#my fucking mistake sir I guess I’ll correct it by feeling nothing ever again

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[some-kindofgnome]

tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal. 

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know? 

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron​ has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”  

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

[aesthbaby]

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event. 

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that. 

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her.  He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of  babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

 Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.  

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips.  You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward,  “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage. 

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob  @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425  @fanfictionfangirl04  @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl  @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby​

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Don’t Lift The Veil

*kind of based on this post you might remember, also on ao3

| 

Stephen stumbled into Kamar-Taj, only narrowly avoiding breaking his skull on the floor by an apprentice sorcerer lurching forward and taking his arm.

"Master Strange?" The girl said, then, more anxiously, "Master Strange?!"

April, Stephen thought to himself, placing the voice. He tried to reassure her, but instead made an odd choking sound and blacked out. Oh well . . .

||

When he woke again, April was still there, only there was a Master of the Mystic Arts who specialized in healing magic beside her and they were in Stephen's bedroom.

April dabbed at Stephen's forehead with a warm towel. No one was sure if that was necessary, but it seemed the thing to do. "Are you alright, Master Strange?"

Stephen tried to sit up and bit back a scream when doing so put pressure on the stab wound in his stomach. "More or less."

April lightly pushed him back down on the bed. "Sir," she said gently, like she was speaking to a child, "you should rest now. You were badly hurt."

Stephen dropped his head on the pillow, sulking. "I don't want to rest. I am the Sorcerer Supreme, I can do what I want."

"Of course you can," April cooed. 

Stephen scowled, waving away the healer. Still, April refused to leave, sitting on the bed beside his knees with her legs crossed.

Stephen sighed, but didn't send her away. Perhaps he was getting soft in his old age (a thousand years was a long time even for a sorcerer), but in truth it was a weakness he had towards some of the young sorcerers. April in particular was dear to him, being the descendant of dear Peter. More than forty generations separated her from Spider-Man, but he allowed himself to believe that he could see a bit of the wide-eyed teen he once knew in her. 

Just as he was getting melancholy, April started bouncing her legs, bored. Ah, there it is. "Are you alright, April?"

". . . Yes."

It was going to be a long day.

||| 

April refused to relent, and Stephen refused to sleep. Now at a stalemate, they passed the time by playing card games and idly chatting.

April placed her card. "Skip you, I go again. The color is red, and you draw four."

"Fuck," Stephen muttered before succumbing to the will of the Uno cards.

April smirked, looking down at her own cards. "Hey, Master Strange, have you always been a sorcerer?"

Stephen was old enough that none of the living sorcerers had been there when he first came to Kathmandu. Long before April's time and after Tony's death nine hundred years ago, all the information about who Doctor Stephen Strange had been was lost. Or destroyed, rather. Now few even knew who he'd been before becoming Sorcerer Supreme, and for the most part he preferred it that way. Any immortal could tell you that memories were the enemy.

So he wasn't quite sure why he said, "No."

April quirked a brow. "Where did you come from?"

He hesitated before answering. “Before I came to Kamar-Taj, I lived in New York with my husband.” He shrugged. “Fiance, at the time.”

April stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my God — Master Strange, I had no idea you were married—”

“Widowed now,” Stephen said quietly before laying down another card.

April blinked, her cheeks heating and turning red. “I’m . . . I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who brought it up.” He frowned. “There really is no point of a Reverse card if you’re just playing with two people.”

They played in awkward silence for another minute before April asked, “Do you want to talk about it? Or, him, I guess?”

Then the strangest thing happened.

Stephen smiled.

“I could tell you everything about him. Who he was, how we met. The color of his eyes and the shape of his nose. I can see him right in front of me. He is more real to me than you.”

His smile was sad, and his blue-green eyes seemed to lose their light. He laid another card, and when he spoke again, this time about an envoy that needed to be sent to the Nat'hal dimension, it was clear that the conversation was over.

|| 

But April was never one to give up so easily. It was in her blood. She was ninety percent sure she was descended from Superheroes (considering her family bad the right Peter Parker in their tree and not some rando from the same time).

She spent over a week going through everything she could find about their current Sorcerer Supreme. It wasn't easy. He was a private person even by hero standards, and had been born roughly a thousand years ago. But that was right at the start of the information age, and though it meant sorting through piles of white noise and conspiracy theorist bullshit, she was able to find some old interviews and articles from around his time that referenced a Stephen Strange . . . and his husband, Tony Stark.

That was the most surprising part. Even children knew who Iron Man was, one of Earth's first and greatest protectors, who lost an arm bringing half the universe back to life and defeating the Mad Titan Thanos. 

But if they knew each other, why doesn't Strange ever mention him?

If her theory was correct, then they hadn't just known each other - they'd loved each other, and had been married for almost fifty years (longer, if you counted the time Strange apparently lost to Thanos). They had children together. The memory must have been painful to him, living so long without his beloved, forced to remain on Earth and carry out his duties as Sorcerer Supreme.

Oh, Stephen . . . She'd always known that their leader carried a heavy burden, but she had no idea he'd lost so much. She wanted to do something, anything to help him . . . 

And she had just the idea.

“Okay,” April said, placing the last candle and looking back at her book. “This . . . should probably work.”

There were a few days when the veils between dimensions were thin. The winter solstice was one such time. The borders had only grown weaker after centuries of attacks from aliens and other-worldly beings and. The perfect time for such a spell.

April sat in the circle of candles and crossed her legs. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her third eye opened too, and the silvery light of Oshtur poured forth into the room. She could see the dimensions laid over each other, and the things that lingered nearby. Some of them seemed almost familiar.

Her mouth moved almost unbidden as she spoke. “Oshtur Star-Eye, Mother of Agamotto, guide to sorcerors living and dead, I call upon you to find the soul I seek and lead it to me—” Her breath caught as the spirits started to take shape. Away and above Kamar-Taj, she could feel Oshtur looking upon her. “Bring me Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man, Saviour of the Universe and Earth’s Defender, husband to the Sorcerer Supreme Stephen Strange, lead him here and show him to me—”

Suddenly she fell forward, the spell cut short as a breeze filled the room snuffing out all the candles. A moment later, Stephen Strange walked into her vision, knocking over the candles and using his heel to disrupt the chalk circle. When he looked at her, she flinched from his gaze. “What are you doing?!”

April shook her head, the movement slow and heavy. “I don’t . . . I . . .”

“It is the solstice, the walls between worlds are thin and weak, all sorts of things linger in the liminal spaces, waiting to break through! You didn’t even ward or purify this room, you could have invited any number of monsters and specters into this sacred place! What were you thinking, what were you even trying to do?!”

April frowned, fearing tears prickle at her eyes. “I was just . . . I was trying to find Tony for you . . .”

Stephen stared at her in shocked silence as April’s head dropped, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then he leaned down and wiped a tear away, his voice growing soft. “Go to sleep. The spell exhausted you. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

She could do nothing but obey.

| 

The next morning, April awoke to find Stephen already in her room, meditating on a mat in the corner. He opened his eyes when she saw him. “You’re awake.”

April nodded, yawning tiredly. “What, uh . . . what happened?”

Stephen uncrossed his legs, resting his chin on one hand. Even after all this time, it was still scarred and shaking. “You attempted to summon my husband from beyond the grave, and I stopped you.”

“Oh, that sounds about right.” She frowned. “Why did you stop me?”

Stephen considered it for a moment, his blue-green eyes showing nothing. “It’s quite insulting that you think I don’t know how to summon a soul. I’ve read every book here, know every spell. I can summon ghosts as easily as most people can snap.”

“Then why . . .”

Stephen shrugged. “I did. I admit now that I wasn’t always careful. I made the same mistakes as you. But twice a year for about a century, Tony and I met and were together. And that seemed like everything that mattered.” He looked away. “But we couldn’t keep going like that. It was worse than have each other for a moment and be wrenched away again than to never see each other. And it disturbed his rest, and there’s no one who deserves to rest more than Tony.”

Despite herself, April knew she was crying again. “I’m so sorry.”

Stephen smiled sadly. “So am I.” He stood up. “But I know that one day, in my time of greatest need, Tony and I will find each other again. He’s always there for me when I need him. That will have to be enough for now.” He walked to the door, opening it slightly. “I’ll see you in my class on defensive magic later, yes?”

She swallowed past the weight in her throat. “Promise.”

Stephen nodded once and left, closing the door behind him.

[mo-2020ao3]

We’ll Meet Again - Drabble

Pairing; Tony Stark x Bucky Barnes 

Warning; kidnapping (from Iron Man), implied non-con, mentioned suicide attempt (kind of), mild swearing 

Notes; I call Bucky James/Jamie in this

“I had something to live for; lost it a long time ago,” the omega said emotionlessly into the darkness of the cold damp cave; the only thing that he could fell was the blood and other bodily fluid traveling down his thighs. 

“Excuse me,” Yinsen asked sitting up on his poor excuse of a mattress. 

“You told me the find something to continue to live for, but the truth is l no longer have anything to live for,” Tony clarified, shifting uneasily in his cot and forcing a painful hiss out of himself “Everyone I’ve ever love is gone; my mother, Anna, Jarvis, Steve,” he tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat, “And all of that- All of that loss doesn’t compare to the emptiness I feel every since I lost James,” he whispered, voice cracking. 

Yinsen cleared his throat, the pheromones emitting from the omega was getting to him despite the fact that he was a beta “Even with all that loss you’re still here. Why is that?” 

“Extremis,”

“What is that?”

“A form of gene therapy. That basically makes you immortal.” Tony scoffed. “When Stark Industries was trying to expand its medicinal division, my father and I were trying to develop a formula designed to regenerate damaged tissue and regrow severed limbs, mainly for dismembered and amputee soldiers. Long story short, it didn’t work and we lost a lot of government funding.”

“What happened? How did you know it didn’t work?” 

“I tested it on myself,” Tony raised his left hand to reveal a pinky chopped to its third knuckle, then carefully rotated his head to show a clipped ear. “Apparently the formula only regenerates and heals the damaged and old tissue you still have and not what you’ve lost.”

“That’s similar to Dr. Erskine’s serum,” Yinsen said in awe.

Tony huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, but it’s super weak compared to it.” 

“But still that is groundbreaking! How could you lose government funding for that?” 

“I didn’t tell anyone about it.” 

“But you’ve barely aged for years, surely someone had to know something was up.” 

“They did catch up after a while. The government has been trying to get it out of me for years, but I’ll never give it to them.”

Yinsen was on the edge of his cot, intently listening to what the genius was saying, “Why is that?”

Tony sighed. “If I gave it up, it could only go one way. They turn it into Erskine’s serum or something close, then weaponizes it and then the first country that gives us the wrong look; my bets are between here and Russia, we send our new and improved supersoldiers to show ‘America’s might,” he sneered the last two words. 

“Do you actually have so little trust in your government,?”

“Doctor, I’ve worked with the U.S. government for close to sixty years now. I’ve learned that you can’t trust them.”

Both men fell into a comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts for what felt like hours but could only have minutes. The peacefulness was broken when Yinsen asked, “Why did you test the Extremis formula on yourself? Certainly, manly people would line up to be part of the human trials, yes?”

“It was a drunken mistake. I guess part of me had wanted something to go wrong and the formula would kill me; as I said before, I have nothing to live for.”

“What about your father?”

Tony scoffed. “What about him? He couldn't give a rat’s ass about me. Hell, I’m not sure if he even wanted me, anyway. And it was his fault that my mother is gone; the fucking useless drunk.” 

“What about your um..assistant, Poppy? And your friend Rhodey. Aren’t they something to live for?” 

“It’s Pepper,” he corrected, accepting Yeinsen’s quiet apology. “And yeah. I guess they’re my something to live for. To be quite frank, I don’t think I could have gone on for this long if I didn’t know them, but even with them, I’m holding on by a thread. I have been for a long time.”  Tony let out a huffed out a laugh and started trying to wiping the tears the had begun to slide down his cheeks “I sound like such a sap, how pathetic.”  

“It not pathetic, it shows that you have a heart,” Yinsen consoled.  

“Yeah, the Most Famous Mass-Murderer in the History of America has a heart,” Tony laughed sarcastically.

That night Tony dreamed he was standing in the middle of his Brooklyn apartment We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn was playing on the radio, the main room was very much lived in, but what caught his eye was the sports coat laying on the couch. Tony reached for it with shaky hands and brought it to up his nose, taking a huge inhale of the scent that was stuck to the fabric. 

“You know I was wearing that when we met? I gave it to you at the end of the night after I walked you home, said it was something to remember me by till we met again, but still to this day you haven’t properly given it back.” 

The omega gasped as he spun around and there, nonchalantly leaning on the door frame chuckling at his recountment, was… “James” 

“Hey, doll,” he purred pushing himself off the jamb sauntered up and wrapped his arms around Tony’s slim waist and began swaying to the music. Tony’s arms automatically raised up and circled around the alpha’s neck. 

“I miss you so much,” he sniffled into James’s neck.

“I know, doll.”

Tears started streaming down Tony’s cheeks into his lover’s shirt as he lamented, “You lied, you broke your promise! You said you were coming back.”

James pulled back from Tony, cupping his hands on his omega cheek, wiping Tony’s eyes with his thumbs, “You know I’d never lie to you.” Tony tried to tuck his head back into his alpha’s neck but was pressed back a step, forcing him to continue to look at James “But Tones you need to continue to go on without me.” 

“I can’t, Jamie, not after what they did to me! I can’t do it anymore,” Tony croaked, tears welling up in his eyes again.

“Please Tony, just promise me you’ll hang on for a little while longer, please,” James begged. 

“I promise,” Tony whispered, putting his head in the meat between his mate’s neck and shoulder, utterly disregarding the deeper meaning behind James’s words. Both of them fell into a peaceful silence. The couple just rocking to the song; relishing in the feeling of being in each other arms. 

7 YEARS LATER 

Tony blindly searched for his phone that was ringing for the second time on the bed bedside table before giving up, “J, pick up my phone,” he mumbled in the pillow.

“Of course, sir.”  

“Hello?” 

“Tony?” 

The urgency in Steve’s voice made the sleep leave Tony’s body immediately. “Steve?”  

“I’m going to need help…”

Tony swung his leg out to his bed now on edge, “Where are you?”

“...Berlin.”

[staticscreenwriting]

All you have to be is here - Part 1 - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who’s smile is phenomenal and who is way too nice to him. 

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that. 

Part 1 of ?

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please. Also It’s 2:30 am here so I’ll make a header image later after I’ve slept a little. K thanks.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don't have to hide, don't have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever's just for now We're on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

There’s a thing about waiting rooms, Billy thinks, where they try to make them look alive by putting everything up on the walls they can find. All the bullshit abstract paintings and clocks in weird shapes and bright color. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s a waiting room though, and people here aren’t happy. 

The walls are the offest white Billy has ever seen and the sad thing is he’s fairly sure they deliberately chose this color. He can hear the ticking of the clock shaped like a daisy flower, hammering through the silence. 

Everything here seems too much. The walls are too off-white. The clock is too loud. The paintings too bright. There’s people on the brochures and flyers that are so neatly placed on the table in the middle of the room. Those people stare at him with their shiny colgate smiles that are just a tiny bit too wide to be reassuring and end up looking more creepy than anything.

He really has to give it to them, they tried it here. Tried to make the place feel less sterile and more homely and warm. The seats in the waiting room are cushioned and comfortable and there’s music playing faintly in the background.

And yet this is still a waiting room and no one wants to be here.

A cough sounds from his right, followed by another one. It’s the 12th cough in the matter of 5 minutes. He’s counted. The man next to him looks about Neil’s age and he’s built like a tank. And he looks positively miserable. 

In the corner of the room sits a girl who seems to be a little older than Billy. She has bright red hair pulled up in a crazy bun and she’s nervously fumbling around with a hair tie. Twirling it around a finger then twirling it back. Tangle, untangle, tangle, untangle. 

“ Billy ? “ 

He looks up at the voice and his heart sinks all the way down to his stomach. I am not sick. I am not sick. I am not sick and I don’t need to be here.

But the facts are that he is here, he has to be. And waiting for him in the doorway of the waiting room is a doctor. A therapist. Dr. Ryland Kapelsky.

Who the fuck calls their kid Ryland ? 

He’s got a thick bushy mustache and glasses that look two sizes too big for his tiny head. Everything about him seems far too comical. This has to be a caricature come to life, straight off the pages of a sunday newspaper.

This man, Billy is painfully aware, knows more about him than he wants him to know. He’s most definitely read his file. He surely knows this therapy session is court ordered.

And still, caricature man holds no judgement in his eyes. 

“ Billy ? “ he asks again, now looking straight at Billy as if his deep brown eyes might look right into Billy’s soul, “ that’s you, right ? “ .

Billy nods and gets up “ yeah that’s me “.

Dr. Kapelsky has a firm handshake and Billy think that this guy is not one to bullshit. Which is quite tragic because bullshitting is something Billy absolutely excels in. 

“ Nice to meet you, if you’d please follow me to my office “.

His voice is stern but not mean or angry. He seems professional enough which is a bit surprising compared to his comical look.

As they move down the hallway, more off-white walls left and right, Billy glances at the various plaques and certificates proudly displayed.

He wonders if there’s one for winning the caricature look-alike contest. Suppressing a chuckle he follows the man into a spacious office and sits down in yet another cushioned chair by a big oakwood desk. 

Dr. Kapelsky closes the door before joining Billy by the desk. He sizes him up, tries to figure him out by just initial impression. Billy can tell. He’s probably trying to come up with a way to approach the situation, to get him to open up and spill all his deep and dark secrets and emotions. 

Billy can see it all happening and yet all he can concentrate on, is the taxidermy racoon on the shelf in the corner of the room. Why the fuck did this comic-figure-looking guy have a taxidermy racoon in his office ? 

“ So, Billy. Let us start with introductions. I am Dr. Ryland Kapelsky but you can call me Dr. K. It’s what most of my younger patients do.” 

Billy hates this, not the guy but the attitude. He’s not going to win him over by pretending to be cool and down with the kids. He’s not a kid. 

He’s not a patient either. Because he is not sick. 

“ a’right. “ 

“ And you are ? “ 

“ Billy Hargrove, you know this. You’ve read the file. “ 

“ I did, indeed. “ 

“ So you know this is court ordered. I’m not here because I want to be or need this is any way. I have to be here or I’m going to juvie. That’s the only reason. Sorry to disappoint but we’re not gonna end up making daisy chains and talking about our feelings. “ 

“ I understand that you don’t want to be here “ Dr. K. says and slides the too-big glasses down his nose “, no one really does. I need you to understand though, that this is a chance for you more so than a punishment. “ 

That’s easy for him to say, Billy thinks, he’s the one getting a big ass paycheck.

“ I see you’ve also been assigned 60 days of community service. Is that correct ? “ 

“ Yes, sir. “ 

“ I was asked to suggest an institution I find suitable for you to work those days. One that I think will benefit you. “ 

“ Wait wait wait. What ? I thought I was gonna pick up trash at the side of the highway “.

“ Billy, “ Dr. K says and does that thing adults do where they look at you and sigh and pretend to care “ this is supposed to help you. It’s a chance. Picking up trash is not gonna do anything now, is it ? I want you to take something from this. “ 

Oh he has taken something from it. Don’t punch rich kids whose parents have the funds to get a good lawyer and press charges. No matter how deserving those rich kids are of a fist in their face.

“ Alright then, what’s the verdict, doc ? Where you gonna send me off to ? “ 

“ Well. There’s a place in Huckley, it’s a tiny town about a 30 minute drive from Hawkins. It’s called the Huckley home from troubled children and youth. There’s kids and teenagers from troubled homes who struggle in life. They’re all a bit younger than you. Most of them come from abusive homes. “ 

“ What are you saying, sir ? I’m not a troubled youth. I don’t need to attend some looney institute, bad enough I have to sit through this shit here.“ 

He doesn’t like this man insinuating stuff about Billy’s home life. He doesn’t know shit. No matter how many plaques and trophies and certificates. This man doesn’t know the first thing about Billy’s family. His home. 

“ Oh no you’re supposed to work there. Help out in activities. Attend the group session and listen to the kids. Also, and I mean no offence, Billy. I only judge by what I am familiar with. By what I’ve learned over the years. I see your father was asked to accompany you to today’s appointment. He’s not here. “ 

“ I’m almost 18 my dad doesn’t need to be here. “ 

Truth is, Neil wouldn’t have come no matter what age Billy is. 8 or 18 it doesn’t make a difference. Neil laughed at him when the letter came. Then gave him a black eye to go with. His taunting words are still ringing through Billy’s ears. 

“ Yes but we usually like the parents to be there. To asses the situation and to — “ 

“ Well he’s not here so can we drop it ? “ 

“ Sure. “ 

Billy can see him scribbling something into his notebook. Probably another assumption. It’s ridiculous, really. The fact that he has to sit here and let a complete stranger make up a story of what he thinks is going on in Billy’s life.

“ Look doc, I don’t need you to figure me out or anything like that. It’s bullshit anyway. All I need is for you to sign my notes every session for the next 8 weeks so the court knows I’ve been here and that’s about it, okay ? You get paid either way so it shouldn’t matter. “ 

“ This is my job, Billy. It always matters.”

“ Well this time it don’t. Now tell me about that troubled youth center thing so I can get that over and done with.” 

- XXX -

The Huckley home from troubled children and youth stands at the end of a cul-de-sac with a little lake and a whole god damn forest behind it. There’s two other houses down the street but they’re all about 10 minute walk away from the big red brick building.

He takes one last puff from his cigarette before stomping it out on the floor and walking up the gravel driveway towards the big oak door.

There’s gold ornaments on the door handles and up and down the sides. He wonders if this is one of those fancy looney bins that rich parents send their kids to when they don’t wanna deal with them or can’t bother to bring them on their trip to Aspen.

The inside looks nothing like Billy has expected it to look. There’s wide big walkways and windows that let the sunlight stream through the halls. Every wall is plastered with drawings and macaroni picture frames and certificates that all hold little shiny star stickers. 

It reminds him a little of his elementary school back home in California. His mom used to be a teacher there and even before he was old enough to visit the school himself, sometimes she took him with her to sit by her desk while she taught the kids a new letter or help her put the shiny stars onto an especially well done assignment. 

But his mom is gone now and sticker stars don’t mean shit in the real world. He wonders if they ever really did. If so, he’d like to know when they stopped mattering.

“ Can I help you ? “ a voice speaks up from his right. There’s a girl there and she doesn’t seem to be much older than him. She’s wearing a white shirt that proudly displays the letters HHTCY. Ah great, uniforms. 

She’s cute though, he has to admit that much.

“ Hi. I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove. I’m here for — uh community service “.

“ Oh! Oh yeah just let me — let me see if I can find someone to … “ she doesn’t finish the sentence, just hurries back towards the way she’s just come from.

Billy uses this time to look around the halls a little more. The certificates all seem to have been rewarded for different things. Exceptional Storyteller. Hide & Seek champion. Queen of hopscotch.

He wonders what certificate he’d get. Biggest disappointment ? Lousiest life ? Best hair ? Probably all of them. 

“ Sooo, seems like Janet was supposed to show you around but she’s had a family emergency so she’s not here aaand that means I’ll show you around since literally anyone else is currently busy. “ the girl appears again, her mouth spitting out words a mile a minute. 

“ I’m (Y/N) “ .

“ Billy. “ 

“ Hi, welcome to —” 

“ Look sweetheart, I don’t need to whole spiel, okay ? I’m here on court order so just tell me where to go and what to do and let’s get this over with. “ 

She looks defeated for a moment which makes Billy feel a little bad about his harsh tone but really, the quicker he’s started the quicker he gets to leave. Once this is over he’s not gonna see this girl ever again, so who cares ? 

“ Oh, alright. Well here’s a schedule that Janet made and a floorplan. I need to show you around before you get to actually do anything but I am scheduled to sit in on a group talk so I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. Now look, I get you don’t want to be here. Honestly I don’t give a shit about that. But these people, these kids, they are here because we care and because they need someone to care. Don’t be a dick in there. Don’t ruin this for them. If you do, I’m gonna kick your ass into the next dimension. Is that clear ? “ 

Billy is stunned. He doesn’t know who this girl is but it’s not the same one that he’s interacted with just minutes before. This one isn’t timid or sweet. She’s spunky and feisty and interesting and — kinda hot.

“ Whatever you say, ma’am” 

“ Yeah, whatever I say. Now let’s go !” 

Damn. What the hell has he gotten himself into here.

- XXX -

The room that the group talk is held in is big and airy with light colored walls and even more paintings. It’s not at all as small and cramped and sad as he had imagined it. 

There’s a bunch of people here, about 6 or 7 kids who range from what Billy assumes can’t be much older than 6, to people who look to be around his age. Then there’s (Y/N) and a woman that had introduced herself to Billy as Dr. White, though all the kids seem to refer to her by her first name, Lydia. 

Some of the kids are smiling, radiating with energy and joy while others hardly speak up and mostly keep their eyes focused on the floor. Though even those kids are always attentive, Billy notices. Always listening. Still a valid and active part of this conversation even when they don’t even speak a single word.

This whole talk is so different from what he expected it to be. There’s no pressure. No one is forced to do an emotional strip and lay bare all of their darkest secrets and innermost feelings. it’s mostly the kids talking about their day. The good and the bad. Things that scared them and things that gave them hope. Lydia seems genuinely interested in what they have to say too. (Y/N), Billy notices as his eyes keep drifting towards her, hold a warm smile on her face the entire time. And it’s not fake or overdone. It seems so genuine, so honest. He wonders if anyone has ever smiled at him like this.

“ Abby, you haven’t said anything yet. How was your day ? “ Lydia asks, looking at the girl across from her in the circle of chairs. Abby must be around 7 or 8 years old. She’s small and has a big mop of blond hair on her head. Her sweater seems a few sizes too big, she’s practically drowning in it. Billy isn’t sure he really wants to know her story. If she’s here, he’s sure it’s not a happy one.

“ It was — alright. Grandma and Grandpa came to visit. They took me to get ice cream, mom wasn’t here though. Not this time. They said next time she’d come. Maybe I get to see her for my birthday. “ she says the words with a sprinkle of hope, one Billy knows too well. A hope he has tried to hold onto for so many times in his own life. One that’s but a mere illusion. It’s a trick. It’s not real.

He hopes this little girl never has to find out about that. He hopes, sincerely hopes, that she gets to keep this hope in her heart for as long as humanly possible. Because losing it comes with pain and suffering and heartbreak. And this little girl doesn't deserve that. 

“ So how would you rate your day from 1 to 10 ? “ Lydia asks. 

“ Like a 7 maybe ? “ 

“ Are you asking me ? “ Lydia smiles at Abby.

“ A solid 7 “.

“ That’s good then. “ 

They’ve done this with all the kids that had wanted to share something, ask them to rate their day. Billy’s days are usually 4s sometimes when it’s a real good day their climb up to become a 6. Then there’s days, those when Neil is home, that are no better than a 2. Those ones come with at least a bruised cheek or a bloody nose and at worst with a broken rib. 

“ So, I guess that’s it for today. Thank you guys for sharing your stories with us. Those of you to stay, please go get some lunch. Those that go home, I’ll see you next monday and I hope your week becomes a solid 10. “ 

Something in the way Lydia speaks, makes Billy feel a little more at easy. She has a softness to her words, like they’re made of cotton. His mom used to talk like that to her students. All gentle and kind and wonderful. 

“ Hey you “ a hand waves up and down in front of Billy’s face “ let’s grab lunch then let me show you around. “ 

It takes a moment for Billy’s eyes to fully focus on the person in front of him, only to be met with (Y/N) who’s wearing a huge scowl on her face. 

“ Huh ? “ 

“ I said let’s go eat. Oh and uh — thanks for not fucking this up. “ 

He doesn’t think behaving like a decent human being deserves any kind of thanks, he appreciates it anyway.

- XXX -

“ … and this is my office. Well technically it’s Janet’s office but she mostly does our paperwork and accounting and so she does that from home most of the time aaaand that means I get to use the office while she’s not here. Even though I’m only volunteering and I’m not supposed to have an office actually but uh —  “ 

“ You talk a lot, don’t you ? “ Billy asks as a smirk pulls up the corner of his lip. 

“ I’ve heard people say that, yeah. You on the other hand talk very little “ (Y/N) says before sitting down on the big oak desk. 

“ Yeah well I don’t got nothing to say to you, babe. “ 

“ Ah man, you gotta stop with those pet names. “ 

“ Huh, and why’s that ? Does it make you nervous ? “ there it is, the smooth suave Hargrove charm that his mother always said was gonna cause her sleepless night and gray hair. He always scoffed at that, now he wishes he could see her with gray hair. Older and — alive. 

“ Pretty much everything makes me nervous really but no, it’s just unprofessional. “ 

“ You’re a volunteer and I am here on court’s order. We’re hardly professionals. “ 

He can see a small smile threatening to cross her face, it’s so subtle he almost misses it. Almost. 

“ What’s the deal with Abby ? “

“ huh ? “

“ The little girl. “ 

Something about this girl reminded Billy so much of himself when he was younger. Her whole demeanor was so familiar like he was looking into some kind of distorted mirror that allowed him to look into the past. He just had to know what her story was, even if it meant to feel the all too familiar pain. 

“ I can’t tell you any specifics but well, her mom has — issues and her dad is not in the picture. She used to stay with her grandparents but they are getting older and feel like they can’t provide her with all the things she needs at this moment. So she stays here with us. “ 

“ Do all the kids ? “ 

“ Nah. Some of them stay here permanently. Some temporary. Some just come around certain days of the week. It really depends on their individual situation. We provide them with what they need even if it’s just a place to stay and some open ears. “ 

Billy wonders if things would’ve turned out different for him had he had someone who cared. Who was willing to listen. To his sadness and his anger and all the pent or emotions he had to keep inside for the longest fucking time.

“ Well good for them. “ 

“ Yeah. I hope it makes a difference. “ 

Billy smiles at her. He hopes it seems genuine, because it is.

“ Oh I’m sure it does. “ 

- XXX -

Billy is exhausted once he arrives home. (Y/N) took him around the entire building doing several different chores and tasks to make sure he got acquaintanced with everything that needed to be done. From tidying up the community lounge rooms to helping prepare food to paperwork. She made sure he saw and did it all at least once. And my god, this girl was thorough.

As he steps through the door, he can hear the scrapping of cutlery against the porcelain plates. They’re all sitting around the kitchen table like a perfect little family. Neil, Susan and Max. A sight for sore eyes, if he’s ever seen one. There’s no room for Billy on this table. There never really was.

Neil’s eye shoot up as his son enters the kitchen, a snarl makes its way onto his lips and the gross mustache twitches disgustingly. God, Billy can’t even put into words how much he detests his father.

“ Look who returned home. The prodigal son. My boy. Tell us Billy, how was community service ? Did you work real hard ? Did you make them proud ? “ 

The teasing is hardly hidden in his words. It’s ugly and taunting and Billy is sure those words are gonna ghost through his head for much much longer. If Neil could just shut up for once. Just once.

“ It was alright. Can I go to bed now ? “ 

“ Alright ? What kind of answer is that ? “ Neil snarls, taking another sip from his can of bud light. Susan and Max avert their eyes down towards their plates, nervously pushing their food across the tableware. 

“ What do you want me to say, dad ? That is was good? It wasn’t, it was fucking exhausting ! That I’m sorry ? Well I’m not. The dude had it coming. I did a shit thing and now I’m suffering the consequences, what the fuck else do you want me to do ? “ 

He knows, as those words leave his lips, that he’s fucked up. Before he can even register what happens, a loud smash echoes through the room before. Then Billy feels the smooth surface of the fridge pressed against his back and Neil holds him by the face in a grip so tight, Billy is sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“ Is that a way to talk to your father ? I give you everything you ungrateful little shit and this is how you thank me ? Grow up, Billy ! Start taking some god damn responsibility “ 

Smack. 

He’s used to it by now. It stings a little less each time. He hates that it does. He hates that he gets used to this. From his dad of all people. The one who should be sheltering him from bad is the one bringing it upon him.

“ Do you hear me ? “ 

“ Yes sir ! “ 

Another smack. This time he can feel his lip split open. He’s used to that one too.

“ Excuse me ? What was that ? A little louder please. “ 

“ Yes, Sir !” 

When Neil lets him go and sits back on the kitchen table, Billy carefully steps over the broken plate and hurries towards his room. The rage in his system says “slam the door” but he knows that would make things worse. So much worse. 

Though he can’t help himself but punch the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. He loses count at some point but gets pulled back into reality when he notices a red sheen covering his knuckles. 

As if a split lip wasn’t shitty enough he had to add bleeding knuckles and a bruised fist to it. Great. 

The rage feels all consuming. Like it’s taking over everything and swallowing him whole. He needs to get out. Needs to get away for a moment. Out of this house where misery lives and anger seems to inhabit every corner, every wall. If he doesn’t get out now he’ll explode.

So he opens the window, quiet as a mouse, like he’s done so many times before and rushes towards the camaro. If Neil notices he’s gone, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matter now is getting away. As far away as possible.

- XXX -

There’s a perpetual red glow in this 24h convenience store. It comes from the neon signs in the window that advertise hot dogs and cream soda. Billy thinks it gives the place a realy creepy vibe. 

He fumbles around the freezer before taking out a popsicle package and holding it to his swollen knuckles. It’s soothing sure, but it’s uncomfortable holding that stupid box to his hand.

“ Have you never seen a movie before ? You gotta use frozen peas, man “ 

Recognizing the voice immediately, Billy turns to see (Y/N) stood next to him, a white grocery basket hanging from her arm as she holds out a packet of peas to him. 

“ They properly take the shape of your hand. Works way better, trust me ! “ 

“ Oh yeah “ Billy replies, taking the peas from her hand and holding it to his injured. Goddamn she’s right. “ You some kind of secret nurse or something ? “ 

“ Not really but that’s common sense. “ 

“ Not something I can pride myself with apparently. “ 

And when she laughs at that, it’s like for a second his knuckles don’t hurt and he forgets about the dried blood on his lips.

“ Man, you just got ordered community service for punching someone. Thought you’d have learned. “ 

“ You should see the other guy “ Billy jokes. But really, it’s not funny. Not even close.

“ Yeah ? Big guy ? “ 

“ Huge. Made of drywall “ 

“ Huh. Did you win at least ? “

“ Ya betcha, baby. I always win “ and if only that was the truth.

“ Come on Rocky, lemme get some stuff to fix you up. “ 

It’s a few minutes later that Billy sits in the bed of her pick-up with (Y/N) standing between his legs, dabbing alcohol onto his lip and knuckles. If this wasn’t such a ridiculous situation it could even be a little romantic. With her so close to — certain regions of his body. Fucking hell Billy, get it together !

“ So uh — do you wanna talk about what happened ? “ 

“ Not really. “ 

“ You sure I could — “ 

“ Look (Y/N) I don’t have the best life at home, okay ? But that’s all you need to know. I’m not one of your kids that spill their heart and emotions out to you I just needed to get away from home, is that alright with you ?  

“ That’s perfectly fine “.

He can almost feel how genuine her words are. She doesn’t judge or pry. And he is eternally grateful for that. 

“ Why are you here so late anyway ? “ 

“ Had to get some groceries. We’re gonna pretend I didn’t just come here because I had a huge craving for ice cream, okay ? “ 

He scoffs. This girl is ridiculous. And something about that makes her incredibly charming.

“ So, I assume you don’t wanna go home tonight ? “ 

He doesn’t. If Neil has discovered him gone, he can’t show up home again tonight. Not under any circumstances.

“ Not really, no. “ 

“ I have a pretty comfortable couch. It’s big enough for you and it comes with an extra fluffy cuddle companion. “ 

“ What does that mean ? “ 

“ I have a cat. His name is Luke Skywhiskers and he’s fat and orange and very clingy. So if you don’t mind that — “ she shrugs her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t be nearly as cute as it is. 

Billy isn’t particularly fond of cats, then again he’s never really had a lot to do with any cats. Never being allowed to have any pet because they’re “dirty” and “cost a shit ton of money” according to Neil, Billy was never given the chance to really bond with an animal.

But then again, everything was better than going home.

“ Sounds alright. “ 

“ Okay, cool. “ 

“ Thank you, (Y/N). “ 

“ It’s no problem. Just follow my car and I’ll see you at my place then “ (Y/N) says, pats his chest and gets into her car.

As Billy get into the Camaro and  slumps down in the seat he wonders how his night managed to end like this. Bloodied and bruised and one the way to spend the night at a complete strangers house. 

A stranger who’s shown him more kindness in the last 24 hours than his dad did in the last almsot 18 years. 

Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it was a solid 5. 

[countless-dreamsss]

Partners For Life: The Past

Summary: So I wrote this bc there was a question on my Quiz in my criminal justice class and what were the odds that their names were going to be Harry and Joey? Don't believe me?

Anyways, this is the first chapter of this story, meaning Harry and Joe are both in their early twenties. There's no Flash, there's no Iris, there's no Eobard, this is literally all mine.

Warnings:Mild profanity

Primary pair: Harry Wells x Joe West

Canon/Head:Headcanon

      *if you see any mistakes please let me know*

Harry threw his cigarette to the ground, crushing under the black sole of his boot as his tongue picked up the taste of freshly burnt tobacco from his tongue. He let out a heavy sigh. He leaned his head back against the brick wall behind him.

    “You’re late.” He said, lifting his sleeve and looking down to his watch as a dark shadow jumped down onto the dumpster, a metallic sound echoed through the alley.

    “It’s not really easy to sneak out of the house when your parents want to know what you’re doing every second of the day.” Joe said, jumping down and landing gracefully onto the wet asphalt.

    “Well then, I’m glad I’m important.” Harry smirked. Joe wiped his hands off as he approached the other male. “How was dinner?” He asked, his blue eyes meeting Joe’s.

     “Would’ve been better if you came.” Joe said with a smile.

     “That’s what she said.” Harry joked. Joe shook his head at the stupid joke before removing the bag he had on his back.  “I brought you some.” He said, taking out a container filled with lasagna.

    “Awh, you do care.” Harry said. Joe rolled his eyes. He waved his hand. “Hold onto it for now, please."

    “What did you make this time?” Joe asked, putting the food back into the bag.

    “Let’s go to our spot, and we’ll discuss it there, but I think you’ll like it.” Harry smiled. He placed an arm around Joe as they walked over to his truck.

    “Harry, how do you have such an expensive car?” Joe asked curiously as they both got into the vehicle. Harry simply shrugged.

    “I have my ways of acquiring the things I need.” Harry responded.

     The drive to their ‘spot’ was fairly long, being that it was across the city. Harry had an arm out the window, another cigarette in his hand. Joe was playing with the radio until he found a station that fit his mood.

    “How are your parents?” Joe asked.

    “Still alive.” Harry said. “Harry, I don’t understand why you don’t ju-”

    “Joe, we’re not talking about this agai-"

    “They still love you.”

    “No.” Harry said.

    "I love you." Joe said, although it sounded more like a question. The smile that on Harry's face made Joe feel at ease. To himself, Joe tried to guess the infinite possibilities of what Harry had in store. What could he possibly be hiding back at the place that Harry couldn't simply tell him on the way in the car. Joe chewed on his bottom lip as his hand reached for Harry's. "It'll be okay." Joe said. "I'm sure it will be." A chuckle that sounded more like a scoff left Harry's lips.

    "We'll see." Harry said. Joe's head turned to the window, watching all the people and buildings as they drove by.

    "I love you too." He said.

     Their hangout place was an abandoned building in the middle of the city. At 10 stories high, an open area with small offices and bathrooms scattered about every level this building was perfect for them. Harry, being very tech savvy and Joe with his creative ideas cleared out one of the higher floors of the building and did as they pleased with it. It was kind of like a studio apartment, but with many rooms. The kitchen was fully operable, the both of them had installed a dryer and washing machine in the bathroom. Harry had everything he needed here. He had no reason to go home.

    "Here.” Harry said, tossing over a device towards Joe. Quick with his hands, Joe caught it right before it could slip through his fingers.

     "What’s this?” Joe asked, looking down at it.

     “That, my good sir, is an earbud.” Harry said, putting one of his own into his own ear. “Put it in.” He said. Joe did as told as he put the food he had brought into the microwave for Harry. “Can you hear me?” He asked.

    “Yeah, crystal clear.” Joe said, amazed by how tiny the earbud was. “How did you-”

    “Not important.” Harry said as he took a seat at his desk.

    “What are we going to do with these?” Joe asked, walking over to Harry. Joe placed his hands on the older male’s shoulders and squeezed them as he caught a glimpse at the screen in front of them.

    “We are going to commit what police call theft .” Harry said with a grin. He took off his glasses and chewed on the end of one of his temples. “I have it all planned out, and if I’m quite certain, it’s not really a robbery, just petty theft.” He corrected himself.

     “We?” Joe asked. “You know my father is a cop.” He reminded Harry. Harry nodded, his devilish grin growing wider.

    “I’m well aware of your father’s occupation.” Harry responded. Joe shook his head, letting out a sigh of disapproval. “And since when has that ever stopped you before? This isn’t our first time.” He said.

    “I’m assuming these,” Joe said, holding the earpiece in his hand, “are going to help us communicate.” Joe said. Harry nodded.

    “Exactly. I will be in your ear, and at the same time I will be the one snatching what we need while you keep the store clerk occupied.” Harry said.

    “That’s larceny, Harry.” He put an emphasis on his partner’s name.

    “That’s not the point, Joe.” Harry copied Joe's tone before turning his chair around. “We’re going to do this,” he said standing up, putting a hand on Joe’s face, “and you’re going to help me.” Harry leaned forward and placed a kiss on Joe’s lips before walking over to the beeping microwave.

    “Harry, how exactly are we going to pull this off?” Joe asked. His eyes scanned the computer screen that was full of blueprints of the building and Harry’s notes. “What if we get caught?”

    “I have it all under control, Joe. There’s nothing to worry about.” He said.

    “No." Joe shook his head. "What if we get caught?" Joe repeated, turning to catch a glimpse of Harry with a mouthful of lasagna in his mouth.

    “We won’t.” Harry managed to say as he chewed, “if we do,” he swallowed before running his tongue over his lips, “we shoot.”

    “We shoot?” Joe’s eyes widened. “No the hell we’re not."

    "Uhm, yes the fuck we are." Harry nodded.

    "Har-"

    "Listen," Harry said, placing the food down on the desk once he had stepped closer to Joe. "I'm well aware that your father is a cop, but I have this under control. I promise. I just need you to trust me on this." The two looked into each other's eyes. Harry saw fear while Joe saw a sense of uncertainty. The younger male sighed before running a thumb across the corner of Harry's lips.

    "No killing." Joe said. Harry put his hands on his hips as he knew those words were going to come out of his mouth. "No weapons either." He said, and Harry's head shot up.

    "That's not safe at all." Harry responded. “If we get caught-"

    “You said we wouldn’t.”

    “Joseph!” Harry took in a deep breath before exhaling. “Fine. Fine, no weapons.”

    “Promise?”

    “I promise.” Harry pulled Joe into his arms. The two held each other tight. Joe sighed before resting his forehead on Harry’s. “It’s going to be okay.” Harry kissed the side of Joe’s head. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

    Just hours before leaving, Harry explained his plan thoroughly to Joe, multiple times. Joe had easily picked up everything that Harry had put down. Repeatedly, he went step by step. He only had one concern: the weapons. Harry having a stash as big as he did for a 21 year-old, it was obvious to Joe where all of Harry’s money was going. Aside from going through their plan, Harry had also made Joe memorize the layout of the convenience store.

    “I’m going to have the truck out, at pump number fou-” Harry stared at Joe who was staring at Harry’s wall of weapons. He rolled his eyes before throwing a pencil at the younger male.“Joe-”

    “Babe, I heard you the first time you said it. I heard it the fifth time you said it, and now I’m hearing it again.” He responded. “How about you and I go there together, hm?” He recommended. “That way, I’ll have a feel of the store, and you can get a better idea of what you need.” Joe said.

    “We don’t need to go there, Joe. We’ve been there hundreds of times. If you know it, then explain it to me.” Harry said. Joe groaned as he stood up and walked over to Harry’s planning board.

    “So, I’m going to walk in when it seems the most empty, correct?” Joe asked. Harry nodded. “Then, I’m gonna ask where the bathroom is, once I'm there, I’m gonna clog the toilets and bring him in. That gives us at least 2 minutes for you to get what we need and leave.” Joe said.

    “And..?” Harry asked, crossing his arms against his chest.

    “And what?”

    “Precautions, you have to talk about precautions.” Harry said.

    “Fine. We both have to be wearing our gloves at all times. Can’t leave any footprints behind, meaning no dirty shoes, uhm...I have to stall the clerk as long as possible to keep him away from the cash register, and no guns.” Joe said, mumbling the last bit of information.

    “What was the last part?” Harry asked.

    “Keep clerk from the register.” Joe lied. “Oh also- if they corner us, split up and meet back up at the old flour mill on the edge of town.

    “Alright.” Harry nodded. Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth before returning to his seat.

    “How exactly are you going to break into the register?” Joe asked. Harry walked over to his desk before throwing a makeshift key into Joe’s lap.

    “With that.” Harry said. “This key, isn’t like other keys. The front of the key is made of what people call, memory metal, when heated, it’ll change shape, but once back in the right temperature it’ll be back to it’s normal form.” Harry explained. “I’m going to torch it for long enough that it’s malleable, but not melting. Once the consistency is where I want it. I’m going to put it in this,” he said as he held up a tiny tin can that was the size of a tic tac box. Joe held his hand out, returning the key to Harry who placed it into the box and back on his desk. “It should, fit right in, take the shape of the lock and then unlock the register.” He said.

    “What if it doesn’t work?” Joe asked, his leg shaking.

    “I’ll just break open the cash register. I’ll have my backpack with me.” Harry assured him, knowing his backpack literally had anything you could ever possibly need inside of it. Joe nodded silently. Harry squatted down in front of Joe and put his hands on his shoulders. “Look at me.”

    “Yes, Harry?”

    “It’s going to be okay.” He said.

    “Something just feel off.” Joe responded. Harry handed Joe keys to the truck.

    “Don’t worry. I already covered our license plates. Go start up the car, I just have to grab a few things and I’ll be down soon, alright? You go on your motorcycle, we’ll meet up there.” Harry watched as Joe grabbed his bag and his helmet before leaving the office floor. He hung his head as he let out a sigh before standing up. Harry walked over to his desk and took the M9 from his desk drawer and tucked it under his shirt against his back. To accompany the pistol, he placed two sets of magazines inside his jacket then grabbed the key, a mask and headed downstairs.

    Joe had taken his motorcycle, whereas Harry took a different vehicle, a much older model sedan. They met up a couple of blocks down before deciding to go to the store. Joe kept his helmet on until he had entered the Harry’s run-down car.

    “What are you-” Joe asked as he saw a flame torch. He sighed, before remembering. “The key?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Do you have the earpiece in?” Harry asked looking over to Joe.

    “I do.” Joe turned his head to the side and tapped on it gently with his finger. He let out a sigh before turning towards Harry. “So, do you really think this is going to work?” Joe asked, tucking the helmet in his side.

    “Of course,” Harry said staring at the flames, “why wouldn’t it?”

    “I’m telling you, Harry. Something feels off.”

    “Joe, since we were in high school, we have done this what- 37 times? It’s been 3 years. How is this any different than the time from before?” Harry asked. Joe’s attention would switch back and forth between Harry and the flame. His head tilted a little, watching as the older was so captivated by it. Once he saw a grin pull at Harry’s lips, he knew he was caught. “Stop staring.” Harry said. Joe shook his head as he laughed. “I can’t help it, you look so concentrated.”

    “I’m not trying to burn my fingers.”

    “You’ve never worried about getting hurt before.”

    “Burns and cuts are two different types of pain, Joe. There’s a reason why God made hell with fire, not with razor blades and lemon juice.” Harry said. Joe opened his mouth to speak, but kept quiet. “Go to the gas station, I’ll follow soon.”

    “See you there.” Joe put his helmet back on before hopping on to his bike and driving away.

     Once entering the gas station, Joe had simply lifted the visor of his helmet and nothing more. He glanced around the store before walking up to the checkout counter. He eyed down the cashier, who couldn’t be older than 25. Name, Martin. Not much shorter than Joe, but his build was rather lean. Martin’s hazel eyes greeted Joe’s as his lips were forced into a smile.

    “Hey, is there anything I can help you with?” He asked. Martin’s attention had quickly shifted over to the helmet and the rest of Joe’s attire. “Motorcycle? Seems like a good night to drive one. Mine is actually out back. ” He said as he leaned forward onto the counter, using his elbows for support.

    “This kid talks too much.” Harry said into Joe’s ear.

     “It is actually.” Joe nodded, returning the kind tone before patting on his helmet to ignore Harry. “Not too bad to feel the summer night breeze.” He said, holding onto the straps of his backpack.

    “I just might after closing shop.” Martin responded. “It’s never too late for a nice long drive.”

    “Joseph,” Harry said into his ear, “get your ass into that bathroom right now.” Joe ignored him. “We can’t risk anyone else approaching the store, Joe.”

    “You should. It’s a great way to clear your head after a long day.” Joe said, smiling behind the helmet, but that smiley quickly changed into a pout when he realized he would be the reason for that long ride.

    “I swear to God, Joe, if you mess this up.” Harry huffed.

    “Yup, fifteen hours.” Martin nodded, his forced smile had grown rather soft.

    “Joe, are you really making conversation with the boy whose running the store we’re about to rob?” Harry sighed. “Hurry up and ask for the bathroom.” Harry’s jealousy could be felt from where Joe was standing. Joe let out a slight scoff, rolling his eyes under the helmet.

    “Uhm,” Joe said, remembering the task at hand, “can I use the bathroom?” He asked.

    “Sure,” Martin said. “In the far left corner.”

    “Thanks.” Joe said.

    “Thanks.” Harry mocked. Joe let out a heavy sigh as he followed the instructions to the bathroom. Martin watched as Joe disappeared behind the white door. “Do you have the tools?” Harry asked.

    “You know I do.” Joe said, quickly taking off his backpack and getting to work. Instead of clogging the toilet Joe simply lied saying there was a major leak. Harry burned the key for a little longer as he was parked outside the store. His eyes peered through the glass, seeing what was going on inside. He watched as Joe brought Martin into the bathroom.

    “Babe, I need you to keep him occupied.” Harry said as he placed the key into the tin can, put on his mask, and exited the car. Harry had taken this extra time to fill up fuel in both of their vehicles. He also, drenched a trail from one pump to the next, just in case things got hasty.

    “Already taken care of.” Joe grumbled as he held Martin’s unconscious body in his arms.

    “Where is he?” Harry asked as he entered the store, his breathing becoming heavier because of the mask. His eyes rolled at the sound of the bell that rang whenever someone stepped in. Harry was quick to make his way to the safe behind the register. Harry could hear some rustling and grunts on Joe’s end, then he heard a loud thud. “Joe?”

    “Unconscious.” Joe said as he stared down at Martin’s body. He picked him up and sat him down into a stall. Joe had made sure that Martin was in fact completely unconscious before exiting the bathroom and walking around the store. Joe took whatever looked appetizing to him and stuffed it in his backpack.

    “There we go.” Harry said as he inserted his key into the cash register. His ocean eyes grinned happily at the cash in front of him, and he wasted no time in retrieving it. Once the register was empty, Harry had turned his attention to the safe. He used a decoder to figure out the code for the safe. He smiled as the safe practically invited Harry’s desperate hands into the safe. He stuffed all he could into his bag before closing it up. And just as Joe was going to open up a bag of chips, he saw a couple of police cars pull up to the front of the store.

    “Fuck.” Joe quickly put back the bag of chips and ran for the bathroom. “Harry, we’re in trouble.”

    “Why what’s the problem, Joe?”

    “T-There’s…” Joe stammered.

    “There’s what?”

    “There’s cops outside.”

    “Joseph, if you’re fucking with me, I swear to Go-” The sound of the door opening cut him off. Harry could hear the metal cuffs hit against their belts. “How many?” He asked. Joe had switched the light off in the bathroom before pushing the door slowly, his eyes scanning the store. “Usually there’s 2 a car.”

    “I didn’t fucking ask for an estimate. I asked how many.” Harry scolded as he inched closer to the end of the register.

    “There’s 4, okay?” Joe watched as each one walked by. “I think I know them.”

    “Names?” Harry asked.

    “U-Uhm...Lee, Robinson, Michaels, and-” Joe’s heart dropped when he saw the last officer. “Dad…”

    “Dad?” Harry grumbled and rolled his eyes. “That’s fucking great.”

    “Yoohoo…” Officer Michaels said. “Anyone here?” He asked. The other three began to walk around, see if anything was out of the ordinary.

    “You think they forgot to close shop?” Officer West asked, looking in the direction of the bathroom. Joe’s eyes went wide immediately.

    “Oh shit. Oh fuck, H, we gotta go. We gotta go. We have to fucking-” Joe started to panic. "I think one of them saw me.” Joe immediately closed the door, he wasn’t going to risk getting caught by his father. His erratic breathing fogged up the helmet, forcing him to lift his visor. Harry listened to his hysterical partner as he tried to find the quickest and quietest way to get out of the store. With his back against the register, he used the glass walls of the store as his eyes. The police officers roamed the aisles in a pattern, gathering their desired carbs and fats for the night like sharks seeking for prey as they waited for the proper help.

    “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Officer Lee said as they stood outside of the bathroom door. Joe felt as if he was as good as dead.

    “Joe.” Harry warned.

    “I f-fucking heard!” He said as he stuffed himself into the same stall as Martin. Hearing the footsteps come closer to the door, Joe was not taking any chances. He had picked up Martin’s body and cradled him in his arms as he squatted upon the toilet. He kept a hand over Martin’s mouth as if it were his breathing that wasn’t meant to be heard. He was agitated by the way Officer Lee had taken his precious time around the bathroom. Joe’s jaw clenched when the lights were switched on.

    “It’ll be okay, just stay quiet.” Harry said, his eyes continuing to follow the officers around. Harry slowly reached for his gun as he watched the one officer enter the bathroom. Joe took in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut like he was in a bad dream. Successfully retrieving the gun from his belt, Harry had it cocked and ready to shoot, he just needed the perfect moment of when. “You might hear a loud bang, Joe.” Harry whispered, “don’t yell.”  He said, aiming the barrel of the pistol at the reflection of one of the officers.

    “Screw this,” Officer West shook his head in irritation, “I’ll just leave a $20 and we’ll go.” He said, pulling out his wallet. Meanwhile, Joe was eager to gasp for air the moment he heard the door close behind Lee.

    “What are you talking about, Harry?” Joe asked.

    “We done here, West?” Officer Michaels managed to ask passed the two twinkies inside of his mouth.

    “Michaels,” West sighed. “What the hell did I just say? Get your shit and let’s go.” He said. Harry was eager for their presence to be gone. Harry pushed himself against the counter as he heard Joe’s father step towards his direction. He heard him put place the bill down then walk away. This was perfect. Harry didn’t have to shoot his gun, and there wouldn’t have to be any interaction with the cops, right?

    “Hey, about those two vehicles outside? Who do you think they belong to?” Officer Robinson asked.

    “We’ll just run them in the cars.” West said. “Not an issue.” Both vehicles being under Harry parents’ name, he wasn’t taking any chances.

    “Get ready to run.” Harry whispered.

    “Run? Are you fucking crazy?” Joe asked as he gently put down Martin.

    “Keep your fucking helmet on and listen to me.” He said. Harry waited until all four officers were outside the shop.

    “Slowly come out the bathroom, Joe.” Harry said. He secured his hand around the duffel and tightened the straps around them. Joe obeyed without a second thought. He crouched as he exited the bathroom, making his way over to Harry. “Listen, we got to be fast when we do this, okay?” Harry said.

    “Harry, what’s in your hand?” Joe asked, staring at the pistol.

    “Joe-”

    “We said no guns.” He said, his eyes still fixated on the pistol.

    “Joseph! We don’t have time. They’re going to try to search our plates. We have to go.”

    “Harry, we said no guns.” Joe repeated.

    “We’ll talk about it later, babe.” Harry said. “Please, Joe?” He begged. Joe looked between Harry and the pistol.”

    “We said no guns.” Joe repeated once again.

    “Fuck this.” Harry said. He grabbed Joe’s arm before he aimed at the windows and shot both of them. Harry moved fast, regardless of having to drag Joe over to his bike. The cops, already in their vehicles were taken by surprise at the sound of the gun shots, not to mention the two bodies that darted out of the building. Joe was the first to jump onto his bike and drive off whereas Harry threw the bag of money into the car. All four officers got out of their cars, their weapons drawn in Harry’s direction.

    “Drop the weapon, and come out with your hands up.” Officer Lee shouted.

    “Such a cliche line.” Harry scoffed. He shot at one of their tires, inflating it instantly, but with the one shot to them, four came right back at him. One piercing through the skin of his upper left arm.

    “Fuck!” Harry yelled as he hid behind the gas pump next to his car. He bit his lip

    “Harry, what happened?” Joe asked, listening to the commotion. “Get in the fucking car and drive.”

    “I know what I’m doing." Harry said. He clenched his jaw and took a quick look at his arm before over to the cops.

    “Don’t do something you might regret, son.” Officer West called out.

    “Too late.” Harry said. “I’d suggest you all leave.” He said before removing the nozzle and spraying the gasoline God knows where. The moment the officers saw him grab a hold of the pump they all retreated to the one operable car they had left. Harry rushed into his car and shot at the trail that he made earlier. Both cars left the store in time before the flames reached the gas pumps, causing both to be set up in flames. The tires of his vehicle screeched as he came to a quick stop, catching sight of the fire with his own eyes.

    “Harry!” Joe yelled. “What did you do?”

    “I took care of it.”

    “Is anyone-”

    “N-No. No one is hurt.”

    “What about the kid inside?” Joe asked.

    “You’re really concerned about the fuc-...I’ll go back later.” Harry said as he tried to outrun the cops.

    “No. I will.”

    “Are you mad? You won’t be able to get-”

    “I’m sure there’s a back door.”

    “Joe, we’ll get the kid later. For now we have to-”

    “No, Harry. You get rid of the cops. I’m going back for the kid.” Joe said. Being a man of his word Joe turned his vehicle around. He looked into both cars as he drove by them. The flames he drove towards matched the frustration in all of their eyes. Following the plan he created in his head, Joe had entered the building from the back of the store. He didn’t hesitate to make to the bathroom, just to find a semi-conscious Martin on the bathroom floor. “All right, let’s go.” Joe said, picking Martin up.

    “You found him?” Harry asked

    “Yes I found him.” Joe replied.

    “Huh?” Martin mumbled. Joe took no time in returning to his motorcycle.

    "You're finally getting that drive after work." Joe said driving off.

    “When you’re in the clear come back to the building.”

    “Fine.”

    Joe had taken Martin immediately home, acquiring the needed information from his license before returning to their little hideaway in the city. Harry didn’t arrive until 3 hours later, returning to an unsteady Joe West.

    “Where the hell have you been, Harry!?” Joe said.

    “Running from your father?” Harry responded.

    “Don’t get smart with me, Harrison. We had a fucking agreement.” Joe said, taking off his boots and throwing them at Harry, both hitting him in the abdomen before Harry took a seat in his chair.

    “Do you mind?” Harry hissed at the pain in his arm he took off his jacket. The blood had drenched the rest of his arm. Joe’s attitude had quickly washed itself away with a wave of concern for Harry’s arm.

    “When did this-”

    “Before I blew up the damn gas station. Can you please get this damn thing out of my arm?” Harry asked as he looked down at the wound. Joe had retrieved all the tools necessary before pulling up a chair beside Harry.

    “You’re lucky it’s just a flesh wound.” Joe said, he handed Harry a wood spoon. “Bite.” Harry did as told before feeling the sting of alcohol touch his skin. Harry’s bite on the spoon had grown stronger as Joe went step by step to tend to his arm. From removing the bullet to stitching his skin back together. After wrapping his arm up, though he really shouldn’t have, Harry drowned himself in some alcohol to help with the pain.

    “I-I didn’t know you were a doctor…” Harry said. Joe raised an eyebrow and shook his head at him.

    “I think you’ve had enough.” Joe said, taking the beer bottle out of Harry’s hand. “Let’s get you to bed, Harry.” Joe said as he walked Harry into his bedroom, which was really an emptied out office with a bed. The both of them laid silently next to one another.

    “I fucked up big time, didn’t I?” Harry asked, turning towards Joe.

    “Very much I’m afraid.” Joe responded coldly.

    “Babe.”

    “Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, you asshole. Someone could’ve gotten killed.”

    “But no one-”

    “I don’t care.” Joe said, crossing his arms as he looked up at the ceiling. “Disobey me again, I swear I’ll be the one to put a bullet in you.”

    “Whatever you say, Joe.” He said, fixing the blanket on top of him. “Whatever you say.”

[sonderlivra]

Eruri Valentine’s Weekend 2k18 Collab with the lovely @autiacorart !!!

A late submission, but hopefully worth the wait! :) It was a blast working with such a talented artist! <3

Blackout Café - A Modern Eruri AU

Summary: Levi is a grumpy dork. Erwin is a sappy dork. Basically they’re both dorks. And they meet at a coffeeshop.

Warning: Swearing ahead, oops.

“Fucking shit,” Levi swears, hurrying down the street. A power cut. Who the fuck expects a power cut in this day and age?

He is still grumbling when he bursts into the coffeeshop, looking around a little wildly for the electric socket.

“Fuck,” he swears again. He had forgotten that this was one of the smaller, less pretentious coffeeshops. It was why he liked the place, but right now, he wishes he was somewhere else, anywhere else that has better aids for his dying laptop.

But there is just one table next to a socket and that happens to be occupied, and he doesn't know if he can make it to another coffeeshop in time. Fuming, he stomps over to the counter.

“I need to charge my laptop.”

“Oh we can charge it here for you sir-”

“I need to work.”

The employee pales. “Um, I'm sorry sir, but that table is the only one-”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he snaps. He considers stepping on the other side of the counter where he could work next to the socket. It sounds unappealing and embarrassing and Levi glances back at the table. The man sitting there is casually reading something, the electric socket empty.

Bastard isn't even using it.

Squaring himself, Levi approaches the table, his mouth filling up with several gruff phrases that have worked for him before. When he reaches the table, the blond man, who has his head bent down over an unmarked bound book, looks up -and Levi freezes.

Holy shit. Levi is suddenly at a loss for words. This guy is hot.

His bright blue eyes are wide with curiosity and he smiles a polite smile as he says, “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Levi manages to rasp and gestures at the electric socket next to the table. “I need that.”

The man glances at the wall and turns back to Levi, his smile widening. “Oh, by all means. Please, have a seat.”

Levi's brain short circuits again. What he meant was to ask the man to take another table, since there were quite a few empty ones around. But no. Mr. Handsome-Lawyer-Guy had to go and assume Levi wanted to share this table. Which he didn't, whether or not this man looked like an artist's rendition of fucking Apollo.

But his laptop​ beeps another “low battery” warning and Levi decides he doesn't care either way. With a grunt of gratitude, he plugs in his charger and slips into the chair opposite the man, resolutely keeping his eyes trained on the laptop screen.

With a deep breath and a mental command to fucking get a grip of himself, Levi pulls up the chat conversation and pings his client.

Sorry for the delay, Karl. I'm back.

The exchange goes on for longer than expected, with Levi having to upload and send a few of his drafts over the coffeeshop's slow WiFi. When he finally closes the conversation and leans back with a sigh, a low voice startles him by saying, “Busy day?”

Levi opens his eyes and blinks at the blond man: there is no mistaking that it was indeed him that spoke. His astonishingly blue eyes are still widened with interest, his firm mouth still has that polite, easygoing smile that -shit, the man has actual dimples. How the fuck is he even real?

“Uh, yeah.” Levi says, remembering that he was asked a question.

The man throws up a magnificent eyebrow. “Even on a Saturday?”

“Especially on a Saturday. Field day for freelancers.”

“Oh. I see.” He nods so understandingly Levi wonders if his earlier estimation was wrong, whether this man is not a lawyer but a shrink of some sort. Ew.

Again, the man's smile widens unexpectedly. “I'm Erwin,” he says, and offers Levi his hand. Levi takes it almost suspiciously. “Levi,” he mutters.

“An uncommon name,” the man says, eyes gleaming.

“As is yours,” Levi points out.

The man -Erwin -grins at that, showing a flash of neat, white teeth. “True.” He pauses, then continues, “By the way, are you staying? I'm going to go get myself another coffee.”

Levi hesitates. He really has no other plans, except for going back to the drawing board for Karl for the tiresome client. But he can spare a half hour, at the very least. Erwin is intriguing, and he would not mind getting to know him more. And maybe even get his phone number…

No. Levi is shocked at himself. He has never been this interested, this forward, to use Kenny's antiquated term, with anyone. His romantic track record is littered with casual flings and half-hearted attempts, and after Farlan, his record has been conspicuously empty for a long time. Is he really, finally getting out of that slump?

“Levi?” Erwin says softly, and he is brought crashing back to the present.

“Sorry.” He blinks and shakes his head. “I was trying to figure out my schedule. Yeah, I can stay for a bit.”

“Excellent.” The man beams at him and Levi feels another burst of indignance at his attractiveness. “What's your poison?”

Levi snorts. “I can get my own order.”

Erwin shakes his head. “I'm getting up anyway.”

Levi shrugs. “Oolong tea.”

Erwin’s smile falters.

“What?”

“You're ordering tea. At a coffeeshop.”

Levi raises his eyebrow. “So?”

Erwin recovers admirably and shakes his head. “Nothing. I should remember not to make assumptions too fast.”

“Meaning?”

Erwin laughs and Levi can't help but notice he looks a little flustered. “I was trying to guess what sort of coffee you'd drink,” he admits. “Sorry, it was presumptuous of me.”

Levi waves away the apology, interested. “So what do you think I drink?”

“Black.”

Levi snorts. “I drink it black when I do drink coffee so you're not half wrong.”

“Good to know. Well, I'll be back in a minute,” Erwin nods cheerfully and walks over to the counter. Levi quickly takes the opportunity to check out his appearance in the laptop screen, making sure his hair isn't too ruffled or that there isn't anything stuck between his teeth. When he is done with that, he sneaks glances at the counter over the top of his laptop. Erwin is massive: tall and powerfully built, he looks like he spends his free time pressing weights at the gym.

Damn.

Levi quickly switches to his phone and pretends to be browsing it when Erwin returns to the table. He places Levi's drink down with unnecessary grace before taking his earlier seat.

“Thanks,” Levi grunts, to which Erwin responds with another smile. “My pleasure.”

Ugh. Does he ever not smile?

They take a few sips of their drinks in silence, before Erwin thankfully breaks it. “So what sort of freelancing do you do, Levi?”

“I'm an architect.”

“Really?” Erwin looks inordinately interested. “Sounds glamorous.”

Levi can't help it, he lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. It basically involves drawing lines all day.”

“I'm sure there's more to it,” Erwin insists, leaning forward. “As far as I'm concerned, it's art.”

The statement endears Erwin to him, but he shakes his head. “There are some of us who would take offense at that. The drawing process is very precise and even scientific.”

Erwin waves his hand. “Of course, I understand that. But would calling it an art undermine its value?”

“In my eyes, no.” Levi admits. “But I draw for a hobby and maybe that makes me biased.”

“Did you draw that?” Erwin asks, his eyes gleaming. Levi looks down at his left arm, where most of his tattoo is peeking below the sleeve of his t-shirt. When Levi nods, Erwin hesitates and asks, “May I…?”

Levi can't help but feel a little self-conscious as he tugs up the sleeve. He's been asked this a dozen times before, so the request isn't exactly new. However, this is Erwin he's showing it to. Erwin, the real-life model, the hunk, the first man he has been genuinely interested in for years now. He remembers that this intense, insane pressure is why he hated dating to begin with.

Erwin’s eyes trace the rose curling down his arm, its vines twisting around a plain, sharp sword. It is filled with simple colours, the lines are basic, and the personal sentiment is evident only to him. He wonders what Erwin thinks of it.

“Stunning,” Erwin murmurs, and Levi hurriedly sips some tea to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he mutters when he feels it is safe to show his face again. “It's my early work, though.”

“It's… absolutely perfect,” Erwin says, his voice still low.

That seems to break the spell, and Levi snorts. “What, really? ‘Perfection’ is a myth.”

“Perfection is subjective,” Erwin corrects him, that curious gleam still in his eyes. “Much like art.”

To that he has nothing to say. Meanwhile Erwin digs in his pockets and pulls out a surprisingly worn leather wallet. He plucks out a card and says, “Maybe this will substantiate my words. I'm an editor at a publishing house.” Levi takes the card, his heart thudding. “Maybe you've heard of us?”

Wings of Freedom Press. Levi has heard of them: an old company, going back decades, but not one of the big names. The title under the neat “Erwin Smith” simply says 'Editor’.

“I've heard of you,” Levi confirms. His chest is feeling more and more hollow with every passing second and the reason makes itself known with Erwin's next words.

“When I say 'perfect’ I mean it's exactly what I've had in mind for our next publication. We've been looking for an illustrator, and, at the risk of repeating myself, your art would be perfect for the book.”

A business proposition was all Erwin had in mind, nothing more. Levi feels like he could kick himself in the ass all the way home, the physical impossibility of it be damned.

“You just saw my tattoo. That's enough for you to make a decision?” He asks, stalling. Though the attraction is clearly one-sided, Levi feels resentful and badly wants to decline the offer. He only hesitates because this offer could be lucrative in the long run.

Just that, of course. No other reason.

“Art styles change over the years but remain, in essence, the same. I -let’s just say I have a good feeling about this.” Erwin says smoothly. “I can only say so much, but I urge you to consider it. I think you'll like what we can offer to you, and we would be thrilled to have you as a part of the team.”

“I already have a client.”

“Of course. If it doesn't take more than two months of your time to finish your contract with your current client, the offer is still open.”

Karl and his problematic specifications would be gone in two weeks at the most. That left him with little to no excuses for refusing Erwin.

“I understand that this is unconventional,” Erwin goes on, seemingly unaware of Levi's growing antipathy. “You can, of course, email me a portfolio of a few select works. We should be able to draw up a formal offer soon enough.”

Levi grits his teeth, still fingering the card. He wants to ask if he would have to work closely with Erwin but can't bring himself to say it. He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be, in any case.

“I'll think about it,” he manages finally. He doesn't want to make a choice now, when his emotions are all in a fucking mess, and regret it later.

Erwin suddenly seems to realise that he is sitting with a stranger in a coffeeshop. “Fair enough.” He swigs down the rest of his coffee and says, a little nervously, “I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I just -am very impressed by your skills and wouldn't want to pass up the opportunity to work with you.”

Stop. Just fucking stop. Levi wants to scream at the man, but he knows it is immature and unfair of him. Erwin wasn't flirting with him in the slightest, he sees that now. On the other hand, Erwin does seem genuinely impressed, and how can Levi blame him if he sees a business opportunity in that?

“Right.” Levi finds his teacup empty, and stands up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Oh. You're welcome.” Surprised, Erwin stands up, too.

Levi hesitates, then offers him his hand. “Nice talking to you.”

Erwin’s face is almost unrecognisable, a stiff, polite mask. “And you.”

With a small, final nod, Levi gathers up his laptop and charger, and marches away. When he steps into the street, he stops for a moment, trying to remember if he's run out of cigarettes at home.

“Levi!” The coffeeshop's doors swing open behind him and Erwin strides out. “I forgot -is there any way I can contact you?”

Too surprised by Erwin's sudden reappearance, Levi nods. “Uh, yeah. Hang on.” He gropes in his pocket and finds his card case. Plucking one out, he hands it to Erwin, who squints at it as though it holds very important instructions. “And… this is your personal phone?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“Then, would it be alright if I contacted you on this number? Outside of work?”

Levi stares at him for the full moment it takes him to realise what Erwin is implying. “Are you asking me out?” He asks him point-blank.

A now-familiar smile spreads on Erwin's face. “Yes, I am.”

Levi's heart is thudding erratically again, the hollowness from before replaced by so much warmth he feels like he could melt right there on Erwin's dress shoes. (And who the fuck wears dress shoes on a Saturday?)

“Wow,” he comments. “You hire people better than you ask them out.”

Erwin chuckles and Levi notices the slightly pink hue of his cheeks. Is Erwin Smith, the real-life model, the hunk, blushing? Well, damn.

“I'm a little rusty,” Erwin admits. “And a lot more used to hiring people.”

“Clearly.”

“So, is that a yes?”

Levi gives him a contemplative look, taking in the deep blue eyes, and the strong shoulders, and the trim waist. “It's a maybe,” he begins, and does not miss the disappointed flash in his eyes before finishing his sentence, “for the illustration gig. You can definitely buy me another drink.”

Erwin’s face lights up so quickly Levi nearly laughs. The man is like a fucking Labrador. “I'll text you, then.”

“Perfect.” Levi throws him a last smirk before walking away, fighting the urge to skip like a demented child, the expression on Erwin's face bringing an unnaturally sunny smile on his own.

Power cuts, Levi decides, are really fucking underrated.

A/N: My knowledge of architects and their work is very, very basic. Hopefully I haven’t misrepresented you guys!

Thanks again @autiacorart for so beautifully capturing the essence of my story in your art! And thank you all for reading!

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “The Twins”

The Joker was the one that started calling you “The Twins”; first as a joke, just to tease you and Frost, but then it became the nickname that defined your relationship in Gotham’s underworld and not only. You are inseparable and heavens help the person trying to hurt either one of you because it won’t end up well.

“I wonder what happened here,” J grins, slowly walking around and kicking the bloody corpses on the floor with the tip of his shoe. “Good thing we didn’t come to the meeting, huh Frost?” he addresses the henchman walking by his side.

“Yes, sir. I’m glad you didn’t trust the location, something definitely went down.” Jonny stops in his tracks, noticing a faint movement from one of the bodies right in front of him. “Boss, I think someone is still alive,” he makes The Joker aware, hovering over to take a better look.

You open your eyes, barely being able to focus on the face floating on top of you. It hurts all over.

“Move it, Frost! We’re not on a rescue mission here,” J orders, passing by and continuing to head towards the exit.

Jonny wants to step away but you gather all your strength and grab his leg, wheezing:

“Don’t…don’t leave me…here.”

“What the hell, Frost?! I said let’s go!!!!” J turns around and gets annoyed seeing Jonny in the same spot.

“Don’t…leave…me…here…p-please…” you whisper and lose consciousness, your hand going limp in the pool of blood next to you.

“Oh my God, seriously?!” The Joker cracks his neck, rolling his eyes when he notices his henchman ignoring the instruction. “Everyone, I SAID OUT! Clear the place in 5!” he barks at all the other goons and walks out of the warehouse because he has better things to do than dealing with whatever the hell happened inside that building.

He goes to the front of one of the vans they came with, impatient to drive away and getting ready to create some chaos around Gotham tonight.

“Are you deaf?! Put her down!” J yells at Frost when he notices you in his arms while he struggles to get in the back of the car.

“I know who she is, sir; I thought she looked familiar.”

“I don’t care, drop her or I’ll blow your brains out!”

“It’s Y/N, Mister J, the one we use for our code red,” Frost continues at his own risk, hoping to make his boss change his mind, already pulling your body inside.

“The sniper?!” he suddenly asks, intrigued by the situation. He never saw you before in person, he just hires your services when he needs someone killed and it’s too risky to do it himself. Frost briefly met you a few times before because he is the main one dealing with his boss’s business.

“Yes, sir, her. If she doesn’t die, we can use her again, you know she never misses,” Jonny bluffs, not really knowing why he feels the urge to save you.

“I couldn’t care less if she lives or die, we can find someone else. But since…” and J starts talking louder, irritated,” …you apparently have her in the van, we’ll take her with us. You’re pissing me off!!!!” he growls, adjusting his body in the seat, trying not to explode; if Frost wasn’t so useful he would be dead by now for insubordination.

Jonny doesn’t answer since he is already walking on very, very thin ice…again.

********************        

“Relax, woman, I’m not here to kill you,” J smirks, watching you stumble to the far side of the bedroom in your tank top and shorts, looking for something to defend yourself with. You were completely out for the last 2 days, you just woke up and saw The Clown Prince of Crime himself staring you down and panicked. “Are you looking for this?” he balances your gun on his finger, letting it drop on your pillow. “Here, you can have it back. It’s not loaded, of course,” he admits.

“W-where am I , Mister J?” you pant, recognizing your famous employer and holding your side, feeling the fresh wound bleeding through the bandages. You have 4 more gun wounds in your body but you are well patched up.

“So you’re Y/N, hm?” he puckers his lips, not answering your question. “Hey, Frosty, your girlfriend’s awake!!!” he opens the door, calling out for him. Then he turns towards you again, gazing at the blood leaking through your fingers from that nasty lesion you try to cover. “You’d better hurry up before she passes out!” J chuckles, observing you strain to keep your balance.

Your vision is getting cloudy but you still spot the man that saved you, aware of whom he is:

“…Jonny Frost,” you kind of smile, collapsing on your knees.

“Go help her, knight in shining armor,” The Joker maliciously commands,” …before she bleeds all over my Goddamn carpet!”

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

Something definitely clicked right with the two of you. You never really spoke before or spent more than a few minutes together, but that changed once Frost decided to save you that day and take care of you until you got better. The King of Gotham kept you in his service when he found out you have more skills than he thought; he certainly needs experienced people around him. As the months went by, you proved your worth on numerous occasions and now you are one of the two personal bodyguards Mister J has. Yes, you and Frost are assigned the important task of keeping an eye on him all the time, even two when you can spare them.

The Joker was the one that started calling you “The Twins”; first as a joke, just to tease you two, but then it became the nickname that defined your relationship in Gotham’s underworld and not only. You are inseparable and heavens help the person trying to hurt either one of you because it won’t end up well.

From time to time your boss likes to be sassy and complain (actually, he is always sassy and complains):

“If you two are half loyal to me as you are two each other, I think I’ve hit the jackpot here, yes?” he sucks on his silver teeth, waiting for a reply but you are quiet. Great, he is in one of his moods again.

J looks at you and taps his cane on the marble table, continuing:

“Is it true love?” he taunts, licking his lips.

“Huh?” you ask, confused.

“IS. IT. TRUE.LOVE?”  he repeats, not letting go. Mister J can be sooo obnoxious, doesn’t have a reputation for nothing.

“Might as well be,” you reply without blinking in a feisty tone since you are a bit annoyed, hoping he won’t distinguish it with the laud background music in the club. You are lucky he didn’t.

“Did the idiot even kiss you yet?” and that evil sparkle in his blue eyes makes you answer in a heartbeat:

“It’s not like that, sir!”

“Is he blind to your, um… charms?”  He sure likes to push it, knowing there is nothing you can do about it.

Would you stop it? you think, not in the mood for his interrogation.

“Like I said, it’s not like that, sir.”

“Did he ever try to kiss you?”

Really?! Just drop it!

“No, because I am sure he doesn’t want a black eye!” you mumble, still calm since you have no option.

“Oh, your Twin is here,” The Joker puts his feet up on the table, amused to death when Jonny steps inside the VIP room. “Y/N here tells me you never tried to kiss her, Jonny boy. True or false?”

One look at your face and Frost knows: Fuck, he’s in one of his moods again!

“True; I don’t want a black eye, sir.” The swift, cheeky response makes your boss laugh with that insane, cracked, raspy voice that doesn’t make you cringe anymore, but it used to.

“I’ll be damn, you even read each other’s minds! It is true love,” he gasps, entertained to antagonize you. “How old are you, Doll?”

Why does he want to know this now?!

“37 sir.”

“Frosty too! You are indeed twins; it was meant to be,” he winks at both of you, snickering.

“Jonny’s 39, sir!” you cut his enthusiasm, pissed and fighting to conceal it.

“My, my, my, pardon me. Since I am not the one you guys share your secrets with, I only know bits and pieces,” J ironically scoffs, not happy at your correction. “Guess what, I have an assignment for you,” he switches gears and it’s so like him to do so.

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

The mission was a fiasco because the explosives went off sooner than expected and Frost got injured, prompting you to abandon the plan and return to the hideout, facing a very dissatisfied Joker.

Your boss is livid and charges towards you, wanting to probably hit you, but Jonny steps in front of you. Even if he’s covered in cuts and bruises, he won’t stay idle at his boss’s lashing.

“Step aside!” he hisses through his clenched jaw, unnerved his henchman dares to stay in his way.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Frost insists and you pull on his jacket, signaling him to cut it out.

“Who’s fault was it then, hm?  I wanted those guns and now I don’t have them. Who’s responsible? I sent The Twins to deal with it!” he fumes, pointing at you.

“It was a mistake, Mister J, it won’t happen again,” you walk from behind your friend, speaking up. “We’ll be more careful.”

“You better be or I’ll finish you both myself!” he threatens, storming out of the office, slamming the door so hard one of the glass ornaments on the wall falls down, shattering to pieces.

“Jerk!” you mumble, placing Frost’s hand around your neck so he can lean on you. “Let’s take you to your room, I need to take care of your injuries.”

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

You are afraid your boss will retaliate and you decide to sleep in Jonny’s bedroom at the hideout, guarding him all night after he passed out, exhausted from the crappy day and pain medications.

In early morning J sneaks inside because he needs the map that Frost keeps on his desk (he never cares for privacy) and realizes you are curled up in bed by your best friend with a gun in your right hand and a knife in the other, finally asleep also. That irks him.

Do they really think they could protect themselves if I really wanted to kill them?! He tils his head to the side, rolling the paper he came for. He hears the gun click behind him and he doesn’t turn around for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t do that, Y/N,” he sighs and faces you, watching you lower the gun with a wild expression on your face. “You are fortunate I need my Twins, but you are NOT irreplaceable, got it?” he sniffles, surprising you by leaving without further action.

“What was that?” Frost mumbles, barely opening one eye.

“Nothing, go back to sleep, I got you.” He does as told, knowing you mean it; he wouldn’t really trust anybody else with his safety.

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

A few more months pass by and after numerous missions you finally have time to relax for the night. You plan to use the indoor pool like you always do when there is nobody left at the hideout. You like to go swim naked and enjoy the solitude for a few hours. You wouldn’t know, but a few times you thought you were the only one left there, The Joker was actually present, hidden by darkness, watching you float in the water, humming songs to yourself. He wasn’t necessarily spying on you, but since only the dim lights from the pool were on and you didn’t see him, he decided not to say anything. It wasn’t a bad view anyway.

You walk the long hallway without your clothes on, playing with your long hair, anticipating the nice time you will have. Your Twin was sent to deal with a few new possible business partners and probably will be gone for the rest of the night. You are deep in thought and almost at the edge of the pool when you finally snatch a towel and stop, disappointed:

“Oh,” escapes your lips when you see J inside the pool, resting his chin on the crossed arms he placed on the tiles reel, analyzing you. “Um, I didn’t know you’re here, sir.”

“So what if I am? This is my hideout. What, are you gonna be shy now and bail?” he mocks you, ready to have some fun on your expense since you seat there naked and vulnerable. Yeah, no, he doesn’t really know you.

“I’m never shy!” you drop the towel closer to the edge, getting in the water and swimming right in front of him.

“That’s good, I would hate for you to miss on the fun because of me,” he still tries to make you uncomfortable without succeeding.

“No worries, I’m not,” you get even closer to prove you don’t care you’re there both…naked, apparently. And you really don’t care.

“Say Doll,” and he takes your arms, wrapping them around his neck and keeping them there, really wanting to ridicule you but you have no weird reaction: you don’t try to flee or avert your eyes. “How come you don’t talk to me too much? I’m your boss.”

“You never ask me anything, Mister J,” you tell the truth, not intimidated by his enquiry.

“What’s your favorite color?” The Joker randomly asks, truly desiring to fluster you. Yeah, he wishes. Maybe if he would have taken the time to talk to you more like Frost does, he would know you better.

“Red,” you fastly reply, curious to see where this is leading.

“No, it’s green,” he scoffs.

“Red!” you narrow your eyes.

“It’s green!” he points out with one finger towards his hair.

“Red!” you insist, pointing at your bright red hair.

“You’re annoying, Y/N. I like you better when you don’t say anything.”

You smile but The Joker continues:

“So, who is your favorite person among all these fine people working in our little enterprise here, hm?”

“Frost!” you declare without hesitation and he bites his lip.

“No, it’s me, I’m the boss and everyone’s favorite.”

“It’s Frost, sir,” you reply, persistent in your stubbornness. Why does he think he can make you agree with everything he says?!

“ME!”

“Frost!”

“ME!!!”

“It’s Frost,” you start to laugh when he pushes you away.

“Get out of my pool!” he grumbles, watching you swim away and obeying his request.

You get out and take your towel, stepping away.

“Who’s your favorite, Y/N?” he tries one more time, not wanting to admit things didn’t go according to his little scheme.

“FROST!” you answer over your shoulder.

“You’re fired!” he splashes the water around, starting to float .

“No, I’m not, you need your Twins, Mister J!”

“FIRED!”  and you let him have the last word because you don’t want to push it too much.

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

After half a year or so, your best friend almost got killed because of Mister J. Your boss sent him on a wild goose chase inside Arkham Asylum- he strongly believed they have some new secret rooms built in the basement and he needed to know for sure. Jonny and the other boys didn’t find anything but it was rough as hell to get out of there alive. You weren’t allowed to go on this mission because J “wanted to protect you”, whatever that means in his mind, and it deeply disturbed you when you almost lost your Twin.

** You tiptoe on the dark corridor, undressed because you want to go for a swim, when you change your mind and run back to your room, grabbing your knife and creeping in J’s quarters. It’s only you and him at the hideout. You left Frost at his apartment after the ordeal last night; he definitely needs to rest properly following sweep-the - place-for-nothing Arkham stupid task.

The Joker is a light sleeper so he senses your movement, distinguishing your shape in the blackness as soon as he opens his eyes. He hears you whimper.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did something happen?” he lifts his head from the pillow and you don’t reply, you just step on the bed, dropping on top of him, panting. He gets the wrong idea when he realizes you’re naked. “Where were you last night, hm? You never showed up! Nobody makes me wait, Princess, not even one of The Twins,” he purrs, sliding his hands down your waist.

“I waited for Jonny,” you whisper and he doesn’t have time to react when the sharp blade pierces the pillow, barely grazing his cheek without cutting it. He didn’t notice it. “If he gets murdered because of you, better make sure I’m dead too because I will kill you!!!”

“Are you kidding me?!” he slaps your side, grunting under your weight when you unexpectedly pin his hands above his head, upset and not giving a damn about the consequences. “Don’t make me mad, Doll,” he menaces, not knowing if he wants to grant your dying wish yet. “Let go, NOW!”

He senses the tears falling on his chest and you release him, ready for his reaction, whatever it may be; you just couldn’t help it.

But he doesn’t do anything; he seats under your body in complete silence and so do you. The Joker finally pulls the knife out of his pillow and takes it to your throat, nipping your skin and you don’t defend yourself at all, even if you are capable to do so.

“Don’t ever do shit like this again, do you hear me?” he grinds his silver teeth, really feeling pissed. You could have easily ended him and he didn’t see it coming, that’s what’s aggravating him the most. “DO. YOU. HEAR. ME?” he emphasizes the words, cutting your flesh a bit more.

“Yes, I hear you,” you move your head backwards, distancing a notch from the blade.

“I told you before: I need my Twins, but you are not irreplaceable, woman!” He tosses the knife on the floor and you get up, gulping, wanting to go when he stops you. “I didn’t say you can leave!”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you admit, holding your throat, feeling warm blood on your fingers.

“I don’t care, you’re the one that came in the first place!” J snaps at you, yanking your fingers away from your cut. “Let me see,” he leans over and turns on the lamp, inspecting the wound he inflicted on you. “You’ll live, no worries, doesn’t look that bad.” He wipes the blood, then cleans his hands on the sheet. “And stop crying, your Twin is fine! Sometimes I wonder if you’re his girl or mine. After tonight’s events, I really don’t know which is which,” he grouchily moves you off him, and you slide on your knees, reaching for a tissue that you use to wrap your neck with for a few seconds before changing it with a clean one.  

“I said you can’t leave!” J keeps you on the bed when you try to get up again. “You have to make it up to me; I didn’t kill you so you owe me!”

“I didn’t kill you either so we’re even,” you defy him, covering your breasts with your long hair, taking another tissue out of the box. He moves your hair away, switching his position to a more comfortable one closer to you.

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy!” he points out, gesturing you to come by him.

“I’m never shy,” you reply, already in a bad mood and startled after all that happened in the last couple of days.

“Keep it that way,” he snarls when you cuddle next to him, looking at each other with a mixture of hate, relief and who knows what else. “Here, I’ll hold it,” he offers to keep the tissue in place and his fingers go around your neck:

“I could break it right now!”

“Jonny will avenge me,” you calmly answer, confident he really would.

“You damn Twins, I created a monster,” he pecs on your lips, tightening his grip but not strong enough to make you choke.

“It’s true love,” you repeat what he always teases you and Frost with, closing your eyes.

“Probably, I’m starting to get jealous,” he whispers, shrieking the words.

“Don’t be, Mister J, The Clown Prince of Crime can’t afford that,” you place your head on his chest with his fingers still clenched on the tissue around your neck.

“Stop being sassy, Y/N, or Frost will have to try and revenge your death in the morning!”

“Yes, sir…” you agree, smiling to yourself, not being afraid of his threats. Your Twin will always have your back.

It really must be true love.

 Also read- MASTERLIST:

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[zacknano17]

Day 5: words 7634 - 10,065

...because I spent 11 hours of Day 4 driving, and I was Very Tired.

In which, Taako makes a Fateful Decision.

The problem with multi-classing as a rogue is that everyone immediately assumes you are suddenly great at sneaking around.  Magnus has spent a good deal of time training with Carey, it's true, but her brand of stealth involves more sleight of hand, dodging attacks, and doing some sweet flips.  And while there are things like smoke bombs and thunder stones, those are conspicuous, so not great when going for the 'not being noticed' thing.

Sneaking around is an art that Magnus has not perfected.  Actually, he hasn't even started learning that bit. Besides, he is in a fairly well lit house-turned-business, in his regular, not all black and shadowy clothing, during the day.  These are all things counterproductive when it comes to the traditional sort of sneaking around.

This is a different kind of sneaking around, he supposes.  This is the kind where you wander around and get as many places as you could before someone asked you what you were doing and you made up some bullshit story about trying to find the toilet and then hoped you rolled well enough on your deception roll to fool them.

Rule 1, he knows, is to look like you're supposed to be there.  Fake it til you make it.  He's going for Fantasy James Bond here, not Fantasy Solid Snake.

They have to wait for a little while before Taako kicks up another fuss, to make it seem realistic. Then, as Merle attempts to 'keep the peace' by quoting scripture, Magnus uses the attention Salvatore has on the dwarf to slide through the room and into one of the other curtained off rooms.

He's a little nervous about it.  They are pretty sure that this woman is using one of the Relics, and he has seen, time and time again, what sort of things these Relics can do to people.  Nothing is tracking here as overly weird so far, but things change quickly.  Still, he would much rather it be him to get into trouble than either Taako or Merle.

His findings are innocuous.  He discovers a meeting room with another desk with two fancy chairs on one side and one on the other, clearly for Rebekah and her clients.  Another room appears to be another sitting room, much like the one he and Taako and Merle had been waiting within.  Yet another seems to be a neatly kept office, bookshelves filled with carefully labeled binders.  He finds a fancy but rather unused kitchen, along with an adjoining dining area.  He comes across a pleasant bathroom.

Nearly all of the rooms hold more pictures on the walls, neatly spaced and with no room for more.  It is clear that all the rooms he has visited are used for various parts of the business, or at least may be seen by patrons.  Everything is neat, with fancy decor and a very cozy feel.  There is absolutely nothing strange or out of place in the entire first floor, except maybe that he doesn't see anyone else, although he isn't sure how many people a wedding planner would really need to employ.

The only thing of interest he finds is a few locked doors.  Judging from the structure of the rooms around the first, Magnus guesses it is a stairwell, which would make sense since the building appears to be at least three stories tall from the outside.  The other goes out from the kitchen area, and his best guess for that is a basement.

He is doing fairly well, he thinks.  In spite of not finding anything of interest, he also hasn't gotten caught.  He is still cheerfully patting himself on the back at the thought when that changes.

It happens while he's just about to head back to the sitting room, after monkeying with the door he believes to lead to the upstairs and wishing he had thought to borrow Taako's Hole Thrower.  An elven man with light brown skin and dark hair walks around the corner and pauses, clearly as surprised to see Magnus as Magnus is to see him. The elf is very lovely in that sort of ethereal, elf-y way, and just for a split second, Magnus mistakes him for Taako.

“Um,” says Magnus, articulately.

“Are you lost?” the elf asks.  He sounds...disinterested in whatever Magnus is up to.

“Yeah, er, I was looking for the john,” Magnus says.

“You just passed it,” the elf says, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder.  “Second door on the right.”

“Thanks,” Magnus says, and slides past him.  Aw, yeah.  Saved by the fake bathroom excuse.

The elf pulls a key out of his pocket and slides it into the lock on the door.  As Magnus is searching for the toilet, he glances back and sees that his inclination was correct.  He can see stairs through the open door.  Then the elf disappears up the stairs and he hears the click of the door being locked again.

When he makes his way back to the front room, Taako and Merle aren't there anymore.  There is only one slightly ruffled Salvatore, sitting at his desk and pressing his pen to his paper so hard that he is nearly snapping the tip off.  Magnus isn't going to ask.  He isn't going to say anything, in fact.  He just slips into the sitting room again, while Salvatore is destroying that poor pen.

Within the sitting room, Merle is paging through a magazine, looking exceptionally bored.  Taako is nowhere to be found.

“Where's Taako?” Magnus asks.

Merle looks up, and the expression on his face is nothing short of mirthful.  “He's in there, talkin' to Rebekah Whatever-Her-Name-Is,” he explains cheerfully.  “And you'll never believe what happened.”

This entire section is not really very good and I'm going to come back to it later and fix it.

Taako has seen Merle attempt evangelism before.  He had been preaching the Good Word the first time Taako had ever met him, or attempting to. He has done it on other occasions too, but only to serve as a distraction for Taako and Magnus, generally.  He has never tried to read the Bible to either of his companions.  He has never tried to convert or inform either one of them.  If he hadn't had access to his divine powers, Taako would doubt the dwarf's conviction entirely.

The thing of it is, Merle is an extremely good evangelist, and Taako has just never gotten the chance to observe this.  Salvatore, in his infinite polite patience, has not only allowed Merle to break up the argument Taako had gotten into with him, but has not interrupted Merle's subsequent evangelizing.  And Merle is actually pretty good about it.  Some religions get into converting people to their Gods, but Merle is talking to inform.  Taako has learned more about Dan in the past ten minutes than he had learned in his entire life.

For instance, Dan's name is actually Pan.

He might have known that already.  He doesn't really care enough to remember.

“...and so that's why, in the presence and all encompassing love of Pan, you should both sit down and apologize to each other or this whole disagreement,” Merle finishes with a flourish.

“Not to be dramatic, but I'd rather die,” Taako replies.

“Do you even know how not to be dramatic?” Merle asks.

Taako huffs.  He is sitting on the edge of Salvatore's desk, his butt shoving back a few stacks of papers and generally disorganizing the entire area.  He isn't certain he is irritating Salvatore, but he's sure trying.  And not only because Magnus is still gone.

The front door opens before Salvatore can react, and in walks a halfling woman.  She has long, auburn hair and light brown eyes that compliment her reddish tan skin, and she is wearing a lovely green dress.

Salvatore stands up immediately upon seeing her.  “Welcome back, madam,” he says.

“Oh! I didn't realize we had guests,” she replies, glancing and Merle and Taako.  “Don't tell me I forgot I had an appointment, did I?”

“No, madam.  They're walk-ins.  The elf seems quite sure you'll want to talk to him.”

Taako stands up off the desk.  He examines the woman and notices, belatedly, the gold chain leading to the breast pocket of her dress. Clearly, this was Rebekah Joiner herself, and that chain may just contain the Oculus.  Beside him, he notices Merle perk up too.

“So you're the boss lady herself, huh?  The local matrimonial mastermind, as rumor would have it,” Taako says, pleased by this development.

“Aren't you a flatterer?” she chuckles.  “I suppose I am the boss lady, though.  Rebekah Joiner.  It's a pleasure to meet you.”  She holds out a hand toward him.

He shakes it.  “I'm Taako.  You may have seen me?  On TV?  That's me, the one and only.”

“You do look quite familiar, Taako,” she replies, nodding.

He feels a single drop of sweat roll down his spine.  Recognition in this town is probably not a great thing, but she doesn't look like she's about to call down the local militia on him.  She's probably just being polite.  Sizzle It Up With Taako is a thing long in the past, and even longer ago since he had performed here.

“And your companion?” she asks, turning toward Merle.

“Merle Highchurch,” Merle puts forth.  “And we ain't here to get hitched.  Trust me.”

“Fuck, no,” Taako agrees.

Salvatore, who is still standing behind his desk, interjects.  “From what I understand, Sir Taako is looking for some sort of partnership between his company and yours.”

Rebekah cocks her head to the side, looking slightly disappointed.  “Oh...is that so?  I'm afraid we're not exactly looking to expand at the moment,” she says.

No! He's so close!  He can almost see the monocle in her pocket!  “Well,” he continues, hoping his bluff game is on point today.  “That was...part of it.  I'll be real with you, my dude, I didn't think I'd get a meeting with you on such short notice if I didn't, well, flaunt my assets a little, if you know what I mean.  Stretch that celebrity influence a little.  Not that I wouldn't be so down for a partnership, mind you.”

Rebekah claps her hands together.  “I knew it!  I can smell a groom-to-be from miles away,” she says cheerily.  “You wouldn't have brought your pastor with you otherwise, would you have?”  She gestures at Merle's Bible with one hand.  “Wonderful.  Why don't you come with me into a meeting room? Salvatore, please push back any of my appointments until Taako and I are finished.”

Salvatore almost loses his composure, and that flash of outright fury that dances in his eyes for a split second is more than enough to make this entire encounter worth it.  “Of course, madam,” he says, and sits down.

Okay. Okay.  So Rebekah thinks he is getting married.  That's...doable, he supposes.  That definitely gives him an in with the lady in case this doesn't work on the first try, which it won't because he has shitty luck.  He twirls the umbra staff in his hand and gives Salvatore the slimiest smile he can manage.  “Salvatore, darling, won't you let Mags know I'm off with Reeb here when he gets back from the washroom?” he asks sweetly.

“Mags?” Rebekah asks.  “So that's the Mr. Taako-to-be?”

Taako almost loses his composure at the thought.  He has had absolutely no thought as to what Magnus' role in this deception would be.  And now, caught in the moment, he cannot think of literally anything else.  Besides, who is going to be the other groom if not Magnus?  It isn't like he can just conjure his dream man out of thin air.  He'd probably need the Oculus for that.

Fuck. Magnus is going to kill him.

On the other hand, it's going to be the sweetest possible revenge for that thing in the wagon earlier.

“You got it, babe,” he says, and he can't help but be a little bit amused by the way Merle's eyes sort of bug out from his head when he says it.  “Magnus Burnsides, also known as Mr. Taako.”

“Fantastic! And congratulations!” Rebekah chirps happily as she leads him beyond another curtain, into a much smaller room that appears to be an office of sorts.  It's mostly empty of furniture, but for the desk with two chairs facing it.  If Taako had to wager a guess based on context clues, he would say a consultation room.

She pulls out one chair for him and then sits in her seat on the other side of the desk.  “Thank you, Reebo,” he says airily as he sits down, crossing his legs and folding his hands on his knee.

“Of course!  Goodness!  It isn't every day I get to help plan a celebrity wedding,” she says.

He actually relaxes minutely at that.  He knows he is blowing his own popularity out of proportion, so it's quite likely she's just humoring him in an attempt to flatter him.  He smiles benevolently at her.  “Now, you understand -- we're keeping this under wraps for now.  Tightly sealed,” he explains.  “If word of this got out too early, well, it'd be a mess. You understand.”

“Naturally, yes,” she agrees.  “Don't worry.  You'll have perfect radio silence on my end.”

“Fantastic. I really don't want to get fantasy lawyers involved with the paperwork, you know?  So I'll take your word for that.”

“That's very kind of you.  Now.  You said Magnus is here, right?  When do I get to meet him?”

He really doesn't want her to meet Magnus before he's had a chance to go over their cover story together, but beggars can't be choosers.  “Uh, well, he's real shy,” Taako explains, a little awkwardly.  “He is here, but...he went to the washroom and I haven't seen him since, so he might be.  Hiding.”

“...hiding?”

“He's -- real shy.  About strangers.”

This is the worst lie Taako has ever told.

“No, that isn't true,” he adds quickly.  “It's just -- it's just. He's.  Well.  We're not going public with the wedding plans right away.  We don't even have a date set.  If someone saw him with me...especially here. So he, uh, went to the washroom.”

“...and he stayed there?” she asks, still seeming confused.

“Yes. No?  I don't honestly know where he is right now.”

“Ooookay. Well.  Whatever!  I'll meet him soon enough, I suppose.  Now.  Taako.  I know you're in the early stages of planning, but I'm guessing a fashion forward elf like you already has some ideas, yes?”