing him lightly before she gets off of him. She doesn’t know how to react now that her crushing need to just kiss Peter Parker is gone. Well, at least for the time being. She doesn’t want to have to deal with a conversation right now because it’ll be complicated and he’ll tell her the coupons are fun but that’s all there is to it. She doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

She takes a deep breath and says, “Okay! I’ve got an early class tomorrow, so I’m going to head to bed. But let me know if you want to use another coupon.” Then she’s walking a little faster than natural to her room and closing the door quickly behind her, taking a deep breath as she leans her head against the wood. She tries to ignore the impending sense of doom that’s looming over her head.

What has she done?