#like we come to each others place of work to decompress from our own shifts. and it means a lot to everyone involved to know that

[calamitys-child]

Sometimes I forget I'm perceived and known by people and sometimes I get to my favourite bar for their pub quiz and they've reserved us a table without us asking cause they know we're quiz regulars and they like chatting with us and my tiny calloused heart grows four sizes

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

Six - Too much to risk

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: Mention gun, being shot at, swearing, slight mention of death, maybe some mistakes oopsie, tell me if I missed something

Description: A small improvised visits by Petekin leads to a hectic afternoon in the marsh.

A/n : Hellooo guys, gals and pals, this is quite a long part. I really wanted to finish the first episode. also I really don’t know how to had a little read mor thing I don’t know how. Sorry! hope you like it!

Previously next

Afraid masterlist

gif by @robinsbuckly

Song recommendation

It was now far later in the morning, meaning the sun had fully risen and it was a much more reasonable hour to be up at. JJ had left a while ago and John B was still peacefully sleeping (and loudly snoring). Y/n hadn’t been able to go to sleep after her talk with the blond boy and she was now sitting on the couch reading her book (actually reading this time). So, when she heard the front door open, she didn’t bother looking up, assuming it was one of her friends. Who else would just come in like that anyway?

"Hey, there’s coffee made in the kitchen if you want any,” she said, still not pulling her gaze of off her book.

“That’s kind of you to offer, but I’ve already had two cups this morning, I don’t think it would be reasonable for me to have more.” Y/n’s book fell to the ground.  

“Sheriff Peterkin, I’m so sorry. I-I thought you were someone else-” she got up from her seat, “-do you, do you need anything, water or uh-”

“You don’t have to bother sweetheart, I’m not planning on staying that long. I just want to talk for a bit,” answered the adult.

“Okay,” she took a pause to swallow. “I’ll go get John B.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go get him myself.” Y/n nodded, watching as she disappeared into the hallway leading to her brother’s room.  

She started pacing around the living room, ferociously biting the nails on her left hand. It wasn’t every day a cop showed up in your house. She had absolutely no idea why Peterkin would want to talk. Actually, she had about 25 different ideas, starting with the fact her uncle hadn’t been on the island for about 3 months. And the party last night, what if she knew about the gun? Would JJ be in trouble? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, that she was certain of it.

>>

The conversation went on for much longer than expected. Basically, Peterkin knew about their uncle being awol and she offered to help get  dcs off of their back for a while if they helped her in return. She had also mentioned that it wouldn’t be good if they had seen a shipwreck, which of course they denied despite that being actually true. Y/n didn’t fully understand what Peterkin meant. But she knew that it meant there was something valuable in that boat. And Jonh B knew it too. Yet, he was afraid, which was understandable, considering everything. They were pretty much guaranteed to be put in foster care if they got caught. Not good at all.

“You know what? I'm calling it off,” announced John B.

Y/n raised her head from her sketchbook, dropping her pencil on the low table in front of her to listen to what her brother had to say. She had been drawing silently while the other pogues, all sitting in different ridiculous positions across the backyard, talked and did their own things. She was only half listening to what they were saying, sketching messily the outline of the château. It wasn't very good, but it was calming to do. When she heard the seriousness in her brother’s tone, she closed her sketchbook, otherwise she’d be too distracted.

“Peterkin told us that if we stayed out of the marsh, she’d help with dcs.” The girl grimaced remembering the woman’s words.  

“And you believed her?” “Yes, JJ I believed her.”

“You really think that she’d help us?” asked y/n. “It’s been more than 6 months, bird. If she really wanted to help, she would have helped earlier, no?”  

“Yeah, she’s a cop, an actual cop. And you think she’s telling the truth?” added JJ.

“Look,” John B glanced at y/n. “All we gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple days and she’ll help us.”

“I know, I was there.” Kiara snickered softly at her friend’s words. “But I don’t know, I feel like we’re getting tricked or something. What if she’s like trying to lure us out of there-” she gestured to the water behind them, “-because there’s something she doesn’t want us to see, uh? What if it’s about dad?”  

J.B rubbed the back of his neck before turning his body slightly to face the ocean. “Look,” he addressed his sister. “I get that you’re curious and you want to know what’s down there, but I'm only trying to do what’s best for us. And I think it would be better if we listened to Peterkin. I’m just trying to keep you safe, to protect you, bug.” His voice softened as he finished his sentence.

“And it didn’t help that JJ was shooting a gun last night!” Y/n raised her eyebrows at Pope, her face clearly showing intrigue. She wondered where this conversation would lead, a fight between the two boys most likely. Her gaze shifted to JJ who seemed annoyed at the Routledge boy’s words.

“You know what, I should’ve let Topper drown your ass.” John B laughed. “Topper was gonna drown me?” “Sure looked like it.”

“Boys can you plea-” Y/n tried to stop the small bickers, miserably failing as her brother interrupted her. “Funny.” A loud sigh escaped the girl’s lips and Kiara beside her pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Have you looked in a mirror?” “Tell me some more. Come on.” “They always win don’t they, man?”

“Kooks versus pogues. They always, always win!” You could hear the frustration dripping from his voice. Which was understandable. He had a point, kooks always won, it was time for a change.

“Goddamn!” “Look, it’s okay!” Kie tried to reassure him. “No, it’s not okay!”

“He’s right,” agreed y/n. “They always win, or find a way to avoid the consequences.”

“Exactly, they don’t want us to go down into the marsh, that means there's something valuable down there and you know it.” He said to John B. “I know you do.”

“And I understand why you wouldn’t want to go,” he pointed to Pope. “You’re the golden boy, you got way too much to risk. And you,” he turned to Kiara. “I mean you’re already rich as fuck anyway.” Okay, that was an exaggeration.

“Why would you bother.”

“But us, you, me and y/n, we’ve got nothing to lose!” His eyes glowed with something y/n hadn’t seen in him in a long time. Hope. It made her sad to think about how JJ really had nothing in his life besides the pogues. But if he was hopeful, then maybe, maybe...

“We really don’t.” “Yes, we do have something to lose.”

“If something goes wrong and dcs comes in, y/n and I would be brought to the mainland in foster care. That means placed with families who probably only care about the check that comes in every month and her and I getting separated from one another and from you guys.”

Y/n thought about what her brother had just said. He had a point, if things went wrong, they could lose everything. Each other mainly and the pogues. It was the worst-case scenario. But if they didn’t get caught, it would make their life so much better. Was it worth all the risk though? That was the question.

“Do you understand what that means? How horrible it would be?” The girl got up from her seat and went to stand next to her brother. “I do,” she said. “I understand, bird.”

“I know that you’re scared and so am I.  It’s a pretty big risk. If we get caught, we’re fucked, but listen to what JJ has to say. I think that it might be worth the risk. And if we do get caught-,” she put her hand on his shoulder and turned him around so that he faced her, “we’ll find a way to find each other again. We’re Routledges, we always find a way to solve our problems, don’t we?” Her hand squeezed his shoulder softly. “We’re gonna be alright, bird.”

A small smile drew itself on John B’s lips. “So, what’s the plan,” he said to JJ.

“You got the key to Cameron’s big boat, right?” “No,” J. B’s face scrunched in disagreement.

“There’s scuba gear. We borrow that and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon and that’s what’s gonna save you, man,” exclaimed JJ. “You don’t see rich kids going into foster care, do you?”

Y/n breathed out loudly. She was scared as hell. This was going to be pretty tricky, but she knew something was down there. And if it wasn’t money or something like that, then it was something related to her dad’s disappearance. She could feel it deep into her soul.

>>>

“This is empty, you took empty tanks,” announced Kiara to the group as she furrowed through the bag of oxygen tanks.

Y/n put her head in her hands. Their plan had seemed so perfect and now they didn’t have the one thing they needed for it to work.

“Okay this one’s a quarter full. It’s enough for one of us.” “Love it when a plan comes together.”

“Does anybody know how to dive?” asked the brunette but only to be answered by a chorus of shrugs and denying nods. “Anybody?”

“It’s kind of a kook sport,” JJ looked at her.

“I, … I read about it,” tried Pope.  

“Great, Pope read about it, now someone’s gonna die,” exclaimed Kie dramatically.

“Look.” JJ’s gaze circled the group of friends.  “You put the thing in your mouth and you breathe. How hard can it be?”  

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” confessed y/n.

“Yeah,” agreed Pope. “If you come up too fast, Nitrogen gets in your blood and you get the bends.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She remembered a book she had read a while ago where one of the characters had the decompression sickness (and how tragic their death was).  

“Bends like bend over?” JJ joked as he bent his body in a way to stick his butt up in the air. Typical JJ joke, weird and somehow always a bit sexual. Y/n slapped his arm as a way to tell him off.  

“JJ, the bends is deadly,” she had a stern expression, “it kills you.” “Oh, right.”

“I can- I can dive,” announced J.B. “Yeah, you can dive I’m cool with that.” “Since when can you dive?”  

“No, you can’t dive,” scoffed his sister. “I’ll do it, it’s fine.” “What? The hell?”

“Let’s do some calculations real quick.” Pope pulled out a pen and started writing some numbers. Y/n got up from her seat and went to stand beside him. “So, that boat’s about 30 feet down.” “okay.” “So, it’ll take about 25 minutes at most at that depth.” “Twenty-five.” “Which means you need to make your safety stop at about... 10 feet. Alright? For two minutes.” “Ten feet, two minutes got it.”

They all watched as Kiara jumped straight into the water, her shirt already removed. “Uh, what was that all about?” “I don’t know, but I liked it, a lot.” y/n nudged her brother on the shoulder to get him to stop staring. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, so.” “All righty.”

She sat down on the edge of the boat, waiting for her friend to resurface from underwater. “Yeah. Uh, when you- when you’re down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and you twist and pull, okay,” explained JJ. “Stick it in, twist and pull.”

“You okay?” asked y/n, while the boys kept on rambling. “Needed a swim?” Kiara rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face.  

“Hey!” she called to guys, John b more specifically. “I tied my t-shirt to the anchor about ten feet down. It’s where you need to do your safety stop.”

The Routledge girl admired her friend in the water. Her body moving gracefully as she swam back towards the boat. She seemed so, at ease. It used to be that way for her too, but now, even looking into the darkest part of the water gave her a feeling of vertigo. She wondered if she could still swim as good as she used to. It had been almost a year since the last time she had dove right into the marsh. It felt so far away. If only she was braver.

She hadn’t realised she had completely zoned out until she heard JJ speak. “Zen. Think Zen, you know.” She joined the group on the other side of the hms, her brother already suited for his dive.

“Hey, if we get caught out here in the marsh we’re basically screwed, so,” reminded Pope, “better get a move on.” “Copy that.”

Kiara got up and planted a small kiss on J. B’s cheek. Y/n looked at the two boys next to her with a confused expression. They both shrugged in answer, clearly just as confused as she was. “Diver down?” “Diver down.” She watched as his figure disappeared slowly into the water.

“All right.” “See ya, dude.”

She went to sit next to Kie. “I only love him as a brother,” she mocked her friend. “Yeah right, my ass.”  

“It’s just a small kiss y/n/n, it doesn’t mean anything. I still mean what I said yesterday. It’s just that,” she took a pause, her eyes squinting at the sun, “I’m just worried for him, you know he’s going through a lot and then there’s the shipwreck and all.”

“Uh huh, I totally get what you mean,” ironized y/n. “Shut up,” Kie nudged her with her elbow. “No, but seriously-” started the girl before being interrupted by the sound of a police siren behind her.

“Shit, guys.” “Guys, that’s the police.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, that is not good. Not good at all.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Yep that’s the police.” “Just act fricking normal.”

Anxiety bubbled at the pit of y/n’s stomach. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize her, otherwise she was dead. So dead. She sat down beside Kiara in a somewhat natural position, her legs crossed to keep them from bouncing.

The police boat parked itself beside the hms. Officer Shoupe behind the wheel. “Evenin’ officers,” greeted Pope. “Evening.”

“How you kids doin’ ,” asked Shoupe. “You know the marsh is closed.”

“No.” “No.” “No, wow.” “I didn’t know that.” They all feigned ignorance, hoping to fool the two adults. “Why- why is it closed?” questioned Pope, adjusting his cap nervously.

“Well, we’re conducting a search out here,” informed the man. “Boat went down.” “Oh.” “Oh, no.”

“Seen’ anything?” asked the deputy.

“No.” “No, boats. No.” Y/n’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the boat, trying to keep herself from looking at her brother in the water.

“Where’s your friend you always hang with?” The pace of the rhythm fastened. “He here?” She opened her mouth, trying to think of a good excuse for the missing presence of her brother, but nothing came out.

“He’s working,” lied Kie. All of their heads nodded softly.

“I’m gonna check your little boat out,” announced Shoupe before hopping on the hms. “Yeah.” “Yeah, hop aboard.” The rhythm stopped, y/n’s nails digging into her palms.

He picked up a safety jacket. “You got another one of these?” “Yeah, yeah.”

“Of course, it’s uh, it’s in the hold,” JJ pointed to where the girls were seated. They both got up quickly. “Show him,” instructed Kie. Y/n’s joints were turning white.

“Okay.” JJ opened the hold and pulled out one of the jackets. “Yeah, here we go.” “All right.” The latch closed loudly. Shoupe’s gaze inspected the teens suspiciously. The tension could be cut with a knife.

He climbed on the flat part of the boat. “Be careful.” “Be careful out there, you don’t want to slip.”

He put his sunglasses on, staring at the exact place where John B and the ship were. The pogues exchanged worried glances. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see anything. He stood on the very edge of the boat, his figure towering over the water of the marsh.

“All right,” he finally turned around. Y/n breathed again. “All right.” “All right.”

“Beautiful day, innit?” “Sure is.”

“You let us know if you see anything on your way out,” he ordered as he started the engine. “Will do, will do.”

“We’ll be gone soon, sir.” “Yes, you will,” finally said the man before he vogued away.

Once he was far enough, the group hurried to the side of the boat, all worried about their friend. He’d been under for quite a long time now, there was no way he had any air left.

“He’s definitely out of air,” declared Pope.

At that exact moment, John B surged out of the water. Y/n felt relief take over her body. She felt her whole body unclench and let go of the grip her nails had in her hand.

“There he is!” Exclaimed JJ. “Oh god, Jesus Christ.”

“God damn it, Bird. I’m so glad you’re okay,” spoke y/n.

“Don’t scare us like that!” All of the pogues exclaimed, all so happy that their friend was all right.

“How’d it go down there?” wondered JJ. “Uh,” John b groaned and his sister hurried to the side of the boat to help him get in.

“Did you find anything?”

“Did I find anything?” He repeated throwing a large duffel bag onto the boat.

“Yeah there we go, that’s my boy!” JJ exclaimed excitedly.

“Are you okay?” Y/n asked as he coughed rather loudly. “Yeah, I’m good, but I ran out of air.” Her eyebrows scrunched together on her forehead. God, they were so lucky, what if J.B had ran out of air earlier? Or what if Shoupe had figured out what they were doing? Things could have gotten so bad.

But they didn’t, the girl reminded herself.

“You scared the shit out of me,” confessed Kiara, though it sounded more like a reproach.

“Yeah, same for me,” replied y/n. “Need a hand?” she stuck her hand out at him which he gladly took. The contact of the water with the cuts her nails had made in her hands burned, but she clenched her jaw and ignored the pain. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

“Yeah, the cops were up here but uh, took care of ‘em,” informed Pope.

“My bad.” “You’re all good.” “Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother.”

“Hey guys?” Kiara’s voice was tinted with worry. “Guys, bogey, two o-clock.”

“What?” They all turned in the direction she was referring to. In the distance they noticed a strange looking boat heading towards them.

“Do you recognize that boat?”

“I’ve never seen it.” Kie put her hand above her eyes to hide herself from the sun. “What are they doing back here? The marsh is closed.”

“Honestly, they could ask us the same thing,” pointed y/n.

“Well, I think it would be better if we didn’t stick around and find out,” said JJ.

“JJ, get the bowline.” “Yeah.”

“Should we wait on ‘em?” asked Pope.

“Uh, I don’t think that would be a great idea,” responded y/n. The boat was coming in very fast and the people driving it looked angry and dangerous. It was much safer to just leave. “Go get the stern, go!” Hurried John B.

The blonde pulled the rope as fast as he possibly could. “Guys, don’t wait for me. Go,” he said. Y/n inspected the unknown boat in the distance, nothing about it seemed familiar. Who could these people be? And what did they want from them? “Let’s go.”

She kept her eyes glued to it as the motor started. “I have a really bad feeling about this,” she confessed, turning her head to John B. behind the wheel. “Yeah, I don’t like this either,” agreed Pope.

“Are they coming for us?” asked JJ. “Sure looks like it.”  

“Maybe they’re fishing?” proposed Pope. Y/n’s gaze paused on the two men. They were intimidating, to say the least. And their eyes, both had looks filled with something threatening. It wasn’t anger or hatred, no, it was the eyes of people who would do anything to get what they wanted and that was scary.

“Go, go, go, go!” “Go into the marsh.” “Let’s go!”

“I’m going. Act natural,” stated John B as he directed the hms towards the nearest channel.  

The white boat sped up, the motor roaring loudly. “Hey guys, they’re following us,” announced y/n. “Oh, this can’t be good.” “Shit”

“Dude, you gotta go faster!” “I’m going!” “Gun it!”

The sound of a gun shooting in the air echoed in the silence of the marsh. The pogues all went down instinctively. “Holy shit, guys!” “Oh my fucking god, what the fuck!”

JJ grabbed the back of y/n’s shirt with his hand, bringing her closer to him. “John b get down!” almost hissed the girl. Another shot fired, y/n clung onto JJ.

“Oh my god, we’re gonna die!” yelled Pope. A third shot fired. Y/n’s eyes caught the net at the back of the boat and an idea sparked in her head. She looked at Kiara, who clearly had thought of the same thing.

“Pope, move,” ordered the brunette as her friend stood to go grab the green net. Another shot flew into the air beside her, the bullet barely missing her.  

“Get down, y/n!” shouted her brother desperately. She headed towards the back of the boat and threw the net into the water. It slid down the current and got caught right into the motor of the men’s boat, making the engine come to a halt abruptly. It clanged loudly and the two men shouted in anger. A sigh of relief left the girl’s lips. Her plan had worked.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” hurried Pope. A last gunshot was heard but the hms was too far away to be reached.

“Oh my god!” “Whew!” The pogues all cheered and laughed at their small victory. They were all so glad to be away from these men and all in one piece. Kiara pulled y/n into a hug.

“Y/n, don’t you ever do something like that again. You fucking scared the crap out of me,” said John B as they approached the dock of the château. “I can’t promise anything. Who knows when someone else will shoot at us?”

They all hurried themselves onto the dock, excited to know the content of the bag. “What do you guys think it is?” “Maybe it’s like jewelry? Would be a weird place to keep it but who knows?” “Gotta be money, right?”  

“That or a couple of keys with street value to the low- to mid-mils!” JJ’s eyes glistened with excitement. Y/n smiled softly.

“Can we please just open the bag?” burst Pope. The group all started at him.

“Wow Pope,” y/n giggled. “That was a rare outburst of emotions.”

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation. Open the bag. We almost died over this.”

John B. pulled out a smaller bag which contained a metal canister. Every pair of eyes was fixed onto it as he pried it open and revealed a compass. Y/n kneeled next to her brother not believing what she was seeing. They exchanged a look, neither of them saying anything. They both knew what that object was and what it meant to their father, but what the hell was it doing there?

“Oh, wow. Yup, that’s about right.” Pope was clearly disappointed by their findings. “Good job, everybody. We found a compass.” Y/n raised a trembling hand to the compass, carefully taking it into her own hands to examine it. Was this really what she thought it was? How could it be? It didn’t make any sense.

JJ removed his hat in frustration. “Dude, what? It’s not worth anything.”

A small smile creeped on Jonh b’s face, his eyes still not looking away from the compass. “This was,” he started.

“This was our father’s,” completed y/n.

Taglist:

 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily @babygal-babygal

Tell me if you wanna be added or removed!

[abused-sides]

Ooh, I was looking at the prompt list, and thinking about a bunch of different ones, but it gave me an idea. Going back to the Roomates AU, what if Roman and Virgil got into a really bad fight, and Virgil was in the wrong, and he thinks everyone is super super mad at him, so he thinks he has to leave, and he talks to his ex about going back, because he thinks he deserves to be in a bad situation, but Roman finds out and he explains that being wrong sometimes doesnt make Virgil a bad person?

A/N: For context, this takes place before Virgil and Roman get together romantically, but while they’re getting closer. Also before Logan comes out as nonbinary, so he still uses he/him. 

A/N: Also, super sorry, but this prompt is changed up a tiny bit. The fight is concentrated with Virgil and Patton (although Roman was definitely involved, prequel later), and it’s actually… someone else who gives Virgil the Talk. 

Trigger warnings: ABUSE SURVIVOR AU, self-destructive/self-harm behavior (not violent), manipulation & gaslighting from an unsympathetic oc, fighting between the sides (resolved), past lashing out, minor panic attacks

Virgil had been locked up in his room for days. 

His roommates argued over what to do. Logan insisted he just needed some space to decompress and think the situation over, but Roman and Patton couldn’t stop worrying. 

“What if he hurts himself?” Patton asked. 

“What if he thinks we hate him?” Roman asked. 

“He’s going to come out when he’s ready.” Logan sighed and took their dirty plates away to the sink. “There’s nothing we can do right now. We can’t talk to him if he won’t even open the door.” 

Patton pulled his coffee mug closer and worried his lip between his teeth. “I guess so,” he mumbled. 

In his room, Virgil stared at the pile of letters Patton had hid from him for three months. They were all opened, but not by Virgil. Virgil hadn’t touched them since he dumped them on his desk a few days ago. 

How did he find me? 

He drew in a shaky breath and grabbed the first envelope. 

My dear Virgil, 

I’m at a loss for words. What could I have done that was so bad for you to leave, without even telling me? Didn’t I at least deserve that? 

Guilt churned in Virgil’s stomach. He had to leave without telling him, his ex wouldn’t let him go otherwise. Right? He wouldn’t have let Virgil go. 

My home— our home, will always be here, waiting for you. You can always come home. I won’t be mad. I promise. 

I won’t lie, I’m very sad. It’s been hard to go on. The house is quiet without you. And the fact that you’d leave it for where you are now? I can’t even pretend to understand. 

If this is what you really want, then you should do it. 

But don’t I at least deserve a goodbye? 

It was signed with his name. 

Virgil had already read this one, several months back when it first came in. It didn’t have the same impact it did before, not with everyone else’s words swimming in his head, proving his ex wrong. It still hurt. 

He picked up another letter. 

My dear Virgil, 

Do I not deserve a response? 

I hate to make you uncomfortable. It’s why I don’t show up at your door, like I could, and demand your attention. 

I’m always thinking about you. Are you thinking about me? Do you want to come home? 

You can come home. 

Another. 

My dear Virgil, 

Something is telling me you aren’t getting these letters. Even if I wasn’t granted a response, I’d at least see a reaction. 

Virgil’s stomach dropped. A reaction? 

Are your roommates protecting you? Isn’t that a little unfair, a little rude? To meddle with our relationship? We can solve this on our own. 

Don’t you want to come home? 

He flipped the envelope over. There was no stamp, only a return address. These were hand-delivered. Virgil might have thrown up. 

He thought back to his life before. The one thing that always got him was how dreadfully boring it was, the same thing over and over again, no end, never leaving. He had his plants and his sketchbook and his cooking, but that was all. 

But is boring really the biggest complaint he has? 

A lot of people go through worse. Roman— Roman went through worse. Roman had a reason to leave. Virgil was starting to think he didn’t. 

Another letter. 

My dear Virgil, 

I just wanted to remind you that I still love you. I won’t be angry if you decide to come home. I just want to take you back and lie you down in bed, wrap myself around you like I used to. If you come home, we can lay in bed and watch T.V. all day. We’ll order in. I’ll buy you a whole garden, if you want it. 

I’m willing to change. 

Don’t you want to come home? 

Virgil hated how it affected him. He fought back a smile, pressing the letter to his forehead and simultaneously trying to remember and forget. 

There weren’t many days like his ex described. They were rare, in fact. Did that just make them more special? Not many days where they cuddled under the blankets, the heater going as the snow fell outside. Not many days where Virgil didn’t have to cook, where they ordered from his favourite restaurant and ate in bed. Not many days his ex wrapped his arms around Virgil’s middle and pulled him close and murmured that he loved him. 

With Roman, that could be any day. Multiple times a week, sometimes. Did that make it less special? 

He didn’t want to leave Roman. But did he deserve Roman? 

E., 

Do you really want me back? 

His hands trembled as he wrote. Once he started, he found he had a lot to say. Some of it felt demanding, but if he was going to go back, there had to be some change, or he’d lose his mind. He didn’t ask for much. Barely anything, in fact. Some more days to eat in here, some days outside there. His own bank account. Maybe a day where he could borrow the car. 

It could be better, right? No more than he deserved, but better. 

He wondered if being with E. for so long, only really interacting with him, is what rubbed off on Virgil, or if he was like this from the start. Did it come from his parents? Did it come from him? Was it just him? 

Virgil hid the letter and came out of his room. 

“Virgil?” Roman jumped to his feet, but stayed at the kitchen table. His eyes were wide with worry. “Virgil, are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” he promised softly. “Where are the others?” 

“Logan’s with Remus and Janus. Patton’s dropping off some orders.” He hesitated, drumming his fingers over the table. “Do you…?” He opened his arms. 

Virgil pursed his lips. He wanted desperately to fall into his boyfriend’s arms, but his stomach churned with guilt. He crossed the room to nuzzle into him, trying to ignore how bad he felt by rationalizing he would be gone soon. 

Something crinkled. He froze. Roman’s arms were around his waist, squeezing against the letter tucked in his waistband around his back. He waited. 

“We need to talk about what happened,” Roman said, and Virgil slowly relaxed. 

He pulled away. “Okay.” 

Roman cupped Virgil’s face. “We’ll wait until Patton gets back, okay?” 

Virgil nodded. 

Roman and Virgil sat in the living room together, watching movies while they waited for Patton. Roman sat on the couch with Virgil at his feet, working in his sketchbook. Roman eventually leaned forward to rub Virgil’s back. Virgil pressed his forehead to his knees, eyes fluttering shut. 

When Patton got home, his eyes widened. “Verge, hey!” He set his keys on the table and inched into the living room. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Virgil hesitated, and shrugged. “We need to talk, right?” 

Patton settled in the armchair nearby. “I think it would help.” 

They all hesitated, then Patton said, “I’ll start. I’m… I’m really sorry I hid the letters. I was really scared.” 

Virgil frowned. “Why?” 

“Well…” He avoided his eyes. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Virgil’s chest squeezed. “Right. I- I’m sorry about that.” 

“And I didn’t want you to be, I don’t know… tempted?” Patton forced a smile and wiped his eyes. “But you’re stronger than that, I know.” 

Virgil frowned. His brain faltered a little, and he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. 

They must have mistaken his struggling for silence, because Roman said, “We understand why that happened,” he squeezed Virgil’s shoulders, “but we need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Virgil promised instantly. “It won’t, I promise.” 

Patton and Roman looked at each other nervously. 

“That’s good, kiddo, but how do we know?”

“Trust me.” Virgil blinked back tears, his voice thick. “It won’t. I won’t let it.” 

“That’s not really how it works, stormcloud. You didn’t choose to lash out, so you can’t really choose not to. It happened because of something else.” 

Virgil stood on shaky legs. “Please trust me. I… I’m working on it. I’m working on something.” 

Patton and Roman stood as well. “Can we help?” Patton asked. “You don’t have to do this alone, Verge. It’s why we’re here.” 

Virgil shook his head. “No, I don’t need help. I— I need a walk. I’m sorry, I need… I just need some space.” 

“Okay,” Roman said softly. “Thanks for talking to us.” 

Virgil quickly kissed Roman’s cheek, then grabbed his coat and hurried out the door. 

Part of him was terrified of walking alone— What if E. came by and snatched him without warning? All his stuff was at home and his friends would never know what happened to him. 

But it was good to get some space to breathe. He walked to the post office and slipped his letter in the box, then took the long way home. 

A few days later, he got a response. 

He made a habit to check the mail himself, three times a day. Everyone assumed he had a bit of trust issues now, which wasn’t entirely wrong. 

My dear Virgil, 

It took you a while to get back to me. 

Virgil frowned, shifting uncomfortably. 

I was afraid you’d given up on me. Of course you’re still allowed back home. When can I pick you up? 

Virgil breathed shakily. 

They wrote back and forth over the next two weeks, negotiating pick up, travel, times— Virgil didn’t realize he was stalling. He kept wondering if it would be better to tell his friends or keep it to himself. He didn’t want to worry them. He didn’t want them to feel guilty, and obligated to stop him. He just wanted to quietly go and not bother them anymore. Not infect them anymore. 

That is what he wanted, right? 

One day, he came out to get the mail and frowned. The box was empty. At this point, he’d been getting a letter from E. every day. They weren’t exactly slowing down with their communication— they’d just agreed Virgil would meet him in a few days. E. was excited. 

A door creaked open. “Virgil?” 

Janus leaned in the doorway of his and Remus’ apartment, a letter between two fingers. “We need to talk.” 

Virgil paled. He felt like he was going to pass out. 

“Come on. Remus is at work, let’s talk.” 

Virgil hesitated, then reluctantly followed him into the apartment. Janus shut the door and handed Virgil the letter. 

My dearest Virgil, 

I’m so excited to see you again. I promise, you’ll be happy. I’ve already made some changes to the house that I think you’ll really like. And we can keep talking about the car thing, too, if you really must. 

Virgil smiled a little. 

He gasped as Janus snatched the letter back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He hissed. 

Virgil shrunk in on himself. “I… I have to go back, you don’t understand.” 

“What, because you blew up, once? Because someone invaded your privacy? Something you just got back after three years of nothing?” Janus crossed his arms over his chest. “You have to go back? Have to?” 

He scrubbed at his eyes, collapsing into the desk chair. “Yes. I— I fucked up. I’m just going to keep hurting them—” 

“People hurt each other,” Janus snapped. “That’s what they do. You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” 

“I didn’t even realize what I was doing,” Virgil whispered. “I just… got mad. And I couldn’t stop yelling, and…” Tears dripped down his face. “I couldn’t control it. I can’t— I can’t be like that, I can’t put them through that again.” 

Janus crouched down and forced Virgil to meet his eyes. “You are not a bad person,” he stressed. “You just got out, what, a year ago? Less? It’s not like you’ve got a weekly therapy appointment. You’re figuring this out on your own, it’s going to be hard.” 

“Stop making excuses for me,” Virgil begged. “I can’t explode on people like that!” 

“You can’t make a habit of exploding on people.” Janus sighed, elbows on his knees. “You made a mistake. Nobody wants to banish you for it. Sometimes people hurt each other. Fuck, Roman and Remus hurt each other twice a week— that’s a toxic relationship. But they’re working on it. That’s all you have to do. This?” He held up the crumpled letter, and spat, “This will not help anything.” 

“I deserve—” 

“Nobody deserves that.” Janus narrowed his eyes. “Nobody.” 

Virgil buried his face in his hands as he shook with sobs. Janus stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. He stayed silent while Virgil cried it out, eventually finding Janus’ hand and gripping onto it for stability. 

“What do I do?” 

“First things first, you need to tell your roommates about this.” 

“What?” Virgil’s head snapped up. “No! I—” 

“You’re clearly in a destructive head space, and I can’t stop you from self-sabotaging yourself every time.” Janus raised an eyebrow. “This was almost bad. They need to know.” 

Virgil sniffled. “I don’t— I can’t.” 

“I’ll go with you. Alright? You need to tell them, and I’ll help you.” He held out his other hand. When Virgil took it, Janus helped him up. “Come on. Let’s go tell them.” 

Virgil wanted to throw up. He wet his lips, and nodded. “Okay. Okay. I can do it.” 

He followed Janus out. 

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[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 8

Here it is folks!! That sweet domestic bliss so many of y’all craved 💜 It was very interesting writing this but I still had a blast — it’s quite different from chapter 7 so brace yourselves. I will also note this one is distinct in that it’s more of a modern!AU setting so no bending or LoK elements at all, really. It was fun doing something so different! Lastly, make sure you have these songs queued up in case you want to play them as you reach those parts of the chapter 😉 And lastly, quick content warning for folks reading on here: there’s mention of cooking, food, but not eating! Feel free to check this out on AO3 too okay this is long: ENJOY!! 

There was a time in your life when you believed you would never have this: the comforting rustle of warm bed sheets against your toes, the muffled song of birds just outside your window, and the solid presence of Kuvira’s slumbering body beside your own. 

As you gradually blink into consciousness, you come to the pleasant realization that it’s Saturday. For the first time in weeks, you have nowhere to be and neither does Kuvira so you allow yourself to savor the rare and welcome contentment of a lazy morning in bed. 

You feel a faint tickle graze the nape of your neck and you realize that Kuvira is fast asleep, her arm strung loosely across your waist. Shifting carefully so as not to wake her, you move until your back is against the mattress and you can tilt your face to the side. Kuvira’s fingers twitch for a moment but she remains unperturbed by the slight motion, her jaw still slack. 

Given the bustling nature of her schedule, and her own no-nonsense disposition, there is always an element of tension present in Kuvira’s features. She’s still too young to have any significant wrinkles but during the day you never fail to notice the thin grooves around her mouth and along her forehead. Even when she’s not totally ensnared in the commotion of her job, she is rarely one to exude a sense of calm around others. It isn’t quite stress either but it’s certainly imposing.

When Kuvira sleeps, she is in her most vulnerable state. Every ounce of strain she carries in her body vanishes entirely, replaced with the weight of loosened limbs and heavy eyelids. Her brow relaxes completely, sometimes her mouth parts open and air will whistle through, her hair falls over her face in a curtain of vibrant black, and her shoulders sink freely into the downy comfort of your mattress.

Sometime in the distant past, you had believed a moment like this to be too out of reach. Too idealistic or picturesque. But as you gaze upon the beauty of this simple sight, understanding the depth of Kuvira’s trust that has allowed you to witness this side of her, you are overtaken by just how much your life has changed since you met Kuvira and how intensely you have grown to love her.

The sun has fully emerged outside and the rays start filtering through your gossamer curtains, casting a lovely golden glow across Kuvira’s face. You know she’ll start to stir within moments as the light starts to fall across her eyes so you treasure each remaining moment you have left like this. Gently, you lift your arm from beneath the bedsheets and let your hand cover hers.

It doesn’t take long for her to awaken after that — a handful of minutes pass before she makes a soft sound and her eyelids start to flicker open. Her gaze roams across the adjacent wall, slightly disoriented, before finally turning to focus on you. She blinks once and a muted smile tugs at the edges of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she murmurs. This time, you twist around so you’re on your side and you can twine your legs with hers. “Good morning to you,” you respond with a grin, cupping her cheek with your palm. “Looks like someone slept well.” Kuvira hums contentedly, stretching her arms high above her head.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to,” she says. “Yeah well, ridiculous work hours will really do that to a woman,” you tease. She gives you a withering glance which makes you burst into giggles, pulling her face towards yours so you can press a kiss against her forehead. “I’m not actually gonna kiss you until I can brush my teeth,” you inform her when you notice the expectant look on her face. “Then I suggest we do so immediately,” she replies promptly.

However, she proceeds to wrap an arm over your shoulder and tuck you against her chest, sinking her fingers into your hair as you brush your lips over her throat. For a moment you are tempted to point out the contradiction but you are far too delighted to actually do it. Though you cherish every morning you have with Kuvira, ones like these feel particularly special because of their rarity. Between her professional engagements and your own commitments, your mornings together are often hurried and fleeting.

So right now, with Kuvira’s arms encircling your body and your senses saturated by her scent and warmth, you want to hold onto this for as long as you can.

But of course, her arm starts falling asleep and your face gets too hot so you reluctantly pull away and fall into your habitual morning activities. You take a moment to stretch and crack away the stiffness of your joints while Kuvira messily clips her hair behind her neck before entering the bathroom where you’ll eventually join her.

The next few minutes pass in a rush of running water, toothpaste, and soap bubbles. You head back into the room to make your bed while Kuvira slides the glass pane open and a gust of brisk wind rushes through. As you slide into one of Kuvira’s old sweaters, you join her by the window. “I’ll go get our tea started, okay?” you say, touching your hand to her shoulder.

She nods once before responding, “Before you go.” Kuvira slips her fingers between yours before gently tugging you forward and bringing your lips together in a sleepy kiss. You let your arms wrap around her shoulders and you smile against the touch, feeling the tips of your ears grow red and your belly tingle with excitement. When you break apart, Kuvira watches you silently with a tender expression that heightens the emotion already rushing through your veins.

The longer you stay by her side, the more you find yourself feeling less inclined to leave so you quickly peck her on the mouth before scuttling out while she chuckles behind you.

Once you’re in the kitchen you quickly get to work on brewing your tea, relishing the sensation of sunlight falling across your back. As the water begins to boil on the stove, you push the window open and sigh at the burst of crisp air that follows. You detect the unmistakable scent of morning dew and realize it drizzled overnight. Getting on your tiptoes, you notice the plants outside are glossed over with a fine layer of moisture. It’s nearly a scene directly out of a film.

Finally your water is ready and you begin steeping Kuvira’s favorite oolong leaves, flicking on the radio and humming along to the entrancing melodies of the jazz station you have both grown so fond of. You’re pouring into your respective cups when a familiar set of arms curl around you from behind. Grinning, you place the pot down and lean back into Kuvira’s embrace. “I’ve missed this,” you sigh, suddenly forgetting about the steaming beverages as you feel a tickle swell inside your chest and your ribs.

“I have too,” she responds quietly, tightening her hold infinitesimally as she leans down to brush her lips against your cheekbone. “I know it’s been some time since we’ve been able to do this and...it’s nice. I didn’t realize how much I missed it myself.” You succumb to the enticement of that magical silence you only experience with Kuvira, allowing your body to press deeper against her chest until you can feel the heavy thrum of her heart.

Eventually, you have to step away when your stomach growls and you offer her the piping cup of tea. “Drink some of this and please be careful this time. Last time you burned your tongue you whined about it for a week.” Kuvira glares at you, unimpressed, which naturally makes you laugh. “Once you’re through with that, you can get started on chopping these up.” You push the bag of potatoes on the counter towards her and she inspects it apprehensively.

“Are you sure you trust me with that?” Kuvira asks over the rim of her teacup. “You know for someone who manages to scare almost everyone at her job, you’d think you could handle cutting some potatoes…” you sigh, earning a delightfully petty snort from Kuvira. You grin while smoothing her hair down against her head and press a chaste kiss to her nose. “You just have to get them into little cubes. Leave the actual cooking to me,” you chuckle. Kuvira still doesn’t look entirely convinced but she eventually picks up a knife from a drawer and carefully begins slicing the vegetables.

After sipping through about half your tea and admiring the stern look of concentration on Kuvira’s face, you join her and the music emanating from your small radio is soon accompanied by the clicking of knives and robust scent of onion, peppers, and garlic. There is a pleasant, unspoken dynamic between you and Kuvira that you’ve come to cherish, where you can merely exist together without the expectation of filling the space with frivolous conversation. If anything, you actually talk quite a bit on most days as a way to decompress from the exigencies of your respective work lives.

When you finally have the time to luxuriate in the freedom of an empty schedule, you allow yourselves to fully bask in that simple yet compelling joy of being in the other person’s presence.

Once your ingredients are properly diced and washed, you begin assembling everything which really just entails Kuvira tossing the cubes into the skillet while you sprinkle a variety of spices for good measure. Your fingers occasionally brush together as you lean over the stove and each time you see the apples of Kuvira’s face lift from the corner of your eye.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” she notes. You snort and lovingly squeeze her hand before you start mixing everything together. “C’mon Kuvira, it’s been what? Over a year? I feel like I make this every other week so I wouldn’t get too confident about that. Give it a few more months and you’ll probably be gagging at the sight of sautéed vegetables.”

She moves towards your back and slides her hand down your arm until it rests over yours, temporarily pausing the stirring motion. “While I’m certainly not complaining about your exceptional breakfast-making skills, that’s not quite what I’m referring to. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” The words sweep along your ear and you feel a wave of goosebumps appear all across your flesh.

“Just being here, with you. I will never, ever tire of this,” she whispers against your neck. The words evoke a low hum in your ears as your blood rushes harder until the ringing feels like it’s sinking into your bones. You feel as though you have lost all coordination of your limbs, instead feeling them thrum with the wondrous glow of infatuation and only tethered down by the reassuring weight of Kuvira’s touch.

It still surprises you how these seemingly innocuous statements can unleash such an intense surge of emotion. Perhaps it’s because Kuvira isn’t the most eloquent when it comes to voicing her affections so when she does it’s particularly moving. Or perhaps it’s the shock of knowing another human being can love you as deeply as Kuvira does when you once found it impossible to conceive of such an idea.

Perhaps it’s a combination of the two and a million other things but you don’t dwell on that too long. At this moment in time, it doesn’t matter. Instead, you ground yourself in the steady and soothing warmth of Kuvira’s body and wiggle around until you can face her.

Kuvira lifts her hands to nestle your face between them, as if you might shatter into pieces with just the slightest movement, and presses her lips reverently against your forehead. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our breakfast is about one minute away from burning to a crisp,” she states.

Your attention returns to the skillet in a flurry of flailing arms and nonsensical shouting while Kuvira merely observes in silent amusement. Luckily, you manage to save your meal and remove it from the heat at just the right moment. A hearty aroma of crisp potatoes and caramelized onions wafts through the air and you feel your stomach rumble again.

Just as you are sliding the food onto your platters, an all-too familiar melody chimes from the radio that brings your movements to a sudden halt. Faraway memories hit you all at once and very quickly. You only see glimpses of the images as they flash through your mind in bursts of vivid colors and fuzzy sounds.

Old timey photographs framed against paisley walls. Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Wes Montgomery.

Hazy shadows twirling beneath dim golden lights. The carefree ripple of a skirt lifting in the air and jewelry glistening against a perspiring body.

The shuffle and snap of shoes sliding against a red-tiled floor. The clink of a heel tapping to the beat of a muted drum.

Kuvira’s hand resting confidently on your lower back, patiently guiding you through the movements, while another presses against your palm.

A distinctive voice croons, “The very thought of you/ And I forget to do/ Those little ordinary things/ That everyone ought to do…”

You are dragged out of your trance by the same touch you felt all those months ago. Kuvira pulls you away from the counter, the plates of steaming food now completely forgotten, and her eyes glitter with quiet mirth.

“Do you remember this song?” she asks quietly while she brings you close against her. Your muscles freeze and you chuckle nervously. “I do but, uh, you and I both know I’m not the ex-professional dancer here,” you remind her.

Kuvira merely shrugs, leaning down to press her forehead against yours. “Just follow my lead,” she murmurs. She moves her hands from your waist to gently take your wrists and wrap your fingers around the back of her neck. She snakes her palms along your arms and down your sides until they return to their original position, resting against the small patch at the base of your spine.

The ensuing steps are so simple it barely constitutes a dance at all but you still can’t hinder the raging blush that seems to radiate across every inch of your skin. Kuvira is rarely one to initiate exchanges of this nature so when she does your body reacts accordingly.

It’s not so much a dance as it is simply swaying back and forth, occasionally stepping backwards but never once splitting away from Kuvira. Your eyes flutter closed again and you burrow your face in the crook of her neck.

“I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you The very thought of you, my love”

You feel as though you have fallen into a field of flowers yourself. This moment...it’s the exhilarating rush of being pulled to the ground and the blissful recognition of falling into a perfumed refuge of velvety petals. As you rest your head against Kuvira, you inhale her fresh, earthy scent that is so reminiscent of the misty air outside. In your mind, the kitchen disappears entirely and your home dissipates into a rosy mist.

Instead, you find yourself in your own dimension where everything is concentrated in this very moment. Gravity is the touch of Kuvira’s hands against your hips and air is her breath mingling with yours. In this juncture of time and space, you are the only two beings in the universe. In this little cluster of minutes far away from the rest of the world, your only thoughts are on the simple movements of your feet, the graceful way Kuvira floats you across the ground, and the overpowering truth of how profoundly you love her.

The song eventually fades away into another tune, slowly bringing you back to the present moment. Kuvira’s hands haven’t left your body and you don’t make any move to break the embrace. Breakfast lays utterly forgotten and you imagine it’s gone cold. But it doesn’t matter. Not right now.

Within moments you find yourselves calmly rocking along to the soothing vocals and eventually a drizzle starts up outside. You pay no mind and smile when Kuvira brings her mouth to yours — that simple brush of lips seems to capture every ounce of emotion brimming in your body.

She whispers something that’s drowned out by the music but somehow, somewhere in the deepest crevices of your heart, the words still make sense.

---

“This is my first affair, please be kind Handle my heart with care, please be kind This is all so grand, my dreams are on parade If you'll just understand, they'll never, never fade”

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa Fic - CH2 - Entrapment

+18 Only SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villain!OC/Reader (?)

CH1

Above is the link to the first chapter that I wrote for this fic. Please read that one first if you havent, but I’ll give a quick summary anyways.

The main character is a villain holding up a bar that seems to have shady activites being facilitated out of it. Their crew is indisposed at the moment. Eraser Head has just shown up. - That’s basically all. Also their quirk has to do with electro magnetic frequencies.

(italics are other characters thoughts)

Enjoy!~

I suck in a breath behind parted lips. I wasn’t expecting this. I know I should be sweating. Someone who won't easily fall prey to my cerebral attacks, but instead I can't help the trace of a smile on my face. A real smile. I might actually get hurt here. Neither of us speak for an extended moment as we assess each other. I’m watching the black hair floating around his head and framing his furrowed brow, when I notice something about myself, the ringing has stopped. The pulse behind my eyes, the one that never stops, has vanished completely. There is a void in my head where the tangle of noise and thoughts had once lived. I’m taken aback and that's all he needs to launch at me. Jumping at me and shooting his capture weapon out to grip my limbs at the same time.

I don’t get the foreboding sense that I usually have, nothing to predict his movements. He’s in my face quicker than I could have imagined, but I’m still quick enough to throw myself backwards immediately. My back hits the wall and it seems as if I’m cornered. A helpless animal caught in a trap. The hardened scarf around his neck didn’t have the chance to grip onto me, yet the material still nicked into the skin at my wrists, drawing warm blood to the surface. I hiss, but am otherwise unfazed. Blood is blood. Nothing I haven’t seen before. My weapon however, skitters to the ground, out of my reach. I look into his eyes, so close and draw my knee up quickly, connecting it with his chin and kicking him away in two quick movements. I don't have much upper body strength, but I have a practiced kick style that works for me when I do have to fight, hence the weighted boots, helps with impact. For the most part I don’t have to use it. My quirk takes care of most of my hero encounters. But this is no encounter, this is a battle with Erasure Head. 

Eraser Head stumbles back slightly, but quickly regains his footing, shifting and lunging at me once more. I push myself off the wall at an angle, hoping to dodge past him to the left, but he’s too fast. His scarf snakes out to the side and wraps up, around my calf. I slam to the ground and grunt, the wind knocked from my lungs. Fuck, I think I heard a crack. I wheeze and roll to my side, pushing myself back onto my feet with one hand. He’s ready for that though. The scarf wrapping around my neck and holding me in the air. I'm completely at his mercy and I can feel my rib throb, I definitely broke one of them. My smirk is back, teasing myself at this precarious situation. My fingers come up and slide across the hard material protruding from my throat, languidly stroking back and forth. “You like choking me?” His glowing eyes widen for half a second, but his face remains hard, barely letting me know he’s affected. “You do, don’t you?” He breathes slowly, air pushed out of this decompressing lungs. “Yeah. You do.” I say it matter of factly. It’s a statement. He likes choking me. “Choke me harder.” As soon as the last syllable rolls off my tongue the scarf squeezes tight, actually blocking my blood flow, but not crushing my windpipe, it’s so hot. I moan. I don’t mean to really, it's just so right. I close my eyes and let the light, airy feeling of oxygen deprivation wash over me, the smirk still plastered on my face, resigning myself to being captured. 

That’s when it happens, all the pain that had fallen from my head comes crashing back to me, the roar of noise that had grown normal immediately etching away the placid contentment that had taken me just moments before. I scream back to life and force myself into his mind, my feet falling back to the ground as my eyes slowly open again, tears leaking down the side. It had been so quiet. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes screwed shut. I wanna fry his brain, screw him up so bad that he’ll never form coherent sentences again, but then I look at him for real. His hair is playing across his painstricken face and I just wanna reach out and rub my hand across the scruff on his jaw. I want to feel him. He’s the only reason the pain has ever stopped. An urge like the one with the necklace, one I can’t ignore because it comes to me so quickly, raptures my body and I slide my hand up his neck and onto the side of his face. His eyes are still closed as he focuses on staying upright against the wall. My thumb trails over his bottom lip and even I’m stunned at how bold this feels. I lean up close to him, my chest inches from his, and whisper near his neck. “For the record, I liked it too.” I push off the wall and run out into the alley, sprinting towards the street, desperate to get into a crowd and disappear. 

A tingle runs down my spine. He’s chasing me. My cheeks tighten as I smile wider. I must be important if he’s abandoning the room full of citizens and a slumped hero to chase after one villain. I've barely even made a name for myself. My reputation must be growing quickly if they’re this persistent. I flick my wrist out, using a street lamp to swing myself around, facing the direction I had just been running from. If I keep running, he’ll capture me. I know I’m fast, but Eraser Head is so much faster. I see a flash of white and spring sideways, his capture weapon tunnels into the asphalt where I had just been standing. My eyes widen, that would have gone straight through me if I hadn’t moved. I whip my head in his direction, or in the general direction of where I assume he would be considering the angle at which the scarf shot at me. “Hey!! That could have killed m-“ I am unprepared to see him right in front of my face, dropping from the roof overlooking the alley, he had been above me the whole time. My words are cut off as a hard fist makes contact with the side of my jaw and I’m thrown into the brick wall next to me with so much force my eyes cross a little. Damn, I must have really pissed this fucker off. A quiet, involuntary groan pushes itself from my lungs, bringing me back to my surroundings and I can feel that damn capture weapon coiling around my body and squeezing me tightly. I’m bound and unable to move, but it’s not painful, like being caught in a hug by someone a little too excited to see you. I wiggle a little, knowing it’s in vain, then let my head fall to the side, resigned. 

He still has me facing the wall, but I can feel his presence behind me. The noise has gone again and I know that means his eyes are glued to me, I feel suddenly vulnerable. I feel his body warmth behind me, the only indication that he’s close to me, he doesn’t even have a smell. My head lulls to the other side and I giggle deep in the back of my throat when I feel long, adept fingers tangle into the hair at the back of my neck. He spins me in his arm and now I’m staring into his glowing eyes. He’s so close, so close and all I want to do is roll my body against his. I’m not sure why, but I’m so drawn to him, so enamored by the cruelty he shows toward me. My hips buck on their own, trying to get closer to him. My body is still wrapped up tight, so I barely move, just enough for him to see my motive and the grating hunger behind my eyes. He still hasn’t said a word and it feels like my lungs are on fire, not wanting to breathe and break the moment, our eyes are locked together and I swear I see something in them. Something changes, like he stopped looking through me and finally sees me for the first time. That… something vanishes as quickly as it came and he’s looking at me like a villain again, a low down scumbag. 

His flat hand comes speeding at me from thin air and there’s a loud, hollow ‘smack’ that hangs in the air as my cheek blooms with pain. Ow. He just hit my face. I wasn’t prepared for that and I release a mewl that sounds utterly ridiculous, so needy and weak. This is not me, I don’t beg anymore, I take. I can’t start begging for this man in a back alleyway, even if I can feel my body warming from my core. He slaps me again, softer time, just to get my attention. “Who do you work for?” His voice is low and threatening. A chill runs down my spine and settles below my stomach, landing in a strange place that prompts me to wet my lips and stare into his eyes even more intensely. 

‘Who do you work for?’ He asks. He doesn’t know. That’s good at least, the pros don’t know. They know nothing about me or my motivation. They must not even know why I’m here. I pocket that information and smirk again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Eraser?” It’s a question, but rhetorical. He just grunts and hits me again, still not very hard, but forcing me to blink a few times as my eyes refocus. “Hit me again.” He does, hard. I hadn’t expected him to listen to me. A real moan drops from my lips, one you would probably hear in an adult film, it's loud and sensual, ripping from my vocal box. “Fuuuuck. Maybe we should fight more often.” My tongue slips out to lick my lip and I watch his eyes follow the trail of saliva that it leaves on my flesh. His eyes darting to my lips, then back to my eyes, and down again. His hand raises, like he’s going to hit me again, but he stalls. I suck in a breath, tensing in anticipation for the slap, it doesn’t come. It does, however, wait until I have unclenched my jaw, hurling at the swelling flesh faster than the first one did. That one really does something to me because my neck can no longer hold my head up, I feel like a bobble head as the only thing keeping my eye connected to his is the hand fisted into the nape of my neck, gripping the hair there so tightly I’m surprised it hasn’t been ripped out of my head. He asks me again. 

My eyes refocus, taking longer than it did last time to make his facial features clear. I’m about to tell him to fuck off when I see something just past his right shoulder. About damn time. My eyes flicker back to his face with a knowing smirk back on mine and he looks behind him in time to see a bald man with bat wings drop down into the alley with us. He has tattoos scrawled over every inch of exposed skin and a simple wife beater on. “I didn’t get your signal, looks like I was right to drop in.” He says it casually, like he’s just a friend stopping by my apartment for lunch, giving no indication that we're actually in the middle of a back alley brawl. The ringing in my skull is still vacant as Eraser Head evades this winged man’s attacks. He must still be looking at me somehow, but it seems impossible while he’s bouncing around the tight space between two brick walls. I’m behind him. “Stay still!” My getaway yells at Eraser Head, as if telling him to do so would actually make it happen. That's when I see the mirror, one for trucks to see around corners, that's how he’s still looking at me. I can barely move, but I can still reach my pocket and pull a tiny silver marble out. I keep it there to play with when I can feel my anxiety rising. I roll it between my fingers for a moment, loving the way it glints off the sun and reflects the colors around it, then flick it straight towards the mirror. The battle in front of me doesn’t stop as they try to hit each other, both stellar at evasive maneuvers, but it comes to a spectacular halt as the glass shatters and I’m released from Eraser Head’s hold. My splitting headache tears through me again, but it doesn’t throw me off like it did before. I’m ready for it this time. 

Eraser drops to one knee, trying to push himself back up with the one arm on the ground below him. I lessen the frequency that I’m forcing into his brain and his shoulders relax a bit, not enough to let him stand, but enough that I know he’s paying attention to me now. I reach one hand out and push his long hair to the side, it's softer than I expected and there are small, loose curls here and there, mixed in with the overall weft of waves that tumble from his head. It’s beautiful. I lean down, pressing my body against his, my chest flush to his back and his shoulders tense up again, as if I’m hurting him. I run my fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck again and press my lips to the side of his throat. “I can’t wait to see you again.” I breathe in one more time and drag my nails down the back of his neck, raising goosebumps, but now I actually do smell something. A slight scent of bergamot and… something else, faintly clinging to his neck. I thought he had no scent, but I was wrong and my nostrils flare. This man is hellbent on making me feral isn’t he? I let out a gravelly grunt from the back of my throat and instinctively sink my teeth into the skin playing at my lips, not hard enough to bleed, but leave a mark that will have people questioning what he does in his free time. 

When I pull away, the eyes of the bat man are focused on me, a pink twinge in his cheeks as if he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Lucky bastard. That bite was so hot. My dick is getting hard. 

I scowl at him and walk towards his side of the alley, hooking my elbow around his neck and the other around his torso, fastening myself to his side. “Fly.” One word is all I say, black wings stretching to the side and propelling us up. 

Fuck. We’re touching. Fuck. My dick. Fuck. 

Reproachful. 

He falters and I look down at the ground below us. Eraser Head is still gripping himself in pain, but one eye is open and glowing, stalling my getaway. We start to drop, losing momentum. I stare down at Eraser Head and scream into him so loud he falls over immediately, barely catching himself on the wall and vomiting profusely. Our elevation is lifted again as we proceed with the getaway. “Faster!” I scream over the pressurized wind in my ears. We fly past at least a dozen buildings before landing on a tall rooftop. I drop to my feet and push off from the bat as soon as I can. What a vile creature. I look out over the city, feeling the flash drive still in my jacket pocket with my fingers. I know his eyes are on me, that stupid fucking bat. I can hear him, feel him. You would think people would be more careful with their thoughts. 

Wow. That ass. I saved that ass. That ass owes me. Just a feel. 

I reach out and grab his wrist just before his clammy hand touches my soft flesh. Never looking away from the sun starting to ride low on the horizon. “You have terrible manners.” I say slow and matter of fact. I can feel the panic in him, I can practically see the bulging of his eyes. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you leave right now.” I let go of his wrist, still looking out peacefully. Neither of us move for a moment and I start to think he will leave, but alas. 

Rude bitch. You owe me!

He reaches out, foregoing my ass and grabbing my hip, trying to yank me back towards him, but instead I spin, grabbing his shoulder and tossing him off the side of the building. We both know he has wings, he can fly, he’s unharmed and a cocky grin pulls his lips apart showing off his teeth. He would be handsome if he wasn’t an absolute prick. He starts to launch for me again when a cocky grin of my own appears on my face. His drops and suddenly so does he as I rip his brain in two, I don’t even try to make it easy on him. I crank up the frequency so high I'm sure I’ve passed dog whistle territory. We’re so high up all I can do is watch him plummet, falling so quickly to the concrete below us you would think he’s a magnet. Then I think to myself, and make it happen. I magnetize him and the ground below the surface, he falls faster, hitting the ground like a meteor, creating a crater in the street so deep the ground shakes and pipes burst. People on the street start to look up and I take that as my cue to disappear. 

Thank you for reading! Hopefully you liked it? Enough to leave a note? Reblog? Comment?

lol anyways...

I will be updating this shortly, within the next couple of days. Thanks again!

CH3

[cirrius-akiyo]

Could I please request 78."You’re worth it.” from the angst/fluff list?

Thank you Lovely Nonnie!

This is from the Fluff/Angst Prompts List

Read this on AO3

LOVE & AFFECTION IS A GOOD CONSIDERATION

///

Blinking himself awake, his mind sluggishly wonders what wakes him up in the first place, disturbing his restless sleep.

It was then his bladder reminds him that he needs to pee, forcing him to finally move.

Eddie groans as he stiffly kicks the cozy blanket away that somehow got twisted alongside his body, shivering as the cold air kiss his clammy skin. He honestly doesn't feel well rested at all, but it's better than puking his guts out like he did the day before.

As he forces his achy limbs to work, Eddie silently applauds his self-restraint for not dragging the blanket together with him to the toilet (which would be greatly frown upon by Buck).

Speaking of Buck...oh wait, thinking of Buck, Eddie suddenly remembers why he was colder than before; he vividly remembers that his personal heater was not beside him when he woke up.

Finishing his business in the toilet, Eddie returns back to the bedroom to confirm his suspicion all along.

True enough, his boyfriend is not in their bed.

Buck's side of the bed is void of any trace of body heat and the bedding is undisturbed at all, save for some wrinkles, which probably by Eddie's own doing with all of his restless twisting and turning.

Feeling like he won't keel over anytime soon, Eddie decides to grab his tossed blanket and haphazardly wraps himself in a makeshift burrito before leaving the room to search for his missing lover.

Out of habits, Eddie stops by at Chris' room to check on his son, but refrains himself from passing through the doorframe. God knows how much Eddie misses his little Superman. That poor boy had not been in close vicinity with him for the last two days, to prevent him from catching whatever it is Eddie is having.

Buck has been diligent with sanitising, spraying and wiping clean everything Eddie has touched (or even looked at) for extra preventive measures, not wanting to take any chance.

Oh...thinking of Buck, again, Eddie now remembers the reason why he was standing in the hallway in the middle of the night, depriving himself from the tranquility of sleep.

To find his missing Buck.

His son needs to learn to share; his jumbled mind supplies.

Eddie wanders down the hallway and towards the living room with careful steps, his blanket still heavily draped over his shoulders.

Lo and behold, on the couch there lies his slumbering lover, completely dead to the world.

Eddie smiles at hearing the occasional soft snores while taking in the view displayed around him.

The television is switched off, but beside the couch, there lies the book that Buck currently is fixed on, forgotten on the floor. Looking at the table lamp that is still on, Eddie assumes Buck had fell asleep reading his late night fill, a habit that usually done in the privacy of their bedroom, underneath the warm sheets.

Picking the book up before setting it down on the coffee table, Eddie then plops down on the floor clumsily with his body leaning onto the side of the couch, directly facing Buck's sleeping face.

Under the glimmer of the yellow light, Eddie could see the haggard lines on his partner's face. The two days old stubble and the unkempt curls are enough proof of how Buck was on his toes these couple of days. Eddie had called in sick two days ago, and Buck has been taking care of him right after getting off from his 24 hours shift one day earlier when he should have spend his day off decompressing. Eddie knew Buck's last shift was not an easy one the moment he stepped inside their home if judging by the tired lines and rigid stance, but his strong headed boyfriend had insisted that everything was fine, and that they should focus on to get Eddie better soon.

Selfless idiot.

And an adorable idiot too, drooling all over the couch cushions.

Buck is laying on his side with the fleece throws tangled down below his knees, and his right arm somehow got tucked underneath his sleeping t-shirt, effectively dragging the fabric upwards, revealing sufficient amount of abs that makes Eddie's mouth water.

The small patch of happy trail does makes Eddie happy regardless of his current ailments; come sniffles or smiles.

Eddie doesn't realize when he had scooted down along the couch and closing in to Buck's torso, but the view is magnetic. The hard lines of the abdomen, perfectly contrasting with the softness of Buck's skin is so inviting.

Blaming his health condition and his scrambled state of mind, Eddie swears he could feel the comfortable warmth radiating from Buck's exposed belly, and without much thought, he places his head against the exposed skin, feeling completely blissful and content with the heat. Eddie nuzzles deeper into the warm skin, inhaling the musky smell that is definitely Buck while savoring the coziness and soon enough, Eddie is feeling himself falling asleep.

But it shouldn't be like this.

While it pains Eddie to wake Buck up, his better judgement knows that their current positions are not going to be kind for both of them. Their couch is not big enough to contain Buck's long limbs, and Eddie wouldn't want to spend his recuperating day listening to Buck whining about his achy joints.

His not so better judgement then decides that the best way to wake the snoring man up is by a very unorthodox method.

And without lifting his head up, "bruuuuuuurrrrrrrrhhh," Eddie blows raspberries hard against Buck's belly as long as his congested nose allows.

"Whuzza?" Buck startles awake, his body jerking back against the couch with clear confusion drawn on his face. His hand that was tucked underneath the t-shirt automatically moves downward to rub his tickled stomach.

Eddie smiles in triumph, satisfied with the outcome.

Buck looks around the living room, trying to find his bearing as he blinks rapidly, chasing the sleep away. His eyes finally falls upon Eddie who is sitting cross-legged on the floor parallel to his stomach, wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Eddie, what are you doing out of bed?" Buck croaks, still rubbing at his slightly wet skin. "Wait, did you just blew raspberries on my belly?" His eyebrows pinched and nose scrunching in confusion.

Eddie grins wider, shrugging his shoulder in dismissal, refusing to admit or deny any crime committed.

"You menace. You could just wake me up like how a normal human being would." Buck groans as he stretches across the couch, cracking and popping his back. "You should go back to sleep." Buck chastises as he settles down again, as if readying himself to actually sleep out in the living room, on their short-ass couch.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Eddie retorts, frowning as Buck does not move to get up.

"I was reading." Buck answers simply, stating the obvious fact.

"You usually read in our bed." Eddie counters as he throws his body onto the little space that is left on couch, pressing their bodies together in order to fit. Buck welcomes him and pulls Eddie into a warm embrace.

"I don't want to disturb you with the light." Buck replies in earnest, tightening his hold against Eddie's warm back, noticing that Eddie still has some temperature, but not as worrying as yesterday.

"But I'm sure you must be tired taking care of me and handling Chris, especially after a 24 hour shifts." Eddie looks up to meet Buck's soft gaze.

"You're worth it."

The open expression of love got Eddie shies away, burying his head at the crook of the taller man's shoulder. He is not used yet with the fact that someone actually cares for him, loving him so readily when he himself still a broken mess.

Both of us got baggages, Eddie. Maybe it is time for us to help carry each others' so the burden won't be too heavy.

"Your back will hate you tomorrow." He mumbles instead, trying to lighten the mood.

"That is for my future me to worry."

"Future you will whine for at least a week." Eddie scoffs at Buck's ridiculousness.

"I don't whine." Buck retorts, whining.

"Come back to bed. I need my personal heater back." Eddie tugs at the collar of Buck's ratty t-shirt.

"Now I know my place in this relationship. You only use me for my body heat."

"Don't forget the sex. And taking care of my son. And cooking." Seeing that Buck does not make any move to get up, Eddie burrows his nose against the man's chest, drinking in the scent that is Buck with every breath.

"Good to know your fever doesn't strip away your asshole-ness." Buck tighten his grasp, squishing the sick man in mock tackling all the while tickling lightly on Eddie's side.

Hearty laugh escapes from the brunette.

"You should be happy I'm coherent enough to have this conversation." Eddie looks up once again while catching his breath.

"I'm happy with you everyday." Buck leans forward and bridging in their gap, fully intend to go for a kiss.

Eddie places his hand on the apple of Buck's cheek to stop him from going any further. "You sap, and while I am very much interested in a kiss right now, but we couldn't risk for you to get infected." Longing colours Eddie's expression as he speaks, regretting not being able to catch Buck's breath, warm against his own lips.

Buck smiles his soft smile. "You. Are. Worth. It." He parrots his assurance from earlier, stressing each and every words.

Buck gazes into his lover's unsure eyes and leans forward to kiss Eddie's chapped lips chastily, silencing any incoming protest from the man.

"Worthy enough for you to get sick?"

"You know, in the law of contract, love and affection is a good consideration. So this love is always worthy."

Eddie blushes deeper, but blaming it on his fever.

"Are we contract boyfriend now? Am I a boyfriend for rent?" Eddie quips to deflect although he understands every weight behind Buck's analogy.

Buck snorts at the prospect of renting Eddie as his boyfriend. "No, but how about in the future, both of us enter into a contract of marriage?"

The room stills in deafening silence, and both of them seems to hold in their breath, neither want to break the moment.

After long seconds passed, finally Eddie dares himself to speak.

"Are you...proposing?" Eddie's cracked voice wavers, unsure of the implied meaning, not daring to let the budding of hope blossoms in the pit of his stomach.

"Not now...I uh...I want to do it properly, but that's definitely what future you and me would be getting into. I guess." Eddie could see the stiffening of Buck's shoulder as he turns his face sideway, away from facing Eddie, refusing to meet his eyes.

It pains Eddie that his response has cast a doubt in his boyfriend's voice. With their upgrade in relationship to live-in couple is still relatively new, it dawns on him that Buck's insecurity about his place in their home is still rearing its ugly head. Buck would think that things between them are going too fast, when in reality Eddie has always wanted Buck that way.

"Not if I propose first."

Buck's whole face immediately lit up in a dazzling way that could possibly blind Eddie, but that is enough for him to see the tension melts away from the blonde.

And even if Buck's bright smile could blind him in reality, Buck is definitely worth it.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Recovery of an MMO Junkie, Episodes 4-7

In which we consider how the online world influences the real, the characters work to understand that divide, and I grouse about love triangles.

Why We Game

So, without revealing too much about myself, I’m part of the first generation of people who’ve grown up at a time when the internet was always a thing. I have never known what it was like to live in a pre-digital world. And one of the most fascinating things about growing up alongside the internet has been experiencing how people’s online lives intersect and influence their IRL lives. Time was, when things got testy on the internet, people would comfort you by saying, “hey, it’s just the internet, it’s not like it’s real life or anything.” But that assessment is growing less and less accurate by the day. The internet is real life; the relationships and experiences we have online are just as influential to who we are as the real world. But there’s still obviously differences between how you carry yourself in the world and how you carry yourself online. The online you is part of the real you, but it can be twisted or changed or shifted to reflect how you want to experience the world. And while this can be a bad thing, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it either. It’s just a more extreme version of the kind of social face we put on in real life, presenting the version of ourselves we most want to portray or exploring some aspect of ourselves we wouldn’t feel comfortable doing in the real world. And those experiences online filter down to the way we live our lives offscreen, whether we realize it or not.

The most compelling part of MMO Junkie, in my opinion, is how it explores the different ways people choose to interact with the digital world. For Moriko, playing MMOs is a way to decompress from social stress in the comfort of her own home. But it’s also a way for her to be social in a less high-stress way, talking to strangers over a shared interest and forming connections without having to face the mortifying ordeal of in-person conversation. Sakurai, meanwhile, uses Lily as a way to project a carefree persona, vicariously living in this fantasy world in a way he can’t in real life. Both of them use gender play as a way of distancing themselves from their online self, which ironically makes it easier for their true self to come through, unburdened by expectations of what kind of IRL role they’re “supposed” to play (which Lilac is all too happy to appreciate: ”If you decide to play a girl online, I’ll fully support you!”) Lily’s collection of costumes is a fascinating look at a man expressing his self-identity through a female persona, far more than simply wanting to dress up a cute girl in cute clothes. Meanwhile, Kanbe’s doing his best to act as mediator between his guild’s online interactions and their real-world connections, supporting the different ways they choose to portray their online selves and trusting them not to be a creep about things. Of course, that’s easier said than done, because the IRL people behind those avatars are still people talking to each other and forming relationships just as they would in the world outside their computer screens. They’re all just trying to figure out where the line lies between the two, and whether or not that line even matters in the first place.

Digital Divide

And this leads to some incredibly striking moments when we see these online experiences affect the characters in the real world. Just meeting Kanbe’s IRL player in rea life, working at the convenience store, is such a huge moment for Moriko, finding someone she can talk to face to face about the same kinds of things she’d talk to him about online. And talking with Lily online helps her work of the courage to go on two back-to-back dates, holding conversations with real-life men over dinner and enjoying herself quite a bit. There’s something so powerful about how earnest Moriko is in the real world, how we can still see Hayashi’s eager desire to connect with people behind her more guarded exterior. And man, the direction of these scenes, focusing on subtle body language and hand movements and brief expressions that flash across their faces, makes the conversations feel intimate in a really disarming way. The comforting barriers of online socialization are nowhere to be found, and the resulting openness of emotion as Moriko talks about her love for games, her dissatisfaction with her old job, her fears about not being good enough... it’s fucking raw, dude. It sucks so hard that this show’s director turned out to be a holocaust-denying shithead, because his work here is astoundingly good at times, communicating so much meaning with a relatively restrained production. By the end of episode 6, I fully bought the romantic tension between Moriko and Sakurai; their interactions were that meaningful.

But Sakurai’s not quite ready to make that leap himself yet. Mercifully, he’s able to put together that Moriko and Hayashi are the same person, but it’s his own understandable hang-ups that keep him from pursuing a relationship with her. I very much relate to his anxiety: whenever I have feelings for someone, I can’t stop from imagining all the different possible ways things could turn out for us, nor can I keep from focusing on all the ways confessing my feelings could bring the whole thing crashing down. And he feels understandably guilty about talking to Hayashi like nothing’s wrong when he knows full well that he’s personally involved in the situations she’s asking him for advice on. There are so many complicated boundaries surrounding that situation; personal trust, where the line between online persona and real person ends, whether it’s okay for Sakurai to keep his knowledge a secret, or even act on it all, whether he should just be a happy wingman and let his coworker Koiwai take his shot at romancing her. With all those grey areas to worry about, it’s no wonder he’s increasingly uncomfortable talking to her. But he still misses her desperately, and he can’t stop himself from wanting to keep seeing her, whether in the game or in real life. It’s all so human and touching, and the fact that they’re both older characters gives their interactions a real sense of warmth (”She looks so cute I’m grateful you’re not around to see it.”) It’ not quite Ore Monogatari, but this is the good shit I look for in a romance anime.

Pair it Down

Now, with all this praise I’m heaping on this show, are there any aspects I don’t like as much? Well, yes: I wish it wasn’t quite so reliant on love triangle tension. To be fair, I’ve definitely mellowed out toward love triangles as time’s gone on and I’ve found more examples of the trope that I actually like. But it still can’t help but irk me when you’ve got two characters who are clearly on a collision course with love- especially ones with chemistry as good as Moriko and Sakurai- and the story still can’t help but throw third wheels in their path as if they have any chance shifting the story’s course. It doesn’t help that Koiwai is right on the verge of being way too creepy for his own good; for all he ribs Sakurai about kinda turning into a stalker, he’s the one checking out Moriko’s rack and pressuring her into a dinner date through force of personality, not to mention following her into the game itself where she still had privacy from him. Props on Sakurai for at least trying to call his co-worker out on that (”It’s not all well! At least, not for her!”), and at least Koiwai seems like a decent enough guy at the end of the day (he’s even genuinely interested in Moriko’s gaming hobbies!), but he can’t help but feel like he’s getting in the way of more rewarding interpersonal drama every time he’s on screen. And I’m not really sure what the point was of giving Lilac a crush on Hayashi that basically amounts to one tossed-off line of surrender and nothing else. MMO Junkie’s got a perfectly rewarding central romance with enough drama to sustain itself, it doesn’t need to get wrapped up pretending Koiwai’s going to accomplish anything more than grinding progression to a halt for x amount of time.

Odds and Ends

-”It’s okay if you bomb the interview too.” pfft

-”But they can’t see my new gear with your character model standing on top of me!” ksjdfhskdfhskjdfh

-I’d ask why you’re hiding in a bush, Lily, but on second thought, that’s just adorable.

-Okay, the contrast between Moriko’s shonen-esque card draw and the reality of her just clicking shit on the computer was hilarious.

-Kanbe in fishnet tights. That is all

-Lol, the clap emojis.

-”Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you should play each other’s characters. it’s creepy!” Ahaha, that’s a nice touch.

-Something about lounging around in the bushes cracks me up.

-”Man, I can’t believe I said something so lame!” Lol, the real world/game disconnect is great.

-”I could’ve had eleven loot boxes for that.” pfft

-”I’ve been a NEET so long I can’t even keep track of the days of the week!” I love this fucking doofus.

-”I get the feeling Koiwai’s the real problem.” With you there, pal.

-”It was just some convenience store chicken.” She really didn’t remember aksjdhadska

-”My character’s totally out of place!” That’s one way to put it.

-”Is it okay for me to dream a little?” Oh, of course they were friends in the last MMO they played together. How’s that gonna shake out?

Man, this show is good. And short. See you for the final session next time!

[touchingoldmagic]

Day 8 - Non-Canon Ship

Day 8 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge! 

Author’s Note: Ray/Egon and Ray/Egon/Peter. SFW, just angst and cuddling. I might work up the nerve to share my NSFW stuff someday but today is not that day...

With only one light on in the lab and a desk lamp on in the bunk room, the firehouse second floor was dark. Ray lingered in the doorway to the lab, watching the stiff back and squared shoulders of the physicist focused on his work. Or at least, the appearance of working.

Awkwardly, Ray couldn't find the words to disturb him and so he stood there in silence.

On days when he was truly focused, Egon wouldn't notice a nuclear war going on in the next room. Tonight was not one of those nights. Ray had a feeling he knew he was there--they were all hyper aware of each other at the moment. (Even subconsciously Ray knew he was keeping an ear out for when the sound of the shower stopped running.) The silence hanging around the room like an odor existed entirely because both of them were bad with words.

A small screwdriver rolled off the top of the table and Egon didn't even make a grab for it. He did however jump when it hit the ground--Ray did too.

"Egon," he blurted out, like the sound had broken some sort of hold on them. The physicist paused but didn't look up. "Egon," he said again, gaining courage and emphasis. He could tell by the tilt of the man's head that he was listening. "I know the lab is how you decompress. I don't mean to interrupt you. But it's late. And we need to get up early and get to the hospital tomorrow. Will you come to bed?"

Egon finally glanced at him and Ray tried very hard not to look like he was pleading.

"Of course," Egon said stiffly. His glasses had been broken earlier and he was wearing his spares. His face was closed down and carefully controlled, a look he only got when he was really upset. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize." Ray's response was immediate. He shifted his weight. "I should be the one apologizing."

"Unfortunate incidents happen in our line of work. A bad bust is not your fault--"

"I need to watch where I'm going. I didn't think, at the time, that I was taking chances but--"

"Raymond."

Ray's mouth closed with an audible click. Egon left his tools on the desk and came over to his partner and teammate. He frowned as he studied Ray's face. Ray knew he was looking at the road rash across his chin and left cheek from where he'd fallen on the concrete basement floor of the old house they had been in earlier in the day. He'd already checked himself out in the mirror; it was very visible and unfortunately in an awkward place for a bandage. It was going to be a painfully visual reminder of the incident for a while.

"It looks worse than it is," Ray promised him, voice low.

Egon nodded. "I wish to point out again that Winston is not seriously injured and is only being kept overnight for observation due to his concussion."

Ray sighed. "I know." The knowledge didn't make it any better.

Egon hesitated, then gestured toward the bunk room and Ray turned and retreated there with relief. After this disaster of a day, his only goal was to make sure everyone was okay and then to (hopefully) sleep.

They changed into their night clothes in silence. Ray glanced anxiously over at the physicist more than once, but Egon's gaze was blank and unreadable.

Ray said quietly, "Are you okay?"

His tone broke through Egon's thoughts and he met Ray's worried gaze with his own, attempting to be reassuring. "I'm not upset." He changed the subject by asking, "Do you wish to push two of the beds together?"

Ray brightened immediately. They still had separate beds, mostly because they all tried to keep a measure of professionalism in their work space. Bad days sometimes made it a hard choice to live with. "If you don't mind," he replied.

"Quite the opposite. I'm also aware in these situations that you sleep poorly if you can't reassure yourself of our presence."

Ray colored with embarrassment. "Well," he said, but then didn't have anything to finish it with.

They pushed two of the beds together and Ray collapsed onto them. Physically, he hurt all over. Mentally his brain wouldn't quiet down, and emotionally he was exhausted. It was going to be a long night.

Egon fussed with the arrangement of the blankets (much to the shorter man's amusement), covering Ray before climbing under them himself. Ray gently stole his glasses and set them on the bedside table, since half the time Egon forgot to take them off when he fell asleep.

As usual Egon slept on his back. Ray curled up against his side, allowing himself to relax a marginal amount with his head resting on the other man's shoulder, listening to the steady heartbeat against his ear, reassuring. The shower was still running. Peter had taken a flung metal bucket to the ribs during the bust. He insisted he was fine, but he was taking a while. Ray wasn't going to sleep until he got out.

Egon could feel the tension that still remained in his body. "Would talking about the matter help with your own decompression?" he asked, reusing the word Ray had used earlier.

A sigh gusted from the engineer's lips. "There's not much to say," he muttered.

"You fell," Egon pointed out. "Thankfully without sustaining serious injury."

Ray winced. He couldn't bring himself to add to Egon's statement, with the memory still so vivid. The bust had taken place at a large old house upstate with multiple ghosts, but the first floor hallway had a trap door, unexpectedly propped open (most likely by one of the specters). Ray had leaped back to dodge an attack, but had instead fallen through the open trap door and down the stairs to the small, cold root cellar.

Quick-thinking, Winston had jumped down after Ray, which meant it was Winston who took a rotting two-by-four to the head trying to defend Ray, while he collected himself and tried to get to his feet. Egon and Peter had followed in time to help with the fight, but the small size of the basement left them little room to dodge, and the litter of old wood and other home debris that had been stored down there, ripe for the flinging, meant it was a very nasty battle. They had all been knocked down and flung around before it was finally over.

Into the silence of the bunk room, Ray finally muttered, "I'm fine with the dangers of the job, Egon, but it's different when someone else gets hurt because I screwed up."

"This is not the first time it's happened," Egon pointed out. They had all had their share of busts gone wrong.

"I know, but it doesn't get any easier."

"This is true." Egon cleared his throat. "Seeing you and Winston disappear... worried me greatly."

"I know. I'm right here." He leaned over and kissed Egon's cheek gently, careful of bruises.

None of them had escaped the house without injuries, though only Winston had to be hospitalized. The first aid kit in Ecto had been enough to patch them up while they waited for the ambulance. Then, after many hours waiting at the hospital just to be told Winston would be kept overnight, they had finally gotten home very late.

"So what were you working on?" Ray asked, hoping for something to discuss that was a little less emotionally harrowing.

Egon was happy to launch into an explanation of his latest experiment, and Ray was happy to have something to fill the silence. Slowly he relaxed further, letting it sink in that everyone was as safe as possible at the moment. Egon's voice was slower and quieter by the time his explanation concluded. Soon his eyes were closed and Ray thought he was probably asleep, though it was hard to tell. The physicist had a very slow, steady breathing rate even when awake.

At one point the sound of the shower stopped and Ray listened intently for several long quiet minutes until it was replaced with the whir of the hair dryer. Ray waited, slipping in and out of light sleep. Finally there was silence and the bathroom door opened. He roused from his light doze at the sound of footsteps approaching his side of the bed.

"We need a bigger bed," Peter announced.

Ray objected sleepily, "I like it when we're closer together."

Peter snorted. "Of course you do, blanket hog."

"Hey, I do not--!"

Egon covered his mouth. "Shh." The sound was a mumble and the physicist sounded mostly asleep.

Ray grinned apologetically and kissed the hand that was trying to block his lips from moving. "Sorry, Egie." He scooted over closer to Egon so Peter could crawl in. The psychologist turned out the bedside lamp and then did so, sliding a possessive arm over Ray's hips.

"Are you actually going to sleep, or is this an all-night discussion situation?" Peter's warm voice ghosted across the hairs on Ray's neck. He sounded as exhausted as Ray felt.

"I can sleep if you're here," Ray promised him.

Peter was quiet a moment. Ray's sincere attachments to his partners and willingness to say so still caught him off guard. Then his flippant tone returned and he said, "Good to hear." His arm tightened around Ray.

There was silence in the darkened room for seven seconds. Then, "I swear from now on I'll be more car--"

"Ray!"

"Raymond."

"Right. Sorry."

[pro-bee]

the road less traveled

Note: I cooked this up in the last 24 hours to try to work through some writer’s block on my post-reunion WIP. So this is a bit of a stream of consciousness mess, but if I don’t post this now, I’m gonna chicken out and all my other ideas are going to go PFFT. Also, this is inspired by all the discourse you guys have been floating around lately so it’s your fault.

Rating: G

Spoilers: Nada. Generally season 17. Possibly AU depending on how you look at things. (Also assumes Summer of Secret Sex happened don’t start with me)

Relationships: Implied Tiva. Vague mentions of Bishop/Torres. General team bonding.

Words: 1700

Summary: Sometimes a case hits a little too close to home. Sometimes it makes people want to do something about it.

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

“How could they have known that they each had feelings for each other for so long and not done anything about it?! That had to have been torture!”

Bishop has been on a rant since their team got to their table at their favorite watering hole, decompressing after yet another wild case that has prodded at more than a few wounds between them. It was a story of star-crossed lovers, who held back on their feelings for one another for fear of ruining their friendship (and losing their jobs), until one made a tragic mistake and the other paid for it. One of those times where they get no satisfaction out of getting their suspect, because of the chaos left in its wake. 

“Don’t ask me. I have been in love with the same man since I was 23 and I still haven’t fully figured it out.”

Ziva’s unexpected candor (and unexpected help in the investigation) catches the younger agent off-guard; she wasn’t counting on things taking such a personal turn. Bishop gives her a sad smile, though the answer clearly isn’t the one she necessarily wants to hear at the moment. Torres shifts nervously in his seat across the table from her, unclear on where this conversation is headed, on edge the way he is whenever he’s around his predecessor.

The admission gives McGee pause, but maybe this isn’t the time to press.  “It’s funny, looking at us all now, with families of our own, I can’t imagine having to wait that long to finally be with the person you love. I mean, waiting for years just to act on your attraction…”

“Oh, we definitely acted on it,” she offers in typical Ziva bluntness. “We just failed to follow through on any of it.”

McGee nearly chokes on his drink at the revelation. The wheels start to spin in his head, his eyebrows creased in confusion, as he pieces it together at lightning speed. 

“You guys were sleeping together?!”

“I mean, not the whole time,” her hand waves around on its own, as if to punctuate the sentence, “But… some of the times, yes.”

“Like when?!”

“Now look who is butting in! I would expect that from Tony, but you?” She tsks at him, with mock sternness, until she notices the desperation in his eyes as his world seems to have turned upside down. “Okay, fine… Like… Like, when Gibbs retired, for instance.”

(“Gibbs retired?” “When did this happen?” their newer counterparts interject in unison, but their curiosity goes unanswered in the firestorm happening around them.)

“Back then?! That was… Ziva that almost fifteen years ago! You guys have been together for fifteen years?!”

“No! That is my whole point! We were not together together. We were just… what do you say? Letting out air?”

“Blowing off steam?”

“Yes! That!” Her own drink nearly flies off the table.

“Wait, that means—  How did you keep it a secret for so long?!”

“I knew!” Palmer offers helpfully.

“I am fairly certain everyone knew, eventually.”

“No way!  Gibbs didn’t.” 

“Gibbs definitely knew,” she snorts at the memory of being on the receiving end of his beady stare one morning when she and her partner were just a hair more heated in their bickering than usual, even for them.

“And you lived to tell the tale?!” Surely Boss would have banished them to desk duty, or worse yet, Inventory, if he found out they were hot bunking.

“I believe it was a case of don’t ask, don’t tell. Besides, it’s not like it affected our work.”

“True, you two were just as unprofessional as always.”

She flings her discarded crumpled straw wrapper at him.

His mind still reels, though.

“How— how did I not know that my best friends were hooking up behind my back?!”

“McGee!” she lilts, stretching his name out like a song in the way only she does,  “You cannot be serious! You wrote a whole book about us! Several, in fact!”

“For the last time, Tommy and Lisa were not about you and Tony! Those books were works of fiction!”

“Oh come on McGee,” pipes in Torres, who had until now tried his best to find any escape from this forced socialization. “Even I knew that! And I’ve never even read your books.”

“Or a book, period,” his partner mutters into her glass.

“How do you even know about—?”

“Bishop,” he shrugs.

“Ellie!”

“What?! It’s not like it’s a secret, Tim.”

“It’s personal! And again, Tommy and Lisa are fictional.”

Bishop and Torres roll their eyes in unison.

“Well, then, you must have psychic powers in addition to your keen observational skills as an agent,” she teases, with only a touch of sarcasm in her voice. She can’t believe they’re really hashing out their scars in the open like this, but it is a brave new world.

McGee finally shakes his head and laughs in disbelief, and even she can’t help the grin stretching across her face. Old friends, indeed.

She takes a breath and grounds herself back to reality, reminded again of the point she was trying to make in the first place. “What I am trying to say is that it is so easy to get caught up in your own fears when it comes to matters of the heart. You get so scared that you are not enough, that you are going to upset whatever it is between you, and that when you inevitably mess it all up, and you will, that you are going to ruin the one good thing you have. So you lie to yourself that you do not have it and that it does not mean anything.”

“Are we talking about you or the petty officer now?”

“Both,” she answers with a hint of a wistful smile. McGee returns with his own expression of sympathy, fully aware of all those twists and turns that have led to where his friends are now.

The group sits in companionable silence for a spell, the weight of the week’s case lifting, only to be replaced with familiar exhaustion. 

Ziva feels a buzz coming from her pocket, reminding her that, yes, these matters do come to a close somehow.

- Having fun on a school night?  

- Going down memory lane with the team. 

- The good ones, I hope?

- They are now. :-) Just about done, heading home soon.

- Can’t wait. Kiddo’s asleep. ;-) Love you. 

McGee across the table notices the way her eyes crinkle as she glances at her screen. Once again, he is grateful for these small mercies they’ve been granted. How this story eventually got the happy ending it deserved.

“Well, this has been fun, but it is getting late and I should get home.” She pushes herself off the seat and grabs her coat, untangling her curls from the collar as she twists her arms through the sleeves. “I will see you all soon, I hope.”

“Yeah, I’m beat too,” Torres chimes in, “I’ll walk you out.”

The gang exchange goodnights and talk to you laters, with only the faintest of intrigue from Bishop as her partner, who is not known for his chivalrous nature, follows Ziva out the door.

Standing face to face now, at their full height, Ziva narrows her own eyes at the man, seeing right through him and daring him to come out with it, already.

“Ziva, what you said in there… Is that why you keep pushing me about Bishop?”

She stares at her feet for a second and breaks into a genuine grin now.

“Ah, he finally catches on.”

He breathes in, swallowing his nerves with every gulp of air reaching his lungs. She supposes it’s time to put him out of his misery.

“Look, Agent Torres, if there is anything I have learned throughout all of this, it is that time is the most precious resource we have. I know that it sounds like a cliché, believe me, but it is the truth. When I think about all the time Tony and I wasted over the years… It was not worth it.”

“Yeah, but it seems to have worked out, right?”

“Yes, it has,” she presses her lips together in a regretful smile. “But it very nearly did not. We missed out on so much, I missed out on so much, and it was all because I let fear get the best of me. I liked to tell myself that I was not scared of anything, when really, I was scared of everything.”

Torres absorbs the confession with appropriate gravity.

“Nick, do not let fear rule you. I promise you, whatever happens, taking that chance is worth the risk. I wish I had had the courage much sooner. It might have saved us all a lot of pain.”

He glances through the blinds in the window at the object of this discussion, only for Ellie to catch his eye at that moment. They each avert their gaze on opposite sides of the pane, feeling decidedly like the suspects they’ve just interrogated, without fully understanding why.

“What if I can’t do it?”

“You are a smart man. You will figure it out. You bested me, did you not?” It’s his turn to laugh, and she answers in turn. Maybe she has gotten through to him, after all.

She reaches out to gently pat his elbow. “Take care, Agent Torres.” 

With that, she takes her leave and heads down the street towards her car, the heels of her boots clicking down the sidewalk with every step, leaving Nick to reflect on her words of wisdom. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, unsure of how to proceed. With one last look into the bar, he turns in the opposite direction in search of his own vehicle, more confused than ever. Yet somehow he knows that the former agent is right.

What he doesn’t realize as he turns his back is that Bishop takes one last look at him, Ziva’s words ringing in her ears as well. That maybe blazing the road not travelled is not as scary as it may seem. 

- Bishop, you’ve got a big mouth. See you tomorrow.

She grins at her phone in spite of herself. Maybe that’s a thought for another day. 

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 163

Despite all the trouble you were in and everything that laid ahead, there was always that certain comfort that you drew when you were with Tony. The same must have gone for him, because the two of you fell asleep leaning against one another at the back table of the jet while Clint flew who knew where. Safehouse… some safehouse somewhere far away. Ultron was out there somewhere. Doing something. Something awful. 

But while you were miles up in the air with a very beaten and battered team- and… while you had Tony right there, hand in hand with you, you gave yourself small permission to drift. And it was sort of nice. For a little while. Free of nightmares. Just blissfully gone for those short couple of hours while Clint piloted. But when they were over you missed them dearly. 

The louder rumbling of the jet as it started its descent and then land spooked you back awake. As soon as your surroundings came back in clearer, you leaned in again to rub your forehead against Tony’s shoulder. Waded in his warmth as his hand shifted up your back and he pressed a kiss to your temple. This was the plan now. Sit tight in some abandoned safehouse so that the media- and governments of the world- couldn’t bother the team. Sit and wait for Ultron’s next play.

This wasn’t a very good plan. At the very least you needed to start doing damage control- but, then again… Maria seemed to be on top of things. And she literally was the head of Damage Control. Right underneath you. Rhodey, no doubt, was also working. It just felt so wrong to be doing nothing. To just be waiting. In fact, it felt like asking for a lot of trouble. But what choices were being left to you? 

None. Absolutely none. You were being told to sit and wait. So that’s what you had to do. As you stepped off the jet behind everyone else and took in the scenery… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. For an abandoned SHIELD safehouse in the middle of nowhere, it was pretty idyllic. Clint had taken you to some big farmhouse. Many acres to roam, protected and shaded by large trees on all sides of the property. A couple beaten down trucks, A barn off on the right side. No doubt it had some heavy security system too- one that would have to be booted up. “What are our optics?” Your brain was going. This place had to be locked down, just in case. “What security are we looking at here?” 

Tony would have to do some work to Ultron-proof it, just in case he came looking for the group. But apparently nobody else had been told about this little sit-and-see plan, because Thor asked, “What is this place?” 

The walk up the gravel drive was short, and Tony merely shrugged as Clint approached the door. “A safehouse?” 

Clint took Nat inside first- she’d been looking a little rough. No more so than the rest of the team, but he’d been nursing her just a little. Probably spoke more to their bond than her condition. It was sweet, to be sure. Then the rest of you followed inside. 

...it didn’t look as abandoned as you would have thought. Not dirty or unkempt. In fact- there were- There were kid’s toys in the living room. On the floor. Handknit blankets draped over a couch. An open magazine on the coffee table- 

“Honey?” Clint called out as he looked around and you felt rather stunned. 

But completely held by shock as a very pregnant woman stepped out of the kitchen, mug and dish towel in hand. She was pretty surprised to see the group standing at her door. If you were anyone else you might have assumed she was just some random contact Clint had run to. Someone he trusted. 

Except immediate love bounced between them. She was happy to see them, despite his unannounced guests. 

Your heart hurt. 

“I’m home.” He finished the rest of what made sense. Clint was home. That woman was his wife. She was pregnant with his child- she approached him, putting her hands up to caress his face and gave him a sweet kiss. He mumbled around her. “Sorry about the company- that I didn’t call ahead-” 

Instinctively, blindly, and painfully you reached out, hand connecting with Tony’s as he drowned in the same sudden and inexplicable sadness. Except unlike you he was rejecting the idea outright. “This is an agent of some kind.”

Clint turned back. “Team, this is Laura.” 

Finally you got a good look at her as she turned fully to face the group. She was a beautiful woman. Short. Long brown hair, light brown eyes, and an exceptionally sweet smile as she pointed. “I know all your names.” 

The sudden stomping of little feet drew everyone’s attention. And this little picture became that much worse as two children- a young girl with braided blonde pigtails and a slightly older boy with a mop of sandy hair, bounded down the stairs as Clint crouched down. He caught the little girl in her speedy run, lifting her up into a tight hug. “Hey, sweetheart!” He then put his other arm around the boy, leaning in to kiss the top of his head. “Hey, buddy.” 

Good god. Clint Barton had a family. He’d had a family for years. He had been a SHIELD agent- he’d been an Avenger for years. All while having a wife. And children. And- 

You were holding Tony’s hand so tight your arm was shaking. Clint had everything you’d sworn you could never. How? 

Tony continued your bewilderment, using his free hand to nervously point at them. “...those are… smaller agents…” 

It made sense. Clint was rarely ever around aside for missions- he had a room in the Tower, but he disappeared often. When SHIELD fell, he was nowhere to be found. But it wasn’t that he’d been hiding this from you- ...nor the fact that Natasha seemed to know about it, as she became joyous and the children gathered around her. Auntie Nat… 

No it wasn’t the secrecy or the omission. It was the hurt. The hurt that he’d figured this out somehow. Yet you’d been grasping and failing at some vision of a family. A life like this. A house. A family. Love that wasn’t beset by world ending events. ...how did they do it? 

You really were aching inside looking at them. The perfect picture. You wanted this. You wanted this, for you and Tony. Clint had been living this the whole time and you’d never had a clue. You still didn’t- had no clue how to do it. How he was managing. How. How how… 

Steve took a breath. “Sorry for barging in like this.” Tony was hanging on to his own hurt while managing yours, no doubt. Still holding on to you tight. “Yeah. We would have called ahead, but we were too busy having no idea you existed.” Even his usual sass didn’t make you feel better. Clint nodded. “Yeah. Well. Fury helped me set this up when I joined. Kept it off SHIELD’s files. I’d like to keep it that way. I figure it’s a good place to lay low.” 

Yeah. That did make sense. It also made sense why you had no idea about it. Why no one did- except Nat. But they’d always been close. You had to clear your throat to make words go. “We’ll keep your secret for you.” 

The two of you looked at each other and you had to wonder if maybe it was just plain on your face. The longing as you looked at him. His wife. Their kids. But he gave you a short nod. Laura smiled. “Shower’s upstairs, second door on the left. There’s some medical supplies too, if you need to get patched up. And we don’t mind if you borrow some clothes.” Accommodating and kind despite the drop in. She was probably used to it, you realized. Her husband coming home with cuts and bruises. “I’ll start lunch.” 

A group murmur of thanks hit the air and you didn’t wait for permission. Tony had a pretty nasty cut on the side of his face that needed tending to. The rest of the group, save Natasha and Clint (who were at homebase, so they’d be fine) were all a little more super than he was. So you turned, hand still in his, pulling him upstairs. But really. Really you just needed to be away from them. And with him. To decompress. 

Maybe even reassure each other of something or other… 

You didn’t exactly push him, but were pretty insistent that he move a little quicker through the bathroom door, which you shut behind you and locked. You then guided him to sit on the closed toilet, and started rummaging through the cabinet. Finding a medkit and a bottle of peroxide, you set them down on the sink. And then were promptly stopped when Tony’s hand reached up to touch the back of yours. You braved turning your head to look at him. 

Waiting for you there were those big, beautiful brown eyes of his. Somewhat glassy. And entirely see-through. “Take a breath.” Asked gently of you. Your lips pressed together, swallowing hard, and then turned your head back to the kit- though you did do as he asked. Breathing in slowly and then out. Uncapping the peroxide you dumped some on a cotton pad and started dabbing his cheek softly. “How do they manage? How do they do this?” Keeping your voice very quiet. 

“I told you it’s not impossible.” His smile up at you was a little cocky, but at the same time still slightly broken. 

“Clint’s also not as public as us. So- it’s not the same-” 

“He’s as public as the rest of us, after what happened in New York. We sell toys of him. Who are you trying to convince here?” As he asked, your hand lowered, and you looked at him again. “You know where I stand on this. I mean if Barton can manage…” Both of his brows lifting. 

“We’re not Clint.” He was right. You were trying to fool yourself. Make excuses. It was easy to keep saying it couldn’t be done as long as no one else had done it. And before today, you’d been very sure no one else had. Or would. 

And you were so very wrong. Which meant… which meant you’d been wasting precious time. Wasting time convincing Tony that it couldn’t be done until this, that, and the other thing was fulfilled. Yet- you could have… you could have been living a life- ...and it… it was your fault that the two of you had been delaying it…

How were you supposed to live with that? Live with yourself? 

His smile up at you made you hurt all over again. “Great news. Means we can nail this whole house-and-family thing even better.” 

You had to look away from him, throwing out the cotton pad, settling your hands on the sides of the sink, head dropping. “They have three kids…” It was so unfathomable. How did she do this? How did she sit at home, wondering if her husband would come home alive- 

...god. God damn it. You’d already been living this life with him. Yet you’d seen fit to deny every time he asked you to take it one step further. And for what? For what? 

He stood suddenly, setting his hand reassuringly at the mid of your back, stroking in soft circles. “Two. Technically. Although she’s definitely ready to go on that aforementioned third.” Shifting in, he pressed his forehead against the back of your shoulder in an affectionate touch. “Honey… we couldn’t have known.” 

“So what-” The words choked from you as you felt the guilt come clawing. “I kept putting it off because it was so unobtainable and now what- we’re being shown up-” 

The two of you shared a watery laugh, unable to look at one another. “Just means we have to do it bigger.” 

“They have a head start.” 

“So? We’re the Starks. Now that we know what we’re looking at- we can build it better.” 

A few breaths hitched, you caught a few sniffles too, as you turned, standing a little straighter. Before you could wipe your tears away, his hands were there. Doing it for you. “We are not the Starks.” 

“Not yet.” One of those signature arches of his brows threatened to get your smile going. But you just weren’t ready for it yet. Suddenly he started patting at his pockets- “Damn it.” 

Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around him, holding yourself as close to him as you could, rewarded with his arms crushing you back. You were clinging to him, but that was okay. “It wasn’t right here, anyway. We have a mess to clean up.” 

“Okay. I agree. But after?” His voice came somewhere close to your ear, low and loving. 

“...ask me after.” It wasn’t fair to the rest of the team, to be finding solace in each other like this. To be making plans for a future, like this. You had no idea what after looked like either. So you couldn’t commit right now-

...but if anyone deserved it- wasn’t it you? You’d been waiting for a sign. You’d been waiting to see if this was possible. And now you had hard confirmation. Someone was already living this life. And if they could… 

Then so could the two of you. 

He held you that much tighter. His tone was full of promise. “I intend to.” 

                                                                  ---

Tony took the first shower. You asked if anyone wanted dibs on the second, and the team groggily passed it up, so you were next in line. Laura was kind enough to leave out a change of clothes for you, and Bruce passed you on your way out. Though you did ask him where Thor had gone off to, and he merely gave a weak shrug. There was no need to press him further. Coming down the stairs, you spied Tony and Steve out in the yard- … “Are they chopping wood?” Asked of Laura as you came into the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder with a shrug and a smile. “Seemed like they needed something to do. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity for some help around the farm.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” They were both probably still wound up. And much as you took some extended time to watch Tony swing that axe above his head and down in hard even strikes, checkered button down tied around his waist- ...right now was not a good time for ogling. “Do you need any help in here?” 

Waving you over, “You need something to do, too, huh? Mind helping with the salad?” Giving a little point to the counter where she had several vegetables laying out in wait, a big sharp knife, and a rather large bowl. 

“Sure.” You could chop up a salad. No problem. Not hard at all. What was difficult was making food back to back with her in her kitchen. In silence. With too many questions. So much so that… eventually you really couldn’t help yourself. “Can I ask you something?” 

“How I do it?” 

You felt rather caught as she asked that nearly immediately. “That obvious?” 

“You looked like someone punched you in the gut when you came in- no offense- and I’d like to not take any either, so I assume it wasn’t really directed at me.” Her tone was soft and understanding. So it was easy to not take offense to that, or worry about over-showing your own emotions. The problem was you really had no idea what to say. Thankfully she helped. “I was surprised, you know, when Fury said he’d picked the two of you out for this team thing.” 

However, you almost wished that there had been a drag of silence instead of that. “Oh. You knew Fury too?” Trying to not give your disdain away through tone. Probably failing. 

“Sure. We were close, for a little while. Had him over for dinner a few times. He’s been very good to this family.” 

A very good reason not to speak ill of him, you supposed. “Did you work at SHIELD?” 

“Absolutely not.” She spat this out with a little bit of a laugh. “No- actually- if you’d believe we live in such a small world, I interned at Stark Industries a few summers while I was in college.” 

Small world indeed. And getting smaller all the time. “Really? What department?” 

“Nothing important. I’m pretty sure I was the secretary’s secretary’s secretary. Fetching coffee, filing papers. That sort of thing.” You were nodding along as she spoke, even though she couldn’t see it. “I can’t imagine running a company and doing… this is easy.” 

“No more easy than sitting up at night with kids wondering if your husband is going to come home, right?” You didn’t mean this maliciously- hoped she wouldn’t take it that way. 

Luck held in your favor as she hummed out a breath. “This is… relatively new, you know. SHIELD was one thing. Then one day aliens are coming to a city miles and miles away and somehow Clint’s picked to deal with it. ...you sure you need him?” 

There was probably one reason she was asking this- and you were sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Clint was most certainly lurking around. Maybe she had no idea he was in the next room. You did, though. You tried to not let it temper your answer too much. “We do. He’s saved our asses more than once. And out of everyone, he always makes the right directional calls. He was doing this a lot longer than most of us. Except Nat, I guess. Maybe not the aliens thing but… the missions.” It only occurred to you the other reason she was asking. “But… if he’d like to retire…” 

Her one-note laugh was a little sour. “That’s not up to me.” 

“Sure it is. You don’t expect me to believe he’d stay with us if you told him to come home, do you?” 

The two of you turned to look at one another. A passing but understanding glance. Her grin was sad. “I can’t ask him to turn his back on saving the world.” 

“Yeah.” Sadness taking hold of you, too, then. “I get it.” 

She looked upset for a split second, like she understood it. She probably did. But instead of giving any advice about late nights wondering if someone would come home alive or- god what would I tell the kids?- she offered a little bit more of a real and warm smile. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for this family.” 

This you weren’t expecting, though. “Me? I haven’t done anything. I didn’t even know you existed until two hours ago.” 

“Clint tells me you’re the brains behind the operation. The reason we have a diverse portfolio and more than enough money to survive.” 

“Oh. Well- Hawkeye toys sell themselves. But, sure. I’ll take credit for his salary bump. I like to think I’m a little more accommodating than SHIELD.” Allowing yourself one little grin. One little dig. 

“No less dangerous, though.” Her eyes dropped and you worried about what she would say next. “He also tells me you do more than enough. Cleaning up all the mess. I know that can’t be easy.” 

This was too hard to deal with. So flippancy came quickly with a shrug of your shoulders. “Someone has to.” 

“Yeah. Someone does.” 

It was hard to tell what she was getting at- and you didn’t have time to decipher it as Clint finally stopped sneaking around and made an appearance from around the corner. He came over, leaning in to press a kiss to her hair and then murmured something to her. A feeling of realization came over her and she looked a little sheepish. “Hey- food’s about done. Would you mind letting Bruce and Natasha know?” 

The change of subject was so abrupt it left you blinking a few times over. “Bruce is upstairs taking a shower. Do you know where Nat is?” 

Laura was a fraction away from a smirk with a little roll of her eyes as she turned away. “Same direction.” 

Hm. You really hoped… they weren’t doing anything you’d regret walking in on. Though it was nice that they were finding some mutual comfort. 

...a little too much. In a terrible way- different than what you’d expected. 

But as soon as you’d gotten upstairs and were about to knock on the door, you heard Nat. And you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Not really. It was just a little too hard not to after hearing her muffled voice behind that door. “-you still think you’re the only monster on the team?” 

Really. Honestly. This was clearly a private conversation. You needed to turn away or interrupt it. But Bruce answering her, “So what? We disappear?” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Were they honestly talking about leaving? Ditching the team? It was just that easy? Natasha spoke again. “We keep moving.” 

Maybe you would have continued to listen in, though it was none of your business. It hurt your heart to hear two people you considered family talking about running away from everything- but a strike of surprise hit you sideways. Not just anyone’s. Tony’s. 

It had you turning away. Hurrying downstairs. Putting a hand on the door outside looking at Steve who was suddenly all alone, “Where did Tony go?” Steve looked up at you. “He went into the barn. Something about a broken tractor.” 

Laura called you from the kitchen. “Can you give me a hand with this?” 

“One second!” Calling back and then rushing out into the yard, ignoring Steve’s questioning glance. Moving as quick as you could without actually running. Tony’s initial shock had died down into something uneasy instead- mixed with a familiar sense of dread. 

It was why you almost weren’t as surprised as he’d apparently been, as you opened the barn door- And saw him, wrench in one hand, leaning against the side of the aforementioned busted tractor. Talking to Nick Fury, who was sitting on a bale of hay. 

“What are you doing here?” Quickly you shut the door behind you. 

“Nice to see you, too.” He looked up at you briefly and then very quickly looked down at his hands. 

Tony gave you a small wave. “Hey, honey.” His voice held a small tremble, something that pulled you closer to him. “Did I pocket dial you on accident?” Knowing, probably, why you’d appeared suddenly.

Putting a hand up his arm, you inspected him a little closer. “You okay? He do something to you?” 

“Not yet. He just showed up uninvited.” 

“Oh so like always.” 

Fury spoke up. “You know. I’m sitting right here.” 

Turning towards him, you crossed your arms tight. “You are. Sorry to cut your conversation short but I need to ask you something.” It was now or never, right? Fury was off the grid. There would be no telling when you saw him next. 

“What now?” 

You leveled a hard look at him. “Did SHIELD run experiments on me in 1990? Were you responsible?” 

Maybe it was that he wasn’t expecting you to know about that, or maybe he just wasn’t ready, but he became momentarily stunned. Then there was a bit of odd distress that bubbled up. And very suddenly he was standing- and not looking at you again. His hands went in his pockets as he paced. “You unleash an AI with murderous intent on the world, and yet still everything’s gotta be about you.” 

He seemed a little… off. Was it right? To think Fury would be so put out by you figuring something out? That he wouldn’t have an excuse ready? Was that really the Fury you knew? Maybe whatever he’d been doing in retirement had dulled him. 

“It’s a yes or no question.” You remained firm. This might have been your now-or-never moment. “Did you authorize-” 

“Now is really not the time for this.” The wave of his hand was dismissive. He was trying to play it cool. But everything else that only you could sense was sweating. Afraid. He was afraid of something. 

And that was very, very bad. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“Me?” There was a tiny little uptick in his tone. “Nothing’s wrong with me. How about we talk about Ultron and how you’re gonna clean up your mess.” Deflecting. Still unable to look at you. He honestly seemed like he might bolt out the back door.

This was not- this was not normal. Not for him. He couldn’t be so scared that you’d finally unearthed the truth, right? If Nick Fury was mad about something you were responsible for, he’d be right in your face, and be damned whatever else you were asking for. But this? He was practically about to run.

Some sense of responsibility pulled Tony into speaking. “Look- we’ll figure this out-” 

But you held up a hand to stop him. Something was not right here. All the hairs on the back of your neck were standing. Whatever sort of sense you had for something being wrong with someone- ... wasn’t that all you did? Wasn’t that what you were good for? 

Well. It was ringing like crazy. 

And it was why you let your primary focus go. Why you let your gaze fog up as you dropped below into that space that belonged only to you. That was supposed to be part of you. That was supposed to help you be more than what you were. Damn where it came from. 

What you saw was… Fury. Sort of. But it almost looked like he was drawn over. Like something was outlining him. Almost like the vision of control that others had. But not quite. Getting closer to inspect it, it was almost like a… it was vibrating. Alive. 

But one touch- just a single touch of your pointer finger at his heart- 

Shattered the whole thing- 

And before you could even see what you’d done, Tony’s sudden paralyzing fear, coupled with a sharp yank of your arm dragged you right back to the surface. Your vision cleared. 

His fear became your own very quickly. You double-tapped the Heart Reactor without even thinking, and held your hand up to charge up a repulsor shot. 

Nick Fury was no longer standing in front of you. But what was- 

Something green with pointed ears, still wearing Nick’s clothes, and as it turned to look at you, pitch back eyes- You weren’t successful in keeping your voice firm. “What are you?” 

The thing put its hands up- only just now realizing the hands that he was supposed to have were no longer there. Then the frantic starting shouted. “Wait wait wait!!” Speaking rather perfect english… accented, too. Strangely. ...Australian, maybe? “Wait- don’t shoot-” 

Tony came shoulder to shoulder with you, pointing. “You have ten seconds before she puts a hole through you.” 

“Okay okay alright! Just wait!” 

“Eight seconds.” 

“I’m just a stand-in- look- look alright- I can get Fury on the phone for you- don’t shoot me-” He lifted a communicator out of his pocket. 

This was one thing too many. What were you supposed to do with this? What were you supposed to think about this? But really… the only thing you couldn’t stop thinking- the only thing you couldn’t stop wondering-

How long had Nick Fury been an alien? 

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Undecided”

Summary: Now that the incident in the server room is becoming a distant memory for everyone at CIStech, indecision plagues Y/N as she tries to figure out just what she wants from Elliot. The real question, of course, is what does Elliot want?

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”,  “The Aftermath”

Word Count: 5000

Tags: @sherlollydramoine  @rami-malek-trash  @teamwolf2411  @limabein  @txmel  @hopplessdreamer  @ouatlovr  @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @alottanothing  @moon-stars-soul  @free-rami  @ramimedley

If you want added, let me know.

Warning: Tiny mention of something R-rated toward the end

By Thursday, the office felt normal, and I was once again left to marvel at how quickly things could snap back into place. People just . . . moved on. They continued to run their daily programs and despite a hiccup in the system, they hit reboot and it was back to normal runtime.

I was no different.

Yesterday was spent looking through the applicant pool, and I had found a few good candidates. I wanted to compile a final list by the end of the day and set interviews for next week. In another two or three weeks, it would be like Julia, Aaron, and Maurice had never even existed in the world of CIStech.

DELETE 10211291.11181514.1312118935.DSET1 PURGE

<Execution_Complete>

Elliot was just as intrigued by people’s willingness to forget a traumatic event. While Tuesday night’s text conversation lasted a long time, the subject matter stayed pretty light. But on Wednesday, we ended up texting a lot about people’s reactions to what went down.

I hadn’t been sure if Tuesday night’s texts were an anomaly until my phone buzzed at exactly 7:00 pm, the same time I had texted Elliot the night before. I actually laughed out loud a little, figuring Elliot was playing it safe by repeating a previously rewarding behavior pattern.

On Wednesday, I had again left work much earlier than usual so I could head uptown to meet my father. He had asked me weeks ago to attend a benefit with him, and I had almost forgotten about it until he called to remind me in the morning. I used my lunch hour to run home and grab a dress and a pair of shoes. I was really looking forward to seeing Dad because I wanted to decompress—if there was anyone in the world I could vent my feelings to, it was him.

When he caught me smiling at my phone and trying to sneak a text without appearing rude, he told me to have Edwin, his driver, take me home and come back for him later.

“I love you, Dad,” I said as he hugged me tight.

“I want to meet the young man who makes you smile like that, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled at my dad’s good intention.

“If only it were that simple,” I said as the elevator doors opened.

He put his hands in his pockets and gave me a long look as the doors closed. I knew he worried I worked too much and abandoning my entire family over Memorial Day weekend did not alleviate his concern one bit. Nor did it help when I finally explained the work emergency that pulled me away.

But for the second night in a row, I found myself texting until my eyes blurred. When Elliot and I said good night, I set my alarm and immediately fell asleep, something that rarely ever happened. I felt like I could breathe freely again. Elliot didn’t seem to be harboring any ill feelings about being reprimanded, so when he and I ended up running into each other in the lobby on Thursday morning, I smiled brightly when I saw him.

We said our bland good mornings as we got on the elevator, then I asked if he had any plans for after work. When he said no, I pulled out my phone and texted him to ask if he wanted to come over.

He glanced at the other people in the elevator who were staring sleepily at the buttons of the passing floors and gave me a tiny smile before nodding yes.

I smiled back and as the elevator doors opened on our floor, he stood back to let me exit before he hurried out and grabbed the door to the office. I thanked him and we went our separate ways for the workday.

Around quitting time, there was a light tap on my door frame, and I looked up to see Elliot, his eyes alert, scanning over the room and not quite willing to focus on me yet.

“Hey—come in,” I said, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face at the sight of him.

He shuffled in, his hands thrust in his pockets.

“I need to run an errand. Will you be here . . . or should I . . .” Elliot trailed off as his eyes desperately searched mine, his own mind clearly wondering if he had imagined our conversation in the elevator.

“I’m planning on working until around 7. Do you just want to meet at that deli on Platt around 7:15? We can get a bite to eat there, then head back to my place?”

“Sure,” Elliot said in his trademark monotone, immediately turning on his heel and exiting my office.

I just shook my head and chuckled, thinking, Sure, Dad. Meet my painfully awkward boyfriend, Elliot.

Boyfriend.

My mouth went dry as indecision began to beat its ugly staccato within my mind.  

What did I really want?

Even more difficult to answer, what did Elliot really want?

A kiss in a heated moment was a lot less demanding of someone than asking them to be with you. And it was Elliot—did he even date? Despite all of our after-work conversations, we never really talked about romantic interests. It just wasn’t something that came up.

I continued to plug away at my analytics, hoping to drown out my thoughts about Elliot. I was about to see him outside of work again, and I would just have to test the waters, which was a scary prospect. If I pushed and Elliot wasn’t ready, I could knock over the foundation we had been so carefully building.

* * * * *

Elliot was waiting for me at the deli, so we grabbed a quiet, quick bite. By the time we reached my apartment and Elliot was standing in my entryway, shucking off his backpack, it was about 8:15 pm.

After he slid off his backpack, he bent to rummage around, and he pulled out my Columbia t-shirt.

I shook my head no.

“Keep it. I like knowing you have something of mine and that maybe, just maybe, you’re wearing it,” I said with a flirty grin.

“Okay,” Elliot said with a shrug as he stuffed the shirt back into his bag.

“Besides. You look good in white,” I said, knowing I couldn’t be deterred by one ignored comment. Elliot was wicked smart and could read people, but that ability seemed to diminish as he got closer to someone. I wondered if maybe that was why he kept his distance from most people—it made him feel too vulnerable.

Elliot looked at me, clearly determining whether or not I was joking.

“And you say I can’t take a compliment,” I huffed.

“You can’t,” Elliot said, seizing the shift in the conversation that would allow him to have the upper hand. “Your legs look good in that skirt,” he said as his eyes looked at me from top to bottom.

I narrowed my own eyes and replied, “Now see. I don’t know if you mean that or if you said it just to get me to say I don’t think it’s genuine, thus proving your point.”

Elliot chuckled. “Point proven. You can’t take a compliment.”

“Such an ass,” I said, smiling. “I should take back my meticulously planned evening.”

“Planned? So, this wasn’t just a random invitation?”

“God no. I have to mentally prepare for all my interactions with you,” I blurted out before realizing how terrible that sounded.

Sometimes it really was a blessing Elliot thought so much before he spoke so I could retract my foot-in-mouth statement, but unfortunately, his face was an open book. I could see the beginnings of hurt twist his features, so I rushed an explanation.  

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just in an ‘I think about you a lot’ way. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have you look at me kinda like you’re looking at me now. Okay?”

Elliot’s brows contracted before he visibly turned his face back into an unreadable mask. It was remarkable to watch—like he just flipped a switch and turned off his emotion.

He nodded, but I could tell he already assigned a negative meaning to my words. I hadn’t meant it that way, but it was exhausting interacting with him at times. I still felt like I was taking one step forward, creeping along nicely, and then boom. I scared him and he bolted and we were ten steps behind where we started.

At least my indecision about pursuing a relationship with him was pretty damn warranted.

“I’m going to change,” I said. “It’s hot as fuck outside, so you may want to put on my t-shirt if you’re not wearing one under your dress shirt.”

“We’re going outside?”

“Yup!” I said, shooting him a grin.

Elliot looked at me with suspicion, but I shook my head and took off down the hall toward my bedroom. I dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, and I slid into some flip-flops. I pulled my hair up, knowing it wouldn’t survive any more time than it already had outdoors.

I walked back out to the living room, but Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I had just enough time to wonder if I really had scared him off before he emerged from the bathroom wearing tight black jeans and my white Columbia t-shirt.

“After last Friday, I decided to keep a change of clothes in my backpack.”

“Smart,” I said, eyeing the way his jeans clung to his thighs before sliding my eyes up to his face to appreciate how the tan tone of his skin was emphasized next to the white cotton of my t-shirt.

“Can I have another clue? I don’t really like surprises.”

“Mmmmm, no,” I said, enjoying my facetiousness. “Although, I did give you a clue earlier this week.”

Elliot’s eyes moved around my apartment as he thought back, and then, his face lit up.

“S’mores,” he said with a tiny timbre of excitement in his tone as his eyes connected with mine.

“Clever kitten,” I said as I started pulling out the supplies we had bought over the weekend.

“They won’t be as good as they’d be over a real bonfire, but a charcoal grill will serve the purpose.”

We headed up to the rooftop, which was delightfully empty given there was no special occasion and the work week was still droning on. I used my key to get out the charcoal grill’s supplies from the storage on the roof.

Despite telling Elliot to sit on the couch and relax, he hovered, watching everything I did.

“And now we wait,” I said as I prodded the coals with my tongs, encouraging them to catch. “The more they burn down, the better the taste.”

I plopped on the white couch and looked toward the setting sun. Elliot joined me and we slowly built up to a steady conversation. Away from people and when he was comfortable, Elliot talked a lot. It was almost comical to think of the juxtaposition housed within his lithe little body—it was like two people lived inside of him, one of them plagued by insecurities, and the other, just a normal guy, or rather, a guy who could just about pass for normal if it weren’t for his intellect.

Elliot wasn’t just knowledgeable about computers. He kept up with the news. He had keen insights about society. And he even liked to read the classics, or really just about any book he got his hands on.  

But work was the easiest and safest topic for both of us since that was the baseline for our friendship. I finally asked Elliot how he was doing as the dust began to settle, eager to hear his thoughts in person instead of from behind the safety of a screen.

“It’s weird,” Elliot began before he broke eye contact to gather his thoughts. “People are nicer to me, or at least they seem to be going out of their way to talk to me.”

“Colin is treating you alright?” I asked, curious if he was going to be an asshole about the whole thing.

“It was him, wasn’t it? He insisted on the letter,” Elliot finished with a statement, not a question.

I was quiet for a moment, warring with myself about whether I should say anything or not. It was an HR issue, and those could be tricky, but who would Elliot tell? What damage could come from talking to the one guy who was never going to tell anyone anything?

“I know you would never say anything, but I have to say this to make myself feel better—you can’t repeat anything I say about the . . . incident.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows at me and nodded.

“Yes, it was Colin. He’s kind of a “bro,” I explained, my hands rising to make quote marks in the air. “And since you’re totally not that kind of guy, he has no even ground with you—you’re smarter than him and he can’t deal with that.”

“What makes you describe him as a “bro?” Elliot said, imitating my earlier air-quotes.

“Mmm . . . he loves every sport, plays basketball with some of the guys in the company on Saturdays. He has that arrogance about him, that unwarranted arrogance that a guy who enjoys showing off just how much of a guy he is has. He used to run every day before work and he’d come upstairs all sweaty—and I mean sweaty as in looking like he’d just gone swimming sweaty—and he’d just go “freshen up” in his office. It grossed me out so much I flat-out offered to comp him if he took time to shower at the gym and was late for work. After that, he didn’t come to work sweaty anymore. Don’t get me wrong—woo! Fitness! But gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose just remembering what he looked like and smelled like.

“Every sport?”

“As far as I know—I do think he has season tickets to the Knicks, though. When he first started working for us, he asked me to a game,” I said, volunteering the information to see what Elliot would do with it.

Nothing, of course.

“I did notice he has a Mets pennant in his office,” Elliot said, more to himself than to me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Like I said, he’s a dude. Or he at least wants everyone to know he’s a dude.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No. And I think that’s why he’s been extra Colin-y lately. He has a son with his ex.”

“What’s his name?” Elliot asked, quickly.

“You’re asking a lot from me because I don’t typically store information that has no relevance to myself. It’s something like Chris or Chuck or Chad?”

Elliot nodded.

“Would you want him to go—I mean, if you had a choice? Would you want Colin to leave CIStech?”

I chewed at my bottom lip a little, really considering Elliot’s question.

“I don’t know. That’s a hard question to answer. What I can tell you is that I wish I could clone JaLeah. She’s just a superfreak of an awesome person. I’ve never really met anyone as smart and dynamic as she is—she just makes everyone feel so welcome.”

“I think she’s funny,” Elliot said.

“Really?” I said smiling and arching my brow. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“I just wouldn’t have thought you would think about something like that.”

“That’s kind of insulting,” Elliot said, his voice flat and unreadable. “I do enjoy humor now and then.”

I shook my head and chuckled.

“See? I keep learning new things about you?”

“You told me I intrigued you, and that you have to figure out people who intrigue you.”

I reached out and poked at Elliot’s thigh, gently prodding.

“Is there a recording device you’re using to play back every conversation we’ve ever had?”

“I listen,” Elliot said, smiling. “Especially when people intrigue me.”

I looked at Elliot and there was a smile in his eyes even though there wasn’t one on his lips. I felt like I could drown in his grey, stormy eyes when they sparkled, housing the mischief he never really let anyone see.

Our eyes locked, intensely focused on one another for a long enough time that it made me look away, almost embarrassed. I felt sure he could see my interest, naked and wanting before him, but he just didn’t make a move—either to look away or to move closer. Just . . . nothing.

“Alright—let’s get our smores prepped,” I said, getting up to reach for the bag of groceries on the table.

As the sun set and the lights on the rooftop flickered on, Elliot and I made our smores. We laughed, well I laughed, especially when he caught his marshmallow on fire and waved the toaster fork causing the marshmallow to propel into one of the rooftop trees. He looked like a dark-haired version of Denis the Menace, and I had tears in my eyes at the expression of horror on Elliot’s face as his marshmallow went sailing.

I positioned his fork over the coals for the next round and he attentively turned the marshmallow, refusing to even take his eyes off of it until it was perfectly browned on all sides.

“Your hands are healing quickly,” I commented.

“Thanks to you,” Elliot said sheepishly, shooting me a quick smile before returning his gaze to his marshmallow.

After we ate our fill of s’mores, we got comfy on the couch as we waited for the charcoal to burn down until it was safe to leave for the night.

We didn’t talk as much, but relaxed, enjoying each other’s presence, and I sat in the middle instead of on the end so I could test the waters, occasionally brushing a light touch to Elliot’s jeans or his bare arm, and he even reciprocated some of those furtive touches as he poked fun at me, teasing me for my inability to keep the plots of all three of the Back to the Future movies straight.

Eventually I sighed, knowing it was getting late and I didn’t want Elliot getting back to his neighborhood too late. We gathered up the left-over groceries and I shouldered my tote bag.

We said goodbye in my doorway, and Elliot moved in to hug me tight. We lingered for a moment, but he moved away and quickly pressed the elevator button. I watched him get on and we waved goodnight, a small smile ghosting across his lips as the doors closed.

I shut the door to my apartment and leaned back, thunking my head against it.

Purgatory. I was stuck in indecision-purgatory. Elliot was never, ever going to make the first move. If I wanted our relationship to shift, I’d have to do it, but it felt wrong. I was the one in the position of power. It would make more sense if Elliot made the first move so I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of him.

Why did this have to be so fucking complicated?

* * * * *

The next two weeks proceeded much in the same fashion. Elliot and I texted nightly, and once or twice a week, I’d invite him over. We’d come dangerously close to kissing, but then he’d just leave.

I dropped as many hints as I could, especially about workplace romances. I talked about how Miles (my boss) and Jayne (my secretary) had gotten together, hoping Elliot would pick up on the comparison.

If he did, he never said a word.

So, my fear of losing him as a friend left me to continue writhing in indecision. I loved how close Elliot and I were getting, and if I scared him by moving too quickly, I’d lose the first good friend I’d made in a long time.

And what was really funny was that I was certain if I talked to Elliot about this, he’d get it. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Little did I know, fate was about to lend a hand; it was just too bad that fate was such a fucking bitch.

* * * * *

“You can’t be serious!” I laughed, finishing the last of my drink.

JaLeah nodded with emphasis, and we all burst into a fresh round of laughter.

Friday happy hours were always a fun way to wind down from the work week. We had a nice mix of people who went regularly and it was well known I always bought the first two rounds. People like Miles, singularly focused climbers, always underestimated the power of building relationships. That was one of the reasons why what happened with Elliot had stuck with me—I thought I had a better team than that.

People did seem to be closer now, more inclusive. There were several new faces at tonight’s gathering, and as I listened to the chatter around me, my thoughts drifted to one particularly attractive face that was not here. People’s voices became background noise as I thought about Elliot and I felt myself wishing he were here. I knew he’d hate every second of it, but he really was, albeit inadvertently, the reason for tonight’s greater sense of comradery.  

Sometimes, I truly did believe the universe revolved around me, but only so it could fuck me over for one hell of a laugh. Just as I was a million thoughts deep into Elliot, he walked in through the door, close on the heels of Sarah, his hands shoved in his pockets. When he got inside, his big eyes found mine almost immediately and as I coughed, choking a little on my drink, JaLeah looked to see what distracted me.

Her grin was wolfish.

“Don’t say it,” I warned, my voice low so as not to draw the attention of the others at our high-top table.

“I cannot believe he came,” JaLeah said, drawing attention because even when she believed she was whispering, she never was.

“Holy shit—Elliot’s here,” someone said from a few seats down.

“Don’t make a big deal,” I said in their direction as I watched Sarah and Elliot make their way across the bar to our tables.

Elliot ran a hand through his hair as his eyes glanced around as if he were checking for exits. More than a few eyes gave him a once over as he approached and I felt a pull of jealousy. Logically, I knew people were looking at him more out of curiosity than anything else, but logic wasn’t my forte when it came to Elliot Alderson.  

“Hey, everyone!” Sarah said, her smile bright and a bit nervous. “Look who I dragged out.”

Elliot gave the table a small smile as people said hello and a few who were a few drinks in gave a little whoop, which seemed to startle the small smile off of Elliot’s face.

JaLeah almost knocked me off my stool as she pushed me to stand.

“Elliot’s new, so he doesn’t know to cash in on Y/N’s generosity yet. Sarah—you can take my seat. What are you drinking?

“Gin and tonic, please!”

“You got it,” JaLeah said as she pushed Elliot and I toward the bar.

“Hey,” I said, once we were standing at the bar, our bodies pressed together thanks to the crowd.

“Hey,” Elliot said, his voice barely audible as he rested his hands on the edge of the bar, his fingers pressing into the hard surface.

“What can I get you to drink? I always buy the first two rounds for anyone at CIStech who shows up.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka, cran. You want that?”

“Sure,” Elliot said, his eyes still refusing to settle on any one thing.

I reached over and rested my hand on his forearm.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being here?”

“Guess you can’t hold my hand all night this time,” Elliot said as his eyes flicked to mine.

I laughed.

“No, I suppose not. But, if you sit next to me, I’ll see what I can do,” I said as I winked at him.

Elliot smiled softly.

I put our drinks on my tab, along with Sarah’s. JaLeah had already dropped off Sarah’s drink and came back to say she was pirating the corner booth because our table was full and a few more people just showed up.

We followed JaLeah and I let Elliot scoot in before me. We crammed in and I shot Elliot a smirk as our bodies were forced to press nearer to each other. Elliot’s hand was fiddling with his drink until I reached down to pinch lightly at his outer thigh. His hand shot under the table and I gave it a squeeze before shooting him another look. He genuinely smiled as he realized we could hold hands without alerting anyone to our activities, except maybe JaLeah, but I wasn’t worried about her since she knew how I felt about Elliot without me ever having said a word.

As it turned out, the folks who joined us in our booth were good company. JaLeah kept the conversation light and fun, like always, and I could even feel the vibrations of Elliot’s chuckles on occasion.

“You know, JaLeah,” I began. “Elliot thinks you’re quite funny.”

JaLeah raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s about time people truly appreciated my wit, so thank you, baby.”

Elliot grinned at her, either because he’d had a few drinks or because he genuinely liked JaLeah, and said, “You could be a character in an Oscar Wilde play.”

The table laughed and one of the tech’s jumped on the reference to talk about the new play based on Wilde’s life that had just opened.

I leaned over, my lips dangerously close to Elliot’s ear, and said, “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Elliot’s pinky wrapped around my own and squeezed, and I gave him a sweet smile before turning back to the others.

It was one of those nights when people just seemed to be having a great time. We ordered appetizers. The waitress kept our drinks filled. The conversation never lulled, and bursts of laughter kept peppering the air. Before any of us knew it, it was 9:00 and a few people at our table started checking their phones with more frequency.

“Shit—I forgot my wife’s parents were in town. She’s gonna kill me,” Travis, one of JaLeah’s techs said.

“I told my boyfriend I’d be home an hour ago,” another tech said, giggling.

“It’s been a minute since we’ve had such a good night out,” JaLeah said. “See, Elliot? You should come more often.”

“It was cool to hang out,” Travis said. “You’re usually so intense at work—kinda like the big boss,” Travis finished with a chuckle.

I could feel Elliot’s fingers brush against mine. We had been playing this touching, not really, sometimes definitely, game all night and I was wet. I was appalled at myself for being so turned on just by proximity, but I couldn’t stop thinking what if this were normal? What if Elliot were mine? What if we went home together at the end of the night?

“There’s nothing wrong with taking work seriously,” I said, smiling. “That’s why I am the big boss.”

Travis and the others laughed.

We settled our bills and said our goodnights, but I noticed Sarah lingering at the door, clearly waiting for Elliot.

“I think we take the same line home,” she said smiling up at him as we reached her.

Elliot’s hands found their way into his pockets, the material of his dress shirt bunching a bit as he shoved them in.

“I take the 6,” Elliot stated, tension creeping into his voice.

JaLeah was giving out hugs like candy on Halloween, and I laughed to myself. She was such an extrovert, and I appreciated her energy on nights like this. The others slowly went in their separate directions as Elliot stayed close by, Sarah still talking.

“Great! We can ride together. It’s nice to have someone to talk to on the train at night. I forgot my earbuds this morning,” she said, chattering happily.

“Actually, Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, come back to my place...” Elliot said, his eyes focused intensely on mine.

I could feel JaLeah and Sarah, damn near open-mouthed and watching this exchange. I felt like I might throw up on my shoes for a minute and I was thankful the street was dark because I knew there was a blush coloring my cheeks. I thought quickly, and shook my head, my words tumbling out of my mouth.

“Oh! That bug—that bug you told me about. You wanted me to run the analytics on it. I’ll send you the pin for Team Viewer and we can do it this weekend—I gotta get home. Taking care of my neighbor’s cat. Probably out of food. Have a good night!” I said, grinning like a madwoman and telling myself that Elliot did not look like I just kicked him in the face.  

I waved to the three of them and took off for my train, thankful it was in the opposite direction. I turned around to see Elliot and Sarah headed in the same direction. I almost tripped over my own foot as JaLeah jumped up and down and mouthed “What the fuck, Y/N?! What the fuck?!”

I shook my head, turned around, and doubled my steps. I felt sick to my stomach. Fate had just laid an opportunity bare, spread eagle on the floor, and I walked away.

By the time I jumped onto my train and collapsed into a seat, I was fighting back tears. The look on Elliot’s face haunted me. I really, really hurt him—and I wasn’t sure I could fix it this time.

[kk095]

Happy Hour

I felt a bit creative tonight, so here's what I came up with. The story may need some additional tweaking, so bear with me a bit! I hope everyone likes it and feedback/constructive criticism is appreciated 🙂

*****

Most people like to go to the bar every now and then to have a few drinks to unwind a bit after a long day at work. However, some people lack control over their drinking and take things a bit too far. Their lack of control in this case resulted in the death of our latest patient.

The patient's name was Danielle “Dani” Mitchell. She was a bartender at a local neighborhood bar who was 28 years, had pin straight blonde hair just past her shoulders, beautiful hazel eyes, a near perfect suntan, was 5’6 and average build with perky, natural breasts, had a bright, colorful tattoo sleeve on her left arm, and had an engaging, jovial personality, but was a bit rough around the edges at times due to the nature of her job.

Things started off pretty mundane for Dani that evening. She was making drinks and chatting up some of the bar's regulars about the day's events. About an hour into her shift, a new customer came in. He was a tall, bald, muscular white man in his mid 30s with a scorpion tattoo on her right upper arm. He ordered a lot to drink in a short time. He was a nasty drunk with a bellicose demeanor, causing trouble amongst the other bar patrons. The man sitting next to him started to grow a bit frustrated. “You can't just come in here and start shit with us!” he exclaimed. “so what're you gonna do about it?!” the new customer said in response, challenging the man's assertiveness. The scene became more and more tense by the second until the 2 grown men started shoving each other. Dani hurried around the other side of the bar, trying to get to the men before serious blows were delivered. This wasn't Dani’s first bar fight under her watch, but little did she know, it would be her last. While trying to break up the skirmish, the new customer pulled out a pocket knife and attempted to stab his opponent. However, Dani was the recipient of the knife's blade since she got in between the men, attempting to break up their drunken quarrel.

Dani felt something touch her back, just to the right of her left shoulderblade. It was hard tap with a bit of pressure. She initially thought it was from one of the men throwing a punch, but quickly realized the severity of the situation once she turned her head. She saw the new customer who started the disagreement with their right arm extended, holding a pocket knife with a bloody tip. He had a look of horrified bewilderment on his face, realizing he had made a life-changing mistake. Dani realized the back side of her dark grey tank top was beginning to become soaked in her own blood.

One of the other bartenders called 911 right away. Dani reached for her back with her left hand. She felt warm wetness and drew her hand back quickly. The palms and fingers of her left hand were saturated in a significant accumulation of blood. Dani began breathing heavily, becoming panicked by the shocking turn of events. The man with the knife quickly sprinted out of the bar without paying his tab; but a tip was the least of Dani's concerns at this point. One of Dani's coworkers dashed over to her with a large clump of paper towels, attempting to plug up the gaping wound in her upper left back with them. The paper towels did very little to stop the surge of blood that emerged from Dani's back.

Dani began to feel dizzy and cold within the first few minutes of her injury. She shivered a bit while her coworker continued applying pressure to the knife wound. A small crowd began to gather around Dani and her coworker, with a few additional 911 calls being made from customers attempting to expedite the first responders’ arrival.

Her symptoms worsened shortly before EMS arrived. Dani had trouble remaining conscious, sitting in a moderate sized pool of her own blood. Dani peed herself (a sign of severe shock and rapid blood loss), sickening some of the members of the small, but nosey crowd around her.

Despite a slight delay, emergency personnel appeared on scene. The police officers dispersed the small crowd to give the medics room to work. When EMS got to Dani, she was in and out of consciousness, sitting on the floor up against the bar counter in a small puddle of her own blood. The paramedics removed Dani's top, exposing her black bra and tan body, with a belly button piercing. Dani was tachypneic and barely conscious. One of the medics leaned her forward, identifying a 2.6cm stab wound in the interscapular space, but missing the spine and slightly closer to the left side of the back.

Based on the amount of blood loss, the medics were able to deduce that Dani had a major hemorrhage actively wreaking havoc. “let's get 2 large bore IVs set up. Get me a bag of lactate and 1 of codeine” ordered the lead paramedic, who was searching for a vein in Dani's left arm. After getting both IVs set up (1 in each arm), a bag of ringer's lactate was hung to initiate fluid resuscitation, and a single dose of codeine was given to help with pain management since Dani lingered in a semi-conscious state. “she tore something major in there. We gotta get her out of here. Tell the ER our ETA is 5 minutes.” Stated the other paramedic. Dani was placed on a stretcher, partially sat up, and hastily wheeled out of the bar, into the ambulance which sat in the parking lot nearby.

Once in the ambulance, the paramedics set up the bartender on a portable heart monitor. Dani's vital signs were: BP: 87/60, heart rate: 119 bpm, pulse ox: 94%. An oxygen mask was placed on the patient to help ameliorate some of her respiratory symptoms, but her eyes rolled backwards every few seconds. Dani was breathing rapidly, but each breath was shallow and inefficient. “the knife might've nicked her left lung. Should we do a needle decompression?” asked the younger medic to the lead medic. The lead medic placed their stethoscope up against the front side of Dani's chest. They heard distant, raspy breath sounds on the left side, triggering immediate concern. “diminished breath sounds on the left. Good call!” said the medic in praise of the young medic's observation. “let's do a needle decompression” ordered the lead paramedic after a brief pause.

A 14 gauge lancet was procured by one of the medics as the ambulance sped towards the ER. Dani was lowered to a supine position on the stretcher and the 2nd medic poked their bony fingers along Dani's upper left chest, trying to locate the 2nd intercostal space. After the position was accurately located, the area was sterilized and the thick beveled lancet was quickly placed into Dani's 2nd intercostal space. A popping, hissing sound was heard when the needle reached the correct depth. Air rushed out of the hull of the lancet and Dani groaned, feeling a pressurized pinching sensation in her chest. Dani's pulse ox increased a bit after the needle decompression, but her blood pressure and heart rate remained unstable, suggesting she sustained more than a collapsed lung.

Dani remained hemodynamically unstable for the rest of the ambulance ride, but remained semi-conscious with a pulse. She groaned and mumbled every 30 seconds or so. Even though she wasn't saying anything audible while mumbling, the medics knew Dani was trying to beg them to save her life. Dani knew she was in grave danger, and was well aware she was walking a fine line between life and death.

Upon arrival at the ER, Dani's condition worsened slightly. Her blood pressure lowered a bit and her heart rate went into the 120s. Dani's eyes rolled retrally in her head, while hectically trying to remain awake. The medics updated the trauma team while pushing the gurney through the ERs main corridors into the allocated trauma bay.

Dani was lifted onto the table once she was in the trauma room. The nurses removed her jeans, shoes, socks, and the rest of her clothes, stripping the 28 year old completely nude in a room full of strangers. The blanket that was on top of the medic's gurney now laid on the floor of the ER, soaked in dark, warm blood, fresh from Dani's stab wound. The massive transfusion protocol was started, giving Dani 4 units of B-positive blood since that's all they had due to a national shortage of donated blood, 1500 units of Rhogam, 2 units of platelets, and 2 units of FFP.

Shortly after arrival, Dani went unconscious. At that point, the trauma team decided to intubate her in order to keep her airway intact. A 7.5 ET tube was placed into her airway and held in place with a blue tube holder, with a light blue ambu bag being attached after the procedure. Her oxygen saturation was only at 95% despite the needle decompression and the intubation, so a chest x ray and echocardiogram were ordered. The chest x ray showed a collapsed lung and possible pulmonary laceration on the left side. The echocardiogram showed cardiac tamponade, which surprised the trauma team. Based on the chest x ray, it appeared the lining of the left lung was lacerated by the knife. Because of that, friction increased during respiration, causing a pinching, burning sensation during breathing. Air leaked from the left lung and became trapped in the torn segment of Dani's left lung, and began seeping into her chest cavity. The needle decompression was simply a band-aid for this type of injury, so a left sided chest tube was ordered by the attending physician.

The chest tube was placed by the trauma team, aspirating a significant volume of air from her chest cavity. Her pulse ox increased a bit, becoming borderline normal, but she still remained hemodynamically unstable due to cardiac tamponade. The likely culprit was the knife penetrating the posterior aspect of Dani's heart.

Since cardiac tamponade was still a present issue, the trauma team made an unconventional move. They decided to perform a percutaneous balloon pericardiotomy in the emergency department. This is a procedure typically reserved for the operating room or interventional radiology suite to alleviate excess fluid in the sac around the heart. The procedure involves the placement of a needle into the chest wall, and into the lining of the heart. Once the needle is in place, a catheter with a small inflatable device (balloon) is navigated through the body of the needle, into the bevel, and into the lining of the heart. Repeated inflation of the balloon causes blood/fluid to drain into the catheter, removing the blood from the pericardium and improving cardiovascular function under ideal circumstances.

The procedure drained significant amounts of thick, coagulated blood. The first attempt didn't improve cardiac function; the echocardiogram still showed tamponade. The 2nd go-around withdrew fresh, dark colored blood. This dark, fresh blood began leaking out of the catheter, becoming deposited all over Dani's bare chest. The bleeding was profuse, which was a sign of a major hemorrhage. “get me a thoracotomy tray. We have to get to the bottom of this” ordered the attending ER physician.

Betadine was splashed all over Dani's chest in preparation of the procedure while the procedure's equipment was withdrawn. The doctor decided to access Dani's chest via a left anterolateral thoracotomy. A large cut was made in her anterior chest wall starting just millimeters to the left of her sternum, extending across the left side of her chest just under her perky left breast, and ending near the left armpit. In the following minute or so, Dani's chest was cracked open.

Her heart could be seen beating at a hurried pace. Luckily, no air or blood rushed out of Dani's chest upon entering it. A clamp was placed on the hilum of the left lung since there was sufficient evidence of a pulmonary laceration. Once the clamp was placed, the pericardium was incised so the tamponade could be released.

The line of sight became flooded with copious amounts of blood after the pericardium was incised. Suction was applied to the area, but blood began leaking out of Dani's chest cavity, situating itself on her bare chest, the table, and the floor below. A drain was placed in the pericardium, but it did little to better the situation. A 2nd chest tube was placed since the bleed was significant.

Blood shot out of the tube, spattering on the gown of one of the trauma doctors and onto the floor below. The heart monitors began chirping since Dani's cardiac function decreased rapidly from the hemorrhage. The trauma team knew there was a bleed in the back of Dani's heart, but the exact spot remained a mystery to them.

During the initial search for the mystery wound, Dani became pulseless, going into V-Fib. Her heart spasmed and trembled inside her now exposed chest cavity. One of the residents wrapped their hands around the fidgeting organ and began manually pumping it, almost as if they were demonstrating to the heart how to do its own job. Epinephrine and atropine were pushed into Dani's IV to stimulate positive cardiac activity. In the meantime, the internal defibrillator paddles were called for. The large, circular, spoon shaped paddles were charged to 20j and placed around each side of Dani's heart. In a moment's notice, everyone backed away from the table in anticipation of the impending shock.

A dull, wet thump was heard as the dose of electricity was sent directly into Dani's twitching heart. The shock failed to restore a normal rhythm, so internal massage was resumed and the internal paddles were recharged to 30j. A high pitched, electrical hum was heard while the internal paddles were being charged. A wet, clumpy sound was audible during this cycle of internal compressions.

Seconds later, the internal paddles were placed back into the blonde's chest and shock #2 was delivered. Dani's feet twitched and kicked around a bit from the increased strength of the shock, showing off a few thick, meaty wrinkles in the soles of her feet.

The 2nd shock didn't convert Dani to sinus rhythm, so the code ensued. A vascular clamp was placed on her aorta near the diaphragm to redirect additional bloodflow back to the heart in an attempt to keep the atria and ventricles filled. The blood soaked internal paddles were recharged to 30j and placed back into the bartender’s chest, delivering the 3rd shock. A dull, wet thunk was heard as her torso flopped abruptly on the trauma room table. Shock #3 sent Dani into PEA, so internal massage continued.

A second dose of epi and atropine were given, and the first dose of sodium bicarbonate was pushed after a short while of no improvement. The trauma team vigorously massaged Dani's weakly fidgeting heart, but it took yet another round of drugs and 4 and a half minutes worth of internal compressions to get her back to V-Fib.

Finally, the paddles were charged to 30j and the 4th shock of the code was promptly delivered. Dani's cold, limp body jolted on the table, but she remained in dire condition upon returning to her previous position. V-Fib still raced across the EKG screen, so the internal paddles were requested for the 5th time in this code. The internal paddles delivered a quick, controlled dose of electricity back into Dani's heart. The dying organ wobbled and shuddered for a few seconds before coming to a complete stop, appearing as if someone hit a metaphysical pause button, drawing her heart to a cadence. The trauma team frantically resumed internal compressions and continued the search for the unknown wound in the back of her heart.

Dani's heart sat stagnant and motionless as it was manually pumped to no avail by the ER team. The trauma team gave her 1 more dose of drugs and continued massaging her eerily still heart for another 5 minutes. The trauma team's efforts failed to produce cardiac activity, so the code was terminated, with time of death being called at 7:03pm after a prolonged battle to save the young bartender’s life.

The ambu bag was detached and the flatlined monitors were turned off. The nurses removed equipment from Dani's lifeless body while her heart sat completely still inside her exposed chest cavity. Once the nurses completed their job, a cover was placed over Dani's body and a toe tag was placed on the big toe of Dani's left foot.

Dani's autopsy revealed that she died from a laceration to the coronary sinus. The coronary sinus is a large vein present in the posterior portion of the heart of all primates, and is responsible for draining oxygen-poor blood in the myocardium. Injuries to this vascular structure are uncommon, but are lethal, causing death in a vast majority of patients, especially when combined with other injuries.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 30

Author’s notes: Let’s keep it going, kids! Gotta love these time jumps amiright

Chapter 30

~Four months later~

(Vergil POV)

To say the son of Sparda was growing tired of fighting was an understatement.

He didn’t quite know why he was still down in hell with Dante, battling each other and demons alike hour after hour, day by day. The repetition had long grown tedious, numbing even. But there he was, slashing at repulsive creatures with the Yamato until the ground ran red with their blood. He thought taking this time reflect would perhaps help settle his head and give himself the time to gather back into who he was before. Distancing, coping. Those memories hung over him every moment, and his concerns only continued when his actions didn’t help in the slightest bit. The repetition of fighting was no longer a distraction due to how easy and mindless it was, and that left him open to thinking of the very things he had stayed down in Hell to avoid.

Things like you. And Nero. And the destruction of Redgrave city.

To have a child of flesh and blood was still startling to him, unthinkable. And to make matters worse, his memory was spotty of the moment Nero was conceived to begin with--was it due to his time as Nelo Angelo that those memories were faint? He was certain it had to be the case, because his time in Fortuna was spotty at best, flickering with images that told him nothing of who the boy’s mother was. Regardless, Dante had insisted it was so, as much as that was worth. But there was no denying the Yamato hidden inside Nero’s arm, ripped off by Vergil himself. He could remember that moment well at least, seeing it in a peculiar vision now that he knew of who Nero was.

Was that guilt? Perhaps, if he took the time to actually analyze the emotion. Which he stubbornly refused to do so. Where Nero was concerned he was uncertain at best, and downright baffled at most--taking the time to pick apart what he was feeling or should be feeling was just not something within his realm of capabilities. He was no father, no parent, and it was far too late to even begin thinking of trying to be so. But the white-haired boy had made it a point to push the issue, even calling him father when they had clashed months earlier. Vergil was unsure how that made him feel as well, it felt neither wrong nor correct. And that all in itself was a nuisance probing his already scattered mind.

And you were a far bigger issue.

He had hoped taking the time to blow off some steam, ripping apart demons and working his body to the point of exhaustion would help him shake the emotions concerned with you. But as before, there was no such luck to be found. You were a cloud lingering in his head, fogging his senses and bringing an unbelievable sense of confusion and conflict. Maybe staying in hell would help muddy those memories, distancing him from them and making them seem less like his own?

No no, things were never that easy. You were ever present, the image of you staring at him with that expression of agony burned into his retinas. Even now, clashing swords with Dante for what had to be a hundredth time, Vergil was thinking about you--he could remember your taste on his tongue, the feeling of your hands stroking through his hair. His, or V’s? But V was him in a way, a part of him. And the more he tried to piece that together, the more blurred the disconnect became.

It was madness.

His focus waned again, feet stumbling to the side and giving Dante an opening to kick him back. Vergil let out a grunt, taking the blow to the chest and skidding into a kneeling position a few feet away. Damn it--again with this. Why wouldn’t his mind repair itself, let these things go? He spat blood out onto the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of the hand while meeting Dante’s exhausted gaze. Speaking of the annoying devil hunter, he hadn’t spoken a damn word about leaving in any of the days the spent fighting. Not a peep. He had taken fight after fight without complaint, aiding Vergil in the killing of demons with nothing but a smirk and the occasion joke and jibe. When was the last time Vergil spent so much time with his sibling? Surely back when they were kids, those memories or fighting, sparring, and playing seeming so foreign now.

His lack of complaint was baffling to the older male. Surely he was tiring of the fighting, of hell itself? Didn’t he have better things to do than sit there clashing swords for months at a time?

Dante let out a low, heavy sigh when Vergil stabbed the Yamato into the ground and sat back for another moment. A break of sorts, time for both of them to catch their breath. It was in moments like these that Vergil found his thoughts most muddled, flickering between memory after memory in an attempt to clean up the mess. Not like it was working, instead it was bringing forth new, lighter images to the surface. It was getting so bad now that the son of Sparda could directly recall the texture of your skin, how it felt to kiss you. And with those thoughts came emotions, ones that Vergil could not make heads or tales of. He worried about you--had Nero kept to his word, taking you to safety once he had left? Were you recovering from what happened in the Qliphoth?

Foolish. Foolish.

You deserve this, That voice in the back of his head hissed, growing louder with each passing day, If anyone deserves the title of fool, it is you. Go back to the human world and face what you have done to them, to her.

Vergil gritted his teeth, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and letting out a heavy sigh of annoyance. His head truly was a mess, filled with self-deprecating thoughts that refused to go away. In reality...he knew, deep down. Knew that staying in hell was his way of hiding, of running away from the situation waiting for him if he were to return. He refused to admit fear in regards to anything, but with this...the uncertainty was stifling, leaving him more anxious than he had felt in some time and hesitating in this position without moving forward. And that was not in his nature.

You are a fool. A fool. This is not about you, it’s about them! It’s--

“You’re gettin sloppy,” Dante clicked his tongue a few times, drawing Vergil out of his contemplation and making his grey eyes snap to attention. Dante was sprawled out on the ground, laying like he was in a bed at home without a care in the world, “You’ve lost the last three times we fought. Finally outta steam, you stubborn bastard?”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, letting out a snort of annoyance as he looked away from his brother, “Nonsense. I won at least one of those times, you’ve just gotten lucky.”

Damn him for being right. Vergil was getting sloppy in his distracted state, of that he was incredibly certain.

Dante laughed lightly, putting a hand to his unshaven face and rubbing it down to his chin with a groan, “Don’t you ever get tired of fighting, brother?” He tilted his head, glancing at Vergil with a searching gaze as he continued, “Four months down here, and you’re still chugging along. You look like shit.”

“Surely you jest,” Vergil scoffed, waving away his brothers words with a flick of his fingers. He refused to admit Dante was correct in any capacity, not in a million years “Are you in any position to tell me of how I appear? You’re repulsive.”

Dante rose a brow, lifting one of his arms and taking one disgusting, experimental sniff of his own armpit. Vergil resisted rolling his eyes, he really did, but to no avail. Especially when Dante scrunched up his face in disgust at what awaited his nostrils, letting out a little cough and immediately flopping the appendage back to the floor. Disgusting. He had always been that way, lacking in class and proper hygiene. Vergil could remember Dante playing in the mud when they were kids, bringing in filthy frogs to show their mother or handfuls of bugs. She hadn’t approved.

“Ya got me there,” Dante chortled in a strained tone, wincing a bit as he shifted again, “I definitely need a shower, but then again so do you. Got a whiff of you back there during our fight and hooo boy--you are ripe, buddy.”

On any normal day Vergil would have been aggravated by his words, tempted to unsheathe the Yamato and stab him for such a remark. But instead...he thought of you, of a moment shared that he didn’t recall before. The day was somehow clear to him, the image of you and himself walking through a sewer system below Redgrave. Your elbows were scraped, thigh highs torn in some places. We had fallen through the ground, had we not?

“I...It’s strange. I guess I just miss the warmth,” The memory flickered through his mind, showing you walking and playing with a strand of your hair while you spoke about why you were so fixated on taking a shower of your own, “Showers are very comforting--I like the feeling of lathering my hair and decompressing. I just...haven’t felt it in a while.”

Vergil felt his body stiffen, eyes drifting away from his brother again as he pushed the emotions back. That dull ache bloomed in his chest, hand reflexively lifting to rub at the spot as if it would somehow make it go away. There was no such success.

“...Perhaps.” He muttered, but completely refusing to confirm Dante’s claim in the same way he had. It would be more than degrading to smell himself.

Dante chuckled again, but fell quiet after that. Oddly enough, Vergil wished he would keep up his useless chatter. Anything was better than leaving his own mind to its devices, because they drifted back to you and his guilt over Nero without fail. Vergil himself was not good at coming up with discussions to keep with his sibling, and he certainly didn’t like to be the one to initiate them. If he had his way, these thoughts of his would be easily tamed and avoided, allowing him to move on without any complaint. Instead...it was under his skin, you were. And worse, bottling it up inside made him feel on edge, like a ticking bomb waiting to tick off. This was behold his comprehension skills, beyond anything he was used to.

If he was willing to be honest with himself, he might admit that he was...worried. About everything, edging toward being afraid to try and return. What would you look like now? Would there still be that hollow, agonized look in your eyes? Would Nero still gaze upon him with anger and hurt as well? Vergil didn’t want to think these things, they were driving him mad and making him irritable to boot. Too long in his life had he ignored his traumas, his haunting memories in an attempt to make himself numb to it all, cold. Unfeeling. And yet here he was, awash with uncertainties and whirling thoughts that seemingly didn’t belong to him. Or did they?

This is your punishment for what you have done.

“...So,” Dante’s quiet voice, sounding a lot more serious and uncharacteristic of him snapped Vergil to attention again. He turned back, seeing his younger sibling now sitting up and staring at him with steady, grayish-blue eyes. There was patience there mingling with concern, seeming far beyond Dante’s years as he asked his older twin, “When are you going to talk about it?”

Vergil felt his spine stiffen, knowing exactly what Dante was implying by those meaningful words alone. For a moment, disbelief passed through him, adding to the irritation as he held Dante’s gaze. There was no way he was that transparent, was there? He had kept his composure, fought and killed demons with skill and precision like always. There had been no indication that he was struggling other than the occasion slip up, but even then that could be contributed to exhaustion. But even that was a first for the surly man--he rarely tired, and even when he did it never tended to show or slow him down. There was a will inside of him, a need to keep going and pursue power and greater things.

Only now Vergil was feeling a bit...off. After fighting for four months it was to be expected, but this felt different from exhaustion. More like...well, he wasn’t sure what it was.

“There is nothing to talk about,” He quipped, brain shutting down any notion of discussing things so personal with his brother. The Yamato was back in his hand a moment later, fingers gripping the handle tightly as he went to rise to his feet, “If you want to babble on about things unimportant, that’s your choice.”

She isn’t unimportant! And neither is Nero!

Vergil gritted his teeth, putting a hand to the left side of his temple when a dull ache passed through. He felt at odds with his own head, emotions far too out of control and bouncing all over the place. Untethered, unsteady. This was not like him, but what could be done about it? Guilt, affections, worry...He had always tried to stifle such feelings before the spark could even grow, but now they were a raging inferno eclipsing everything else. Had splitting himself in two really effected him that much? There was no place for things for fear and uncertainty in the son of Sparda, he had always told himself that.

But...when did those things seem to stop mattering? He had changed.

Dante let out a light snort at his aggressive words, rolling his eyes and flopping back again, “Still too much of a coward to stand up and hear the music? Thought you had at least taken a little of that stick out of your ass.”

Vergil most certainly didn’t like being called a coward. Especially not by Dante.

His fingers twitched on the Yamato’s handle, sending a phantom blade shooting right at the prone man--which was easily deflected by him tiredly raising his own sword. Honestly Vergil would have mustered more of an attack, but...he was more exhausted than he cared to admit.

“You shouldn’t be so presumptuous, brother,” The word was spat mockingly, Vergil’s bad mood tripling as he glared at the younger of the two, “There is nothing to speak of, so drop the subject or--”

“Oh come off it, Vergil!” Dante cut him off, letting out an exhausted groan as he sat up again. He wasn’t glaring as his brother expected him to be, but somehow that steady look of understanding was even worse, “You’ve been getting more and more off since we came down here. How long are you going to keep running away, hiding in hell away from your problems? That’s all this is, isn’t it?” He gestured broadly around, taking in all the dead bodies of disintegrating demons and slice marks from the Yamato, “A distraction, and a shitty one at that. You just don’t know how to handle anything--just like when we were kids.”

He’s right. You are a coward.

That clicked Vergil’s anger back into overdrive, flipping himself up with the Yamato already raised to slash at his sibling lying on the floor. God damn it--how dare he look at him with those condescending eyes, calling out all the things holding him down? More than anything, the Sparda was furious that Dante had nailed all his emotions right on the head, forcing him to mentally address them when he was trying so hard not to. That coping mechanism kicked in, spurring him to attack to try and pull them back into the cycle, the one that kept him from plunging back into the memories weighing down his shoulders. The movement was so fast, precise. Prone one minute then standing over Dante the next, sword raised above his head to stab him with it.

But Dante didn’t even flinch, nor did he move from that spot. He simply stared up at Vergil with calm eyes, ringed with exhaustion as he said, “Go ahead. Do it, I’m done fighting with you--I’m god damn tired of enabling this bullshit.”

Vergil froze in that position, sword raised as he stared down at the grizzled man with a heavy scowl. How dare Dante, the crass, loud mouthed devil hunter, try to be the more reasonable of the two? It was far more annoying than anything Vergil could think of. To make matters worse, that hesitation extended to every part of him, drawing forth another memory of talking to you. It was consuming him now, these fragments you and his human counterpart had shared together all those months ago. It made him close his eyes, fingers gripping the sword ever tighter until his own knuckles cracked with the force of it.

It was a memory of sitting by you, staring out at a landscape of destruction and tragedy caused by his hands. Moments before, he had kissed you, tasting your plump lips for the first time as if you were water after days of thirst. You had looked so soft, so kind, more than someone like him had ever...No, he shook his head at that thought, confusion filling him to the brim of his being. It was both clear and muddled, like a high definition image viewed through TV static. The warmth of your hand squeezing his own brought forth that dull, ever-present ache in his chest again and brought forth a longing to repeat the action again and again. Why? Why was this happening?

“It’s healthy to feel emotions, and it’s healthy to acknowledge them.”

“Vergil?” Dante’s voice sounded worried now, sitting up again as he registered the conflicted expression on Vergil’s face. Damn it, and damn him. Damn everything.

The elder Sparda let out a slow breath out from his cheeks, lowering the sword as he leaned back and landed on his ass to try and gather himself again. Your words were like spurs in his heart, digging in and reminding him of things that he hadn’t necessarily learned. His human half had been far more honest with himself, and that trait seemed to keep trying to bubble up to the surface again. Because in the end, who was this vicious cycle helping? Certainly not he, wallowing in convoluted memories and emotions every waking moment. And it wasn’t aiding Dante, who was looking like he desperately needed food and a shower. Thoughts like those were the most confusing to handle--since when did he ever worry about Dante’s well-being?

Now, apparently.

Vergil would have thought that Urizen’s memories would have been the most loud, but he was gravely mistaken. In fact, the memories of erecting the Qliphoth and all that transpired were incredibly dim. All he knew was that, in the end, there was no victory to be found other than his two halfs coming together once more, and the devouring of the fruit. Why was this the case? How had his humanity become so strong, thriving so much until it became this loud in his consciousness?

It was because of you.

“What is happening to me, Dante?” Vergil rasped, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He could feel his sibling staring at him, but didn’t dare turn to meet his gaze, “I cannot shake these foreign memories, no matter what I do.”

Dante let out a light snort at his words, scooting closer so he could get a better look at Vergil’s face while he replied, “I would imagine so, they are your memories after all.”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

“They do not belong to me…!” Vergil snarled in response, running a hand raggedly through his hair and sending a few strands draping over his forehead, “I do not know this girl, she is a stranger. And yet…” He looked at his fingers, feeling a strange disconnect between what was seen and what was felt. He remembered tattoos lining his fingers, black and swirling, but they were now gone, “I have memories of her, things that I should not have. Things that are...intimate.”

How awkward to admit, but he didn’t dare elaborate on such memories. His brother didn’t need to know he remembered having sex with you, nor did he need to what extent of emotion that stirred. He was being torn apart by it, the image of you staring up at him with soft pleasure and adoration and the image of you staring down at him in complete and utter anguish. Both caused by his humanity, him in a way. But...he didn’t know what to feel about that.

Dante let out a low whistle, clicking his tongue as he replied, “Boy, your human half didn’t do things halfway, that’s for sure,” He patted Vergil on the shoulder, tone taking on a kinder edge as he added, “Best thing I can tell you is to man up and face these feelings, brother. They are yours, afterall.”

Vergil scowled at that, muttering so quietly he wasn’t sure if Dante would hear it, “Are they?”

They felt like his memories, but it was so hard to accept them considering how mixed his consciousness felt now. It wasn’t in his nature to seek affection, to care. His humanity had been vulnerable, weak, easily succumbing to your kindness and eagerness to protect him. Acknowledging that something like that existed inside of him was something that he refused to admit, despite everything that had happened. But...that desire was still there, to be held, to hold you, to be loved and protected. To love and protect.

He had spent so many long years tampering such a feeling down, burying it so far down that he was sure that he felt no such affections anymore. All unraveled by you and his human half, leaving him feeling disorienting in the middle of it all.

“Those are your memories, Vergil, whether you wanna admit it or not,” Dante continued, leaning his arms on his own knees and meeting his brother’s gaze, “That human half is a part of you, and by proxy is you. Everything he felt, you still feel, and it’s time to stop running away from that.”

Vergil fell silent, looking off into the landscape of hell and trying to calm his thundering pulse. Could he even do such a thing, face these emotions and decide what to do about them?

“Why don’t you give her a chance?” Dante suggested, scratching the back of his head and letting out a gust of air, “Hell, why not try in both cases to make amends--with her and Nero? You keep fighting this human half of yours, but if you just accepted it things might improve. Y/N is a sweet girl, and if she loved V as much as it felt like she did...well, why couldn’t she also love the man he came from?”

Because I don’t deserve her, I never did.

Vergil bit down on the thought before it passed beyond his lips, eyes closing again with a furrowed brow. To seek you out felt selfish, especially after how much you had been hurt by all that transpired. And that was such a bizarre thing to feel--that intense want to put your well-being above his own, to distance himself to save you from more pain while also craving you like air and water. In the end...V was who you had fallen for, not him. He wasn’t like his human half, and after all the death he had cause and the type of person he was...why would he ever put your through loving something like him?

“I doubt the world works so easily,” He replied to Dante tiredly, shaking his head and pushing the loose hairs back in one fell stroke, “As for Nero, he has made his opinions of me quite clear, has he not?”

“Yeah?” Dante replied in annoyance, narrowing his eyes on the surly man with a disbelieving look, “You tried to disregard his feelings and settled on a fight as your first hello to your goddamn son. Maybe--now hear me out, this may be a doozy--maybe you should try actually fucking talking to the kid about why you weren’t in his life?”

Why oh why was Dante turning into the voice of reason in all of this? One would think Vergil as the younger sibling in this scenario.

He let out another puff of air, admitting with several layers of gruff reluctance, “...Perhaps. But does it really matter? I am no father, and he has grown up for years without me perfectly fine,” He sheathed the Yamato once more, scowling lightly as he added, “It seems like a pointless waste of time.”

“Well you could start by apologizing for ripping off his arm.” Dante suggested tersely, brows arching toward his hairline. There was an implied ending to his sentence, one that suggested his twin had no choice in the matter on this.

“...” Vergil didn’t respond, that annoying guilt prickling back up like thorns around his subconscious. There was no argument he should have made to excuse such a thing, but his mind still tried. He didn’t know who Nero was at the time, but even then would it have mattered? Desperation fueled the cracking, crumbling Sparda at the time, so he doubted that there would have been an ounce of hesitation even then. There would have been no other way to save himself from death, even if it had a heavy price. But...that didn’t stop his illogical guilt over it.

Dante let out another sigh at his stubborn refusal to reply, tone taking on a lower quality as he added, “Hell, why didn’t you just come to Devil May Cry?” He muttered, sounding a bit gruff and unhappy as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t have asked questions, could have found a better way to help you that didn’t involve putting Nero through that shit.”

Well now...that was certainly not what Vergil expected. He stared forward, trying to keep a composed expression while he thought over what Dante said, not quite sure what to make of the question. At the time, he never contemplated even thinking about his brother’s aid--why? Because he resented him with every part of his body, resented how their mother loved him more, resenting how Dante seemed to win no matter how hard he tried. He who scoffed in the face of their Father’s demonic power, instead embracing his weaker human half. It had seemed so shameful at the time, pointless. Pride kept him from asking for his brother’s aid.

“You know why,” He replied simply in return, turning his cold eyes back to meet Dante’s, “Asking for your help was never an option. Had I showed up at your door would you have truly offered me your hand? Or would you have blindly attacked me, as you did in the Qliphoth?”

“I would have fucking helped you!” Dante snapped, uncharacteristic anger entering his tone as he pulled himself to his feet. He then glared down his brother, letting out an annoyed growl as he continued, “You think after everything that happened, I wanted to watch my goddamn brother die again?”

Vergil blinked, taken aback by Dante’s fierce words as he held his gaze. Had he truly been affected by Vergil’s death, even after all the surly male had done to him? All the fighting, the harsh words, the conflict...There was no brotherly love to be found, he knew that much. But Dante, as always, shocked him.

“The reason I kicked your ass then,” Dante muttered after that brief pause, turning away as he registered the surprise in his brother’s expression. He looked tired, and a bit sad if Vergil was willing to see it, “Is because you grew a tree in the middle of a city in an attempt to gain more power. Do you have any idea how many people died? Families, innocent people now husks in the wind because of a fruit.”

That made reality set in even more, that blade plunged into his chest deeper and twisted until he would bleed from it. The Qliphoth was another thing he was loath to admit troubled him indeed. Again, it wasn’t his plan in the beginning to even do such a thing, but Urizen had gotten his own plans. But that creature existed inside of him, as did that greed and need for power. The pride, the rage, the disgust he felt for humanity as a whole. That was part of who he was as well, even in these times where his mind was scrambled and trying to balance the level of humanity he was feeling. If you had not come along, would Urizen have been the stronger factor? Would he be even more cruel and unfeeling for all he had done?

To contemplate it was a strange thing.

“I know what happened,” He replied flatly to Dante, tone low and bitter as he pulled himself to his feet as well, “And I won’t try to excuse what has transpired in the city. There are amends to be made, and the gravity of my choices is my burden to bear. I need not reminding.”

“Yeah you’re really tryin’ to make amends hiding down here in hell,” Dante snorted, heavy sarcasm in his tone as he braced his back and stretched. A groan rumbled from his chest, the sound of his spine settling make Vergil wince in disgust, “How about we finally blow this joint? I’m starving and I doubt you wanna deal with how smelly I am.”

That was less of a concern compared to what was waiting for him. Vergil paused, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the only item he had left of you--a single glowing, blue-filled vial of whale oil. He was surprised such a thing had transferred over when he turned back, but...it had. What a curious thing, to be holding something that came from a world he had never seen. The older twin remembered the moment you gave it to him, eyes filled with tears and worry before you went after Dante. A way to find him, a way to sense his location. He doubted you would be able to sense it all the way in hell, but it had remained on his person the whole time. Did you remember it? Could you even begin to think he had it?

That had been the first time you told him that you loved him.

Return it to her. Return. To. Her.

Would he be able to look you in the eyes without these stubborn emotions overtaking him? That fear was ever present, but was drowned out by that annoying voice in his head. More than anything, he was hesitant to see how this all had affected you, the damage done. That dull ache formed in his chest at the notion of you losing your smile, that kindness that drove you because of what he had done. And that was so uncharacteristic of the Sparda that he almost denied Dante’s request then and there.

But...He gripped the vial in his palm, closing his eyes and releasing a slow breath from his cheeks. There was only so long he could hide from everything, and more than anything...He wanted to see you. That voice in his head demanded it, the loneliness left over from you not being there so heavy he felt like drowning. That dependency was one he didn’t want, but there was nothing more to be done. He had his time to fight, to contemplate, and be found wanting. Any more time taken would simply be a foolish waste.

“Then let us depart,” He finally replied to Dante, unsheathing the Yamato with intentions to cut open a portal after months and months of holding back, “I’d hate to stand between you and actually growing into normal hygiene habits.”

Dante opening laughed at that, a smirk tilting his lips as he tried to defend himself, “Hey now! I have perfect hygiene! It’s hard to maintain with bills to pay.”

That made Vergil scoff, scrunching up his nose in disgust as he muttered, “Figures you would never learn how to balance a checkbook.”

“Like you’re any better!” There was definitely teasing in his tone, Dante clapping his brother a bit too hard on the back as he huffed, “How the hell would you know anything about managing money? Ever thought of becoming a business partner?”

Was that Dante’s offhand way of inviting Vergil to work at Devil May Cry? If Vergil was younger and more stubborn, he would have stabbed Dante just at the notion of working with him. Instead he tucked the vial of whale oil back into his jacket, rolling his eyes and shrugging off his brother’s hand. Things certainly had changed, hadn’t they? To even contemplate such a thing was so unthinkable he could have laughed. Yet...he was contemplating it. Where else could he go after this? There was no planning, no other goals to reach now that he was healthy and whole once more. All that remained was a mess, and no way to clean it.

“Maybe if you could learn to shut up and listen when I ask it of you,” He replied shortly, whacking Dante’s wrist with the Yamato’s sheath and earning a light yelp, “I will ponder the offer.”

That earned him a hefty snort, one that was quickly followed up by a snarky, “Bold of you to assume I’m giving you a choice in the matter. Can’t let your crusty ass run around growing more trees.”

As if he would. Vergil had no desire to deal with something like the Qliphoth again, it had caused far more issues than it was worth. If anything the four months in hell had taught him, it was perhaps less was more in his future endeavors for power. His human half, the demonic half...they were both the proof laid out at his feet that a choice had been made that wasn’t in his favor. And that carelessness had caused a ripple effect that had killed more people than he thought possible.

No...there would be no repeating.

He lifted the Yamato, steeling his resolve with intentions to cut through and make a portal back to the human world for them to cross through. He decided that if need be he could busy himself with working at Devil May Cry, easing himself back into a normal life cycle as a means of keeping that distance from you and Nero. This was still a step forward, but a calculated one. A careful one, he hoped. As it stands you were now living in Fortuna with Nero and his fiance, so the son of Sparda saw no need of seeking you out if it was something you did not want.

But that thought caused an avalanche of consequences.

A wave of nausea hit him in the next instant, arm holding the Yamato faltering and dropping the blade with a loud clang. Vergil stared at his now empty hand, breathes coming short and confused as he felt an intangible sense of wrongness spread through his entire form. What? His vision swayed, the landscape of hell tilting until Vergil realized that he was no longer able to stand up. Unsteady, unbalanced, light-headed. What the hell was happening to him? He had never felt such a sensation before, unable to register where it was coming from as he fell to what knee and had to fight gagging and a torrent of sickness.

“Vergil…!” Dante noticed right as he fell, rushing over and putting a hand to his back as he exclaimed in annoyance, “Hey! What’s the matter with you?!”

He couldn’t even answer. His vision was fading, body tilting to the side against his will and leaving Dante to grab him and try to hold him steady. The elder twin could hear him yelling, but there was no energy to answer. This was not exhaustion, this was something more. An urgency, like fire in his lungs clawing to get out and pounding on his skull with fists. To say Vergil was unnerved, confused, and shocked was an understatement. He who was a poised, pillar of control and discipline forced to collapse and have no control of his body? It wasn’t right, he had made yet another mistake that cost him his stability. Only this time, he knew what was causing it.

That voice came back in his head as his consciousness faded out, somehow louder than Dante yelling in his ear.

For every moment you hurt her, is another moment I destroy you.

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[the-beastslayers-queen]

Forever The Shield

A request for @wwesarahjaneroszko and I’m sorry it’s late. My arms are sore af from work and I wasn’t in the best state of mind now that Dean is “gone.” Tagged: @queenofthearchitect @wrestlingfae

You were aware of what lied ahead after Fastlane. You knew that a day like this would come. A day where the faction you’ve been apart of for so many years, The Shield, would ride off into your own sunsets. That this chapter of your life would have to come to an end for a new one to begin. And you didn’t want to say goodbye to the boys you’ve had the pleasure of working with for nearly a decade. Well two of them anyway. You did live with one and shared a hotel with him every night on the road.

That honor of being attached to your hip was given to the Architect and Kingslayer himself, Seth Rollins. You two have been through a lot together. You came to the WWE the same time he did from Ring of Honor, having been best friend there. You trained with him in FCW and in NXT. When it was time to form the Shield, you were offered the position as the fourth member of the Shield, serving as manager/valet when the boys competed and you repped the faction when you were competing as a singles competitor in the women’s division. It was during the early days of the Shield you started dating Seth and forged a brotherly relationship with both Roman and Dean. The four of you all became inseparable peas in a pod. 

Right now, you were busy getting ready in yours and Seth’s locker room, lacing up your combat boots that have had countless miles put into them. They were the same pair you wore when you escorted your boys into the arena when they stormed the gates of the main roster at Survivor Series 2012. After that night, you knew these boots were special to you. Even after all these years, you never replaced them. It would have been like erasing all the history you had with these amazing workhorses.

“You’ve been very quiet all day today, babe,” Seth looked over at you from his spot on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hand and his glasses perched on his nose, “Is something on your mind?”

“Nostalgia mostly I guess,” you shrugged as you finished lacing up your boots, “I’m going to miss nights like this. Where we get to be together as unit and dominate this place.”

“I know,” he sighed before taking another sip of his coffee, “But with Wrestlemania on the horizon and Dean about to make his exit, this has to happen tonight. And since we have Ro back from his battle with cancer, it’s a perfect storm. I hate the idea of us four drifting away from each other, but it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Well I’m not drifting away from you,” you corrected him as you took a seat next to him, nestling into his side, “You’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it anyother way,” he chuckled, “Besides Roman will still be around if he doesn’t get sent to Smackdown during the shake up. Maybe he and I could show up in the tag team scene again and put on clinics like we used to back in the day.”

“So you think you’re going to lose at Wrestlemania,” you teased.

“Oh hell no,” he shook his head and frowned, “I’m going to run the whole division when I liberate that title from the Beast. I’ll work any match that’s thrown at me.”

“That’s what I thought,” you stood up and grabbed his coffee from him, “Now go get ready. We have to go meet up with Dean and Roman soon.

“Well if it isn’t our little brother and sister,” Dean teased as you and Seth entered catering. Both of you were now in full gear. Since you were only managing tonight, you wore the new Shield shirt, a pair of very short denim shorts, and your favorite black leather moto jacket with your trusty boots to top it all off. Seth was not the biggest fan of your shorts, but you enjoyed that he was a little possessive over you. Jealous Seth tended to be your favorite Seth when you guys would retire to your hotel for the night after a show.

“It’s about time you divas graced us with your presence,” Roman joked as you sat down with Seth on the opposite side of the table from your shield brothers, “Excited for this last hoorah before the war with Lesnar at Mania?”

“Hell yeah I am,” Seth smirked with pride, “It’ll be a great way to get some momentum heading into the fight of my life.”

“I’m not,” you replied to Roman, “I don’t want to think about the end of this, of the four of us not being together when the show is over.”

“Oh dollface,” Dean reached over to rub your shoulder, “We all knew this day would come. I’m sorry I’m leaving, but I need to get away from all this for a while. I might considering coming back, but that’s a long ways off for now.”

You knew that Dean was very dedicated to this industry. Ever since he joined up with WWE back during the FCW days, he never stopped for a break unless he got so injured, he had no choice but to take time off. So in a way, he was letting his contract expire to have time away from this crazy grind and decompress from everything.

“I still hate this,” you grumbled, even as Seth leaned over to place a tender kiss on your forehead, “And now poor Roman has no road wife.”

“I have another one,” he looked over at Seth and I gasped.

“No way,” you pointed a finger at him in protest, “You are not taking my road husband and boyfriend Mr. Samoa. He’s mine and I don’t share.”

This resulted in all three of them laughing their asses off. Seth shook his head and lifted you out of your chair and into his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“You have nothing to worry about, babe,” Seth kissed your cheek, “I’m not letting Ro steal me away from you. After all, you’re my road wife.”

The show is underway now. The four of you are now hiding out in a janitor’s closet close to the entryway you’d be using to head into the arena. The camera guys that were shooting for the network were with you as each of the boys tried to stay limber and get their hair wet and ready to head out. Thankfully, you had your phone with you to stream the show so you can watch how the night was going.

“It’s almost time to head out,” a stage hand said, you put your phone away and looked over at your boys.

“Let’s kick some ass out there boys,” you hugged each of them tightly before leading them out the door.

Sierra Hotel India Echo Lima Delta Shield!

And with that, the four of you entered the arena within the crowd. You stood out in front, Seth and Dean behind you with Seth over your left should and Dean on the right. Roman took his place behind Seth and Dean to finish the formation. The four of you took in the crowd before you, letting the moment sink in. This would be one of, if not, the last time the four of you would enter through the crowd into the arena. You felt Seth gently brush his gloved fingers against your arm to signal you to lead the team to the battlefield that lied ahead.

With a heavy heart, you start to descend down the steps, brushing past the fans as you walked. You kept your head held high as you smirked out into the crowd. The bravado of having your boys at your back and ready for a fight gave you the confidence to face the end that was looming in the distance.

The four of you arrived at the barricade at last, the last hurdle before the ring for the most dominate team in the business. Seth came up behind you and hoisted you up so you could clear the barricade and make way for him. Seth leapt over the barricade in his signature roll from the early days of the Shield. Dean vaulted over the barricade before Roman simply swung his legs over one at a time.

Seth, Dean, and Roman climbed into the ring while you casually waltzed over to the corner of the ring that would serve as The Shield’s corner. You enjoyed watching your boys square up to Corbin, Lashley, and McIntyre. You were glad that this last was against these guys. It would show the universe that the Shield is still as strong as ever even after all these years being on the scene in the WWE.

As the fists flew between the six men in the ring, you did get a little worried for Seth. If he got hurt this close to Wrestlemania it would be just like a repeat of his knee injury all over again. You knew just how bad that was for him, and you wish more than anything for that to never happen to him again.

Not long after the fists started to fly, Seth, Dean, and Roman had full control of the ring. You got up on the steel steps by the Shield corner and raised your arms out, encouraging the cheers from the crowd. But you went back to standing next to the steps as Dean and Roman took their spots in the corner as Seth got ready to square up with Lashley. Which was not doing you any favors for your anxieties with this match.

Corbin and Roman were fighting it out as the legal men in the match up as Dean and Seth fought Lashley and McIntyre out into the universe. You had moved out of the corner and into the timekeepers area to keep an eye out for Dean and Seth. You watched Seth climb up into the stands and Dean kept fighting with Lashley and McIntyre. You furrowed your brow, a little worried for Seth and his well being. Because, if he was going up there, that meant he had a spot set up to dive from the top of the stands onto Lashley and McIntyre, maybe Dean too. You were going to be berating him for sure after the match for taking such risks so close to the biggest match of his career.

And like the predictable man that he is, Seth leapt from the stands into Lashley and McIntyre as they held Dean in their arms. Oh he was in trouble with you now.

Dean and Seth did recover and made their way back to you in the timekeeper’s area. You checked over Dean before you shifted over to Seth.

“When we get to hotel,” you warned him as you checked him for any serious damage, “I’m going to give you a piece of my damn mind for that spot.”

“I’ll live,” he kissed your forehead quickly before getting back into the ring side area, “Now get back to the corner before those two lugs come back this way. I don’t want you to get hurt in the finish of the match.”

You obeyed Seth’s direction as things got heated between all men involved. McIntyre attempted to work with his team to steal the triple powerbomb from your hounds onto Roman, but Dean and Seth broke it up and laid into the the three. Before long, your hounds set up to unleash the Cerberus and drove McIntyre through the Spanish announce table, incapacitating him in the process.

The crowd cheered for one more triple powerbomb and Corbin was in the ring, alone. This made him the perfect target. Seth, Dean and Roman flanked the ring as you climbed up onto the apron, clinging to the ropes with a smirk on your face.

“You’re done for Corbin,” you taunted as Seth, Dean, and Roman climbed into the ring.

One superkick, Superman punch, and a dirty deeds later, and Corbin was ready to be laid out. Dean and Seth picked Corbin up and Roman did the signature battle cry, rallying his brothers to lift up the weak and staggering Corbin onto his shoulders. Together, the three of them slammed Corbin down into the matt with authority. Roman made the cover as Seth and Dean took to the ropes to block Lashley and McIntyre from breaking the pin if they had managed to get up.

As the bell rang, you climbed through the ropes and ran over to your hounds, a smile beaming from cheek to cheek. You embraced Dean first before getting a bear hug from Roman. You went over to Seth who kissed you hard before pulling you into his chest. You were so proud of them, making this final match being the high-note ending they deserved.

After the boys finished embracing each other, they stood in the middle of the ring with you at their side. You all put your fists in together, the symbol of excellence closing the show one last time.

This era of your careers was done and dusted. Now it was time to prepare for war with the Beast and whatever else laid ahead over the horizon.

A/N: This is, I think, my longest one yet. It was a labor of love. Hope you enjoyed.

[leiascully]

Fic:  Baseball Metaphors (10/?)

Part One  |  Part Two  |  Part Three |  Part Four |  Part Five |  Part 6 |  Part 7 |  Part 8 |  Part 9

Why if it isn’t my new friend, Colonel Angus.  We’re going to call this Mature/NSFW.

+ + + +

Scully will never believe that she's psychic, but Mulder isn't so sure, because after Thai food and two beers each, they end up at Ethan and Jenny's house, getting the official tour, ooh and ahhing about the various shades of beige that have been carefully selected to wring the maximum of sunlight out of the south-facing windows or something.  Mulder's never really cared much about houses.  Also, it's night.  The south-facing windows are illuminated by a streetlight, but nothing else.  Most of the rooms are empty, except for the nursery, which is a shade of yellow that's probably nice in the daylight, but just looks dingy at night.  There's a crib there and something that looks like a dresser but probably isn't.  He's learned that baby things are almost never what he thinks they are.  For example, there's a trash can that he quickly learns is some kind of state of the art diaper bin.  

"It's lovely," Scully says, leaning against him.  

"Cozy," Mulder adds.  That seems to be the right response.  Ethan and Jenny both beam.  

"Our little nugget is going to be so happy here," Jenny says.  She pats the quilt draped over the crib rail.  "He's going to grow up so big and strong."

"We just found out it's a boy," Ethan says proudly.  

"Congratulations," Mulder says.  "What are you going to name him?"

Jenny whiffs her hand at him playfully, like she would slap at him if she were close enough.  "We can't tell.  It's a tough world out there when it comes to baby names.  Competitive."

"Maybe that's why my parents went the route they did," Mulder jokes.  "Nobody else was going to poach 'Fox'."  

"Solid reasoning," Ethan says with a grin orthodontists must have loved.  

"You have to see the master bedroom," Jenny gushes.  "It has an en suite bathroom and it just gets the best light in the morning."

"Lead the way," Scully says.

The master bedroom is another masterpiece in beige.  Mulder pretends to care about crown molding, nodding as Ethan points at the various features.

"Can't you just imagine it?" Jenny says, cleary in raptures over the vision in her mind.  "The bed just here, and we inherited the nicest bedroom set from my grandmother.  The dresser here, the vanity there."  She gestures, boxing off space in the air with her hands, painting a picture in her own mind.

"It sounds perfect," Scully says.  

"Just wait until you two have a place of your own," Jenny says.  "You'll feel the same way."

"I'm sure," Scully says.

"It's too bad my lease isn't up for another six months," Mulder says, trying to fill his voice with regret.  "You know, the market just moves so fast.  There's not really any point in looking yet."

"I was going to tell you," Scully says to Jenny, "but, um, we were having so much fun discussing it."

"Aww, well, I'm sure there will be plenty of great places when you're ready," Jenny says.  "I hope you're just as lucky as we were."

"We can only hope," Mulder says cordially.  At least he got some manners out of his abbreviated attempts at charm school, or whatever it was his mother sent him to.  Obviously the rest of it didn't take.  

Scully stifles a yawn with one hand.  "Oh, look at the time," she actually says, glancing at her watch.  Mulder has to cough so he doesn't laugh.  "We have an early flight," she goes on.  

"No rest for the watchmen," Mulder says.  "Is that how that goes?"

"Do you two work together all the time?" Jenny asks.  "I thought you were in different divisions."

"Most of the time," Scully hedges.  "Every now and then they remember that we're assigned outside our specialties."  

"We just clicked from the first case," Mulder says smoothly.  "They can't justify keeping us apart.  Our solve rate is just too good."

"Don't you work on those special cases?" Ethan asks suddenly.  "Z-Files?"

"X-Files," Scully says, and there's something wry and wary and fond in her voice.

"They let us handle all the weird ones," Mulder tells Jenny.  "All the ones no one else can solve.  That's how talented we are."  

"Well, don't let us keep you," Jenny says.  "I wouldn't want you to miss your flight when you're so important!"

"A force for justice," Ethan says.  "Good for you both."

"Let us know when you get back," Jenny says.  "Maybe I'll cook, if I can still get around the kitchen."  

"Don't sell yourself short," Ethan says, nuzzling at her.  "You're an amazing cook and just as light on your feet as ever."  Jenny giggles.

"Can't wait," Mulder says.  "See you when we get back."  He steers Scully down the stairs and out of the house with the arm around her shoulders.  She lets out a long breath.  

"'Oh, look at the time'?" he teases as she unlocks her car.  

"I didn't see you doing much better," she mutters.  "God, Mulder, there was a time in my life when crown molding mattered to me."  

"Maybe there will be again," he teases, "when we get our own place."

"It had better have south-facing windows," she says.

"It will," he promises.  "Only the best for my sweetheart."

"Hypothetically speaking," she says as she climbs into the car and turns the ignition, "what would we be looking for, if we were getting a place together?  Obviously two bedrooms at least."

"Obviously," he says.  "I mean, there are two of us."  

"That and we have to look like we're planning for the future," she says, squinting at him as she stops at a light.  "Whatever that future might be."

"Right," he says.  "Because obviously they assume we're sleeping together."

"It would be strange if we weren't," she says.  "Ethan knows I don't have any hangups about premarital sex, and you don't strike me as the type to save yourself."

"Until marriage?" he asks.

She smirks.  "At all.  From any situation.  Everything happens to you."  She glances over at him.  "But in particular, yes, I suspect that like Oscar Wilde, you can resist anything except temptation."

"I've resisted you!" he protests.

"Have you?"  She raises one eyebrow.

"We haven't...done everything yet," he says.  "Considering how, uh, tempted I was, I've basically shown a superhuman ability to resist."

"What was it when the painters finished?" she asks, her thumb rubbing idly around the curve of her steering wheel.  "Third base?  'Everything but', as I believe your unhelpful definition ran?"

"I think that's what we said," he says, as if he hasn't been thinking about it all day.

"Hmm," she says.  "Maybe I would want crown molding.  It lends a certain dignity to a room.  We never had anything like that in base housing."

He'd have intellectual whiplash if he weren't so used to the switchbacks and callbacks of their conversations.

"I think it all comes down to the kitchen," he says.  "That's what I hear, anyway."

"Maybe three bedrooms would be better," she muses.  "Then we'd have a guest room."

"When would we have guests?" he asks.  "It was just the other day that we were talking about how we don't have any friends."

"Fine," she says reluctantly.  "It can be an office where you keep all your esoteric news clippings and weird samples."

"I like to think of them as our clippings and samples," he jokes.  

"After more than three years, I suppose that's fair," she says.  

"Joint custody of our collection," he says.  "It's a big step."  

"Is it?" she asks.  "I've always been assigned the responsibility for it."

"Feels like a big step," he says.

"Bigger than taking off our clothes together?" she asks without looking at him.

He breathes in sharply.  "I don't think that's third base."

"And yet it seems like the inevitable conclusion, given the way our relationship with Ethan and Jenny is developing," she says.  "I don't anticipate having any less need to decompress."

"Is that...okay?" he asks.  

"I'll keep you updated if anything changes," she says.  "For now, I'm...relieved."

He shifts against the seatbelt.  "Relieved?"

"It seems like a healthier outlet than drinking the stress away, for example."  She shrugs, the motion limited by the stretch of her arms.  "Less addictive.  Less damaging."

"Plenty of people get themselves in trouble that way," he hedges.

"I think we'll be just fine," she says, her lips curling up at the corners.  "If we couldn't help ourselves, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Makes sense," he says.  "We would have already just let it happen."

"Exactly," she says.  "Maybe years ago.  Who knows."

"A surrender to the inevitable," he says.  

"That's what they'll say," she muses.  

"All that matters to me is what you say," he says, letting his head loll on the headrest.  

"Right now I'm saying that I could use a stiff drink," she says, clearly amused with herself.  "Or something."

"I can provide that," he tells her.

They park in front of his building and make their way up to his apartment.  As soon as they're inside he picks her up.  Her legs wrap around his waist as her mouth meets his.  She twines her fingers through his hair.  He has one arm around her hips and the other under her ass.  He is endlessly thankful for the fact that she's been wearing skirts on these dates that aren't quite as constricting as the ones she wears in the office.  

"How would you like to take the edge off, Scully?" he murmurs.  "We have a number of options."

"Can I confess something to you?" she asks, kissing her way across his cheek to nip at his earlobe.  

"Of course," he tells her.

"I've always been intrigued by your oral fixation," she breathes.  Her tongue traces the shell of his ear and he shivers.

"How Freudian of you," he says.  

"Take it as you will," she says, and he knows that his grin verges on feral.

"Oh, I will," he says, and lays her out on the couch.  She pulls him down on top of her, kissing him lingeringly, her hands smoothing down his sides and over his ass.  He braces himself over her and lets himself melt into her mouth.  She makes soft little noises and slips her tongue against his. He feels the shock of the contact all down his body.  Scully could map him, he's certain, charting the impulses of desire through his bones and his nerves with her deft fingertips, but he has his own promises to keep.  He kisses down her throat and between her breasts, rubbing his cheeks against the plane of her stomach and the dip of her flank.  It takes the better part of half an hour, or so he imagines.  Around Scully, he's always losing time.  He plants himself between her knees, the leather cushions creaking under his weight.  She reaches down and helps him draw her skirt up over her thighs.  He hooks his fingers under the hem of her silky peach-colored panties and eases them down.  

"These aren't the sensible briefs I remember," he teases.  

"I had other expectations for tonight," she says.  

"Lucky you," he says in a low voice calculated to make her shiver, which she does.  His college education was good for something after all.  He gazes down at her: knees canted gently together, pale thighs, auburn curls.  He rubs his palms slowly up and down her calves.  She shaved for tonight and her skin is smooth and soft.  

"Third base?" he says, using one finger to nudge her knees apart.  She lets them fall to the sides and fuck, he wants her so badly.  

"Step up to the plate," she says, and now he's the one shivering.  He tries to lie down on his belly, but he's too tall, and the arm of the couch jams into his thighs.  He grunts and sits back up.

"What?" Scully says, and he puts his hands around her hips and lifts her over him as he lies back.  She takes the cue and balances over his shoulders.  He eases himself down underneath her and helps her settle over his face.  The fabric of her skirt tents his head and shoulders, but all he cares about is the curls tickling his lips, and then the soft folds that his tongue teases apart, and then the slick heat of her under his mouth.  

She gasps quietly as he explores her.  He's taking his own fucking time, savoring her.  She is everything he imagined.  He reaches up to tuck her skirt into her waistband, and reaches further to caress her breast.  She fumbles the rest of her skirt away from his face and rakes her fingers gently through his hair.

"Mulder," she says like his name is a prayer.

"Mm," he responds, concentrating on the salty-sour tang of her and the way her clit firms at the touch of his tongue.  She presses her hand to his, lacing her fingers between his over the swell of her breast.  They caress her together.  She shows him how hard to squeeze, how to pinch her nipples as he flicks his tongue against her clit.  Impatiently, she disentangles her fingers from his and drags her shirt over her head.  She unhooks her bra and tosses that onto his coffee table.  He lets go of her hip and reaches up with both hands, and together they stroke and knead her breasts.  She dips her head and lips at his fingers, sucking them into her mouth.  The wet heat of her mouth, the strength of her mouth, is the same warmth and tension he feels when he thrusts his tongue into her cunt.  He groans into the space between her thighs and circles her clit with his tongue, slowing his pace deliberately.  God, what he wouldn't do for four hands, for multiple mouths, to take in and slide into every part of her at once.  

Her hips are rocking against his face now and he has to let one hand slide from her breast to steady her.  He wants this to last.  She's slippery and frantic against his mouth, but he won't let her rush.  He holds her, slows her, makes her feel every last delicious ounce of friction.  She's gasping and groaning and he can feel the shivers running through her body.  He adds his own vibrations to hers, moaning against her delicate skin, letting her feel how much he's enjoying her where she can understand it best, right at the root of herself.  -

"Please," she gasps, and he gives in, letting his tongue and his fingers move faster, strumming her to a high-pitched jangle of sound and sensation that he can almost feel in his own body as she shakes and shivers, pressing his knees into his shoulders.  

"Oh," she says, "oh, oh, Mulder," and she collapses, catching herself on the arm of the sofa.  He helps her climb off him, steadying her as her legs shake, and shifts on the couch to make space for her.  She sits next to him and he's going to be thinking of her bare skin on his black leather couch for a long time.  He pulls her close with one arm and kisses her head as she catches her breath.

"Curiosity satisfied?" he asks smugly.

"For now," she says.  "I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity to satisfy me again."

"Good to know," he tells her.  

Her hand slips toward his belt and he catches it and kisses her knuckles.

"No?" she says.  

"Next time," he promises her.  "This was about you.  I don't want to complicate that."

"I want to," she says.  "I want you."

He groans and kisses her.  "I want that too.  Next time."  

"What if next time is their housewarming?" she asks.  

"I'm sure we'll have more than a week's notice," he says.  "And if it is, I enjoyed myself plenty tonight, believe it or not."

"I believe it," she says, smirking.  She leans in and kisses him again, and he's tempted to pull her into his lap and forget all about their careful rationing.  But he's made it this far.  

"I'd invite you to stay, but" - he gestures to the couch - "there's not a lot of space."

"Then you'll have to drive next time," she says, "although I'm sure the couch is pretty central to your fantasy."

"I can create a whole new set of fantasies based in your bed," he assures her.

"Good," she says, leaning forward and gathering her bra and panties.  She looks at her bra and then bundles it into the waistband of her skirt, but she steps back into her panties, steadying herself on Mulder's shoulder.  He drags his fingers up her leg, unable to resist grazing her clit with his thumb one last time through the damp fabric of her panties.  She shivers.

"How many innings in a baseball game?" she asks.

"Nine," he says, certain she knows that.

"Maybe some weekend we can play a full game," she says, her eyes half-lidded and dark with desire.

He whistles "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" and she smiles.  

"See you Monday," she says, kissing him one last time, and then the door shuts behind her and he collapses back onto the couch, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants as fast as he can.  He wraps fingers still damp from her mouth around his cock, caressing himself, and he can't remember the last time he came so fast.  He slumps backwards, panting, and then cleans himself up with shaking hands.  

"Fuck," he says to no one.  The fish in their tank gape at him.

[kaywriteswords]

We don’t always know when the last time is the last time…

The original inspiration for this post was a mass exodus of groups chats and a vow of I’m never doing this and that again. It was a sad moment for me because two of my traditions were broken in one moment. After this sat untouched for several weeks, waiting for inspiration, the world had found itself in an international pandemic. It seems fitting to me that I revisit it again now.

 Oh, the last time I… I haven’t done that since… I’ve gotta do that again… I’ll get around to it…

You might not know when the last time you said something like this is, but you’ve probably said things like this more than you know. The truth is as much as we try to cling to traditions and schedule time to do the things we enjoy, we don’t always know when the last time we are doing something is the last time that we’ll be doing it, maybe forever. We don’t always know that it is the last time we’ll experience something a certain way or with certain people.

We live in a society where we are always on the go, running from one thing to the next, constantly moving on to what we consider better. We use our calendars as a way to make sure we can fit everything in. Saying “No” to an invitation seems almost criminal to a lot of us. So, we carry on. Running from task to task, event to event, place to place. All in the name of working off a never ending to-do list and event schedule. While caught up in the chaos of it all, we sometimes miss the moments that could end up being the type of thing you cherish forever.

It’s weird being told to stay home. I always said I needed a break from all that running around, the hustle & bustle, and here it has been handed to everybody and I feel lost. I can’t help but think of all the things I haven’t been doing up until this point. Going to live performances, hitting up All-You-Can-Eat Sushi, actually making it to the gym several nights a week. I’m in a period of evaluating who I am and what am I going to do when we no longer need to shelter-in-place. Asking myself, what’s really important?

I can tell you what’s not. Choosing what you think you should as opposed to what you want to choose. All the things you say yes to when you don’t really want to. The time wasted worrying if others would be happy with the choice made instead of deciding based on whether or not the choice makes you happy. I can’t imagine that everybody comes out of this the same as they went in.

I digress. Because this isn’t just about what’s happening now. It’s what’s about has always happened. We live our best lives, Carpe Diem, and YOLO, but we don’t always take stock of the value of the moments we are living in. Before we know it, time has passed, years have passed, and all of a sudden we can’t remember the last time we did something, how long it’s been since we last saw someone, how we haven’t done something in a long time that we used to do all the time. Because we don’t always know when the last time is the last time, we lose the value of a moment as time passes. It usually isn’t until too late, when we try to think back on it, that it seems to fade in the distance.

Sure there are some things that we know will be the last time. Like when you graduate and say “the last time I’ll walk these halls”. The last day at a job you are leaving. A last ride in a car you are about to sell. Last call. There are a lot of regular lasts, something a large number of people can collectively relate to. I’m referring to those things that are held dear to us as individuals. Those things we seem to care about more than anybody else. Those things that run so deep into our souls, it’s like they are a part of our very fiber as human beings.

I spent my childhood running around a park with a group of other kids. We grew up running around that park together. Making up games and playing by our own rules. Some things changed when we went to high school, but we all made a solid effort to keep playing our games while making up the rules. But at some point, you age out of doing certain things. Not because you necessarily want to, but because life requires you to. You can’t spend five evenings a week just playing pick-up games of basketball or tennis court softball. Perfecting the Rainbow play in an effort at inter-park, flag football domination. I can’t remember when we played our last pick-up game before it became a thing we just weren’t doing anymore, but I like to think that we had a damn good time.

The number of times I sat in the pub, listening to the drunk old men rambling on about nonsense while I read a book or magazine or chatted with my favorite bar tender in the whole city. Seemingly out of place, typically the only female in the establishment, it was like being home. And it isn’t the raunchy, patron-filled, St. Patrick’s days that I miss. It’s the early evening peace of an open space with old men creating white noise while I had a Guinness and did some reading to decompress after a long day. Without any warning, I walked in one day and there were TV’s tuned to sports mounted on each side of the bar, chips and pizza for sale. It was over and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

One of my dearest traditions is camping in an asphalt parking lot on Memorial Day Weekend. It is care-free, it is filled with laughs, there is fun and there are a million stories to be told. It’s racked with anticipation and filled with such familiarity you think you might have already spent a lifetime there. But then people are taken from you and the dynamic of the entire thing seems to shift. An essential piece has been lost. This is something you’ve done so many times all the memories start to blur together. You can’t remember what happened when and you don’t always remember to take pictures. You try to pick out the moments, nail them down in your mind, but who is really taking mental stock of their carefree, laugh filled weekends? We were just living in the moment as we should have been. And just like that, everything changed.

There are moments that you know hold value, the things you know you will always do without question. All it takes is one rogue circumstance to throw the entire feeling of it out of whack. I haven’t yet lived through my recently broken traditions and I refuse to name them in hopes that another rogue circumstance comes along to right them. I won’t hold out too much hope, I’ve made peace with the fact that they are likely forever changed, but we’ve all gotta dream.

Think about the types of moments you most cherish, the moments that don’t just make life worth living, but living worth doing. What’s something you’ve been saying you have to do again, but haven’t gotten around to? Maybe in a really long time. Move that to the top of your post quarantine to-do list. Think of all the things you usually “have to do” that the shelter-in-place order now has you realizing weren’t really that essential to begin with. Our lives are a series of moments so try to find the value in each and every one of them because we don’t always know when the last time is the last time.