#may people slip his wife phone numbers for just in case and may she use them before it is too late

[petrichorandarson]

i hope this man is at least as bothered by me as i am him. but i REALLY hope he’s pissed tf off that i’m acting normal.

[parkerslatte]

Years Passed [Chapter Three]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Part Summary: After Spencer asks Y/N our for coffee, the two share about their unlucky love lives.

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of maeve, mentions of surgery

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***

CHAPTER THREE: CASE CLOSED

In the days following since Spencer showed up at Y/N’s apartment, she had been quite lonely. Harper’s school had started back up so she was gone the majority of the day leaving the house in silence. The constant giggles of her daughter were absent for six of the twenty four hours. Of course, Y/N took this as an opportunity to finish a commission she had been working on these last few weeks. The smell of paint was evident in the air causing Y/N to open all the windows around her. Y/N enjoyed painting very much but she missed the smaller version of her by her side, questioning everything she did and copying it to her best ability. 

The slip of paper that Spencer’s phone number was written on was sitting not too far away from Y/N and she would find herself occasionally glancing over to it. She did want to call Spencer but she didn’t want to seem too eager, and besides, he was working a case, there was no way he had the time for her. 

Seeing Spencer again wasn’t exactly on Y/N’s bucket list. Ever since she moved back six months ago, she hadn’t run into him once and he never even crossed her mind. However, once she saw him just days ago, she thought about him at least once a day. None of the thoughts were exactly bad, she just wondered if he had a family. If he was still interested in the same thing he was thirteen years ago. If he was the same Spencer she loved thirteen years ago. Shaking her head clear of any thoughts of Spencer, Y/N continued to paint the canvas that stood in front of her while softly singing along to the music that drowned out the silence. 

Y/N had only been painting for what she guess was another fifteen minutes before her phone started to ring from across the room. Groaning, as she had just gotten into a rhythm of painting, she walked over and looked at the caller ID. The number didn’t have a name but she recognised it - it was Spencer’s number. 

“Hello?” Y/N answered. 

“Hi, Y/N. It’s Spencer.” 

“Spencer, hi. What’s up?” 

“I was just calling because we caught the guy who abducted Ava.” Spencer said. 

“That’s good. Is she okay?” Y/N questioned quickly.

Spencer paused, “She’s alive, she’s in hospital currently. If we didn’t get to her in time there was a chance that she wouldn’t make it.” 

“But she is alive.” Y/N clarified.

“Yes, and the doctors say that she will make a recovery.”

“Thank god.” Y/N said, placing her hand over her heart. 

“You okay?” Spencer questioned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad that Ava is okay.” Y/N replied. 

“We all are.” Spencer responded. 

The two fell into a long silence, normally if this happened someone would hang up however neither of them did. Y/N wanted to say something but she didn’t know what to say. She did want to continue speaking to Spencer but she didn’t exactly know how to approach the topic. Luckily she didn’t have to say anything. 

“Do you want to go and get coffee, um, with me?” Spencer asked.

“Um, sure, when?” Y/N asked, suddenly feeling a weight lift off her chest.

“Now? Only if you’re not doing anything, if you are we could always reschedule and have coffee another time.” Spencer rambled.

Y/N couldn’t help but let a small smile appear on her face, “Coffee sounds great Spencer, text me where.”

“Okay, okay, I will, I’ll see you soon Y/N.” Spencer replied, suddenly sounding perkier.

“See you soon.” Y/N responded before hanging up 

***

As Y/N stepped through the doors to the cafe, she immediately looked around for Spencer. She found him sitting at the back corner of the cafe. As their eyes met, a wide smile spread across Spencer’s face as Y/N began to walk over. When she was finally standing at the table Spencer’s gaze didn’t move from Y/N for a second. 

“Hi.” Y/N greeted with a smile. 

“Hi.” Spencer responded, his smile that Y/N could recognise anywhere still evident on his face. 

Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer and got comfortable. Once she looked down she noticed that there were two cups of coffee on the table.

“I don’t know if you still like your coffee like that but if you don’t I can always get you another cup.” Spencer said nervously.

Y/N smiled, touched at the simple action, “You still remember my order?”

Spencer felt his face heat up slightly, “Yeah, I do.”

Y/N smiled at him, causing Spencer to clear his throat, “So how have you been?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I’ve been good,” Y/N responded, “I’ve been settling in since I moved back here six months ago from England. Normally I would settle in quicker but Harper took a little longer to adjust.” 

“Why did you move back?” Spencer asked curiously.

“I loved living in England but being away from my family and friends was always hard and I couldn’t exactly afford to keep coming back and I couldn’t keep taking Harper out of school to have a small holiday to visit her family. I wanted her to get to know them in person not just through a screen,” Y/N explained, “Harper has loved being around her family since we moved.”

“She seems great,” Spencer said, “Harper that is.”

Y/N smiled at the thought of her daughter, “She is. Harper is the greatest thing to ever happen to me, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“How old is she?” Spencer asked, genuinely interested.

“Seven, she’s eight in a couple weeks,” Y/N said, “I can’t help but feel a little sad about it. Like I know she’s going to grow up but these years seem to have flown by. I feel like it was only a week ago she learnt how to walk, now she’s practically running everywhere,” Y/N was lost in thought for a quick moment before she snapped herself out of it, “Anyway, that’s enough about me for now, how’s the FBI been treating you?”

“It’s been treating me fine.” Spencer said, the grin on his face faltering.

Y/N narrowed her eyes momentarily, “Are you sure? I may not be a profiler Spencer but I can tell that you’ve been through a lot,” Y/N said as Spencer made eye contact, “You wanna know how I know that?” Spencer nodded slightly, “It’s your eyes, they used to be so innocent, now they’re filled with sadness.”

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking eye contact, “I, um, I’ve seen a lot and I’ve been through a lot.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through,” Y/N said sympathetically, “Thirteen years working for the FBI. I can’t even wrap my head around how long it’s been.”

“Me neither,” Spencer agreed, “You have a sadness in your eyes too.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N questioned.

“You have sadness in your eyes too,” Spencer repeated, “The only time it disappeared was when you were talking about Harper.”

Before Y/N could stop herself, she nodded her head, confirming Spencer’s comment, “I do. For the last eight years everyone has commented on it - around this time of year too.”

Spencer could tell that Y/N was abou to tell him why she felt the way she did but he was quick to interrupt her, “You don’t need to tell me Y/N.”

“No, it’s fine, seriously, practically everyone knows,” Y/N said before taking a deep breath, “My husband and Harper’s father, Owen, well he was in an accident and had to have surgery. We were told that there was a seventy-five percent chance the surgery would be successful. It was successful for the most part, he was like himself, always around Harper, playing with her.” 

Y/N found herself smiling at the memory of Harper playing with her father, “However, after a couple of weeks, he began to find himself getting more tired than usual. He just thought that it was the stress of work but he began to get worse to the point that he couldn’t get out of bed without him being in constant pain.” Y/N stopped her story for a moment, she never had a problem explaining this story before, but being the time of year it was, she was having a hard time.

“He was on so much medication just so he could actually walk around. Both of us knew that he didn’t have long left. I never wanted to make peace with that, I kept denying the inevitable saying that he was going to get better and we would be the happy family I always wanted. Deep down I knew that would never happen but I couldn’t help but lie to myself,” Y/N took a deep breath, by now her eyes were glossy with tears. 

“The one thing Owen wanted was to make it to Harper’s first birthday,” Y/N said, “He died four days before.”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Spencer said sincerely, he contemplated reaching across the table to take her hand and give her a bit of comfort but thought better of it. 

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, “Normally when I tell people about Owen, I don’t normally get this upset about it, at least I don’t anymore. But since it’s coming up to the anniversary of his death, I guess I just can’t help myself from feeling this way. Sorry for dumping all of that on you, I don’t know why I did it.”

“Y/N, it’s fine, seriously.” Spencer said. 

Y/N gave Spencer a tight lipped smile, “So what about you Spencer Reid, do you have a family?”

Spencer shook his head, “If you mean an actual family as in a wife and kids, I don’t.”

“Why’s that? Do you ever want a family?” Y/N asked.

Spencer nodded, “I’d like nothing more in the world,” He said, “You don’t mind if I talk about something personal do you?”

“I mean I just did so I’m sure it’s perfectly reasonable for you to share too.” Y/N said.

Spencer cleared his throat before speaking, “Well a few years ago I had a girlfriend, Maeve. She was being stalked so we only communicated through phone calls,” Spencer began to explain, “We never saw each other but I fell in love with her. The only time I saw her was when she was killed in front of me by her stalker,” Spencer paused, “I thought that when we could eventually see each other then we could start a family, get married, have kids. Of course that could never happen but I could only think of what would’ve been.”

“I’m sorry Spence,” Y/N said, unconsciously reaching across the table and gently placed her hand on top of his. Neither Y/N nor Spencer thought any different of it and Spencer squeezed her hand as a silent thank you. 

“I haven’t really felt a connection to anyone after Maeve, not enough to fall in love with.” Spencer said.

Y/N nodded in agreement, “Ever since Owen died, I haven’t really had a long term relationship, none of them lasted more than a few months at most. Some of them just thought of it as a fling, some of them couldn’t handle the responsibility of being a parent and some of them were scared off by the thought of me being a mother.”

“You’ll find the right person eventually.” Spencer said.

“And you will too Spencer, and you’ll get to start your family.” Y/N said, offering a small smile to which Spencer returned with one of his own.

Looking down at her phone, Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, “Is that the time? I’ve got to go now, I need to pick Harper up from school.”

“Of course.” Spencer said, removing his hand from Isla’s after he had noticed that they were still connected. 

Y/N stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder before turning back to Spencer, “This was fun, we should do it again soon but I’m buying the coffee next time.”

Spencer let out a quiet chuckle, “That’s only if you’re here before me.”

“Oh I will be,” Y/N said, “I’ll see you soon Spence.”

Y/N gave him a parting smile before turning and walking out the cafe to go and pick up her daughter.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@spenxerslut @averyhotchner @drayshadow @moviequeen51 @spencer-reid-am-i-right @ssavanessa22 @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat @mbjackie @jklemps @reformedmoneyshovel @nomajdetective @jesuisbenny @jooniehomie @spencerreid-187 @onyourfingertips @uhuhuh @rubyhi208-42 @archer561 @c0rpsecore @sweetandsunny @zoeygraygubler @algonsa @jswessie187 @shemarmooresfedora @kaz-2y567 @alfonsais @aikrus @nani-2305 @death-becomes-her @sarejane @isabelle-558 @measure-in-pain @the-nerd-gang @manuosorioh @luredwithpretzels @ceeellewrites @totallyclearwitch @jekkles @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @sarahpaulsonlov3r @periwinklemax @kuolonsyoja @heartmira @hoodpankow @parahmur @happymangospot @beepbooptoop @ilovespencerreidmarryme @spencesoulmate25 @bloodyxheaven @nyx2021 @morganwilliams @malindacath @pastelbabygirl19 @doctorspenceryeet @reidsbookclub @pinkdiamond1016 (will be continued in reblog)

SERIES TAGLIST

(Will be added in reblog)

[writefightandflightclub]

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog​ runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters. 

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go. 

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

[rosy-cheekx]

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing. 

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin.  It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

--

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

--

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but�� he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone��softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

[melyaliz]

Remember Me 11

Master List

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x OC

Notes: Been trying to get more writing in. Pushing myself to be creative again because I feel like this energy is getting pent up and needs to go somewhere.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive​

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Check out my published work.

--------Olive---------

“Eliott the craziest thing happened to me today!” Her boyfriend looked up from his computer where he was editing photos he had taken the week prior. Flopped down on the couch dramatically down next to him, Olive kissed him quickly before continuing with the craziest thing ever.

“So you know how I was writing short stories online? Well, some dude asked me to ghostwrite for them.”

Eliott moved his laptop away so he could focus on Olive, “no way, that’s great! Wait, is he paying you?”

“Yeah, it’s not a ton but it’s a start.” Olive glanced down at her phone again reading over the person’s suggestions again, “Maybe I could make a little extra from this? Could be really fun to actually make money from my writing.”

“Yeah I mean if it makes you happy do it,” Eliott said, getting up from the couch walking toward their small kitchen where dinner was slowly simmering on the stove. “But also, come try this sauce I made.”

Getting up to follow her boyfriend Olive took the spoon he was  holding out, “Oh that’s good.” she hummed approvingly

“I know right?”

“I need to wife you up so you can cook like this all the time,” Olive said putting the spoon back in the pot.

“I will only say yes to a princess cut,” Eliott teased stirring the pot a few times before putting the lid back on. “Are you done getting story propositions? Want to watch a movie?”

“Let’s do a movie.”

“Roadhouse?”

“Pain don’t hurt”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“So the police had been keeping an eye on airlines out of Tokyo but for American passports but we haven’t found anyone who matches the description the robbers gave us” Kirishima sighed, rubbing his forehead as Bakugou growled and threw the reports on his assistant’s desk. His poor assistant quickly gathered up the paperwork putting it back in order. After working for Bakugou for this long she knew better than to leave any mess

“The police are useless! They can’t find one guy”

“I guess it could be possible this guy is erasing the memories of the people who see him.” Kirishima offered as Bakugou grabbed his gauntlets getting ready for patrol.

“He’s such a coward, just face me like a man!�� Bakuogu snapped at no one in particular, feeling his hands growing more sweaty at his anger. The feeling of Olive sobbing on his chest from a week ago still so fresh in his memory. Luckily for him - and her - it was as if she had gotten it all out. Since that night she had started finding a routine. She had started writing again and yesterday he even caught her smiling at her screen laughing to herself over some crazy plot idea she was coming up with. The sight had been such a beautiful one Bakugou had been scared to move in case he broke the spell.

That morning after Bakugou had made breakfast for them Olive had informed him that she was working on her unfinished story and planned to reach out to her editor that day. She even opened up about trying to figure out if it was better to continue on or start something new since she only had her outlines and notes to go off of. She had looked so determined and happy it was as if he had gotten the old Olive back.

While it was an improvement she still wasn’t his Olive yet and he wasn't going to settle until she was.

As they walked down the streets he could hear people getting excited to see the number 1 hero walking the streets next to the number 5. Kirishima had his own very loyal fan base that Olive had started to call his Shimanights. It also helped that Kirishima was basically the top hero who was still single.

Lots of girls flocked to them asking for pictures. Bakugou hated this part of the job. It had only been recently that he had actually started letting them shoot pictures of him. Before he would just ignore the cries of fans continuing to walk by.

Although today he was a bit on edge.

Or more than normal.

“You know,” Kirishima said, walking up behind Bakugou after snapping a few pictures with some high school girls. “I know you are dealing with a lot with Olive’s emotions and stuff but… Do you remember that time you were tracking that villain and disappeared in the mountains for over a week?

“Yeah, why?”

“You were engaged to Olive at the time and she had just officially moved here to Japan.” Kirishima sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. That week had been the longest week in his and Olive’s life. “When I went to go tell her what had happened I thought she was going to pass out. She kept saying you couldn’t die over and over again. I just” he paused again trying to find the right words.

“I know she’s upset about Eliott right now” Kirishima continued, “but she does love you just as much. How she’s acting now, is like how she was when you were gone.” Kirishima concluded. He knew when Bakugou had found out Olive had been married before the blonde had been upset. As if he was the second all over again. While it hadn’t stopped him in the long run, there was always these remnants of a scar that you can only see if you really look. That Bakugou was worried he would always be second in Olive’s life.

Bakugou looked away, lost in his own memories of that week. Coming back and seeing her in the hospital waiting for him. Her large hazel eyes filled with tears trying so hard not to cry. He had pulled her into his arms much like he had last night. She had told him over and over he couldn’t leave her. It was the only time she had ever said that. Olive had known that him being a hero was the most important thing to him and she never tried to get in his way.

But that night she wouldn’t leave his side. Holding onto him as if he would turn into dust and blow away if she so much as loosened her grip.

That had been over 2 years ago and he hadn’t thought about that in so long. It had never occurred to him that she had thought he may have been killed. Suddenly everything seemed to have a different hue on the past few weeks. As if he was seeing it all through different eyes.

“I guess” was Bakugou’s simple response as he continued walking down the street.

Suddenly all he wanted was to go home and see her. Remind her he would never leave her, he would never make her feel this way because of him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Oive was deep in stories. Piecing them together was like a puzzle. Part of it felt like an old mussel she hadn’t worked out in a while. A bit stiff but it felt great. Getting back into the swing of things, coming up with ideas and planning stuff. Her editor had suggested she maybe look into a new idea or maybe something she had put away for a long time instead of jumping into the story she had been working on.

So laying on the floor of the living room that was exactly what she was doing. She had this one idea about a modern Esther story except for the king she has to marry is a Dragon king and she’s a unicorn only he doesn’t know that. She already had so many spicey ideas and the secret unicorn idea just had this… hidden comedy that made her smile.

A ping on her phone cut her off from her writing making her look down.

Lily: ‘Look what came up on my timeline.

As if on cue text opened up in Olive’s group chat from Lily. It was an image of Olive holding a little baby wrapped in a pink blanket. Leaning over Olive’s shoulder was Bakugou looking down at the small baby. His normally harsh features were much softer.

Lily: “That was when your goddaughter was born”

Clare instantly replied to another image, This one of Olive hanging off of Bakugo’s arm which he was flexing. That ‘I’m not annoyed but I’m trying to look it ’ scowl on his face that she was starting to realize was a signature of his.

The picture was followed up by a video from the same night. Bakugou was lifting up his arm as Olive hung on. Her body slowly lifting off the ground as she clung to his bicep. Giggling so hard she almost slipped several times.

“Stop laughing or you are going to lose your grip.” Bakugou’s voice said from the video as he watched her struggle to pull her legs up to her chest further off the ground.

“I can’t believe he’s doing that,” Clare’s voice said behind the camera

“He’s so proud of himself, show off” Lily laughed as the camera zoomed in on Bakugou’s face as he smiled down at Olive who was looking up at him still laughing.

“You are going to fall” he chastised

“I’m not!”

As if on cue her grip slipped, or maybe it had been her powers. Olive’s ass was suddenly on the floor, looking up at Bakugou blinking in shock.

“I told you, idiot,” Bakugou said, shaking his head, no real bite behind his voice.

Lily: ‘Pretty sure this one is Nate’s fav’

Another video popped up. Bakugou looking totally put out sitting on a white couch, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m serious, why would you make me watch this utter horse shit! Vampires don’t bounce like that and what even was that robot?” Bakugou was yelling at an Olive who was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. The camera was pretty shaky; it was clear Lily was laughing as well.

“Katsuki is mad at us for showing him Robo Vampire.” Lilly’s voice narrated.

“More like mad at Olive, we are just enjoying the show” Nate, Lily’s husband said as the camera turned to him for a , an amused smile on his face.

“Oh my… I can’t stop… breath” Olive gasped from the seat next to Bakugou as he continued to rant at her.

“Seriously, how do you people enjoy that? What is actually wrong with you?”

“But look at how much fun we are having now,” she giggled, leaning forward a huge smile on her face. He studied her for a moment before pushing her face back, rolling his eyes. But there was just a hint of a smile on his scowling face. It was an impressive feat that only Bakugou could pull off.

Clare : This one is my favorite video.

It was a link to a youtube video of Olive sitting in the office of their apartment. She recognized her pink chair and pictures behind her.

In the video, she was answering some of her fan’s questions. Everything from what books inspired her at the moment, to her favorite drink to… her second marriage.

Past Olive had chuckled looking at the question for a moment before looking back up at the camera. Her eyes lighting up slightly, it was clear that whatever the question said sparked a deep joy inside that woman on the other side of the camera.

“So yes, as many of you have realized by now I am in a relationship with Hero DynaMight, Katsuki Bakugou. We met when he was in the US and have been together for over a year.” she paused the diamond on her hand catching the light as she ran her fingers through the turquoise and blue hair she now had. The one constant in her life, the ever-changing shades of her hair.

“So I know when Eliott died three years ago I had said I had gotten the love of my life and I didn’t think I could ever find another like that and I was at peace with it.” she bit her lip eyes darting off-screen for a moment trying to find the right words. “And I meant it. But… Katsuki just kind of came into my life and gave me something totally new.”

Past Olive laughed lightly for a moment at some memory that Present Olive wished she could remember. It looked like a happy one.

“They are two totally different people and there is no way to compare them. Eliott was this calm funny guy who taught me how to be comfortable in my own skin. He encouraged me to do what made me happy. Katsuki…” she paused a soft smile playing on her lips, her eyes lighting up at the memories.

“Katsuki showed me that second life keeps going and that nothing is impossible. That there is such a thing as a second chance. He…” she laughed, her hand covering her mouth for a moment that beautiful diamond that present Olive was still not used to, glinted in the light as if laughing with her, “He inspires me every day and has given me so much hope in the future.”

Olive couldn’t take her eyes off the girl on the screen. It was like seeing yourself in a fun mirror. Someone you didn’t recognize but your brain told you was you. That this woman who was smiling and so in love was the same girl as Olive. That this life this woman was talking about was hers.

As past Olive moved on to the next question - something about her upcoming book - Present Olive was caught up in her own thoughts. It wasn’t unbelievable that she could have been that happy and inlove with Bakugou. In fact she felt herself slowly falling for him more and more each day.

The door to their apartment opened, making Olive look up a huge smile on her face as the man from the videos was walking into the living room where she was sitting. When he saw her smiling face he paused, studying her. As if unsure what to do with her happiness.

Made sense. Poor guy.

“How was work?” she asked

“Fine,” was his simple reply as he took a seat on the couch. She scooted over so she could look up at him from her spot on the floor.

“So I have been thinking…” she said, scooting closer to him. He watched her, unsure how to react to this shift in her emotion. It was different from her normal forced happy, almost as if the old Olive was slowly peeking through the cracks. “Since I can’t remember anything you could basically take me to all my favorite places and it would be a new experience.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So do you have dinner plans?”

“No” He didn’t bother to point out that his plans were to eat with her because obviously, she was getting to a point.

She gently placed her hand on his knee sending shivers up his spine. The whole, touch-starved thing getting worse by the day. Suddenly he didn’t want to have dinner plans. He wanted to take her in his arms and eat her out instead.

“So what sorts of places would we go to eat? Besides that Ramen place you took me.”

“Normally I would cook but if you want to go out we can go get street food. You were obsessed with it.”

Her eyes grew wide leaning forward getting up onto her knees so she was now leaning over his legs excitedly. The position was not helping the subtle throbbing that was going on in Bakugou’s pants. His face flushed slightly as he tried to keep his composure.

“Oh that sounds like so much fun!”

“Ok let me shower and we can go.”

And it was fun. Olive practiced her Japanese ordering so much food Bakugou felt like he would never need to eat again. They even did some shopping which resulted in a new floppy sun hat that Olive kept moving her head to make flop around, that large smile that had been on her face in the apartment never leaving.

Several hours later and a cone of ice cream each they headed back to their apartment.

“Honestly, I don’t get it,” Olive said, turning to him, “I know we have touched on this topic a few times… but...”

“If you ask me again why we are together…”

“It’s just so weird.” she laughed nudging him with her arm leaning close her body pressed against his. “You’re like model hot and I’m like maybe a 5,” she said, pulling away, both of them feeling the loss of the other. “Number 1 Hero, beloved by all, super-rich,” she ticked off each reason as she spun away from him.

He reached out grabbing her arm causing her to stop, his callus hand enveloping her much smaller one. Her hazel eyes met his that mischievous look he had not seen in months. She used to give him so much shit, the old Olive never let him get away with anything.  Always laughing and joking about everything with a wit that could cut down even the most stoic of heroes.

Olive in turn felt like her feet had been melted into the concrete below her by the look her husband was giving her. So intense it felt like his red eyes were burning holes into her very soul. Peeling her raw down into someone else. The Olive she had seen on youtube video.

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other both totally lost in their own thoughts.

“Whatever we are ok!” he finally snapped, letting go of her hand breaking the tension that was as thick as the humidity of the summer night. Noticing a bit of ice cream on her nose, without thinking he brushed it away. “You also eat like a child.”

Giggling, she wiped the back of her face with her sleeve. Her cheeks flushing. “Yeah, yeah let’s just add it to the list of reasons why it’s weird you married me.”

“Oh shut up” he mumbled leaning forward kissing her, her lips were cold from the ice cream. She smiled against his lips deepening the kiss letting his tongue explore the cool sweet taste of her mouth.

Letting out a soft growl, Bakugou’s teeth dragged over her supple bottom lip. His free arm snaking around her waist pulling her closer so that she was flush against his body. He craved her more than anything else and even with them both fully clothed in the middle of a busy street he could only think about how badly he wanted her.

And then she sighed against his mouth and that was it.

“Let’s get back,” he said, looking down at her as she blinked up at him. His comment was more of a question than a statement. So much meaning laced behind those words. Thick and heavy “Please?”

She nodded softly, her large hat flopping with her. “ I would like to go back to our place. ”

His heart could have stopped in his chest. His whole body lighting up tingling at the tips. It was like when he blasted himself into the air. Light and weightless as if he could do anything. The feeling of the fire licking at his palms sending sparks running through his hand and up his fingers.

Grabbing her arm he started pulling her down the street only to pause to stop again to kiss her again before once again leading her towards their place.

Our place

She had called it our place.

- GET TAGGED -

Master List

Story Tag: @0hmydeku @inumorph @it-jinxed-us @myraticm @sizzlingdonutturtlemuffin

[octalove]

II: Blood and Ghosts

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader tries getting a clue. part one

“Typically, they steer clear of the Village, but that doesn’t appear to be the case as of recent. Oracle found out about an operation out of a Hadley’s Deli there- standard money laundering, but it also could’ve been linked to the shipment of cocaine that we found at the Yacht Basin.”

“Right. So what changed?”

“A better question would be what didn’t?”

A beat. The contrasting silence that followed jarred me from my thoughts as I glanced over and realized that Bruce was prompting me for an answer. Tim looked expectant and inquisitive, but that was sort of his default expression.

“Oh. Sorry. What?” I said apologetically.

“Maroni.” He said simply. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t express verbal disappointment as he turned back to Tim, but I knew it was there.

“Red Hood has been operating out of The Bowery. Maroni and Falcone are stubborn, but they’re losing. He’s pushing them north.”

“So moving to the Village isn’t expansion. It’s desperation.” Tim muttered thoughtfully.

“I believe so.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. Bruce glanced back to me, studying a moment. Scrutinizing every detail; not deciding whether or not to let me leave- rather, deciding why I wanted to. Then, he nodded. Seems he wasn’t in the mood to ask.

I swept up my laptop and phone, and ascended the stairs from the cave to the manor quickly, trying to escape the eyes boring into my back. Only when the cool, lemon-scented air of the manor filled my lungs did I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone. All I needed was few minutes alone. I scaled the marble steps to my room and shut the door.

I hadn’t told anyone that I saw him three nights ago. That I watched him murder a man in retribution for me. My alter ego, anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would mean having to tell them I snuck away. Having to walk through every detail again; sights, sounds, smells. What Red Hood was wearing and what he sounded like, what gun he was holding and how he held it, what prompted him to fire, how many shots and how he acted when he did.

But if ever there was a time to be high-strung and anxious, it was when you were keeping secrets from Batman. And Oracle. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And Robin. Damian in particular could smell a lie like blood in the water, and he wasn’t too polite to hold your gaze until he was certain you weren’t hiding anything. That, and the art of solidarity was still foreign to him- even if I did tell him in confidence, he would take it right to Bruce. Possibly the police. Maybe a news outlet or two just because it soothed his vindictive nature. I’d been avoiding him.

Evening bled into night, and I was barred from masked business on school nights, so I couldn’t even patrol to ease the anxious energy. Still, that meant less opportunity for Bruce to analyze my musculoskeletal ticks or whatever the hell he did to tell when I was nervous, so I decided it was a worthy trade-off and resigned myself to independent research.

Who the hell was Red Hood, anyway? Half of Gotham was looking for him, the other half was running from him. I opened my laptop.

His debut was The Viper House, a strip club in Little Italy that also functioned as a human trafficking hub when the owner, Renaldo, needed to buy his wife (or handful of mistresses) a new Blue Nile diamond. By the end, the building had to be gutted. There’s only so much crime scene clean-up can do with carpet.

Next came the kingpins. Blowing open a trafficking operation had a short grace period if you didn’t cut out the source. Italian mobsters, the Romani families, the crews that had built empires on drug and sex trade dropped like flies until they found that their numbers dwindled for the first time since Joker finally bit it. The dozens of loyal men on their payroll decided that empty pockets were better than a full grave, and when it came to the business of death, Red Hood was very persuasive. It went on like that for six months; he amassed men, power, weapons, and tech. Most importantly, a potent reputation. This was due in no small part to his creative footwork; he liked to send messages. One file covered an incident where Alphonso Kuznetsov decided to write Gotham’s new player an open letter in the evening column suggesting that if he decided to bring his business to Port Adams, he might find himself in a ‘watery grave’. Kuznetsov was found a week later when a fishing vessel drug an entire coffin from the bottom of the harbor, padlocked and full of water. He was bound, drowned, and gagged with a copy of the very paper that featured his message. Red Hood must have been in touch with his artistic sensibilities; it was all very Shakespearean.

Of course, these were all just words. Rumors and hearsay. All I knew of the Red Hood from my intimate encounter was that he had a quick hand, an incendiary temper, and he didn’t fucking like creeps. All the makings of vigilante, if you chose to see it like that.

I sighed. Two hours and none of my research gave me any indication of why me. Why the hell should Red 57-kill-count Hood care if some goon told me he like the way I looked in my suit? I may has well have been the veiled threats of Kuznetsov’s evening column for all my inconsequence to him.

But it all kept running through my mind. Backwards and forwards. The vitriol in his voice preluding the barbarity of his reprimand. The way he said little Batgirl, like the crime was that I’d been engaged at all. More than the memory, something was telling me to keep digging. Something dragging me back to Crime Alley with the current of the running blood through Little Italy’s gutters.

I had to do something. And if that something wasn’t going to Bruce, then school tomorrow would have to wait.

The morning went along as per usual. I woke up at six, dawned my Gotham Academy uniform, grabbed a muffin and coffee, completed a complicated and well-practiced secret handshake with Tim (that Dick was secretly jealous of), and was out the door at 6:30, keys jingling in Alfred’s hand.

He dropped me off outside the ornate gothic academy, and I waved goodbye as I skipped backward along the cobblestone walkway. Once his black Mercedes was a pinpoint on the horizon, I promptly turned heel from the front doors, heading East toward the Narrows. Catching the subway there would take me as far as the Knight’s Stadium, and from there it was a short distance to the Alley. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in my academy uniform- anyone who gave a shit could pretty confidently deduce that school was in session at 8am on a Tuesday, and no student native to the Alley could afford a private education, so I was bound to draw eyes. I hadn’t packed an extra outfit incase Tim or Alfred got suspicious- that was paranoia puppeteering. I wasn’t used to skipping school. I’d have to make due.

Crime Alley in broad daylight was a brand new experience. At night, at least the smoke unfurling from the sewer grates hit the flickering streetlights and offered an unconventional charm. During the day, it was like shedding light on a foul sin. I was starkly out of place, and even the lapdog-sized rats seemed to know it, scurrying back across gritty concrete when I passed by. I looked for familiar things I’d seen the other night- a run-down apartment complex, a gated liquor shop, a meager but menacing corner-store, busy with glaring laymen reluctantly dragging out their wallets for a pack of cigarettes. I caught the eye of a woman sitting on the curb with a paper-bag bottle for company, and she scowled.

Spurned by the rats, and now by the people, I was running out of options. Sticking close to the buildings that perimetered the square, I moved in tandem with the motion of the locals, so as not to draw any eyes by looking lost. It was an unnerving scape; too quiet for my liking, but just empty enough to feel safely underseen. I made my way past familiar landmarks until I finally stood before the warehouse where I’d been.

I listened; no sound from inside. Even henchmen have day jobs. Jimmying the rusty padlock was just a matter of brandishing a bobby-pin from my hair, and the heavy metal door swung open without much resistance. I cautiously picked my way around crates and boxes, unsure of what I was looking for. Clues, maybe. Proof that he was here and dropped a body in my name, amen.

There was a dark, daunting stain on the floor where Hoffman’s body was. A phantom gunshot echoed in my ears, along with a nauseating sound of flat-back weight slapping concrete.

“Ain’t school in session?” I spun on my heel, meeting the red helm of a towering man draped in leather and armor. My mouth went dry. My right foot slipped back into a fighting stance before I remembered I was in cashmere and plaid, not kevlar. Not that I even stood a chance either way; but at least he seemed to harbor good will toward Batgirl. Wordlessly, I took a few steps back until I was standing over the blood and ghosts of Hoffman’s demise.

“P-please. Don’t- don’t hurt me.” I rasped.

I could play the rebellious, morose teenager and come up with something like it was a dare, or I could offer no explanation and simply cry.

Red Hood’s head tipped one way. His hands were empty- for now. Two heavy-looking glocks hung on his waist. I didn’t want to die on top of Hoffman’s blood stain. There was a level of symbolism there I was deeply unprepared to spend my final moments analyzing.

“Lookin’ for something, darlin’?” I swallowed- unable to say you.

“Wh-What do you want?” I asked.

He laughed, but it was humorless. Lacking whatever key component made laughs so appealing. As though the sound rung off the gravestones of uncanny valley before reaching my ears. “I think we’re both asking stupid questions.” He said. I was fucked. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and could out-draw me even if I had a weapon. I had no explanation for my being here that suited a civilian, and my phone was in my bag, meaning help was a world away.

But just as soon as he advanced a few paces, he stopped, and gestured to the crimson beneath my feet.

“Enjoy the show the other night?” He asked, before pulling something out of his jacket pocket and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. A batarang.

“You forgot somethin’.”

Cold, knife-like fear erupted in my spine, driven to the hilt. He knew. How did he know? What the hell was I supposed to do? My terror must have shown on my face, because he stopped fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babydoll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“H-how-“

He moved again, slow, lazy strides until he was no more than an inch from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, figuring if I was gonna die, I should at least know that much.

His hands grabbed mine. The leather of his gloves was cool on my skin, but it barely registered for the closeness of him. I stared at the red bat symbol on his chest, jagged and angry looking. I blinked and looked down slowly as he closed my fingers around the cold metal of the batarang.

“Go home, little bird.” It was a cold, seething demand, his voice snagging on the scrambler to make it sound like a low growl.

“Tell Batman when he’s ready to stop sending his toy soldiers,” His hand went under my chin, tilting my head upward. My breath shook as I drew it, hitching, even though the man before me was faceless. Clean, red monochrome, glinting in the light.

“I’m getting impatient.” *

I walked through the manor door in a daze, the cold steel batarang searing my palm.

Bruce and Damian were in the living room, each invested in their own reading material. The grandfather clock ticked his steady tempo, and I inconspicuously adjusted the bag on my shoulder. Bruce had a steaming cup of coffee on the glass side table beside his leather chair.

“How was school?” He asked, not looking up. My paranoia convinced me it sounded rhetorical, but I shrugged anyway.

“Same old.” A glance, to see if my lie had landed.

Damian was the spitting image of his father. He, along with Tim, operated in the wake of being an only child, so he never did care about how I did in school, or much of anything else in my orbit. If at any point he did, he never thought to ask. Father and son looked like a matching set of dolls sitting there, cross-legged, with dark hair and gaunt eyes, both leanly muscular, and habitually poised; a consequence of being from the upper echelon of each of their respective backgrounds.

“Hey, um, are you going out tonight?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can I come?”

“Are you certain you want to?” He still didn’t look up.

I blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been distracted since the last outing.”

Damian visibly tuned in.

“Oh. Sorry. I had a big paper I was worried about for school, but I turned it in today, so I’m good to go.” I threw him a thumbs up, even though he wasn’t looking.

A beat.

“Very well, then. Nine o’clock.”

I nodded, and headed toward the stairs.

“Y/N,” I stopped, and turned around. He was looking at me now, eyes blue and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you did well?”

“…”

“On the paper.”

I threw him a smile. “The best.”

[heresathreebee]

Brackish and Briny Waters (two)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Settling into your new house Part 1 Masterlist Part 3

Tags: +17 | 1.7k words | just really fucking domestic stuff, one (1) bad attitude, presumptuous behavior, unprotected morning sex, more remodeling.

AN: I kind of know where I'm going with this. The conflict will be subtle at first but it's there I promise.

The first day goes by fast and for Ralph meeting every single person on staff in this prestigious school was like trying cheeses and wines in a vineyard– fun at first but you get a stomach ache because somebody forgot to tell you not to swallow and there are just so many of them each more rich than the last. By the time he crosses the threshold to his new home, he's exhausted and annoyed. 

"I told you not to unpack without me." 

You look at him from the kitchen and shrug. "I needed stuff, baby. I already wrote a list of things to work on in this 'bare bones' house you put us up in and I was bored." 

You don't care for his attitude but offer him the covered plate anyways. "I saved you some dinner." 

All at once, Ralphie's anger melted from his face. He shuffled his tired feet across the still empty living room and pulled you into his side. The plate was warm (still warm or recently warmed up, he couldn't tell) and his stomach growled. 

"M sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be an asshole." 

You smile your forgiveness. "Long day?" 

"Yes," he hisses. "I already can't wait for the weekend." 

You chuckle. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Give it a chance, baby!" 

"As you wish." 

After eating, Ralph is right to sleep despite his insistence you finish packing together tonight. A part of you thinks it's the climate here– fresh sea salt air and less artificial light to disrupt the body's natural sleep patterns. You took off his shoes and empty his pockets because he was just 'resting his eyes for a moment,' then slid in right next to him. He's fine without a blanket, but you pull the back of the quilt over your rear and curl into his side. Sleep comes easier tonight than last night and you dream of wallpaper and wood smoke cologne. 

DAY THREE

The rest of the week gets easier for the both of you. You arrived on Monday and unpack the bigger furniture together by Wednesday with the help of some locals. Ralph is getting to study the lesson plan for Ms. Lewis' math class and establishing a gentle authority with his temporary students. He is still excited for the weekend, intent to help you figure out what to do with the walls of the house. 

"Has anybody come to see you at the house yet?," he asks you Thursday night. 

You pause dicing onions to think. "Besides the neighbors to the north and those Vayle boys? No." 

Ralphie raises his eyebrows and drops them, an involuntary gesture made more for himself than you. 

You put a hand on your hip. "Why?" 

Ralphie waves you off and continues mixing the meat with the spices. "Nothing. It's just everybody and their fucking moms has been asking me about you." 

"What?" This was news to you. "Why?" 

"Because they're nosy," he replies, "asking me about my whole life story and I let slip I had a wife and then they just wouldn't shut up about it." 

You swat his shoulder. "Well don't sound so depressed about it. Do you not like having a wife?" 

"No!" Ralph huffs and turns to look at you as he says, "I just hate that every single one of them bugs me about a million personal things and then I mention you and it's the only thing they can talk about now." 

Ralph turns back to stirring the pan and grumbles to himself, "might tell them to fuck off and just hoard you forever…" 

It clicks in your head at least a bit. Ralph's a born and bred city kid. In the city nobody cares who you are, what you like, or where you're from. Strangers don't want to be anything more than strangers. Their eternal social motto is 'don't waste my time' and anyone who acts differently is probably scheming something. 

You chuckle and rest your chin on his shoulder. "You're forgetting these are a different breed of people. Rich and educated socialites more over but suburban, maybe even rural. We're probably the first new thing to happen to them in decades, and communities like this don't have a 'mind your business and I'll mind mine' attitude." 

Ralphie flicks you a look but you know he knows you're right. It doesn't mean he has to like it but at least he understands it's not malicious, at least not inherently. It's out of his element, a little out of yours too, but you'll have to adapt and play by their rules if you want to stay here for a while. 

The dining room table can seat six, but your Ralphie takes a seat right next to you at a corner so he can hold your hand while you eat. Homemade tacos ease your apprehensions a bit and you go over the remodeling plans with him until midnight. Getting ready to sleep, you wear your thinnest shift and wrap around him like an octopus, your warm core brushing over his barely clothed manhood in temptation. 

Ralphie hums, tucking a stray hair back into your bonnet. "We need to get up early tomorrow." 

It's a weak protest. The two of you keep rocking into each other and sighing at the feeling of friction but eventually fall asleep despite the delightful buzz of sexual energy surrounding you. You do wake up when Ralph flips you under him and sucks a few marks into your neck.

You spread your legs to accommodate his breadth, feeling him settle deliciously and glancing at the bedside clock. It's barely 5 o' clock and the sun is rising. You gasp as you feel Ralphie's cock slide into you and he's met with little resistance. You two have sex for the first time since you moved and it's been so long that the affair is short lived. 

Ralph already has an apology on his lips but you shush him and come a moment later with your fingers brushing your clit in tandem. He peppers you with a dozen more kisses as silent promises to make it up to you. 

You shower together, barely bumping elbows as this bathroom is way bigger than your New York City apartment ever was. You chat idly about the weekend and the town and when you're ready to leave, you grab the manila folder where you store the plans for the remodel. You've even got samples from the wallpaper, only taking the ones you like and want to replace. 

"I know we probably won't find exact replicas but I want to at least find something similar." 

Ralph squeezes your thigh. "Ok, ok. We'll try." 

While this town doesn't have a McDonald's (the town over does and it's fancy for some reason), it does have a Home Depot (also pretty fancy). You know you'll need wood and screws and glass panes to finish that solar room but that's not the goal for today. 

Ralph skips right over the green paint swatch section to the creams. He's rambling about paint brand pros and cons, he did his research on the way in since you were driving and he brought the book from the school library. You follow and half listen. 

"What?" 

Ralph finally catches on to your soft smile. You glance around to make sure no one is in earshot because god forbid these gossipers over hear your conversation right now. 

"I guess I got you pretty excited last night, huh," you say with a sense of pride. Ralph feels the opposite about his performance this morning. 

"I just… I think it's just been a while." He occupies his hands by grabbing every single free swatch sample on the shelf and says, "I promise I will make it up to you." 

You roll your eyes in a not unkind way. "It's fine, babe, really. I uh… it feels kind of good to know I still have that kind of effect on you…" 

Ralphie sports a smile of his own and puts you under his arm. "Of course you do, sugar." 

He leans down to plant a kiss on your lips when you're interrupted by a bright voice. It's so startling that your husband bounces away from you. He stares wide eyed at the woman who interrupted you and he gets that dark look in his eye that only you can see. 

"Jesus, Julie," he tries his best not to growl her name. "This is Julie, she's a teacher at the school. Julie this… is… my wife." 

Julie makes a noise like a whistle. "Oh my god you are so much more beautiful than I imagined! Ralph doesn't have a picture of you in his office!" 

"It's on my desk," he huffs, "it's the one turned towards me." 

"And why would you do that?" 

"...so I can look at it while I work…?" 

Julie's… a little too hands on for just meeting you. You're too reserved to say something about it so you sling a loose arm around her back and hope Ralph doesn't say something for you. 

"Hi Julie, it's nice to finally meet you," you tell her. "Ralph's been slowly but surely introducing me to the concept of his coworkers." 

"I can't believe we haven't met before now! Ralph keeping you all to himself, me and the other teachers are just so curious about you," she coos. It feels almost put on, like overindulging in sweet to play up her first impression. You let it slide though, maybe it's just your city lens. 

"Well, uh, once we've got the house fixed up a bit, we can plan a housewarming party," you suggest. "But not a day before and you may quote me on that, miss!" 

Julie laughed and gave you her phone number 'in case you need anything at all.' Ralph breathed easy once she finally left and you tug his ear gently. "She's veeerry friendly." 

Ralphie shoots you a glare like you'd made a joke he didn't find funny and you go back to debating the paint to use for your walls eagerly.

@escape-your-grape @hoodoo12 @softbeej @go-commander-kim @beetlesstuff @imma-fucking-nerd​ @werwulfy​

[wayward-mikaelson]

Love’s a Bitch

Word Count: 2543

About: You have a date with someone in IT. Steve is obviously jealous about it. When the date flops, you head back to the compound. You have a few drinks with Steve and the truth comes out.

Characters: Reader, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Jealousy, Jealous Steve Rogers, Some Drinking, Sexual Tension, Implied Sex, Morning After

A/N: Mark from IT is a complete jerk just throwing that out there for anybody. Also, if you ever have a Mark like type date, throttle him hard and leave that boy behind. 

*This work contains content for the 18 and up crowd.

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work anywhere WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me credit. I work too hard on my work and would hate to have it stolen. You obviously can share the link.

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****Go follow my other accounts. Links can be found in the pinned post on my profile.

*****Currently NOT taking any requests. 

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The flight back to the compound did nothing for your upset stomach. Missions never upset your stomach before but this one seemed to get you in all the right spots. And it wasn’t even that bad of a mission, you’ve had worse missions before that have left you almost dead. The jet hit a small air pocket and the small drop had you holding tightly to your chair and hoping nothing came up and out of your mouth.

“You doing good?” Steve asked you. You looked up at him, his blue eyes looked down on you and you could see some concern in them. “You don’t look so good.”

“She trying to hold it all in,” Wanda’s voice came from the other side of the jet. “Horrible timing too. She’s got a date tonight with what’s his name from IT?”

“Mark,” you manage to choke out closing your eye and resting your head back on the headrest behind you.

“You have a date?” Steve sounded surprised. “You didn’t tell me that. You usually tell me just about anything.” Steve was right. You do tell him just about everything. But when Mark asked to take you to dinner the other night, you just couldn’t get up the courage to tell Steve.

“I guess it slipped my mind,” you opened an eye to peek at him. Steve’s forehead was furrowed some and it looked like he didn’t look thrilled about your date. “I also don’t need to tell you every single thing that happens to me.”

“I know that,” Steve’s voice was different. “Make sure your belt is tightened. We should be landing soon.”

When you got back to the compound, Steve made you go get check out for every head injury possible. You tried to fight it but Steve used the “That’s an order or you’re benched” card. So while you were being looked at, you couldn't help stare at the clock as it ticked on by.

Second after second.

Minute after minute.

Hour after hour.

Three hours later, you got the all clear and even the onsite doctor said that it was just an upset stomach. You rushed to your room and quickly showered. You decided to skip on shaving your legs and focused on washing your long thick hair.

When you were done, you quickly brushed your teeth and threw on clothes. Simple jeans and a nice looking blouse. You towel dried your hair and worked painfully to get the knots out. After that, you pulled out black ankle books and threw those on and didn’t even bother with a decent make up look. There wouldn’t be any time for that.

You opened your door and saw Steve standing right there about ready to knock. “Hey,” you moved passed him and he caught your arm. “What?” You pulled your arm back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked slowly looking you over.

“On my date,” you said slowly. “Remember? Mark set up a reservation for six and it’s almost six.”

“I don’t think you should go,” Steve crossed his arms. “Not until you’ve been in the clear for twenty-four hours.”

What has gotten into him? You wondered. Steve never acted like this. “Are you okay?” You shifted on your feed. “You’re not really yourself.”

Steve dropped his arms and put them in his pockets. “I’m fine, unlike you. I know the doctor cleared you, but he could have missed something and I want you to be here, just in case.” You looked at his posture. It was straighter than usual. The way he looked at you with those blue eyes. They didn’t just look at you, they dug hooks into your soul.

You walked up to him and touch his arm. “Steve,” you said. “I’m a big girl. So if anything happens to me, you will be the first one to call. I promise.”

Steve starred into your Y/E/C for a couple of minutes before nodding his head. “Okay, you call me for anything.” You smiled and before you turned around you caught a hint of sadness creep into his eyes. You’d have to ask him about it later and pushed it aside.

TWO HOURS LATER

You stormed out of the restaurant as you pulled out your phone. That date was a mega disaster while running with a bright red flag. You scrolled to Steve’s number as you walked a good two blocks away from the restaurant just to make sure that Mark didn’t follow.

“Y/N,” Steve answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?”

You walked around the corner and spotted a bench. “I need you to come get me,” I sat on the bench.

“What happened?” you heard the change in Steve’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll tell you when you come get me, but yes, I’m fine-ish. I’m going to send you my location cause I have no idea where the hell I am right now.” You got off the phone and quickly sent your location to Steve.

You sat there on the bench for about twenty minutes. You watched the people walk by and the busyness of life around you. You didn’t want to think about the date that was disaster and no matter how many times Mark tried to text or call, it brought it all back. Even you blocked his number he somehow managed to try again with another number.

Just as you were texting Steve to ask how much longer he was, a slick black car pulled up next to you. The window rolled down and there sat Steve. “Thank God,” you whispered and got up and into the car.

“So, do you want to tell me?” Steve asked glancing at you as he merged back into traffic.

You took a deep breath. “There were a ton of red flags. He was basically one of those alpha male types with small dick energy. Started with a comment about my outfit and the fact I didn’t make time do to make up for him.” You used air quotes around that last part.

“What did he say?” Steve’s voice sounded hard. Probably a good idea that you walked a few blocks away from the restaurant. Mark may be been a dick to you, but you didn’t want Steve to get arrested.

“He saw what I was wearing he said and I quote ‘I made reservations at a restaurant and you chose to where that? it’s not even nice and what, no make up for me. just a really bland look for you.” You saw Steve’s hands tighten on the wheel. His knuckles turned white instantly.

“I think you look beautiful, Y/N,” Steve said keeping his eyes locked on the road. His hands remained tight on the wheel. “Anything else?” The hardness in Steve voice got even harder.

“Well, he did flip out when they said there would be a small wait due to how busy it was tonight,” you continued. “Then as we waited we pointed out all the nicely dressed women who dressed up for their dates or husbands and such. Then when we were finally seated we ordered drinks and he wouldn’t let me order anything alcoholic. So I had a soda and when I ordered the steak he said I needed to be eating a salad. That’s when I snapped and,” You looked down at your hands and let your voice trail off.

“And what?” Steve asked but you didn’t answer right away. “Don’t make me pull this car over to get it out of you.” Steve’s quick glance told you that he would be out for blood.

“He grabbed my wrist so I couldn’t leave,” You finally said. “I just about took the knife on the table stabbed his arm. But with one little threat about not knowing me and how I can make his death look like a suicide he got the point and I stormed out.”

Steve was quite for a few minutes. You wondered what was going through his mind. You anger flash in his eyes and you saw the deep breathes he was taking too. He was trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry you had a crappy date,” he finally said. He reached a hand and placed it on your knee. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, his hand on your knee, it was comforting and you liked it there.

When the two of you guys got back to the compound, Steve’s hand was still resting on your knee. You made your way to the empty dinning area and grabbed the bottle of tequila and a glass. You poured yourself some. You took a sip when you heard Steve’s familiar footsteps.

“You know, I think I’m going to be done dating or trying to,” You said turning to face him. “It’s hard with a job like ours. I could end up dead with a bullet in my head or a blade in my heart.”

Steve walked up to you and poured himself a glass to and the two of you just leaned on the counter staring into space for a minute before Steve spoke. “I hope you don’t end up with a bullet in your head.”

You smiled and looked at Steve. “You’re supposed to say that cause you’re technically my boss.”

Steve chuckled a little, “What do you look for in a guy?” He asked.

You stood there and just stared at your drink. You knew exactly what you looked for in someone but you always went for the opposite. You knew that if you found that one person who checked off all the boxes and gave you that epic kind of love, it would scare you.

“You can tell me, I’m your best friend,” Steve nudged you and you realized you took too long to answer.

You turned around and poured yourself another glass. “This answer will require a little more juice.” You brought the glass to  your lips and took a big gulp letting the tequila burn your throat on the way down. “I look for someone who listens. Someone who I can tell anything and everything too.” You started to list off everything that ran through your head about the perfect significant other. “Someone who is there for me. Someone who looks after my well being. Someone who can make me laugh uncontrollably. Someone who will be my shoulder to cry on.” Stopped to take a breath. “Saying it all out loud sounds like a damn fairy tale. Fuck, finding love can be a real bitch.”

Steve set his drink down and turned to you. He slowly reached out and brush some hair behind your ear. “You know,” he said slowly. “I can fit just about all of those boxes. I don’t know about the uncontrollable laughter though.”

You laughed and then stopped when your realized that the all of what you just said were all the best qualities of Steve Rogers. Steve, the man that had to sit with you on nights like these complaining about men and the dating game, he had been all of those qualities. Everything about Steve’s attitude today made sense now.

You set your drink down and took a step towards Steve. You reached both hands up to touch his face. The stubble on his face tickled your hand but you didn’t care. Steve's hand that lingered on your shoulder, he trailed it up to the base of your head and pulled you closer to him while your pulled him lower towards you.

When your lips finally touched, it was as if your brain was sending electrical shockwaves throughout your body. You felt Steve’s free hand wrap around your waist and pull you tighter to him. He deepened the kiss by opening his mouth just slightly and letting his tongue softly run over your bottom lip. That alone made you moan and wrap your arms around his neck tightly as you let him in.

You pulled back for a breath of air. “We should probably take this to a room,” you said in between breaths. You noted the small smile on Steve’s face as he effortlessly picked you up bridal style.

He carried you all the way to his room. The moment the bedroom door was closed, Steve had you on your feet and back pressed up on the wall. His lips teased yours by brushing so lightly over them. “So after two years, the truth finally comes out.”

Morning After

You felt the warm sun on your face as you rolled over in bed. Thoughts of the night before filled your head and made you smile. You felt the bed shift and soon Steve’s arm was around you pulling you into his chest.

The feeling of his chest against your back made you think about how well your bodies moved with each other last night. You felt his brush back your hair from your neck and give a gentle kiss on your neck. It sent shivers down your back as you remembered how Steve kissed every inch of your body.

You turned to face him. He greeted you with a soft kiss made you sigh. “Morning,” he said pulling back and letting his hand rub down your back. His hand stopped at your hip.

“Morning,” You said back and snuggled your head into his chest. Steve rested his chin on top of your head. Being held like that, felt perfect and right. This wasn’t a man who wanted to fuck you just to fuck you and leave. This was a man who wanted to make love to you because he wanted to and because he loved you. This was a man who took his time with you, who wanted to make you feel just as wanted as he wanted.

“No regrets?” Steve asked. You could hear the smile in his tone.

“None at all,” you kissed his chest.

There was a knock on the door and it opened. Only one person in this entire compound did that. Steve took the blanket and covered up the what skin of yours was showing. The two of you looked up and saw Tony standing in the door way staring at the two of you.

“What’s up, Tony?” Steve asked, his tone as annoyed.

Tony took a few steps into the room and gestured to the both of you. “One, so glad this finally happened. Everyone knows by the way, mister who’s your captain.” You felt the rush of blood flood to your cheeks as you slowly hid under the covers. “Two, I took care of that favor you asked about. The one about the kid in IT. He won’t be messing with anyone anymore.”

“As you fired him right?’ Steve asked.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I did,” you heard Tony’s retreat to the door. “I hope protection was used cause I don’t need mini Rogers running around my compound.” The door closed and you heard Tony shout down the hall. “Rhodey, you owe me twenty bucks.”

Steve removed the blanket from your face and dipped down and kissed you deeply. “We’re going to need to remember to lock doors.” You pushed Steve back and straddled him. “We don’t need anyone else walking in.”

[writing-is-sexy]

Chapter One

From the backseat of this oh so familiar white sedan I watch as buildings turn into houses, until we stop in front of a small blue house with cream colored accents. On the front porch there was a bench swing, with a girl who looks to be the same age as me sitting reading a book. Susan, my case worker turns to look at me and says, "I have a feeling this will be your last foster home."

After pulling my things from the trunk, Susan and I walk up to the porch to be met by my new foster family. The husband and wife walk out the front door, greeting us with a smile. They seem nice, but they always do. The husband is tall, at least 6'3". He has dark blonde hair and dark blue eyes to match. He sticks out his hand waiting for me to take it in mine. "I'm Luke, welcome Victoria."

Wow, this is the first family to actually get my name right. I take ahold of his hand and shake it with a slight smile as the wife begins to introduce herself. Her name is Rebecca, she is about a foot shorter than Luke and has pitch black hair. She has blue eyes as well, but hers are lighter they look like spring water. Their daughter, Megan, introduces herself quickly before burying herself back into her book. Megan looks so much like her mother, but has her dad's blonde hair. Luke opens the door to the house and we all follow him inside.

The house is beautiful inside, it has an open floor plan between the living room and kitchen. This is definitely the nicest house I have been in, in a long time. I notice pictures of Megan that go all the way back to her as a baby. This house would give any who walks in it a safe, happy feeling. We walk up the stairs to a hallway with four doors. One for Luke and Rebecca's room, one for Megan's room, a bathroom, and my room. There's a door in both Megan and in my room that connects our rooms to the bathroom. Oncr the door opens I'm in awe of my new room , but I don't want to get too settled in. It never lasts long. My room has a matching bedroom set made out of dark mahogany wood. There is a white and black comforter set on the bed with scripture style wording and the Eifle Tower on it, it was beautiful.

"We're not sure what you like, if it's not your style we can change it Victoria," Rebecca says with a sweet smile.

"No, this is great," I reply honestly.

As I'm looking around the room Luke begins to speak, "We'll let you get comfortable while we go downstairs and finish up with Susan."

Susan gives me a hug before they make their way down the stairs. I put my duffle bag on the bed and begin putting my things in the drawers. When I finish there is a light tap on the door, before Megan pushes it open and makes her way to the bed and hoping on it.

"You know, I've never had a foster sibling before. I didn't even know my parents wanted to foster a kid until about to days ago," Megan informs me, which makes me anything but comfortable. "But I think this will be a good thing, I've always wanted a sister," she adds.

"Well out of all the foster families I've stayed with, your family seems the nicest." I tell Megan, she responds with a smile.

"Tomorrow morning my mom is going to bring us to school a little early so we can pick up your schedule and I will show you around school. Don't worry we don't bite." She laughs before going on, motioning for me to sit down on the bed with her. So I do.

Never has any of my foster siblings wanted to know about me and my story, but Megan did. So I began the story about how I ended up in foster care. My parents and I were your typical family, we were happy. My mom was a school teacher and my dad was a firefighter, they were married for three years before they had me. One night at about two in the morning some people broke into our house. My mom ended up emptying out a dresser drawer in their room and hiding me in it before the intruders ended up shooting my parents. A detective ended up hearing me whine and found me in the drawer. My grandparents were too old to take me in and I didn't have any other family, so they had no other choice but to put me in foster care.

Megan wipes her tears away as Rebecca opens the door to the room and says, "Dinner is done, I'm glad to see you guys are getting to know each other."

Megan and I both get off the bed and follow Rebecca downstairs for dinner. Rebecca informs me that dinner will be done typically around six pm every night and that we eat at the dinner table together. While we eat we all make small talk, trying to get to know each other a little bit more. I try to keep it light, opening up to one person was enough for me tonight. I help clear the table once we are all finished, then I excuse myself back to my room.

Picking out my clothes for the morning is pretty easy considering I only have five shirts, three pairs of pants, a pair of shorts, and a pair of two year old Chucks for shoes. I pick out a Aerosmith ripped tee with a white tank top and my dark blues jeans to go with it. Before climbing into bed I grab my copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, that is almost completely falling apart from how many times I have read it. I pull out a faded picture of my parents holding me in the hospital room. It's crazy how you can miss someone you barely knew, but I miss them so much. Sometimes I wonder how things would be different if there were still around, I wonder if I would even be the person I am today if they were here.

The next I get up early enough to take a shower and do my hair. As I'm finishing up Megan knocks on the door, letting me know it's time to go. Megan is wearing a floral dress with a pair of white wedges to go with, her hair was up in a high ponytail. Arianna Grande would be jealous of how high her ponytail is. Rebecca drives us to school before she heads to work herself, before I get out of the car Rebecca gives me a phone.

"All of are numbers are already programmed into it for you. I know how teenagers can't live without these things." Rebecca laughs. "I hope you have a good day."

I thank her as I slip the phone into my back pocket. This was actually my first phone, my foster families prior never trusted me enough to give me one or didn't care. After we get my schedule from the front office, Megan takes it to see if we have any classes together.

"Yay! We have Alegbra 2 and lunch together." Megan exclaims.

Megan does her best showing me around and showing me my locker before the bell for first period goes sounds. Doing my best to follow Megan's instructions, I end up getting to first period a few minutes late. I hate opening the door after everyone has sat down and class has begun because when I walk in everyone looks at me and I was right.

"Looks like there's a new girl," someone says from the back of the classroom.

I introduce myself as the teacher welcomes me, then I make my way to an empty desk I notice by the window. I take out my brand new notebook and begin taking notes until class is over. Once the bell chimes again, I pack up my things and begin to my next class.

"Hey new girl!" I hear the same voice as earlier call out. I turn around and see a blonde boy who's hair may just be as curly as mine coming my way. He has chocolate brown eyes, which are surprisingly breath taking. "Who's class are you heading to now?" He asks.

As I pull my schedule out of my pocket he grabs it from my hand and reads it.

"Excuse me." I say as I try to grab it back but he's too quick.

"Mr. Harvarty, that's right next door to my class. I'll show you the way so you're not late. I'm Ben." He introduces himself, while leading the way.

"I'm Tori." I reply, grabbing my schedule from his hand before he could pull it away again.

Ben does most of the talking as we walk to class, making sure to inform me about all the best teachers and the teacher I should avoid getting on the bad side of. Before we make it to our next class Ben informs me about the football game this Friday and suggests that I should go. Making no promises, I tell him we will see as we approach our next class.

"Alrighty Victoria, this is you." Ben smiles as he points to the next class.

"Thank you, Benjamin." I say and he laughs before we part ways.

The rest of the day goes fairly quickly, when the bell goes off dismissing us from out last class I meet up with Megan by the flag pole before we go to the car. Luke is picking us up from school, which I now know is the normal routine. He asks us about our day, before he tells us about his. Megan tells her dad about the test she just finished and how she hopes she's going to pass.

When we get back to the house we go our separate ways, I assume Megan is going to do her homework like me. I put my school stuff on the desk that is looking out the window to the backyard. It's the perfect spot to get my homework done, unlike most of my foster homes. Typically if I wanted to get my homework done I would have to sneak off to the closest library. The library is the closest thing I can call home, it has given me the most peace over the years.

"Hey Tori," Megan says as knocks on the door.

"Come in," I instruct her, and she does.

"So I heard you made a new friend." Megan laughs as she raises her eyebrows at me. I give her a confused look, I have a feeling I know who she's talking about. "You knooow, Ben!"

"He just showed me to class." I tell her, boys are the last thing on my mind. Plus, I'm never in the same place long enough to even want to give anything a shot. He sure is cute though.

[emospritelet]

Sutheracey with Lacey as the Australian ambassador's daughter : “So… apparently we’re in lockdown.” and “Please tell me there’s something edible in there”

I did that second prompt in the first chapter, so here’s the first prompt in the second chapter. I could probably use a third…

Prompt list here

[AO3]

x

Sutherland marched into the function room as though he was about to issue a declaration of war. Perhaps it might come close to that, with some of these fuckers, he thought. Coming up with an approach that everyone agrees to will be a nightmare.

“Prime Minister?”

Sutherland turned with a smile at the familiar voice.

“Madam President,” he said. “I’d like to say I’m delighted to be here, but I think we both know we’d rather be meeting in less urgent circumstances.”

President Regina Mills smiled. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair and full lips, an accomplished, decisive politician, and someone he considered a valuable ally. And the closest thing to a friend that he had amongst the world leaders, he supposed.

“Pleased to have you with us in this, Robert,” she said, and he nodded.

“Well, it’s a pandemic,” he said. “We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.”

“True enough,” she agreed. “I just hope we can all find common purpose.”

“Limiting the number of casualties seems a good place to start,” he remarked, and she nodded, an anxious look in her eyes. He decided to change the subject. 

“How’s your wife?” he asked. “I understand you just had a son.”

Regina beamed.

“Yes, Henry,” she said, a soft look in her eyes. “He’s perfect. Emma’s at the White House, obviously. I’m hoping to get this done quickly so I can get home to them.”

“I was planning on asking you to visit the UK this year,” he said. “I think perhaps it might be next year, at this rate.”

“So it seems,” she sighed. “We’d be delighted, once things go back to normal. Assuming they ever do. And this is Ms Deville, isn’t it?”

“Well remembered, Madam President,” said Carrie. “We met only once, I think.”

Regina smiled, nodding to her. No handshakes. Not now.

“Well, now that you’re here, at least I know I’ll have sense on my side in this thing,” she said to Sutherland. “Some of the leaders are already baulking at the restrictions and the spending we’re proposing.”

Sutherland clicked his tongue.

“Well, they’re gonna have to follow the science,” he said grimly. “I don’t have time for them to want to baby-step their way through this thing.”

“Agreed,” said the President, and glanced over his shoulder, a crease appearing between her eyes. “Ah. the CDC Director’s here. Would you excuse me?”

She walked off, and Sutherland turned to Carrie, raising an eyebrow.

“She looks worried,” murmured Carrie.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly. “I have a feeling whatever news the Director of the CDC is bringing her isn’t gonna be good.”

“Well, I have plenty of contacts here,” she said, glancing around the room. “Let me see what I can find out.”

She slipped away, and he walked over to one of the long tables holding glasses of wine and champagne, silver trays of bite-sized canapes alongside. He ignored the food and alcohol, opting for a glass of water instead. He had a feeling he would need to keep his wits about him.

“Well, if it isn’t Prime Minister Sutherland,” drawled a familiar voice, and Sutherland turned slowly.

The last time he had seen Lacey French, she had been wearing the previous night’s gleaming blue dress, with her hair tousled and her mouth full and red from his kisses. His bed had smelt of her perfume, and he remembered burying his face in the pillows after she had left, breathing her in. That scent was in the air now, making his heart thump a little harder and his cock twitch in memory of her touch. Lacey was wearing a very respectable blue dress and jacket, her hair tied up and simple gold rings in her ears. She looked him up and down very deliberately, fingers tapping the side of her wine glass and her lips curving upward as her eyes gleamed. 

“Miss French,” he said evenly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I bet,” she said, and took a sip of her drink. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Four months, but who’s counting?”

“You, by the sound of it,” she said, grinning at him. “Miss me?”

Yes. Yes, I missed you, fool that I am.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” he said neutrally, and Lacey pouted.

“That’s very - British - of you,” she said. “And I believe Sergeants Knight and Nolan are standing guard behind you. Hi, boys. Remember me?”

Sutherland glanced behind him, and both security officers were staring straight ahead with expressionless faces, although Nolan looked as though he was trying very hard not to think about something. He turned back to Lacey.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “I thought you were still at university.”

She wrinkled her nose, pursing her lips a little.

“I was. Dad managed to get me an internship for a few months, so I took a deferral of my studies until September. It’s all good experience, right?”

He inclined his head, taking a sip of water.

“I don’t suppose watching the progression of a deadly disease was quite what you had in mind when you took the post.”

“True,” she agreed, looking sober. “Maybe you can help to stop it, who knows?”

“I think we’ve gone beyond containment,” he said quietly. “Mitigating our losses may be the best we can hope for.”

Lacey’s eyes widened, and for a moment he saw fear in them. He wished he hadn’t said anything. The thought came to him that she could catch the virus herself. The thought of her sick and suffering, far from home with no family or friends around her, made his hand tighten on the glass, and he took another drink to wash away the sudden burst of fear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the visiting dignitaries start to flow towards the large briefing room that had been set aside for their meeting.

“It seems we’re being summoned,” he said. “Make sure you practice your social distancing, Miss French.”

She gave him a wobbly smile, the spark of mischief back in her eyes.

“Yeah, you too,” she said. “Maybe I’ll bump into you later. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

x

It was hours later that Sutherland made his way back to his suite. He took off his suit jacket and tie as soon as he was inside, rolling up his shirt sleeves, washing his hands thoroughly in the bathroom, and pouring himself a drink. It had been a long day; there had been presentations by medical experts and pharmaceutical firms, followed by heated discussions between heads of state, and he felt as though his brain wanted to shut down. President Mills had called a halt to the whole thing at eight-fifteen after taking an urgent phone call. Her face, when she returned to the briefing room, had been grim. There had been a spike in cases, at the upper end of the estimates given by the experts, and she had taken the decision to lock down the country for an initial period of three weeks. Which meant that everyone at the conference was stuck there too.

There had initially been uproar in the briefing room, but President Mills assured them all that they would only be kept in the hotel as long as it took for them all to be tested to ensure they were clear of the virus. Those who were clear would be able to leave on their respective planes. Sutherland had remarked that since they had planned to be there for three days anyway, it probably wouldn’t take much longer to get through the tests, so they might as well get on with the business of dealing with the global response. His statement had been met with surly resentment, and eventual agreement, and he had been reminded of the fact that dealing with world leaders and their respective egos was like trying to herd cats.

He took a sip of the whisky in his glass, walking past his open laptop on the table and flipping it closed. Work could wait until he’d had a decent night’s sleep. If that was even possible in the circumstances. God alone knew what would be facing them in the morning. He paced slowly back and forth, statistics and projections running through his head, a seemingly unending list of potential calamities waiting to crash over the world. Some of them would happen, no matter what decisions were made in the next few days. No matter what he decided, people would die, and lives would be ruined. The thought was exhausting.

The sound of Sergeant Nolan’s voice outside his rooms made him look around, frowning slightly, and Sergeant Knight cleared his throat, calm and unruffled in his dark suit.

“I’ll check it out, sir,” he said, and headed for the door.

Sutherland sipped at his whisky again, a suspicion starting to form in his mind about who his late-night visitor might be.

“Hey, it’s Lance, isn’t it?” Lacey’s voice floated into the room through the open door. “D’you mind if I call you Lance? Can your boss come out to play?”

“Mr Sutherland is a little busy, Miss French,” said Sergeant Knight.

“Huh. I bet he’s drinking whisky and pacing the room.”

Sutherland sighed, setting down his glass and marching to the door, nodding at the officers to stand aside. Lacey smirked at him, arms folded and eyes sparkling.

“So…,” she said. “Apparently we’re in lockdown. Care for some company?”

“Look, you can’t come in here!” he snapped. “Haven’t you heard of social fucking distancing?”

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Duh. I watch the news.”

“So go back to your own room,” he said. “For all you know I could have the virus.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” she said. “I’ve already had it.”

Sutherland blinked.

“What?”

“Last month,” she added. “I was one of the lucky ones. Pretty mild symptoms. Not like some of the poor buggers suffering out there.”

“Oh.” Sutherland could feel himself wavering. “You’ve had it?”

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head, eyeing him. “So - can I come in?”

[chiseler]

The Kitten in the Storm Drain

Yes, in retrospect it had all the makings of a bestselling children’s book, but in the midst of everything, before any end was in sight, it was more like one of those frustrating and hopeless nightmares where you need to do something important, but can’t.

It was about five or six Sunday morning. Shortly after we got up, my wife Morgan heard what could only be described as the piteous mewling of a cat in some kind of terrible trouble. After confirming none of our own cats were in any major distress, she threw on her coat and went outside. It may have been yet another standoff between a couple of the local outdoor cats, or maybe a cat in heat, but she just wanted to make sure that’s all it was.

It took a few minutes, but after zeroing in on the wailing across the street, she caught the glint of whiskers a foot or two below the grating of the storm drain. She came back upstairs and grabbed some cans of food, thinking that might lure the cat out, just so she could see it was safe. The food, however, was promptly eaten by the aforementioned street cats, and the wailing continued.

Once the sun came up and Morgan could see more clearly into the storm drain, she found a calico kitten, likely only a few weeks old, perched precariously on a short  concrete pipe two feet above the water running below. The kitten was on the street side opposite the wider opening on the curb, and there was no way Morgan could reach her. She couldn’t fit her arm through the grate. Even if she could, there was no way she’d be able to pull the kitten’s head through anything other than the wider curbside opening. It was unclear how the kitten may have found itself in that predicament, and we weren’t sure we wanted to know. Balanced on that short pipe it was clearly too terrified to make the jump to safety, and equally terrified of people.

Morgan called the city’s Animal Care and Control center, but they were closed. She left a message with all the pertinent details and a contact number, then came back upstairs to let me know what was going on.

I sent a quick note to a vet tech who’d helped us in the past, asking if he had any suggestions. Morgan, meanwhile, headed back outside to try and lure the kitten to safety. The cold rain had started to fall.

Not sure how long it might be before I heard back from the vet tech—it was early Sunday morning, after all—I called 311, New York’s all purpose hotline for non-emergency city agencies.

At this point, two parallel dramas began playing out—one outside in the rain, the other upstairs on the phone.

After sifting through half a dozen phone menus, someone from the sewers department informed me the problem at hand was beyond their jurisdiction. The grating over the storm drain was not theirs, and they were not allowed to touch it. After calling back and sifting through the same menu, the fire department—and this was shocking—told me they no longer rescued trapped kittens (so there goes that myth). I finally reached someone at ACC, who informed me they were not a city agency, and the sewer grating was city property belonging to the water department (DEP). What I needed to do, she said, was contact DEP and have them send someone out to remove the grating. The DEP workers would then contact ACC, and only at that point would ACC send someone out to pluck the kitten to safety. If it was still alive at that point, of course. So I called 311 again, where I was told there was no direct phone line to DEP, that pretty much my only option was to send them a letter requesting they, whenever they had the chance, send a licensed crew out to remove the grating.

In other words, I might expect the city to take some action on the “kitten trapped in the storm drain” front come around April, maybe June.

Meanwhile the rain was coming down harder and the water in the storm pipe was rising fast. The kitten was soaked and freezing and frantic, and there was nothing Morgan could do. A couple strangers stopped to see what was happening, and while they were sympathetic, there was nothing they could do, either.

When two passing  cops arrived on the scene, for just an instant it seemed something might possibly happen. If nothing else, they’d certainly know who to contact. It was a step or two toward rescuing the kitten. That instant passed quickly, however, as the cops merely stood around on the sewer grating for ten or fifteen minutes doing nothing, then told Morgan the cat was fine. It was an adult, they insisted, it lived down there, it knew what it was doing, so she shouldn’t worry about it. Then they went away. After they left, the cops apparently also called ACC and fed them the same line of bullshit, because when Morgan called again, she was told ACC wasn’t going to do anything about rescuing the kitten, based on what the cops reported.

So the city, in essence, refused to do anything to save a damned kitten, using byzantine bureaucracy and fuzzy jurisdictions as a cheap and easy excuse.

By this point things had been going on for three or four hours, and we were starting to run out of hope. Morgan used what she could find to try and construct a makeshift bridge to allow the kitten to cross over the rushing and rising water to the curbside opening. I still hadn’t heard from the vet tech, so, with few other options, I called my friends Daniel and Marilyn. I knew they’d had a number of dealings with animal shelters and the like, so figured it was a long shot, but a shot nonetheless.

After I explained the situation to them, they had a few suggestions, people and places I might contact, but at the top of the list was a man named Sean Casey, who ran an animal rescue and was known to handle cases like this on occasion.

I called Mr. Casey, told him what was going on, and asked for his help. It was apparently his day off, but he said he might come out. The best thing to do, he suggested, was try and flag down a couple passing cops (“They’ll never come if you call them”) and have them put in a call to ESU, which I took, perhaps erroneously, to mean the Emergency Services Unit.

I told him what happened with the earlier cops, and he suggested we try and flag down different cops. I thanked him and hung up the phone, still hopeless and still unsure whether he was coming by or not.

Between the two of us, Morgan and I had pretty much exhausted our options. We’d just have to wait and watch and listen to the screaming until the water rose high enough to wash the kitten away.

Then about fiftteen minutes later Morgan glanced out the window again and saw a white  truck out front.

“Animal Care and Control’s out there,” She said, before throwing on her coat and running downstairs.

Well imagine that, right? After all we’d been through with them, ACC came through after all.

But when Morgan got downstairs she saw it wasn’t ACC after all, but Sean Casey’s Animal Rescue van, and Casey himself.

Morgan explained the story again, and he assessed the situation. Then he asked her to stand back a ways, as he needed room to work. He also warned her, quite seriously that there was a chance there wouldn’t be a happy ending, that the kitten might slip away from him into the rising water. With that disclaimer, he set about his business.

Apparently unafraid of what this or that city agency might say about who it does or doesn’t belong to, Casey lifted the grating off the storm drain, lay down on his belly on the wet and filthy pavement, and, using two animal control loops, scooped the sopping, freezing and yelping kitten out of the sewer and dropped it safely into a waiting carrier, together with a towel Morgan handed him.

He replaced the grating, set the carrier in his van, and returned his new charge to the shelter where she (we learned it was a “she”) would be cleaned up and checked out. Later that night, pictures of Casey posing with their latest acquisition—now dry, clean and fed—were posted on the Rescue’s website. It was as happy an ending to the day’s story as we could’ve hoped.

So maybe it’s a story that’s a bit more softhearted, a bit less cynical and nasty than I’m used to, but we couldn’t just stand around and listen to that kitten die. Consider it a simple lesson in the uselessness of city agencies, and the value of individuals with the gumption to overlook ridiculous bureaucratic folderol in order to do what needs doing.

For the rest of that afternoon, Morgan and I found ourselves saying, apropos of nothing, “Fuckin’ Sean Casey, man. Fuckin’ Sean Casey.”

(For the record, less than 24 hours later, the list of people lining up to adopt the storm drain kitten continued to grow astronomically.)

by Jim Knipfel

Please donate to Sean Casey’s Animal Rescue 

https://www.nyanimalrescue.org/

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 15

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

The chime of the doorbell startles him awake; eyes snapping open, brain foggy and disoriented as it tries to figure out just what the noise was. The moment both the baby and Declan had started yawning and fussing, he’d laid down with them in the living room; Addie on his chest, his son tucked securely between him and the back of the couch. He’s certain he’d drifted off before either of them had; a hand placed protectively on Addie’s back; an arm wrapped his son. Lulled to sleep by the warmth of their bodies and the sound of their soft, steady breathing. The house quiet and peaceful. The three oldest at school, Esme out with her brother, and nothing but the sound of the ocean and the cool, steady breeze that filters through the windows. 

 The noise becomes more insistent, pausing momentarily before into one long, incessant tone. At first he reaches for his cell phone that rests on the coffee table, brain still attempting to straighten itself out and register exactly what the sound is, where it’s coming from, where he is, and even what day it is. He’d gone back on the Valium that morning as soon as the kids got on the bus, and it hit him almost immediately; making him drowsy and lightheaded, causing him to sweat profusely and develop a pounding headache. Now he feels as if his senses are impaired; sounds muffled as if he’s trying to hear underwater, his vision blurry.   And in a near euphoric state he thinks about how he never even knew they had a doorbell; or at least he didn’t know what it sounded like.  No one’s ever used it in the past six months that they’d been living there; delivery drivers and the postal carrier all resorting to knocking or leaving things on the chair by the front door; spurred on to do so by a handwritten letter Esme had taped to the mailbox that stated if anyone dared waked the baby or bothered her while feeding, there’d be ‘hell to pay’. 

 It becomes apparent that whoever is at the door isn’t going away, and he attempts to slip off the couch without waking either of the kids. Declan the biggest obstacle with his sweaty body and damp hair pressed tightly against him.  And he manages to slide his arm out from underneath the sleeping toddler, who only gives a loud, content sigh and rolls over, pressing his face into the cushions.  Then he stands, placing Addie in the portable playpen in the middle of the room and using a foot to push the coffee table out of the way in case Declan rolls over and falls off the couch. The last he needs is having to haul two kids to the hospital for a concussion or stitches. Or both.  

 As he heads for the door, he briefly considers grabbing some clothes and throwing them on; it would really set off the religious zealots that often travelled door to door if he was to answer in nothing but a pair of low slung boardshorts, body covered in a myriad of tattoos and scars. He’d already gone to the door once in the same fashion: a group startled and slightly scared little old ladies collecting things for a church food drive. But when he hears Addie begin to fuss, he decides against clothes, only caring about wanting to get the goddamn noise to stop. 

 When he finally answers, the blond on the other side of the door opens her mouth to speak, then abruptly stops; clamping her lips shut as her eyes widen and she slowly looks him up and down.  Normally he’d be self-conscious; that the once over is in nothing more than a mixture of shock and concern due to the number of scars that mar his body.  He’d never given a shit before; until his brain decided to turn against him and try and make his life a living hell. But there’s no curiosity or concern regarding his battle wounds; this once over was one of admiration. And he can’t stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

 “Who are you?” Tyler asks, checking the driveway for any unfamiliar cars, then glancing towards the woods and then down the road, checking to see if she was alone or if there was anyone lying in wait. 

  It’s a hell of a way to live; thinking everyone is the enemy.  But he’s stepped on a lot of toes and made a lot of enemies. And while you may physically leave the job, you’re never fully clear of it. Not until you die. Then and only then is your slate wiped clean. 

 “Never mind that,” she replies. “Who are YOU? The pool boy?” 

 He frowns. “What?” 

 “Well dressed like that. Looking like...that. I just assumed that maybe...” 

 “I live here,” Tyler informs her. 

 “With Esme and the husband?” 

 “I am the husband.” 

 “You?” she gives a started laugh. “You’re the husband?” 

 “For the last six and a half years.” 

 “Okay...hold up,” she chews pensively on her bottom lip, head cocked to the side as she regards him. “You’re Esme’s husband?” 

 “Am I not speaking English? I just said I was.” 

 “She told me her husband is retired.” 

 “Yeah? I am. And?” 

 “So I’m sure you can understand why this...why you...are a bit of a surprise. I was expecting someone that actually looks retired.  Someone a lot older. And someone not as...” she once more looks him over from head to toe. “...well, not so you.” 

 “Look,” he rakes his fingers through his messy hair and scratches at the back of his head. “Not to sound like a total dick...” 

 “Too late.” 

 “...but who the hell are you? And why are you on my doorstep?” 

 “I’m Salena.” 

 “The new neighbor.” 

 “The one and only,” she confirms, and holds out a hand. “And you’re Tyler.” 

 He nods, hesitating at first, then shaking the hand offered to him. “Why are you here?” 

 “I was hoping to see Esme. I come bearing gifts,” she holds up a reusable shopping bag. “I told her last night when we were texting that I made a killer Dorito taco salad that she needed to try and that I make some up. Enough for all of you. Is she home?” 

 “She’s out with her brother.” 

 “The cute firefighter,” she states. 

 Tyler shrugs. “If you say he’s cute I’ll take your word for it, I guess.” 

 “I had messaged her saying I was going to pop by, but I never heard back. So, I’d thought I’d just run over and see what’s up.” 

 “I’m honestly so confused right now. I just woke up and my brain isn’t functioning properly yet. How you even know my wife?” 

 “We’ve been hanging out. Since we met the other days when I was moving the last of my stuff. She was taking the two littlest ones for a walk and Declan saw my dog and got away from her...” 

 “Wait. You know Declan too?”  It was the one that he absolutely hated; Esme taking it upon herself to allow strangers around his kids. She’s too trusting; too quick to see the good in everyone yet not even stopping to look for the bad. He doesn’t trust anyone. Aside from her.  And regardless of what she thinks of how paranoid she thinks he’s is; everyone is a possible threat. 

 “He’s my absolute favorite. He’s just such a little charmer. That smile and those eyes? I can see where he gets them. The eyes. Not the smile because you haven’t cracked one once since you answered the door. You do smile right?” 

 “Look, I had a rough night. I barely slept. You woke me up.  I don’t even know what day it is right now, to be honest.” 

 “It’s Friday,” she informs him. “I’m the one that watched Declan yesterday. So Esme could have said time to herself. Well she had the baby.  I just thought maybe she needed a break. That’s a lot to handle. Five kids.” 

 He tries hard to hide the anger that seeps into his voice. “You watched my kid?” 

 Salena nods. 

 “Yet I don’t even know who you are. You watched my kid, yet this is the first time we’ve met. And you’ve been hanging out with my wife?” 

 “Yeah, you know. Lunch. Girl talk. Stuff like that. She didn’t tell you? It must have just slipped her mind. I know she has a lot going on. Do you know when she’ll be back?” 

 Tyler shakes his head. 

 “Is it okay if I wait here for her or...” 

 He arches an eyebrow. “Here?” 

 “Where else?” 

 “I don’t usually let women into the house when my wife’s not home. That’s how rumors and shit start and I don’t need any more drama in my life. So I don’t think that’s a good idea. And I’m kinda busy with the little ones so...” 

 “I could help,” Salena offers 

 “I don’t need help. I’m not a rookie. And there’s nothing down there for you,” he informs her, when her eyes wander below his waist. “So if you could just...I don’t know...stop.” 

 A slight blush creeps into her cheeks. “Do you always walk around in no underwear?” 

 “You always question what people do in their own house?” Tyler counters. 

 “Touche.” 

 “If you weren’t looking down there so much and so closely, you wouldn’t even know I wasn’t wearing any.” 

 “Oh, I’d know,” she boldly responds. “That’s kind of hard not to notice.” 

 “Is there a reason you’re here or...” 

 “Like I said, I’m here to see Esme.” 

 “And like I said, she’s not home. You’ll have to come back. Or call her. Or text. I dunno.  But I’ve got little ones in the next room, so...” 

 “Yes! Sorry! I won’t keep you any longer!” She offers the shopping bag and he reluctantly takes it.  “I just...wow...you are definitely NOT what I was expecting. At all. Wow. Okay, I’m gonna go. If I don’t hear from Esme, will you let her know I came by?” 

 “How am I going to know if you didn’t get in touch with her?” he asks, as he steps out onto the front porch, quickly checking the mail before once against surveying the road and for any sign of remotely suspicious activity along the tree line. 

 “That!” she points at him, as she walks backwards down the front walk, bumping into one of the recycling bins that sit at the curb, giving it an awkward apology and then giggling in embarrassment. “Is a very good point! I’m going to go now. I just...wow...totally not what I thought you were going to look like. And now I’m rambling and making a total fool out myself.” 

 “Just a bit,” Tyler agrees. 

  “Oh! She calls to him before he can step inside. “Weird question, I know. But did someone come to your door last night? Around two am? Because someone showed up at my place and knocked for like ten straight minutes.” 

 “That would have been my very drunk brother in law. I think he was looking for a hook up.” 

 “Well if that’s the case, tell him to come to the back door next time. I’ll answer for sure then.” 

 Tyler just smirks and shakes his head, both amused and annoyed by her honesty, and then closes the door behind him. 

 *** 

 “Maybe we can try this again,” Kyle says, as they settle into a table on the Sovereign's outdoor patio. “Maybe we can make it through the meal without fighting.” 

 “Technically we didn’t start fighting until after dinner,” Esme points out. 

 “And technically you were the only one causing a scene, so...” 

 “Fair enough,” she surrenders, and places her hobo style purse and her lone shopping back on the ground, cell phone on the tabletop. “This isn’t a set-up is it? I’m not going to get five minutes into lunch and Nik will show up?” 

 “Nik’s gone.” 

 Esme arches an eyebrow. 

 “Not gone, gone. So don’t get your hopes up. She got a call last night. About a job in Venezuela. Needed to be there within a few hours or all hell was going to break loose.” 

 “Nature of the beast. You get used to those phone calls, unfortunately.” 

 “I thought maybe she’d slow down a little after we got engaged and started planning a wedding,” Kyle says. “I thought maybe that was enough to keep her busy and occupied, but...” he shrugs, and flips open his menu. 

 “Nik doesn’t do the job because she needs to keep busy or occupied. She does the job because she IS the job. She’s always been hard core about it. Completely devoted. Not to mention, she’s the boss. It’s her own company. And she has a lot of people relying on her to keep things running smoothly and to keep them safe. It’s a lot of pressure. A lot of stress. I wouldn’t to do it. Run the show.” 

 Kyle smirks. “Did you actually just pay Nik a compliment in some weird, back hand way?” 

 “I have nothing against job Nik.  I actually admire THAT Nik. It’s the other Nik I can't stand. The one that spent six and a half years trying to destroy my marriage. And...” she holds up her hand in a plea for silence when Kyle opens his mouth to speak. “...I know Tyler and I aren’t perfect. That things have never been conventional or normal between us. But that’s the way we are. And that doesn’t give her a right or a reason to try and bang my husband. So don’t even try to defend that.” 

 “I agree that that part is a little messed up.” 

 “You think?” Esme rummages through her purse for the bottle of recently purchased prescription meds. The doctor immediately writing out the order when she couldn’t get through the first thirty seconds of describing how she was feeling without bursting into tears. 

 “So you get used to it?” Kyle asked. 

 “What? Some trifling bitch trying to wreck your marriage?” She pops one of the pills into her mouth and swallows it down with ice water. “No. You don’t.” 

 “Not that. The job. The phone calls. Them leaving at a moment’s notice. Now what you’re doing or talking about at the time. You do get it used to it, right?” 

 “I don’t know if you get used to it. But you learn to tolerate it. I’ve had phone calls come in at some pretty inopportune times, let me tell you.” 

 “How inopportune?” 

 “Let’s just say, Nik and her phone calls are the epitome of cock blocking.” 

 Kyle nearly spits a mouthful of water across the table. 

 “Right?” Esme laughs. Talk about bad timing! But in Tyler’s defense, he did always finish the job at hand. So...” 

 “Okay, that is too much information. I don’t think about you two...you know...finishing.” 

 “Kyle, despite what you think, I’d have sex more than five times. I just don’t have it to procreate, you know. It happens to be a lot of fun.” 

 “I do not what to think about those things when it comes to my little sister, okay? I know you’re a wife and a mother and all of that, but you’re still my kid sister. I still want to beat the hell out of any guy that touches you.” 

 She laughs and sips her water. “I’d love to see you try.” 

 “And totally get my ass handed to me? No thanks.” 

 She grins. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit defeat.” 

 “I’m not stupid,” he chuckles. “This is Tyler we’re talking about. I’ve heard about the shit he’s done. What he’s capable of. And he’s totally capable of killing me with his bare hands.” 

 Esme nods in agreement. 

 “Aren’t you scared? You know what he can do. You know the things he’s done. Aren’t you even a little bit afraid? Of him?” 

 She shakes her head. “I’ve never been afraid of him. Ever. And I’ve seen his temper at its worst. He’d never hurt me. Or the kids. I have no reason to be scared of him.” 

 “But what if he snaps on day? What if everything that’s going on his brain just becomes too much and it gives way? What...” 

 “Tyler would never...ever...do anything to hurt me. I’m not scared of him. I’ve never been scared of him. It’s the opposite, actually. He makes me feel safe. Protected. Because I know if anyone ever tries to get to me or the kids, he’s more than capable of stopping them. He’s not a monster, K.” 

 “I never said he was. But that kind of job? Being a mercenary? And doing it as long as he did?” 

 “Tyler was never the job. The job was just part of him. I’ve known a lot of mercenaries. A lot. Guys that allowed the job to totally take them over. To the point you didn’t even recognize them anymore.  That’s that all they are. Callous, cold, calculated, violent. Extremely violent. And horrifically abusive. To everyone. Girlfriends, spouses, kids.” 

 Kyle gives a small, almost sad smile. “Nik’s told me some stories.” 

 “Tyler would kill himself before he ever hurt me or the kids. He’d put a bullet in his brain if he ever got like that. I’m not scared of him. I never have been. And don’t underestimate me. I could put him on his ass if I ever had to.” 

 Her brother laughs at that. 

 “He’d never do anything to us. That’s the last thing you need to worry about. He was never like those other guys. I guess that’s what really set him apart; what I found really intriguing about him. Out of all the mercenaries I’ve worked alongside of and knowing the stories that revolved around him, I expected him to be one of them. And he wasn’t. He was still human. And you may not see it because he’s stubborn and thinks he has to hide certain sides of himself, but he’s a good person, K. A good person who’s had to do some terrible things to stay alive. He’s a big man with an even bigger hurt. You just have to be fortunate enough to get to experience it.” 

 “I see how he was with you. How he is with the rugrats. He adores those kids. And worships the ground you walk on. I mean, I think you’re an annoying bitch, but...” 

 She smirks and directs a kick to his shin. 

 “But I see how he is with you. You guys share a pretty profound bond, you know. You saved his life. Literally.” 

 “I did what anyone would do,” Esme reasons. “You save people all the time.” 

 “That’s my job.” 

 “I wasn’t going to let him die there. And I definitely wasn’t going to let someone hold me back and expect me to just stand there and watch him die.” 

 “Esme,” Kyle sighs. “Don’t bring Nik into this.” 

 “She left him there. She didn’t even want anyone to get to him to help. What kind of person does that? He became expendable. The job was done, and she need him anymore. And she was willing to let me die on that bridge too. I know you love her, but least accept the truth on who she is and what she’s capable of.” 

 A server comes to take their drink and food order, and Esme gives he a smile of appreciation and hands her the menu. 

 “I saved Tyler because he deserved better than the end he was being given.” she says. “Because no matter how badly he thought he deserved death, he deserved a second chance more. You learn a lot about someone when you’re running for your life and trusting them to get keep you alive, believe me.” 

 “And when you spend five days in a hotel room pretend to be married to them,” Kyle grins.  

 “I’m not talking about what their favorite sexual positions are or how kinky they can be. And trust me, he can be extremely dirty.” 

 Kyle grimaces. “I do not need to hear this.” 

 “And regardless of what you or Nik think, it wasn’t just sex. Those five says. It’s  not like we never spoke to each other. We talked. A lot. We told each other things we’d never told anyone else. So it wasn’t just physical connection, as amazing as that was. It was more than that. Way more. I wouldn’t have stuck around in Australia and spent months sleeping in a chair at the hospital if it wasn’t.” 

 “And now here you are. Married, five kids.” 

 She nods. 

 “Honestly, I never expected this from you. Especially after Mark. After all the shit he put you through…" 

 “Well sometimes someone comes along and shows you that not all men are the same. That not all love hurts. I was lucky. Not everyone gets that chance.” 

 “I gotta hand it to you, kid. You’ve come a long way.” 

 “I didn’t mean to cause issues between you and Nik,” she says. “Just so you know. That wasn’t my intention. But we’d give up that life. That’s why we left Colorado. To start fresh. And suddenly she just shows up? Asking for his help? Again? He’s shed enough blood for her. Tyler owes her nothing.” 

 “It’s not she’s asking him to go back out there,” Kyle reasons. “She just needs his help. With Ovi.” 

 “And don’t even get me started about that! Her encouraging this with Ovi.  After everything that’s kid been through? For years we’ve struggled to get that kid healthy. Mentally healthy. And he gets some stupid ass idea in his head and instead of telling him how stupid it is, she encourages him! Recruits him. You must be able to see how screwed up that is.” 

 “He’s not a kid anymore,” Kyle reasons. “He’s a grown man.” 

 “He’s my kid. No matter how old he is. This is a horrible idea, K. Ovi deserves so much better than this. And something or someone has gotten into his head and poisoned him to the point he thinks this is a smart, viable option. Nothing good will come of this. Nothing. For Ovi. For Tyler.” 

 “All Tyler has to do is train him. That’s it.” 

 “And you think that’s enough?” she gives a dry laugh. “I’ll you what. You put in some of the leg work. Spend a couple of days when them ‘training’. It's not as simple and basic as you’re making it out to be. Try it. One day eve. And then see you how you feel about it.” 

 “Maybe I will.” 

 “Go ahead. I know you think you’re a total bad ass, bit you now idea what it all entails. No idea. But if you think it’s that easy, then come on over and Tyler will put you through the paces. You’re probably be crying for mom when it’s over. If you even last that long. You’ve been to the gym with him; you know how hard core goes.” 

 Kyle nods. 

 “Imagine that times...I don’t know...twenty. And that’s if he’s slacking. Don’t underestimate him. You can the take man out of the job, but you can’t take the job out of the man.” 

 “You think he’ll go back?” Kyle asks. “That he’ll get the itch? That just training won’t be enough.” 

 “I’ve told him that if he has to go...if Ovi gets into trouble and needs his help.... that’s fine. I’ll support him one hundred percent. But if he willingly goes for any other reason, we’re done. I’m done. I’m leaving and I’m taking kids with me. No looking back. I cut my loses and that’s that.” 

 He frowns. “That seems a little harsh.” 

 “I can’t do that life again. I just can’t. And I love him, but I love my kids more. And they deserve better than that life. They deserve a father that’s devoted to them and only them. And he can’t be if he goes back to the job. He just can’t.” 

 “So you’d just take off and take his kids?” 

 “I didn’t say he wouldn’t be able to see them. Because I’d never do that to him. Or them. But they need a stable, calm environment. And when he’s doing the job, our house is anything but stable and calm. It’s not what’s best for the kids. Not Tyler. Not me. Them.” 

 “Well for his sake, I hope he does the right thing and doesn’t fuck up. That’d probably kill him losing his kids.” 

 “Don’t put that on me, Kyle. It’s hard enough making that kind of decision, but adding that kind of guilt to it?” 

 “That wasn’t what I was trying to do, and you know it. But you honestly go to that extreme? Taking his kids away from him?” 

 “I wouldn’t be taking them away. They’d still see him. It’s about giving them a stable environment. And nothing is stable when it comes to the job. Because first the job comes about, then the drinking, then the fighting. You don’t know what it was really like, K. You only know half of what went on in our house.” 

 “Couldn’t have been that bad,” he comments. “You guys got back together. After you split for those six months.” 

 “Because he promised to get his shit together and said he wanted to work on things and make them better. And you know what? That lasted about eight months. And then it all started all over again. All because of the stupid goddamn job and because of Nik’s inability to leave him alone.” 

 “Esme, we said we weren’t going to fight. And if you bring up Nik, that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and you know it. If you didn’t want me with her, why’d you even set me up with her in the first place?” 

 “Because she was way too good to be stuck with Mark. No one deserved to be stuck with that asshole.” 

 “So what? You used me to get her away from Mark? What...?” 

 “I didn’t think anything would actually happen between you two,” she admits. “At least nothing serious. I thought you’d have your fun for a little bit and then move on. You’d never been interested in settling down before. I never thought you’d start thinking about it when you met her.” 

 “That’s messed up. Using your own brother like that. Here I thought you did it because you wanted me to happy.” 

 “Of course I want you to be happy. I just don’t want you to be happy with her.” 

 Kyle gives a derisive snort and shakes his head. 

 “You’re too good for you,” Esme informs her. 

 “First, she’s too good for Mark, now I’m too good for her?” 

 “You deserve someone...I don’t know...different. Someone who can devote themselves to you. Who isn’t so hung up on their career. Someone who’d be happy being a firefighter’s wife. And believe, there’s tons of girls like that out there.” 

 “Maybe that’s not the type I want. Maybe I want someone who has more going for her. If you were that against this, why didn’t you say something before? Instead of waiting until four months before the wedding. A wedding which you...my own sister...hasn’t even committed to yet.” 

 “Have you ever thought maybe I’m not comfortable being there? Kyle’ she’s spent years trying to fuck up my marriage. And now I’m just supposed to be okay with hers?” 

 “I’m your brother.” 

 “Exactly. You are. Which means something should have told you marrying the woman spent six and a half years trying to fuck mt husband wasn’t a good idea.” 

 “Honestly, I didn’t think anything of it. I thought you’d grown up enough to let it go. She tried, he turned her down. End of story.” 

 “So you’re okay with being married to someone with no morals?” 

 “You’re okay with it,” he retorts. “You’re married to someone who killed people for a living.” 

 Esme scowls. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.” 

 “You’re right. It’s not. It’s even worse. You’re going to preach to me about morals when you’re married to hired killer? Who you were fucking three days after you met him.  And you think you’re somehow morally superior?” 

 “That’s low, Kyle. Nik has enough blood on her hands herself. Including Tyler’s.” 

 “And you’re still holding onto that. It’s been almost what? Seven years? Since Dhaka? And you’re still holding onto that?” 

 “Oh I’m sorry,” she scoffs. “You watch someone you love get shot in the throat. You have them bleed out all over you. You stick your fingers in their neck to try and keep them alive. And then you tell me how easy it is to get over.” 

 The server arrives with their food, breaking the tension that has fallen on the table.  And Esme takes a sip of her water in a vain attempt to wash down the lump of emotion that now sits firmly on their throat. 

 “You have no idea what was like,” she scowls, as she uses her fork to stab at the salad on her plate. “Saying what I saw. Doing what I did. You have no clue, Kyle. And you have no right downplaying it and telling me to just ‘get over it’.” 

 “It’s been almost seven years,” he gently reminds her. 

 “And sometimes it feels like it’s only been seven days. So until you’re at in that kind of situation...and I hope you never ate...you need to keep your advice and your opinions to yourself. If you want to marry Nik, go ahead. But I won’t be there. None of us well. I love you. But I don’t agree with what you’re doing. If it were anyone but here, I’d be there.  But after what she’s done...after she was going to leave us there...I’m not going to pretend that I’m happy for you. Because I’m not. I know what she’s like and I know what your life is going to be like. You’re going to spend it being second to the job. And you deserve so much better than that.” 

 “So do you,” Kyle says. “But you stick around.” 

 “Don’t ever compare Tyler to her. Because you know that’s complete and utter bullshit. He is nothing like her.” 

 “You keep telling yourself that, Esme. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.” 

 “Don’t even put the two together in a sentence. If you want to marry her and never have a normal marriage or kids of a stable life, go ahead. But I’m supporting that bullshit.: 

 Kyle sighs heavily. “You’re even more stubborn than I remember.” 

 “I’m not stubborn. I’m just sick of peoples’ shit. Hers. Yours. Why couldn’t she just leave us alone? We were happy. Things were great. And now all of the drama is back again. And I’m had it up to my eyeballs in Nik drama.” 

 She sighs heavily when her phone vibrates against the table, then grins when she checks the text message. 

 “Apparently you’ve made an impression on my neighbor,” she says. 

 “Salena?” 

 Esme nods. “I guess she stopped by the house and Tyler told her you showed up at her place last night looking for a piece of ass. And she actually believed him. Now she wants me to give you her cell and her home number. You know shit is getting real when someone gives up their home number. Do you want them or...?” 

 “I’m engaged,” he reminds her. “I’m getting married in four months.” 

 “That means you have four months to change your mind.” 

 “Esme...” 

 “Don’t be so difficult,” she snags his cell from where it sits next to his plate and proceeds to add Salena’s name, info, and numbers into his contacts. “Trust me. You’ll thank me for this.” 

 He somehow doubts that.

[smartguyreviewed]

1x7 - A Little Knowledge

Original air date: May 7, 1997

Hello there, friends. How are we holding up during these “unprecedented times?” I am currently holding up by pretty much being high 18/7, not sleeping and obsessing over a show that pretty much nobody talks about because I am that bored.

Really, I do want to thank anyone who takes the time to read this blog and/or drop a like. I started this blog because I enjoyed reading reviews of Lizzie McGuire and Boy Meets World. And then I thought of how not that many black sitcoms are pretty much ever really discussed. I watched Smart Guy so much when I was a kid but didn’t realize how important it was to even be watching it because we had so many other black television shows during my childhood, the complete opposite of how it is now. I always thought about even making a YouTube channel reviewing that black ass nostalgia that I love so much, but since I’m in the ugly phase of growing my starter locs, I figured I’d blog for now. 

Alright! There’s my intro. I really did mean it, but I had no idea how else to segue into the opening for this episode. By the way, if anyone is a super meticulous asshole and thinks the numbering of the episodes is off, I was honestly confused because Disney omitted a whole ass episode of the show, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the numbering of the episodes is different here but nowhere else on the web. The first season is already less than 10 episodes, so whatever.

Okay, so we open to Floyd about to do his books but he needs the little precocious calculator to help him out. This triggers me because I still have not done my taxes even though the deadline was extended. Luckily, it doesn’t appear that the Hendersons have any timely bills due but they are broke. After TJ adds up all the numbers, Floyd sees he is definitely not in the black. 

Because the episode is about money, naturally, both of Floyd’s grown children need pricey things all of a sudden. Yvette comes down and asks for a coat to replace this...thing that she’s wearing because it’s clearly ill-fitting. Floyd says he can buy her a new coat, as long as she’s not particular as to which winter she gets it in.

Up next is our Marcus, asking for something totally egregious. At least Yvette was asking for weather appropriate clothing. Marcus is asking Floyd for a $1500 bike. And now I’m confused. Why the hell would Marcus of all people need a bike? If he’s really trying his damndest to get the girls, I thought the band alone served that purpose. Regardless, Marcus needs it and he’s a teenager so the world is going to end tomorrow if he doesn’t get this deathcycle of his. He even tries to manipulate his dad by showing him a photo of Floyd on his bike. I actually think it’s cute how Floyd lights up at the sight of younger him. Maybe he met his deceased wife during these years? 

Floyd breaks out of memory lane and reminds Marcus that he, a human parent, wants the finer things also, including the chance to see his old friends at his high school reunion but that doesn’t seem to have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. Yeah, because Floyd has to put food on the table for a woman and three guys (yes, I’m including Mo and guys eat a lot and I don’t wanna hear shit about how girls eat a lot too because guys just eat more and that’s a fact) and school all of his children. No room for the finer things.

He then says that Yvette and Marcus can buy what they want but simply have to get jobs. Marcus balks at the idea and says he wouldn’t want work to interrupt his studies. Yvette and TJ have a nice little kii over this since hahaha “Marcus is dumb,” hahaha.

We cut to TJ in his room attempting to strategize ways for the Henderson clan to save money while watching a bootleg version of Jeopardy!. Marcus comes in on the phone with Craig, the guy selling the bike, and convinces him to not sell it, even though Marcus only has 4.2% of the funds. Yvette barges in and is pissed at her annoying little brothers for not unlocking her door when they’re done with the bathroom. See, they share a bathroom in this episode. In another episode, Yvette gets her own bathroom built...somewhere because she’s tired of sharing with them. This bathroom is never mentioned again. In another episode, Marcus temporarily moves to the attic. I just wonder exactly how the Henderson house is built because it seems like there’s so much space yet so little space? 

The boys aren’t listening to Yvette however, because she stank. She credits this funk to the job she just got at the Cluck Bucket, “yanking the gushy stuff out of chickens,” as Marcus eloquently puts it. She brags, saying she makes $100 a week, which is obviously $1000 a week in 90s money. 

After TJ proposes that Yvette cut Marcus’s hair, Marcus realizes TJ is attempting to optimize their family’s finances. TJ really is doing a lot for a 10 year old here. Normally, he’s being extremely rude to them, but in this episode, he’s trying to use his intelligence to fix a problem that he has no business worrying about. Clearly, this intelligence is a gift and a curse. I’m about to be 29 and I worry all the time about things I can’t even control along with the things I can. Imagine being 10, gifted AF and stressing only about adult things you can’t control.

Marcus actually delivers good advice this episode, most likely unbeknownst to him. He commands TJ to turn off his brain and stop worrying because this is something he can’t fix. And Marcus is right. A 10 year old has zero reasons to be trying to balance the family checkbook. It would have been better if he threw a Gameboy at him and told him that’s his homework instead.

But this is TJ and he is the determinator AKA hard-headed. Bootleg Jeopardy! is about to end but the host announces a junior version of the show. TJ checks all the boxes. Youngster? Check. Living in the D.C. area? Check. In desperate need of $25k? Double check!

TJ and Marcus are back home and go over how they’re going to break the news to Floyd since obviously he wouldn’t have given TJ permission to audition if they asked. Floyd seems pissed at first when they tell him but Marcus makes sure to place emphasis on how TJ kicked ass. Floyd is proud now, even though a few moments ago, he was about to go full Papa Bear.

The next day, Piedmont is buzzing about TJ’s television debut but he’s confused because he only told his fam. We then cut to Marcus blabbing to some girl about how he can get her a seat next to him so she can give him a handjob on the sly. (Of course, we don’t even see said girl at the show.) TJ tells Marcus he didn’t want everyone to know because, understandably, now there’s more pressure on him. Marcus responds to this by putting even more pressure on him, telling Craig that TJ is going to win him the bike. Then he puts a damn anvil on it by telling Craig to raise the price to $1700 and he’ll just take the bike now. This will end well.

TJ, under immense pressure because the show is filming in 6 hours at this point (film/TV people, if you’re reading, feel free to say if this is even normal for it to move this quickly especially for an underage guest?), is up late at night studying his ass off and high off legal coke. He’s awoken Marcus who is wondering why on earth TJ would be up this early studying for a quiz television show that has a large monetary prize and they’re broke. He wants TJ to get some sleep by he’s in the zone because he had 20 cups of coffee. After a drug fueled rant, he just passes out. 

6 hours later and TJ is still high. Floyd chalks it up to nerves before TJ starts sprinting around the set. Marcus shows up, announcing he just chained up his new bike to a dumpster. This will end well. He checks in on TJ who is still coked up and not coming down anytime soon. His dad calls him over to meet the other contestants which include Dylan Roof and Yung Sharpay.

After the kids are ushered onto set, Floyd goes to the other hoity toity parents, bragging about their kids’ accomplishments. He dismisses them and says TJ actually has a life. Floyd, you dick! Afterwards, the show begins. The host is opening and says he believes that children are our future. Floyd and Marcus are backstage and in true black parent fashion, once TJ is announced, they lose their shit!

The game is now underway and Yung Sharpay and TJ are caught up. Dylan Roof is pretty much just there because he’s so far behind that it doesn’t even matter. Amy loudly tells TJ that he has a broken leg and they’re loading the shotgun because she just caught up to him. Of course, nobody heard this even though she was loud as hell. Also, racial implications much?

Yvette comes late in her work uniform and is hurriedly trying to tell Marcus a bit of info he’ll want to act fast on, but naturally, he shushes her to listen to the game that TJ is about to possibly lose. Yvette is also a petty asshole, so she doesn’t even try to tell him again. They cut to break and Yvette announces then that Marcus’s bike is gone. Turns out, locking it to a dumpster isn’t the best idea because some guy in a garbage truck stole it dragged the dumpster away. Marcus is pissed and lets slip that he paid $1700 for it which gets him in trouble because he just told Floyd that he was taking it on a test drive. Then the rest of the truth spews out. Marcus says he wanted something from the money TJ was going to win and oh mama is Floyd pissed because he naturally expects the worst from Marcus always and thinks he forced TJ to be in the competition which wasn’t even the case. Floyd tells Marcus he’s going to talk to TJ and warns him to “brace himself” for when he gets back. Yvette gleefully says she’s going to get chalk for his body outline. What did Marcus do to everyone to make them hate him so much? TJ does way shittier things than him and he’s still held in high regard. Hmm.

Floyd comes over to TJ to check in and lets him know that he’s aware of what’s going on. TJ, who has only consumed coffee and chocolate for the past few hours, is now dizzy. Floyd has to remind TJ that he has plenty of time to worry about rent and bills and student loans and credit card debt and finding a therapist and the pressure to have it “together” by the time you’re 30 which is crazy unrealistic. Good lesson and one of the few times I don’t wanna strangle TJ. Understandably, with the pressure off, TJ wants to dipset. The host, while seeing TJ and Floyd leaving, says they signed a contract so somebody needs to fill in for TJ. Cut to one of the funniest scenes in the show, hands down.

The question is how much did Thomas Jefferson, another TJ, pay for the Louisiana Purchase? This is word for word what Marcus-as-TJ says.

“Well uh, let’s see. In DC, the most you can take out of the ATM is $300 and you would wanna hold back a $20 in case something comes up, so I’m gonna say $280, Hugh.”

Yvette’s reaction says it all.

In the end, we see Yvette at the Cluck Bucket, putting on her functional gray pea coat that she probably got from Contempo Casuals or something. Marcus is the janitor now because he has to work off his debt to Craig and because remember, Marcus is a dark-skinned buffoon and couldn’t get the same job as Yvette for some reason. Whatever. I wonder what Yung Sharpay did with her prize money.

Stuff I Noticed:

- Yvette’s jacket. What is this?

- Marcus’s face for Lil’ Dylan and Yung Sharpay versus TJ. I love black families.

White lady on the left does not approve.

- No Mo this episode! :(

[just-a-spark]

The Before, and The After Part 3

A Knives Out Story

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (18+ to be safe)

Summery: A wealthy classmate of Meg’s becomes close to the family, a little too close to the playboy grandson of Harlan Thrombey. The events leading up to, and following, Harlan Thrombey’s death.

The day after Harlan’s funeral, Elizabeth was baking brownies to take over to Linda for the memorial when her cell phone rang. She darted over to it, and deflated a little seeing it was Meg, “Hey love, how are you doing?”

“Hey, were you still thinking about stopping over today? For the memorial?” Meg asked and Elizabeth clenched the phone between her shoulder and ear as she pulled on her oven mitts.

“Yeah, we were planning on it. Why? Is everything alright?” She asked, pulling her brownies out of the oven and putting a batch of cookies in its place.

“There’s this detective guy here, and he’s interviewing everybody. I think they think one of us killed Harlan.”

The phone slipped from her shoulder and crashed to the ground as she closed the oven quickly. Elizabeth discarded the oven mitt and grabbed her phone as she settled onto the tile floor, “I thought it was a suicide?”

“Yeah, so did we, but this weird french hick is here grilling everybody.” Meg answered and Elizabeth leaned her head against the counter, holding her breath until Meg asked, “Lizzie? You there?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just... shocked, really. Who was around that night?”

“The whole family showed up for his party. Almost everybody stayed the night and was here in the morning.” Meg answered quietly, and Elizabeth understood that someone else was now in the room.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “We’ll be there tonight. Alan’s coming in for the will reading tomorrow I believe, but Phil and I will be there tonight.”

“Good, I missed you yesterday at the funeral. Alan said you weren’t feeling well.”

“No.” Elizabeth said quietly, holding her head in her hand, “I wasn’t, but I’ll be there tonight. I promise.”

They said their goodbyes and Elizabeth sat on the floor for a while, wallowing in her feeling and the nausea that lingered in her stomach. She was still sitting on the floor when the oven timer went off, but she didn’t move. The beeping was just white noise to the woman.

“Liz... Liz, are you okay?” Phil shrieked when he saw his wife sitting on the floor. He reached down and pulled her up and he wiped the tears from her cheeks, “What’s happened?”

“Oh, I’m just being emotional.” Elizabeth waved him off, sniffling as she straighten up and pulled on the mitts to get her cookies. “Shit, they’re burnt.”

“Liz... talk to me.”

She clenched her eyes closed after placing the pan on the oven, then forced a grim smile onto her face and turned to her husband, “Investigators believe one of the Thrombeys may have killed Harlan.”

“What? Why?” Phil asked as Elizabeth turned off the oven. “Was that Meg?”

“Yeah, she didn’t elaborate, she just wants to know if we’re coming to the memorial tonight. I told her we would.”

Phil pressed a kiss to her hair, then lead her to a kitchen chair to sit, “Okay. Just for a little bit though. They’re a lot.”

“I know, but Meg’s like a little sister to me. It’s important, maybe I’ll tell them about the baby.” Elizabeth suggested, placing her right hand on her stomach, “Maybe it’ll bring a little joy to an awful situation?”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

                                                 Two Years Earlier

Sunshine broke through the windows of Harlan Thrombey’s mansion on a morning in early June. The window was still cracked open from the night before, allowing the sound of arriving cars to alert Lizzie that Marta was arriving for the day, but it was the sound of birds chirping that actually pulled her from her slumber.

Lizzie hummed as she stretched, feeling the soft, warm skin of her lover against her back. Ransom tightened his grip around her middle, nuzzling her neck as she reached forward to pull her phone off of the nightstand and check the time.

She blinked away sleep, focusing on the glowing numbers reading 8:49 until she realized how late it was, “Shit!”

“What is it?” Ransom grumbled and held her tighter as she began to squirm. Her wavy red hair tickled his nose as he buried his face into the back of her head, taking a deep breath to inhale the smell of her shampoo.

“It’s almost nine o’clock.” She exclaimed, finally shimmying her naked body down through his arms and sliding off the bottom of the bed. She grabbed the sheets off of the man and wrapped them around herself as she went to look out the window, “Marta’s already here. I’m sure Fran’s making breakfast and Meg wanted to leave by ten to head back.”

“Tell them you’re sick and want to sleep longer.” Ransom whined as he sat up and massaged his head, “Come on Baby, it’s been two months.”

“You know how weird it is trying to come up with excuses to come see my Little Sister’s grandfather? It would be easier if we just came out with it, but I know you don’t want to be exclusive. It would ruin your image.” Lizzie hissed as she pulled on the underwear Ransom had discarded the night before, then looked around, “Where’s my bra?”

“I don’t think I want to tell you.” Ransom growled as he stood and pulled Lizzie to him so he could hold her, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You’re the one holding all the cards, Hugh.” She said softly, pressing her hands against his bare chest before looking up, “Say the word and I’m yours. You know that.”

“Your parents won’t approve-”

“Then be someone they’ll approve of. I love you.” Lizzie kissed Ransom softly, massaging the side of his neck with her thumb until she heard a knock on her door. She pulled away quickly and waved her hand for Ransom to hide in the bathroom as she scooped her bathrobe off the floor.

Once the bathroom door was closed, Lizzie flung open the bedroom door to see Harlan on the other side, “Harlan! Good morning, how are you?”

“I want to give you something. Meet me upstairs after breakfast will you? Before you go.” Harlan said simply with a kinda smile.

Lizzie just nodded, “Okay, yeah, I’ll be down for breakfast in a few minutes, I just have to get dressed.”

She closed the door and pressed her back to it as Ransom quietly poked his head out of the bathroom, already dressed in his collared shirt and jeans, “So Harlan’s giving you presents? Better step up my game.”

“Shut up.” Lizzie laughed and crossed the room to him, only for him to produce her bra from behind his back. “Thank you!” She chirped and began dressing as Ransom sat on the bed, lacing up his shoes.

“You know my family would eat you alive if they knew. They’d say you were sleeping with me for the money.”

“You don’t have any money. Harlan has lots of money and he funds your lifestyle. Don’t you ever want to get out of your family’s shadow?”

“Not really, no.” Ransom admitted. He leaned back on his hand, looking up at Lizzie curiously, “What is it with you and your need to earn your keep?”

“I was raised to work for what I wanted, not have it handed to me. There’s a type of lifestyle I’m accustomed to and a lifestyle I’d like to keep, same as you.” Lizzie argued as she pulled on her crop top. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, admiring her own backside as she turned, “I’m not taking any hand outs.”

“Write to me.” Ransom said quietly as he hid behind the door. He kissed her quick and she trotted out the door, loudly tromping down the stairs in an effort to conceal him leaving through the secret window.

Lizzie burst into the kitchen just as Fran sat down her plate of food, “Thank you Fran! Looks delicious.”

“You are so welcome Lizzie.” Fran replied, wrapping her arm around the girl to give her a hug. “I heard footsteps from your room last night, couldn’t sleep?”

“No. Not very well. Just nervous about finals this week. Everything is about to change.” Lizzie whispered and Fran nodded as she scurried away. Lizzie looked up at Harlan as Meg scrolled through her phone, bored with her friend’s constant chatter with the help.

“You ready to head out after breakfast?” Meg finally asked as she looked up. Lizzie nodded, swallowing down her eggs before giving a thumbs up.

“Not right away though, I have to talk to Lizzie about a new book I’m working on. I need her input as a fellow writer.” Harlan said and Lizzie nodded profusely as she squinted, swallowing her food as a loud thump was heard outside.

“What was that?” Fran asked and started walking toward the window, but Lizzie began coughing and everyone turned to her instead as she apologized profusely.

“I’m fine, really, just went down the wrong pipe.” She lied, looking past Meg’s shoulder to make sure no one was outside the window.

Harlan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then looked up to Marta, “Marta, have by chance been reading my books in the downstairs library?”

Marta looked at Harlan like he’d grown two heads at the odd question, “No, I haven’t been. Is something wrong with them?”

“It’s just this weird thing I’ve noticed. When I pull out the third book from the right, there’s always a little sticker with a number on it. It must have been something from the publishing company when they came out, but i thought I’d ask you just in case.”

Lizzie grabbed her water and drank, keeping her eyes down on her own cell phone as Harlan spoke to Marta. Harlan, master writer that he was, could always read the people around him like an open book and Lizzie could only assume he’d investigated his suspicions.

Marta shook her head, eyes wide, “No, I haven’t touched them.”

“I was just curious.” Harlan said, and when Lizzie looked up, she met his gaze.

He knew.

After breakfast, Harlan led Lizzie up the stairs to his private study, closing both the secret and regular doors behind him so nobody would follow.

Harlan gestured for Lizzie to sit on the couch at the back of the room, then grabbed something from a shelf and dropped it on the table in front of her. “Six months ago, right after Christmas, I noticed the Menagerie Tragedy trilogy was out of order on the shelf. The sequel was first, followed by the first book, and ending with the third book farthest to the right. So I pulled out each copy and found a little tab with the number two-hundred and forty-seven.”

“That’s weird... did you open it? What was so special about page two-hundred and forty-seven?” Lizzie pressed, pulling her long hair to the side of her neck.

Harlan chuckled, turning a chair around and sitting down in front of the woman, “I did.”

Lizzie leaned forward, waiting for Harlan to continue, “And?”

Harlan just picked up the book he’d tossed onto the table and handed it to her, “I want to hear your opinion on the re-release of this book. Tell me what you think.”

Lizzie flipped through the book, then paused when she got to the middle. “Why is there only writing on the edges? Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing formatting, but a little hard to read-”

“I’m hoping you’ll use the blank pages to write your love letters to my grandson, instead of vandalizing my first edition copies of my greatest works.” Harlan smiled and nodded, leaning over to grab one of his books from a pile next to him while Lizzie reeled from his words.

“I don’t-”

“My Dearest Eliza,” Harlan read and Lizzie’s cheeks began to heat up at the name, “I won’t be around for a while, he has told me not to come back until I get a job. You’re probably going to laugh when you read that, that pretty laugh you make when you know better than me, but I hope you’ll forgive me for my absence. Perhaps, if it suits me, I’ll accommodate both his request and yours. Until then, fill the pages of these books with some sign I’m not a complete fool. Perhaps then I’ll actually read them. Yours Truly, H.”

Lizzie chuckled, leaning back on the couch, “I don’t know Harlan, those sound like letters from you. You know Ransom and I don’t get along.”

“I know you pretend not to get along, but you come by an awful lot to visit an old author. I know when you and your parents came to my Christmas party you kept them far away on the other side of the room. I’ve gathered from your responses they don’t approve of him.” Harlan challenged, placing his hand on Lizzie’s, “Perhaps you have enough influence over him to make him do something drastic.”

Lizzie held Harlan’s book to her chest, smelling the new pages with a renewed sense of vitality. She wanted to sit down and write. “It’s not serious.”

“Maybe not.” Harlan answered, straightening in his chair, “But I for one want to see what happens next, Eliza.”

[profiler-in-courage]

I am humbled 16 people have read my Claes Bang detective bullshit lol. Here is Ch. 2 & 3. Long af as always.

(I have yet to think of a title. Someone send me suggestions plz)

Chapter 2. 

The 7th Precinct was a media frenzy when Emerson pulled up. By 8 am, all the local news outlets had received some tip about the latest murders and it looked like all of them had sent a reporter. 

Emerson scanned the outside of the building, trying to find an entrance that wasn’t guarded by media. He stuffed case files he had taken home into his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder, ready to walk-sprint. 

He lowered his gaze to the ground. Eye contact was what got you. 

As he reached the sanctuary of a door, he mentally congratulated himself on  avoiding the bombardment of questions he quite frankly, wasn’t prepared to answer. 

He sat his bag on his desk and headed over to Burnham. His sarcastic best friend of seven years always made the morning after a murder less dark.

“Hey Emerson,” Burnham sipped through a mug of milk. 

An unusual quirk about him was that Jacob Burnham simply drank plain milk. Never coffee. 

Whole, 2 percent, 1 percent, nonfat, whatever was in the back office fridge was good enough for him. 

Forty or seven-years-old? Nobody knew Burnham’s true age.

“Forensics came in,” he waved a file at Emerson. “No prints or DNA of any kind, same as always. Christ.”

Burnham shook his dirty blonde head and handed the papers over.

“Fuck Em, we are never going to catch this guy unless he leaves us something.”

Emerson flipped through the forensics report. Like Burnham had described there was nothing of significance. 

“He will eventually slip up, they always do,” he said, trying to be the positive one.

“Did the families have anything to offer?” 

His friend shook his head, “Just the usual. Victims never got into any trouble, well behaved, no enemies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Can’t imagine why anyone would want two 15-year-old girls dead.” 

Emerson’s mind flashed to Abigail. He was afraid for her. She was smart, but he was sure Halley Reece and Melanie Myers had been smart too. Hell, they may have even known his niece. Same high school. 

The image of Abigail lying in a ditch somewhere creeped across his mind. He shut his eyes.

The feeling of dread was slowly worming its way back into his stomach. 

He went back to his desk, dropping the very thin report onto it. 

It barely made a sound. 

He pulled his phone out of his bag. It was the first time he was checking it this morning. 

He was bad at that. 

One text from his sister and one message from Gwyn. 

He opened his sister’s first.

Emerson, the girls they found last night went to Abigail’s school….this just became a little too close for comfort. I almost made her stay home today.

He sighed, not knowing what to say to Eve. Obviously she couldn’t lock Abigail up in the house, the girl had to go to school and have a life. 

You can’t stop living just because of horrors, he thought.

He sympathized with his sister though, he was just as worried for his niece as she was. 

He scratched his eyebrow and opened up Gwyn’s message next. 

G: 203-637-1366

Was that her phone number? He scrolled to see if she had said anything either before or after, but she had not. It was just her phone number. Or so he assumed. 

Quite bold, he thought. But he oddly liked the cut to the chase showing.

“Any luck in that department?” 

Burnham was standing over his shoulder looking down at the open Tinder app.

Emerson slipped the phone into his front pocket, “Not really.”

“I told you to go on that date with Kate’s sister. Who knows, you could be getting laid every night.” Burnham shrugged. 

Emerson scoffed, “Your wife’s sister is 59 remember?”

A stupid smile flashed across Burnham’s face, “Hey but she’s single! And how do you know you don’t like older women?” 

Emerson blinked, at a loss for words. 

“All I’m saying is we could be brother in laws. Take one for the team Em!”

Emerson swiveled to his computer screen.

“I see you enough already,” he grumbled.

Burnham slapped him on the back, laughing softly. 

Emerson poured over the photos on his desk. One of a woman with the soles of her feet skinned to the point where you could see the bone, another with such horrendous strangulation marks around the neck the purple coloration was almost black. Both were women who had been killed by the Creekmore Serial Killer. 

He was deep in thought, trying to see some connection between all the victims, something he did routinely with no success for this case. 

It was like looking at a math problem he didn’t have the formula for. 

The pocket of his dark blue wool button-up buzzed. It was a text from Gwyn. 

G: So what are you looking to get out of a dating app?

Emerson paused before answering, trying to find sufficient words to make “looking to date” sound less horrendous. 

E: Looking to date. What about you?

He figured he may as well just tell the truth. 

G: I’m looking to get absolutely wild in the bedroom. Nothing more, nothing less.

Emerson’s eyebrows sprung up. Maybe he had misjudged Gwyn. He wasn’t looking for just sex. 

Burnham always joked that Emerson should be a priest.

He figured he would wait to respond if he responded at all. The excitement about his new match had been all but snuffed out after her proclamation. 

He pushed his glasses up so they rested on the top of his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt the pang of loneliness he sometimes felt when thinking about his love life. 

He missed his wife. He missed having someone to come home to, talk to, feel beside him as he slept. He missed how he was before. 

Ever since Lyla had passed he had been different. Not as cheerful, not as funny, he actually used to be somewhat of a practical joker. 

He had thought his old self would return after the grieving process was done, yet here he was years later and no relief. 

Lack of female interaction certainly wasn’t helping either. 

Emerson sighed. Maybe he should try the one-night-stand thing. Though the thought of it had always felt awkward. 

Why have sex with someone you hardly know? 

His phone vibrated, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

G: Did I scare you off? I was joking btw. 

He let out a small sigh of relief. Ashamed that he was so bad at the whole dating thing that this one match seemed to be the end all be all. 

E: Sorry, was working. He fibbed. But I am glad to see you won’t objectify me for my body.

G: Well, that’s only because I haven’t seen your body. 

Emerson chuckled. He liked her witty remarks. 

How soon was too soon to ask someone on a date? Were there Tinder rules? Did he care? 

Not really. 

E: How would you like to see it? Fully clothed of course. 

He felt his heart rate pick up. He hadn’t felt excited like this in a long time. 

Of course, that’s when Burnham decided to interrupt.

“Those photos telling you anything yet?” he asked. 

Emerson shook his head, “No unfortunately.” 

His friend sat on the edge of the desk, “This fucking bastard leaves no trace. No DNA. Nothing.”

With the lack of info they had that was all Burnham really ever said about it.

Hard to do, thought Emerson. 

He saw his phone vibrate on the desk.

Burnham’s eyes followed his friend’s. 

“So…you sure Tinder isn’t working out for you?”

Emerson rolled his eyes, “Oh Christ.”

After enduring more teasing from Burnham than he would’ve liked, his fellow detective finally left to go bother someone else. 

Despite the torture that had felt like he was being waterboarded, Emerson had not let anything slip about his potential date. 

Not all things were meant to be shared among friends, not yet anyway. Besides, he had only started talking to her last night. Everyone needed to relax, him included. 

He opened her message. 

G: I would love to. Name a time and place and I’m there.

Chapter 3. 

Coffee. That wasn’t too casual and not too formal right? Or so Emerson hoped. 

So here he sat at some local place downtown. Waiting and a bit nervous. 

He heard the door open and he saw her. His eyes followed hers as she looked around for her date. 

He lifted his finger slightly. 

“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she said as she sat down across from him. 

Emerson tilted his head in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

She smirked, “That you look exactly like your photos.” 

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Have you been on many dates where that wasn’t the case?” 

She ran a hand through her long hickory colored hair, “More than I’d like.” 

Gwyn looked exactly as she had in her photos too. Emerson hadn’t even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t. 

Which he probably should have considering he met her online. 

He studied her. She was staring at him, looking him up and down. He smiled, amused. 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked. 

“I would,” she said. 

Emerson waited for her to say what she wanted. A few seconds went by. 

This is awkward, he thought as his eyes darted from side to side. 

He cleared his throat. 

“What would you like?...” he asked.

Gwyn smiled mischievously, “You're a detective. Read me. What do you think my order is?”

Interesting, he thought. 

He tilted his head slightly, finally drinking in everything about the woman who was across from him. 

She was wearing a tight black turtleneck, dark blue jeans, and a silver chain-linked bracelet. 

Her makeup was simple, she didn’t need much of it. She was naturally beautiful. Her hair had a shine to it and it curled into a slight wave. 

She had with her a plain black satchel. Big enough to fit only a wallet and a phone and possibly a few other womanly essentials. 

She was simple. But, sophisticated. At least that is what her appearance told him. 

Emerson remembered that her bio had said she was an artist. Which must mean she was somewhat serious about coffee. Not the frappuccino type. 

But, there was a softness to her. She didn’t appear to take herself too seriously, judging from her text messages. 

So probably not black coffee. 

Gwyn waited patiently for him to finish his assessment. A hint of a smile on her lips. 

“I think I got it,” Emerson said as he turned to walk towards the counter. 

“Hi, can I get one iced hazelnut latte and one hot Americano with cream please,” he told the barista. 

Emerson turned to look back at Gwyn. She was far enough away so she wouldn't have heard the order. 

He wanted to see her shock when she found out he was right. He was certain he was. 

He smiled to himself. 

He walked back to their table with the drinks. Gwyn was sitting looking bemused. Her legs crossed, her eyes following his every move.

“So, what did you decide for me?” she asked. 

Her voice was soft. He liked it. It reminded him of the way a stream sounds in a quiet forest.

Emerson said nothing. Just simply handed her the drink. 

Her eyes sparkled as she took it from his hand. Her gaze holding his. 

For a moment, he thought he might have gotten her wrong. 

Gwyn took a sip of the Americano and raised her eyebrows. 

He could tell she was trying to hide her amazement. She didn’t want to give him complete satisfaction and he liked that. She was fun.  

“Well Detective Woods, I suppose you are very good at your job then,” she smiled. 

Emerson beamed.

“Only a little,” he said as he took a sip of his latte. 

Gwyn let out a small laugh, shaking her head, “Is it too soon to say I already want to see you again and this date has been what, 10 minutes?” 

He looked at her over his straw. He felt the same. 

He felt something. For the first time since his wife.

“Now let me do you,” she said. 

Emerson paused, “What…”

“Let me read you,” said Gwyn, sipping her coffee. 

He sat back, trying to hide a smile, “Alright.”

Gwyn rubbed the bottom of her chin with her thumb as she studied the man across from her. 

He was handsome, that much was obvious. Rugged around the edges but not sharp, which was good. It made him look kind. 

He was wearing a grey quarter-zip pullover sweater, the beginnings of a burgundy collared shirt peeking out. His tortoise shell glasses made him look like he could be walking the halls of Oxford and be at home. 

Faded dark green pants with...were those cowboy boots? Interesting. 

So he wasn’t from Connecticut. 

The eyes behind the glasses were dark yet welcoming. A few days old stubble coated his face. 

His hair, thank god he had a full head of it, was dark. Perfectly styled in the ever popular comb over. 

It was too long for him to be ex-military but short enough that she could tell he liked things neat. Gwyn couldn’t quite tell if it was black or just a very dark shade of brown. 

Luckily they were seated by a window and he moved ever so slightly so that a ray of sunshine hit him. 

Midnight brown, was that a color? It was now. Silver bits were beginning to show their glint throughout Emerson’s hair.

If she was being honest he didn’t look like a police detective. They usually were only this good looking in movies. He could have been a writer or a professor that female students day dreamed about. 

The cowboy boots were throwing her off. 

Was he Texan? 

She didn’t remember hearing an accent, but then again they had only said a few sentences to each other. 

And yet, she knew she wanted a second date. She needed to impress him. She didn’t know she already had.

“Judging from your boots you aren’t from here, I’ll be generic and guess Texas?”

He nodded, waiting for Gwyn to continue. 

“You’re smart, otherwise you wouldn’t be a detective and you most certainly would not have gotten my order right. You're patient, you would have to be to be willing to sit here right now and listen to me.” 

Emerson chuckled, taking another sip of his latte. 

Gwyn continued, “Your eyes are hard but your face is gentle. You have seen and been through monstrous things but you don’t let it affect your character. You’re quiet, which leads me to believe you’re polite. Which is good because I can’t stand loud boisterous men.” 

Emerson leaned forward. He hadn’t expected her to be this good. 

“Between the way you look and my expectation that you are a good man, you must be single for a reason. So, I am guessing your ex either was unfaithful or died.” 

Gwyn was blunt. Emerson didn’t know how he felt about that. 

He scratched his cheek, “She passed away.”

Gwyn looked down at the table, confidence leaving her for only a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

Emerson shrugged, “But you were right.” 

Gwyn smiled softly. 

He could tell she enjoyed being right. Though not with a haughty arrogance. He respected that. 

“And how did you learn to read people so well? Are you an ex detective?” he asked, amused. 

Gwyn twirled a strand of hair in her fingers, “It’s not hard to see what people project.” 

Emerson smirked, nodding. 

Oh she’s very smart, he thought. 

They talked for hours after conducting their own way of breaking the ice. Gwyn could now hear the hint of an accent. 

They discussed movies, music, food, books, especially books. 

She liked nonfiction. He preferred fiction. 

Emerson was entranced with the way Gwyn spoke. Her words were light but intelligent. And she held eye contact. 

She had already assessed why he was single. So why was she?

He continued to study her. 

Her posture was welcoming, her sentences were flirtatious, but her expressions were guarded. 

Guarded meant she had been hurt before. Most likely multiple times. 

Though with an open posture, not physically. 

He couldn’t detect anything to signify she was nervous. She hadn’t been the entire date. She was confident. She could have anyone she wanted. 

So why didn’t she? 

“Figured me out yet?” she asked, pulling Emerson out of his thoughts. 

He looked down, embarrassed. 

“Not quite,” he smiled.

“Good. I need you at least intrigued enough for a second date,” she said. 

“Possibly more,” said Emerson, playfully reaching.

“Possibly,” Gywn responded, her eyes dancing.

She leaned forward on the small circular table. 

“Emerson Woods you are something.”

He winked. It made her laugh. 

“As much as I would love to talk with you all day, I should be going,” she said. 

Emerson nodded. He probably should too. They had spent nearly three hours in this coffee shop. 

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, wanting every second he could with her. 

She turned to him, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“Oh there is no need. I took an Uber, car’s in the shop after a very nasty old woman felt the need to rear end me.” 

Emerson laughed. He could offer her a ride. Should he?

“Would you like me to track her down for you? I could probably find something to pin on her,” he said, glancing down at where her hand had just been. 

She giggled, rolling her eyes, “Could you please? She’s costing me 400 dollars.”

They walked outside. It was overcast and there was a slight breeze. Emerson watched her hair lift in the wind. 

Before she could take out her phone to call an Uber, Emerson walked over to the passenger side of his car that was parked along the curb. He opened it. 

“I promise you’ll have a more enjoyable experience with me rather than someone you don’t know. If you’ll allow me.”

Gwyn bit her bottom lip, raising her eyebrows, “But I don’t know you. Not really.” 

Emerson paused. She was right. Three hours of conversation didn’t exactly mean they knew each other. And with the Creekmore Serial Killer making headlines for months, she was probably wise to refuse him. 

“I suppose that’s true,” he said. “Though I am a policeman,” he kept his hand on the door handle. 

She bopped her head from side to side, feigning weighing her options. 

“Can I rate you if you're a bad driver?” she joked, stepping over to the car.

Emerson chuckled, “I promise to be extra careful with you.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A Place To Call Home (Part 1)

Summary: The reader isn’t thrilled to be going to yet another foster home and is simply looking to get by until she’s an adult. Only her new family isn’t going to let her give up so easy...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 7,100ish

Warnings: language, angst

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when your case worker started to drive through a grand neighborhood full of million dollar homes.

“Hey, Cole? Are you sure we’re going the right direction?” you asked.

“I’m sure. I’ve been here a few times before. I think you’ll like it. It’s a pretty private home but still in a neighborhood. I know you weren’t a fan of the city place,” he said, turning down a side street.

“Yeah,” you said, staring out the window. It was a beautiful neighborhood, full of pretty trees and large homes with gated drives...but you didn’t plan on being there for long so there wasn’t much point of getting attached.

Cole turned down a driveway to reveal a huge home nestled back behind some trees, your head already shaking while he laughed.

“Okay, it’s big but they’re nice people, Y/N. These are the kind of people you deserve to be with,” he said, parking behind some high end luxury SUV and turning off the engine.

“Are they like stuck up snobs?” you asked, wincing as you glanced out the window. “I don’t think I can deal with that.”

“They are fairly normal from what I’ve seen. A bit sarcastic but then again, so are you. You’re their first foster child so they’re still learning all of this too,” he said.

“Oh, great. If I call you up and want to leave, how long before I can get in a new place?” you asked.

“Kid, I’ve known you for almost seven years. When have I ever not had your back?” he asked. “Even though you haven’t been in great places, we always got you moved somewhere else. These guys are different. We finally got you in a good home.”

“Until they decide to get rid of me again,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m on my own in just over a year anyways, Cole. I should honestly just try to get emancipated.”

“You know you’ll be turned down if you do that. I want you to give these people a chance, Y/N. They have 3 kids of their own, all young, but you’ll be the only foster there. You’ll get the one on one time you’ve never really had,” he said.

“Can we get this over with?” you asked, rolling your eyes again.

“Behave, Y/N,” he said. You slipped out of the car and went to the trunk, grabbing your backpack and duffel bag, Cole waiting as you looked around at the quiet yard. “Ready?”

“Foster home and new school number fourteen? Oh yeah, I’m totally excited,” you deadpanned.

“I think you’ll get along with them just fine,” he said with a smile. You sighed and followed him to a large front door, glancing through a window, spotting a large kitchen and family room. You stood next to Cole, used to the song and dance of awkward introductions by now.

You were surprised how young they were for a split second when the front door opened, the man and woman both wearing big smiles.

“Hi!” said the woman, opening the door wide so you could step inside. “I’m Danneel and this is my husband, Jensen. We’re the Ackles.”

“This is Y/N,” you heard Cole say but you were wide eyed, looking around the living room you were in, staring out the back window to see a pool and big yard and a big stretch of water and- “Y/N.”

“Hm?” you hummed, blinking a few times, turning to face them. “Oh. Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“Here, I can get that for you,” said Jensen, looking at the duffel on your shoulder and holding out a hand.

“I got it,” you said, Jensen nodding and dropping his arm to his side.

“So, Y/N. Why don’t we let these guys show you around and then us four can have some lunch together? Sound good?” asked Cole. You nodded, Jensen and Danneel both losing a little bit of their smiles when you didn’t say anything more. They showed you a thousand rooms it felt like and you were pretty sure you could barely find your bedroom if you needed to. They apologized that it was a bit plain and grownup since it’d been the guest room. There was a bathroom across the hall that’d be just yours to use though. You simply nodded and put down your bags in the new room, the couple showing you upstairs where their kids rooms were located.

They had a dog which was cool. Most of your homes didn’t have pets and you’d always wanted one, this guy a little older but he was cute and friendly still. You ate a few sandwiches at the kitchen island, Cole talking about a few things with them, going over his check in schedule again. You played with the dog some when you finished, Cole waving a hand in front of your face to get your attention.

“I’m heading out, Y/N. I’ll call in the morning to see how everyone’s first night went, okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, getting a hug from him.

“Try for me, okay?” he said quietly. You gave him a small smile, Cole giving them both a quick exit rundown before he left. The house felt strangely quiet. All 13 homes you’d been in before, there were always other foster kids there, someone who understood. Now it was just you and two adults that had no clue what to do with you.

“You like dogs?” asked Jensen, walking around from the front door, Danneel hanging by the kitchen, sipping on her glass from lunch.

“Yeah,” you said, the little guy choosing that exact moment to walk away and go up some stairs to another part of the house.

“Some friends of ours are watching the three munchkins for the afternoon. Is there anything you’d like to do or need? You didn’t bring a lot with you,” said Jensen.

“I’m fine. May I go to my room, please?” you asked. He hummed and you stood up, walking for a moment before pausing and looking around.

“It’s just down that hall over there, sweetie,” said Danneel. You forced a smile and left, quickly closing the door behind you once you found it.

Everything was too perfect and nice and these people were so doing this to show off to friends or family or whatever charity crap thing they were involved in. You pulled out your phone, ready to figure out who they really were when a knock came at the door.

“It’s just Jensen. Can I come in for a second?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said back without thinking twice. You hadn’t had your own room since you were ten. You’d gotten so used to sharing and lack of privacy and not being given any in the first place, you were surprised to remember that you had some here.

“Hey,” he said as he stepped in wearing a smile, leaving the door open behind him and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Everything alright? Room okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” you said. He stared for a moment and pursed his lips, pulling his hands out of his pockets and rubbing them against the back of his neck.

“Cole said this isn’t your first rodeo. It ain’t even your tenth rodeo,” said Jensen, dropping his hands, something sad on his face. “I know we’re strangers and you probably expect to be moved again but De and I, we’re not going to push you out. You turn seventeen next week. We want you to stay, no matter what or how long. We want you to know that.”

“You don’t even know me, Jensen. Only what you read in a file and what Cole told you. Don’t make promises you won’t keep. I’ve heard them all before,” you said calmly. He blinked at you, opening his mouth when you cut him off. “I’m only being honest.”

“Give us a chance to prove you wrong,” he said softly.

“No. You can go ahead and try but I won’t believe you. I won’t trust you either. It’s nothing against you or your wife or family. I’m just waiting this out, Jensen. A year max and I’m gone,” you said.

“I guess I got a year to change that then,” he said.

“You really shouldn’t waste your time,” you said.

“Helping one of my kids? Not wasting my time at all,” he said. His comment took you aback, Jensen nodding before he turned to leave. “This is your house too, Y/N. Feel free to roam around it.”

“Okay,” you said, grabbing your phone.

“Hey, before you go and look me up online, I got to ask one thing,” he said.

“What?” you asked.

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“It’s not polite to stare, Y/N,” said Jensen when you’d finally come out of your room. His tone was playful though and there was a small smirk on his face.

“You’re an actor? On a show that’s like five hundred thousand years old?” you asked.

“Hey now, I’m only 40,” he said, quietly chuckling.

“Still like I totally get the fancy house and cars now but why don’t you live in Hollywood? Why Texas?” you asked. Jensen sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand on the kitchen counter as he leaned over it.

“Maybe because I wanted to live here, away from that life style, close to where I grew up. Maybe because in the grand scheme of things, we were supposed to live here so you could join our family,” he said with a shrug. “Just a thought.”

“So you don’t live here all the time?” you asked.

“I don’t. De and the kids do. I hop back and forth most of the year. Our winter break started this week which is why we thought now would be a good time for you to come to us, before I have to head out in a month. Otherwise I travel back and forth on the weekends between here and Canada. I’ll have another nice long break in the spring and summer for a few months,” he said.

“You fly that far every weekend?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I like spending time with my family,” he said, giving you a smile before standing upright. “De should be back any sec.”

“Where’d she go?” you asked. You both heard another door in the house open, the sounds of tiny squeals and then bare feet barreling down a hall.

You saw a brown patch of hair followed by another, a slightly older girl with blonde hair on the tail end, all rushing in front of you in the kitchen and coming to a stop.

“Guys, this is Y/N. Let’s take it-“ said Danneel, the little boy and girl both giving your legs a hug. “Easy.”

“Hi!” said the girl, the boy echoing after her.

“They’re twins,” said Jensen.

“Hi! I’m JJ,” said the girl, standing back for a moment before deciding to dive in and give you a hug too.

“Uh, hello,” you said, giving them all a light half hug, glancing to someone for help.

“That’s enough, rugrats. Y/N’s had a long day,” said Jensen. They eventually all peeled off, the boy grabbing your hand though and walking you over to a couch in the family room, climbing up next to you and grabbing a stuffed dog from the corner. He handed it to you and stared at you.

“Thank you?” you said, the boy wrapping his arms around you before hopping onto the floor.

“Zeppelin picked that out of all of his toys to give to you,” said Jensen.

“Me?” asked the little girl, looking at her parents.

“Go ahead Arrow,” said Danneel. Arrow and JJ took off down a hall, popping out of a room with a little bag. You peeled it open when they returned, pulling out a pair of bright pink and obnoxious pajamas. “The girls both have a matching pair. They wanted their big sister to have some too.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving them smiles, carefully putting the items back in the bag.

“You’re kind of funny,” said JJ after a moment.

“JJ,” said Jensen. “That’s rude.”

“She is! She doesn’t get excited for presents,” she said.

“We already told you guys Y/N’s having a long day today. She’s also a lot bigger than you so we don’t expect her to act like you guys do,” said Jensen.

“Oh. Sorry, Y/N,” she said.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“Alright. I say we grab some dinner and get some grub in the tikes pronto,” said Jensen. “Y/N’s not the only one with a long day around here.”

“Hey,” said Jensen, knocking on the door to your room later that night. “You like dinner? You haven’t said much today.”

“It was good. Thank you,” you said.

“I mean, I appreciate this well behaved thing you have going on but you are a person. You can say you don’t like veggie lasagna and not get in trouble for it,” he said, flashing a knowing smirk.

“It’s not really my place to question it when food is given to me,” you said.

“Right...that sounded really weird you realize, right?” he asked, coming in and taking a seat on the bed.

“Old habits,” you said, scooting over on the bed.

“That was the sixth home, wasn’t it? The super shitty one?” he asked. You stared at him, Jensen chuckling. “You’re almost seventeen. I’m not afraid to swear in front of you, kiddo.”

“Yeah. It was the sixth one,” you said, rubbing your arm.

“Here’s the deal. You don’t like something, speak up. Whether it’s dinner or something we say or do...nothing bad is ever going to happen here. I swear,” he said.

“I don’t really like cooked vegetables. Some but not really in lasagna,” you said.

“Makes two of us,” he said. “Want a burger instead? I was going to whip one up on the grill now that the three musketeers are down and out for the count.”

“No thank you. I’m full,” you said.

“Kid...olive branch. Take it,” he said. You rolled your eyes, Jensen humming. “Oh, so you aren’t a robot after all.”

You glared at him, his face dropping.

“I didn’t...it was a joke since…” he said.

“I’m tired. I want to go to bed,” you said.

“Alright. If you get hungry, kitchen is right around the corner,” he said as he stood up. “I’m sorry if I-“

“It’s fine. I’m just tired,” you said.

“You know where our room is if you need us?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said quietly.

“Okay. Sleep tight,” he said. You nodded and he pulled the door shut on his way out.

The sooner this guy left you the hell alone the better.

“Rise and shine!” you heard, a fist pounding on your door. You grumbled and threw it open, Jensen smiling at you. “Wow. Look at that bedhead.”

“What,” you growled.

“Not a morning person, okay,” he said, taking a step back. “Well put on some clothes and get dressed. It’s Sunday so breakfast burritos for breakfast. Let’s go.”

“I’d prefer to stay here,” you said.

“Wasn’t asking. Fifteen minutes,” he said.

About twenty later you were in a back seat, driving out of the neighborhood, JJ sitting next to you, the twins all the way in the back.

“What are you gonna get?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Never been before,” you said.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“16. 17 on Friday,” you said.

“Are you gonna have a party and invite your friends over?” she asked.

“No,” you said, staring out the window.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have friends and I don’t have birthday parties,” you said. She didn’t ask anything else and you realized you’d probably been too blunt with her. “How old are you, JJ?”

“Five,” she said.

“You go to kindergarten?” you asked.

“Uh huh. What grade are you in?” she asked.

“I’m a junior,” you said.

“Y/N’s going to go to your school, JJ. Just in the other building for the bigger kids,” said Danneel. They started to explain the new school to you, Jensen eventually stopping outside a small restaurant. JJ piled out but you stayed to help unbuckle the little ones, Danneel thanking you as you handed them off. She got them sat at a table while Jensen went to order.

“...and kiddo will take a classic, a spicy cheese and a loaded,” said Jensen.

“Um, I can’t eat all that,” you said.

“Well I’ll eat your leftovers. I’m sure you’ll find one of them you like,” he said. You stayed up there for a moment, helping carry the food back to the table, everyone diving in. “Go ahead.”

You cut off a piece of the classic first, not expecting eggs, sausage, peppers, cheese and bacon inside.

The spicy cheese one was amazing as was the loaded, Jensen smirking when you ditched the fork and knife and just started eating it with your hands.

“So Y/N, I was thinking after we stop home, you and me could go shopping, pick up some girl stuff for you,” said Danneel.

“Oh. What’s in the bathroom is perfectly fine,” you said.

“It’ll be fun. I swear.”

“First things first, we are so going shoe shopping,” said Danneel, walking into a mall with you on her tail. “Do you like those sneakers?”

“I guess,” you said.

“There’s a store that always has that brand on sale,” she said, turning right, popping into a huge one filled with row after row of shoes. “Alright. Sneakers, some flip flops, boots. A pair of black flats and heels because every woman needs a pair of those…”

“My shoes are fine, honesty,” you said.

“Those sneakers are literally falling apart. You can save them for doing stuff out in the yard or something. We’ll get you a new pair,” she said.

“I really don’t need those other shoes though,” you said. She paused, smiling to herself.

“Sorry. You must think I’m...I want you to be comfortable is all, sweetie. You shift on your feet a lot. I thought you were nervous but those sneakers just don’t have any support, do they?” she asked.

“These one’s I got for free at a holiday thing once. I don’t think I can afford a pair brand new,” you said

“Y/N. I don’t expect you to pay for a thing today. We get the sneakers, an extra pair or two of jeans for you, maybe a couple shirts and a jacket since I know I didn’t see you bring one. We’ll keep it simple and then grab a late lunch, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How’d you make out today? Survive the shopping trip to hell?” asked Jensen as he leaned against your door, Danneel whacking him on the back of the head as she walked past with a laundry basket. “Hey, I’m still not over the incident of ‘09.”

“Let it go, Jens,” said Danneel with a smirk, setting the basket down in your room. “We can wash up the new stuff once the tags are off.”

“Thanks, De,” you said. She headed out and Jensen walked inside, glancing at the clothes on your bed.

“You like the clothes?” he asked. You nodded, Jensen moving his hand around from his back, holding out a empty black duffel bag. “Your other one looked like the strap was tearing. I’ve only used this one a couple of times. It’s bigger too.”

“Thanks,” you said, holding it in your hands for a moment. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Cole advised we read up on some stuff before we met you. I know you aren’t going anywhere but I know it’s important to you to know that you have the ability to go. All your new and old stuff would definitely fit in there,” said Jensen.

“Is that what it said in the kiddie shrink book?” you asked with a laugh.

“No. It’s what the war vet one did,” said Jensen, watching you stare at him. “Like you said, me and De both read your file. You put up with crap people shouldn’t have to. You’re not just a kid that’s parents passed away. If a duffel bag makes you feel a little better, you can have a duffel bag.”

“Thanks,” you said, setting the bag on the ground. “Is this stuff okay to go to a private school with? The clothes and jacket I mean?”

“Yeah. It is private but it’s not uppity uppity. JJ wore a pajama shirt last week if your worried,” he said.

“JJ is also not in high school,” you said.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he said, ruffling your head. “It’ll be fine.”

“Hi!” said Jensen, standing outside of his car after school Monday. “How’d the first day go?”

“Alright,” you said, JJ running up beside you from her building.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I painted a cat in art class and I learned how to spell Mississippi today,” she said.

“Oh, exciting. Anything like that happen for you, Y/N?” asked Jensen.

“I got assigned a paper on media and my lab partner in chem is an idiot,” you said, pulling your backpack off your shoulders.

“That’s not nice,” said JJ. “Maybe they just aren’t as smart as you.”

“Maybe,” you said. “It was just another new school. I’m used to it.”

“Well De and I want you to get involved in something. Maybe a club or sport,” he said.

“I don’t really do that stuff,” you said, climbing into the passenger seat.

“What do you do then?” he asked once he got in, JJ buckled in the backseat.

“Nothing.”

“Um,” you said, knocking on the door to Jensen and Danneel’s room a few nights later, both of them sitting on a bench in front of window, the dog passed out at their feet. “Sorry, but I had a question.”

“You’re always welcome to come in,” said Danneel, waving you over. “What’s up?”

“Do you guys have a computer? I wrote a paper for school but it needs to be typed,” you said.

“There should be a laptop in your room, kiddo,” said Jensen. “The printer’s in our office.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said, turning to go when he tsked you.

“That’s for you to keep, Y/N. A little early birthday present from us,” he said.

“That’s too much,” you said.

“Take it. You’ll need it for school and maybe college someday,” he said.

“Thanks.”

You made it to Friday, mostly busy with school and getting caught up until Zeppelin wandered into your room close to six.

“Hey little dude,” you said, putting away your computer. “What’s up and what are you doing being all unsupervised?”

“Doggy,” said Zeppelin, glancing at your bed. “Can I have ‘im?”

“You want your doggy back?” you asked, grabbing it off of one of the nightstands, handing it to him. “Here you go.”

“No. Yours,” he pouted. You held up your hands and put it back, the boy scrunching up his face.

“You look a lot like your dad, Zeppelin,” you said, the boy huffing. “What’s wrong?”

“I want doggy,” said Zeppelin. “Icky.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, sweetheart,” you said, bending down and giving him a smile.

“He’s looking for Icarus,” said Jensen, leaning around the doorframe. Zeppelin nodded. “He’s in the family room, bud.”

“Okay,” said Zeppelin, glancing back at his dad. “Surprise!”

“Uh…” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes and stepping in, scooping up Zeppelin under his arm.

“Never send a boy to do a man’s job,” said Jensen, grabbing your hand. “Come on.”

“Come on where…” you asked, pulling away your hand quickly.

“We’re having a little birthday party for you,” he said, holding out his hand. You stared at it until he dropped it. “It’s just us six, I swear.”

You grumbled but followed down the hall, a cake sitting on the kitchen counter. JJ and Arrow were all smiles and your forced one on your face for the kids. You felt the adults watching you carefully though and you did your best to keep things light and airy, even helping put the kids to bed a few hours later.

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” you said when you’d finished up for the night.

“Alright. Night, sweetie,” said Danneel. You hummed as you left the kitchen, pausing once you rounded the corner. “Why do I feel like that went horrible?”

“Because it did. The kid doesn’t even smile for her own birthday,” said Jensen with a sigh. “Not to mention I grabbed her hand earlier and she about tore my arm off ripping out of it.”

“Jens, Cole said she has an issue with men touching her,” said Danneel. “It’s nothing you did.”

“Yeah but I scared her. She’s not happy. She rations her food, barely talks to us…” he said.

“She spent a lot of time in some bad places, Jensen. We knew that going into this,” said Danneel. “She’s a strong girl but she’s guarded and she’s not letting her walls down because we made her a cake or bought her some new t shirts. She’s used to scraping by and this is overwhelming in a way we can’t understand.”

“This is not the happy family I thought we’d have, De,” he said quietly. You lifted your chin and walked back to your room, packing up your backpack with your old things. You did pull on your jacket but otherwise everything else new stayed behind. You carefully made your way to the garage door and punched in the number on the keypad, slipping outside before anyone saw a thing.

It was getting late and the sun had gone down hours ago. It was raining and you were cold but you could find somewhere to hunker down once you got off the dark road you were on.

Tomorrow you’d call Cole, try to file for your emancipation and go stay somewhere else where you weren’t ruining the Ackles perfect little family anymore. It was obvious you weren’t the only unhappy one there and you weren’t getting attached again. You just weren’t. No matter if they tried to buy you things or throw you the first birthday party you’d had in forever.

“Fucking assholes,” you muttered, wiping your hand against your face. “You don’t even like those people you idiot. Just forget about it. You’re a charity case to them, plain and simple.”

But the longer you walked, the longer you got cold and wet, the longer you had to think. They were kind to you and had given you space you wanted. They’d even asked their children to give you that space. They’d read books and tried to treat you like a normal teenager for the first time and it was the first home you weren’t afraid of since you’d wound up in that shitty system.

That terrified you the most because what if they didn’t get bored or mean like the others had? What if you’d just run away for no reason?

No, you left so they could be happy. They didn’t need you around to screw up their lives anymore than you already had.

You were shivering, walking along a road that hopefully took you to a bus stop or shelter when headlights flashed behind you. The car went past, like all the others had, until it suddenly swerved onto the shoulder. You paused and saw the drivers side open, Jensen in a raincoat jumping out.

“Y/N!” he said. You stared at him, Jensen immediately walking over. You inhaled sharply, not expecting the pair of strong arms to wrap around you and pull you to his chest. “Scared us to death, kiddo.”

He kissed the top of your head and pulled back, giving you a sad smile.

“You hurt?” he asked, touching your cheek. “Shit. You’re like an icicle. Let’s get you home.”

“No,” you said quietly, Jensen scrunching up his face. “I don’t want to.”

“I...Y/N if I scared you earlier or just now, I am so sorry, honey. I am. You don’t have to run away. I will never hurt you, ever. I’ll protect you, that’s my job,” he said. You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. “Yeah. It is. Let’s go home.”

“S’not my home. It’s yours,” you said. Jensen tilted his head, not getting it quite yet. “Most families I went to weren’t good and the few that were, I knew I wasn’t much to them and always got moved real fast. Your family is good though and I’m gonna screw it up. I already screwed it up.”

“No, no, sweetie. You haven’t,” he said.

“I’m not a normal teenager or person. I just want to be by myself. Please,” you said.

“You are normal and very bad things have happened to you, and me and De don’t give a shit about any of them. We’re trying our best and we don’t know how to prove to you that you’re exactly what we want in our family yet. We’re still learning and part of that is going to take time, for all of us. Give us the chance, please,” he said gently.

“Leave,” you said, a mixture of rain and a few tears running down your face, this guy just not getting it.

“Not happening,” he said.

“I said leave,” you said again.

“I said I’m not abandoning you on the side of the road in the middle of the night, frozen half to death, where who knows what or who is going to come along and do god knows what to you,” he said.

“Leave me alone,” you forced out, brushing past him, walking around the car and along the shoulder again. Something bumped against your arm and you glared when you saw him. “I said-”

“You can’t exactly make me not walk next to you so deal with it,” he said. You frowned and kept walking, waiting for him to turn around and go back to his car. Five minutes later he was still right there and were getting so horribly cold.

“Why won’t you just let me go? I haven’t even known you a week,” you said as you came to a stop.

“I don’t care how long I’ve known you,” he said.

“Jensen-”

“You are my child and I don’t give a fuck if it’s been a day or a week or however long. I will give you all the things those three little ones have. De and I both. You can talk to us, about the crap you carry, about your past, about your parents. I know, I know, you have every right to be afraid. I am begging you to trust me, for just a second because I know how hard it is for you, but to trust me that you will never ruin this family. You make it better. We need you to know that, Y/N. We don’t want you to be afraid anymore, to think that even our affection has a price. We want you to come home, honey. Please.”

It was too apparent that you were crying after that, ducking your head down and Jensen pulling you in for a hug, rubbing a hand up and down your back as he shushed you. You barely remembered the walk back to the car, freezing as you got in and he blasted all of the heat on you.

“Hey,” said Jensen, Danneel hopping up from the couch when you both walked in dripping water everywhere a half hour later. “We need to get her warmed up.”

“Take a hot shower and I’ll crank up the heat, get some warm pajamas for her,” she said. Jensen turned you down the hall to your room, putting your wet backpack in the laundry room while you got in the shower. You were cold for most of it but weren’t shaking anymore, Danneel knocking once to bring in warm clothes, asking you come to their room when you finished.

You sighed but eventually got out to face the music. The pajamas were warm, something fleece. You dried your hair as best you could before you slowly walked across the house to their room, knocking on the door. It opened and Danneel was quickly there, wrapping a blanket around you.

“Sit on the bed,” she said. You kept your head down and sat on the end, Danneel nodding for you to move up. You heard Jensen moving around somewhere, walking out of their own bathroom with warm pajamas of his own after a minute. “You too. Warm up.”

You stared at your lap, waiting for the yelling to start.

“Feel better?” asked Jensen as he sat down facing you. You nodded but kept your gaze down, the bed dipping as Danneel sat on your other side doing the same.

“I know it’s very late and we’re all a bit exhausted,” she said. “We’ll talk more in the morning but right now our main concern is that you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“We’re not asking that. We want to know if you’re okay, Y/N,” said Jensen. His foot tapped your leg and you risked a glance up, nothing but a concerned pair of faces staring back.

“I don’t think you guys…” you started, cutting yourself off, taking a shaky breath. “I appreciate everything you both have done for me and given me. I do. I know you’re trying to make me feel like a part of your family. But neither one of you are listening to me. I don’t want a family. I’m done with it. I just want to grow up and go somewhere else and go live a quiet life by myself. I don’t want this thing you’re trying to force on me.”

“Try that again but this time, don’t lie,” said Jensen. You scrunched up your face, his own softening. “On the road you said you didn’t want to ruin our family.”

“I was lying,” you said. They shared a look, Danneel shutting her eyes. “I don’t care what you say. In the morning, I’m going to emancipate myself.”

“Sweetie, you can’t and even if you tried, you’d likely be denied. You don’t have a job or income. You’d have no insurance. You’d need a place to live, food. You aren’t in a bad home at the moment...it’s not something we believe is in your best interest,” she said.

“Cole mentioned that this was something you’ve been bringing up lately. It’s part of why he chose us. He believes we could be your permanent home if you let us,” said Jensen.

“Maybe I’ll just run away again then,” you said with a scoff. “Do a better job this time.”

“We’ll come looking again,” he said.

“Why will you people not listen to me? I. Don’t. Want. You,” you spat out. Danneel looked down, Jensen’s jaw clenching briefly. He hopped off the bed, curling his finger at you.

“Up. Now,” he said. You climbed off the bed slowly, Jensen walking out of the room. You stared down the short hallway, Jensen crossing his arms. “Here.”

You scurried over there, Jensen stepping to the front door, walking out to the covered entrance. You followed, Jensen staring out at the dark yard, rain coming down hard. You didn’t dare speak. You’d seen enough angry people to know when they were about to snap.

“A little bit of grown up advice? Life is fucking hard,” he said, glancing at you. “Most of the time, you don’t realize how hard it is until you get older, become an adult. You’ve dealt with shit I don’t know if I could or not. You’re strong. But if you want to be treated like an adult, fine. Here’s the honest truth. You’ve been very mean to us tonight. Not the kids, just me and De. You hurt her feelings in there and I mean really hurt them. You hurt mine. Adults have feelings too, Y/N. We want you to have love and a family because that out there? That dark, cold place? That’s what being alone is. No one wants that. Anyone who says that is lying because they’re afraid of being hurt. I know you think we’re going to hurt you. I know for split second it crossed your mind that I was going to do something to you out here even. But all I’m doing is saying the crap De doesn’t need to hear right now.

“There’s your home and family,” he said, pointing back at the open front door then turning to the yard. “There’s your independence. There’s your adult life when you have no one to turn to. No family or friends. No one to check on you when you have nightmares. No one to make you a meal when you’re sick. No one to give a shit if you drove home safe. If you want to go, fine. It’s your choice. But I’m following and I promise you I won’t quit until you decide to turn around and come back home. I don’t care how mean you try to act because I know that’s all it is. It’s just an act. So it’s your choice, Y/N. We going for another walk in the rain tonight or we going back inside?”

“You’re mad at me,” you said, shifting on your feet. “Like really mad. But you didn’t do anything.”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed. I’m failing you. We’re all failing you. I can’t even get you to trust me that I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said.

You frowned, his hard face you thought was hiding anger before slipping, a broken thing in it’s place. You swallowed thickly and stepped in front of him, grabbing his wrist and holding up his hand, turning it around.

“You’re really strong, aren’t you,” you whispered. He didn’t say anything. You dropped his hand, putting a hand on his bicep. “Really strong.”

You pulled it away and walked around him, Jensen standing still but watching you go. You stopped in front of him, hesitating for a moment before you gave him a very loose hug. He tensed up, body rigid while you got closer.

“Tonight I hurt you, didn’t I. Not physically but…” you trailed off. “I think my parents would be disappointed in me too.”

“I don’t believe that and I never said I was disappointed in you,” he said, carefully raising his arms up to return the hug. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I just...I’ve gotten attached to people too many times. Then they turn out to be monsters or I never hear from them ever again and I realize they never cared about me the way I did them. It starts to hurt and I already hurt. I’ve been in this system almost half my life and no one ever wanted me. I’m 17 now and no one, I mean no one, ever picks out the 17 year old to join the family. No one adopts us and I’m too scared of getting close again so I come off as mean and standoffish and no one wants that.”

“Lucky for you I know this kickass family that does want a 17 year old. She’s not mean or standoffish either. She’s very smart, very protective of herself. I know it’ll take time for those walls to come down. We’re willing to put in the effort,” he said.

“Can we go back inside now?” you asked. He nodded, letting you pull away, on your tail as you both stepped into the house. You heard him lock up as you went to their bedroom, De sitting on the bed, fiddling with one of the blankets. “De?”

She popped her head up, giving you a short smile.

“I’m sorry for tonight and for being rude,” you said, feeling Jensen walk in behind you. “I won’t leave again.”

“Thank you for your apology,” she said, watching Jensen pick up a blanket and hand it to you.

“Get some sleep, honey,” he said once you took it.

“Okay,” you said, tucking it under your arm, running your hand over it. “Thank you for the birthday party.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll talk more in the morning. Go rest,” said Jensen. You nodded and left, climbing under your covers with your blanket on top once you were in your room. You were halfway asleep when the door opened softly, a quiet thud on your nightstand. You rolled over and saw a glass of water, Jensen not seeing you as he pulled the door shut after him.

For the first time since you got there, you slept soundly.

A/N: Read Part 2 here!